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There was always one, or more projects tumbling around in the redneck's mind. At any given point on any given day she had something going on.

As it was, for the knighting ceremony she was on her way to look at yet another derelict building to transform as she had the Brambles. This time however, between the crumbling hulk and its yards an entire city block had come up for offer.

In worn and scarred work boots, a pair of sturdy jeans and a tee shirt, she stood with her thumbs hooked in her front pockets, fingers tracing something that may or may not still be there on the left, and waited. When she caught sight of people she knew in the crowd there were smiles and upnods to share but she was very much in her own thoughts, planning, plotting, and considering.

When her name was called she shrugged out of her reverie and mounted the steps, crossed the stage nodded with respect to the druids,hand over her heart. As she approached the basin she considered that this was Rhy'din and anything from booze to some sort of sex crazed orgy might be contained by the stone. And still didn't hesitate.

She was much relieved when the contents turned out to be clear water, sweet on the tongue, gentle on the palate, and refreshing to the spirit. The jolt of foreign magic washing over her and coursing through her was a surprise that had her head whipping up, eyes narrowed to land on the nearest druid. His amused expression did much to remind her of the blessing to be bestowed.

His snort when she rolled her eyes and shrugged had her lips twitching.

As she was announced as the Goldenrod Knight she struck a pose at odds with her work wear. Utterly female, utterly confident, and full of smoke, heat, and promise, something that turned Rosie the Riveter to Bettie Paige. And in blowing a kiss to the crowd a breeze danced carrying the faint scent of licorice, softly pleasant florals, and golden amber honey with hints of spice and promise.

Refreshing and encouraging, full of promise and hope.

When she quit the stage those half born plans and maybes were well formed and soon to be in motion.

Lucy never missed an appointment—-not to mention it was not far from her gallery to the Market Square—-so she was there in the crowd when the clock chimed noon. Dressed for the workday, she had her handbag tucked under her arm while she skimmed emails on her phone until she realized she was supposed to join the other knights at the stage.

Finally focusing on the event, she tucked her phone away so she could exchange greetings with those she knew, leaning to press a kiss to Thorn's cheek, and smiling hello to Ed whom she recognized from Layla's opening.

When it was her turn on the stage, she tucked her clutch handbag under her arm again and awkwardly managed to scoop up some water with one hand. A spark of electricity snapped as the water met her lips. Lucy licked her lips and straightened, her brow furrowed at the sensation.

But she didn't immediately feel anything. Not that she really expected to, but it had certainly seemed like some of the other knights before her had felt something from the magical water. The druids exchanged some looks and then one gestured to her. Watching him, she extended her arm out, palm up as if ready to receive something.

Over her outstretched arm appeared a string of golden orange marigolds, hanging to either side, the string of bright blooms so long, it nearly touched the stage at her feet.

Lucy drew in a breath and took a step back. A wave of warm memories washed over her. A sensation so powerful she was sure it was real. As if Jamie were right beside her again, throwing his arm over her shoulder in that lazy way he used to. As if they were sitting on a stoop eating shaved ices on the streets of Manhattan like they did when they were kids. As if they were eating popcorn watching a movie curled on the couch together. As if he were holding her hand, his fingers warm even through her mittens, ice skating at Rockefeller center together. As if he were right there with her again. As if he had never died.

The memories were so thick, like the newly warm sun on a spring day. Like she could feel the memory of Jamie on her skin. Lucy smiled.

�Lucy Mitford, Knight of Marigold!�

She opened her eyes, moved the marigold garland to hang around her neck and then waved to the crowd before leaving the stage.

((Lucy has been bestowed with the gift of celebrating and remembering the dead. She will wear the marigold garland throughout Beltane and will gift flowers to any interested character. Any character who receives a gifted marigold from Lucy will be filled with warm memories of loved ones who have died. These memories are not artificially warm—-they are only memories of the beloved dead and only when the memories are truly warm—-there is no evil or cruelty involved.))

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Ammy had stepped away from the Alchemist's Fire Complex for the noon time gathering at the Market Square. She had found the invitation and declaration of her station with the May Court perplexing, yet a sense of humble honor was felt on her shoulders. She traveled the short distance from Alchemy Lane to the Market Square, Ruby walking by her side as fast her small legs could manage; mother and daughter in a flurry of silent conversation as hands and fingers flew. Ammy wanted her daughter to see something hopeful to look forward to when Ruby was old enough to partake in the Beltane Festivities in the distant future.

With a liberal dose of polite chatter with a few patrons of her alchemy shop, reminders of sales to some shoppers going on at her husband's general store, Ammy worked her way to the gathered 'To Be Announced Knights' and took her place, her daughter just behind her and watching in fascination with those gem like clear blue eyes. Daughter and mother matched today in gray jeans, blue shirts and heavy alchemist leather aprons with belts festooned with little bottles of reagents and mixtures, or in Ruby's case, sips of juice, liquid candy or colored sugar sprinkles.

Ammy gave respectful nods to every 'knight to be' that had gathered. She smiled see quite a few she knew among them and watched with interest as the trinity of druids called up several Knights to receive their gifts. She felt a bit nervous as to what she'd be the 'Knight of'? Her wondering was not given a second to grow or bloom as she was soon called up to the stone pillar by the druids. She left Ruby behind, signing to her to stay, be brave, watch and see what mamma becomes. Ammy took the steps and approached the stone pillar and the basin of cool, clear water. She paused before the basin and gave the druids each a formal bow, recognizing the charge and ancient duties they have tended to. She gave each one a trade of a smile as druid and knight to be recognized something hidden but in plain sight.

Ammy dipped her hand into the clear, cold water, cupped her fingers and lifted the clear conveyance of blessing to her muzzle and lapped it up with ease. Her eyes glowed like molten gold poured from the crucible of a gold smith. Upon her body flared and illuminated the red sigils from different realms and origins for the symbol of the sun. As she straightened from her drink, the last stray drop of clear water licked from her muzzle, one druid called out.

"Behold the next knight of the May Court, The Knight of Sunflowers!"

Ammy turned in a slow motion, a sweeping gesture once seen fast and playful in dueling rings slowed for effect. Hands spread, fingers fanned out, sunflowers had erupted from every pocket and pouch on her. Around the Market Square, Sunflowers erupted between cracks in cobblestones and in flower beds, each one beautiful and radiating gentle warmth of sun beams to bask in on a summer day. Ammy would depart the stage, handing the sunflowers that had appeared from her pockets and pouches to any that wanted one, and when she reached Ruby, two the size of saucers appear to tuck behind each of her daughters ears.

She'd take Ruby's hand and walk with her to catch lunch, another sunflower the size of a dinner plate now clutched the toddlers free hand, the merry face on the child beyond compare. Wherever Ammy would go, for as long as the blessing would last, there would be sunflowers growing, soaking all that come in the warm sunlight of summer to come.

Lirssa felt honor bound to attend. Honor, duty, it pushed her from morning to night, and she always reflected in those last hours the times she had failed to be compassionate or acted in such a manner as to make her blush.

That did not mean she attended without trepidation. That was always there as well. Particularly as she watched the ceremony progress and confirmed the transformations, some subtle and others not, to the other knights.

Among the gathering, as the druids bestowed the gift of the season and declared the knights, Lirssa stared at the stone basin. Whatever it held, it was magical. When it came to that, there was always a question. Her heart skipped a beat again as she wondered just what would happen if — when — she took her turn. Over and over inside her mind, she constructed the barriers to barricade her gift away. Even a good thing in overabundance can turn badly.

And then she was there, in the sight of the druids, their look sharpening on her. One in the middle drew his hands from his sleeves, lifting them palm upward, but he did not tell her to stop. The eyes around her felt like pitchforks and torches on her back, prodding her and judging. When she dare to look behind her, though, it was smiles and wonder she saw.

With a deep breath and one final check that her gift was solidly locked away, she dipped one hand into the water and lifted to drink. Memories of rain barrels on empty streets and cold feet on night chilled cobblestones blossomed and faded.

"The Peony Knight!" Called past her to the crowd, and Lirssa stepped away from the basin and the druidic triad. The onlookers parted the way, one man turning aside, his hand caressing the back of too pale child with a ragged cough. In sympathy, Lirssa smiled and touched the child's back as she passed.

The child's cough subsided, a blush of pink to the cheeks. But Lirssa did not see it. She walked on to meet her next duties at the Foundation.

((Symbolism of peony))

"How do you become a time of day?" Saila wanted to know. The mercurial teen was leaning against the front quarter panel of a vintage muscle car from America. She had her hands turned backwards, propped against the car's metal lip, her long legs crossed casually at the ankle.

She was talking to the pair of slightly scuffed motorcycle boots that were toe-up on the ground beside her. The legs they were attached to were bent slightly at the knee, encased in dark denim splotched here and there with motor oil and engine grease. The top half of the man's body had been swallowed up by the machine she was slouched against.

The ratcheting metallic sound that had been a steady backdrop to her thoughts paused while the mechanic tried to puzzle through what it was she was asking. How do you become a ...what" Though she couldn't see it, Saila knew without having to ask that Hex was smiling, his brows quirked just so as he stared up into the vehicle's undercarriage.

"You're laughing at me again, aren't you?" asked the girl, uncrossing her legs to nudge the outside of his thigh lightly with the edge of her foot. "Is the answer something obvious?"

"No, I?" To his credit, the big guy really wasn't laughing at her, but it did take some effort. "Babe I think I need a little context here. Where did you get that from?"

Mollified for the time being, the teen's fingers flared, tapping a descending drum roll against the cool, unyielding sheet metal. "Well," she began, "I went by the apartment to check my mail and water all those plants after you left for work." The couple had been house-sitting for Sabine, so there was a few days" worth of letter pile up when she got there. Among the random Chinese food restaurant flyers and other assorted junk, she'd found the letter summoning her to the marketplace on Friday. "I got this fancy looking letter that says I need to go to the Marketplace on Friday "cause I'm being turned into a time of day, apparently." It hadn't occurred to her that this was strange, because Rhydin. She only wondered how it was done, how long it would last, whether it would work in the first place.

This time, Hex did laugh. He tried to stop himself, the bark stifled into something more like a chuff. She could just make out the subtle way his body shook from the effort of keeping it in. When he thought he'd mastered it, his voice filtered up to her through the open hood. "Is it' possible that it said you were becoming a knight?"

Missing the distinction, her pale brows furrowed. "Well, yeah, that's what I said. They want me to become the night or whatever."

The third snicker couldn't be contained. It rumbled in his chest, picking up speed and strength as it welled up through the automobile's chassis. "No, Babe. Not a night like a time of day. A knight. It had a K on it, right?"

Confusion marred her brow, her forehead wrinkling. "...Yeah, there was a K. Is that different' I thought it was just, you know, an artistic interpretation."

Hex did his best to explain what a knight was to her, but the concept was tricky. Where description failed, he freed one soot black hand from where it was buried in the car's interior, trying not to touch her with it even as he wrapped his arm around her ankle. Processing what she'd learned, the girl seemed satisfied, or nearly so.

"Huh." She said at last. "Well, that's cool, I guess. That means I get to keep my squires, right' Knights have squires too' I like having squires and they've only had the job for like a week so I don't want to fire them yet and anyway the cider stuff is good so I'm keeping my squires."

***

Two days later, Saila arrived in the marketplace at the appointed hour with her man in tow. It seemed Garrison didn't know much about becoming a knight either, but the old guy had a soft spot for his star mechanic's purple haired girlfriend, so she'd talked him into letting Hex off for an extended lunch break without too much trouble. Picking out several familiar faces in the crowd (including, hopefully, the squires!), the muse was all friendly smiles and open curiosity. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen a knight before, much less become one, and the whole thing seemed pretty exciting. She watched carefully as the druids arrived, carrying their heavy burden towards the raised dias, and when the other people she knew started lining up at the base of the stage, the teen separated herself from Hex to join them.

When it was her turn, several others had already gone on before, which was good because it gave her an idea what to do. More than a little intrigued by the magic that seemed to suffuse each person in kind once they'd drunk from the basin, she wondered what effect it might have on her —if any— as she climbed the stairs. She wondered what it might taste like, and hoped like hell that it wasn't sweet.

She bent at the waist, vividly violet strands falling heavily down from her shoulder to obscure her face and hands from the assembled crowd as she cupped them to drink the water. It was just as well, too — the very moment her long fingers broke its surface, the designs that swirled along her wrists lit up, an eerie phosphorescent glow tracing a zigzag pattern along the inside of her elbows as it raced up her arms to her chest. Saila's strange eyes went wide — generally she didn't react to magic, even strong magic, this immediately, certainly not after months of practice. Muttering something to herself to bury the sigils already obscured by black fabric, the teen was glad for her long sleeves as she pressed her lips to the little pool of water she'd made between her cupped palms, and drank.

The taste was sweet at first, making her cringe internally at the thought of yet another headache, but it shifted on her tongue almost immediately. Infinitely more pleasant as she swallowed, the girl stood up straight again. Probably only the druid closest to her saw the way her peculiar eyes seemed to glow with their own internal luminescence, a bright light in two distinct colors shining out of them. Maybe it was the look on that druid's face that made her aware of it, made her shut her eyes as she turned towards the crowd, keep them closed as she was heralded to the onlookers as the Knight of Dahlias.

Taking a deep breath to control the internal reaction, Saila couldn't be sure she wouldn't still have headlight-eyes when she opened them, so her gaze was fixed solidly on her boyfriend when she peeled her lashes apart at last. The look on his face was oddly comforting - it told her that he knew what had happened, but it didn't look alarmed or worried for her sake. Chancing a look away from him, none of the other familiar faces in the crowd appeared to be staring, no open mouthed pointing or staring, and she breathed a little sigh of relief that she'd managed to keep the light show under wraps after all.

Putting on her best curtain-call smile, Saila waved to the people who were still watching, gave a confident toss of her head to send bright purple tresses tumbling down her back and stalked gracefully offstage in the opposite direction. She couldn't have said that she felt different — the likelihood that there would be any lasting effect to the magic she'd ingested was small indeed— but she did feel good. Really good. Lacing her fingers in Hex's, she kissed him warmly on the mouth and then turned to watch the rest of the ceremony. When it was over, after she'd said her goodbyes and maybe even shared a hug or two with friends, there was a bright energy to her as turned once more to face her man. "Sooooo," she said with a conspiratorial grin. "You're not actually going back to work, are you?""

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Symbolism of the Dahlia ——-

(OOC: Saila absorbs magic, so chances are that the effects of the blessing on her are minimal. However, those who come in contact with her during Beltane may find themselves feeling more centered, bolder, more confident, more content in themselves and their own unique quirks. They may also feel inspired to enact radical changes or go on grand adventures. In some extreme cases, the person who comes within her sphere of influence might also develop a heightened sense of awareness for a limited time — possibly able to sense deception or betrayal in their immediate environs? Up to you!))

http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/eiEZg5CjWXVxMxRPWIsQ/cid/220879142/id/6ukGoDct5xGGxzMQnfGFCQ/size/c600x689.jpg "You must come, now." The druid's voice was firm, insistent even, but this was Kruger's shop and he made the rules here. He peered hard at the druid, his mouth losing the pleasant smile of greeting it had obtained upon the man's entry.

"You do realize that you're far more limited here than you're used to?" The smith set aside his hammer, placing it lovingly on the anvil next to him. "I'll come, but what did you say this was for?"

"The Knighting ceremony, you've been selected." The druid was being abrupt, and clearly did not like that he would be kept waiting in this place. Perhaps he was discovering the truth behind Kruger's words.

"Knighting" if that's so, you must help me prepare." Kruger moved towards the druid, put his hand on the man's shoulder and directed him towards a changing room, while he selected a few of his latest pieces. He had Addie to thank for the lay and measurement of the miniscule scales. Hopefully she'd get the chance to see what the whole looked like in the sun. ———————— "Kruger, come forward." It had caused a few odd glances, only a few though and they were replaced quickly by knowing nods and hands over mouths so that words could be whispered in his passing. Crazy Kruger was always doing something" well, crazy, this was no exception.

He stood back, waiting for his name to be called as he watched others ascend ahead of him. The mechanics seemed easy enough, though he was beginning to feel overdressed for the occasion. He wouldn't change a thing, the armor he wore had the form of a dragon, its scales meticulously put together in an iridescent pattern. Even the sword ranged through reds, purples and blues. Addie had loved the idea, and insisted that she be there to make sure it was done properly. He didn't mind, it was nice to have someone to listen while he talked.

Kruger took the steps carefully enough not to trip, but with the same enthusiasm he gave every ring entry. "Drink from the basin."

He hadn't needed to be told, they'd all done the same. It must have been part of the ceremony, or maybe they just thought he was daft. Kruger's hand found the hilt of his sword as he dropped to one knee, his right fist coming to rest on the ground before the basin before he recovered enough to cup both hands and plunge them into the water. He pulled them back to his lips, drinking deeply, part of that had to do with being thirsty after standing so long in the sun while wearing full armor. From the depths of the basin, a creature rose. Its roar echoing through Kruger's ears as it swept past him and took flight. An ancient wyrm with scales arrayed precisely as his armor was. The Every Dragon beat its wings, looking down on Kruger who did not bother to look up despite his surprise. It dove then, the length of its body coiling around him and crushing the breath right out of him. His heart beat struggled as ribs creaked under the pressure. Just as quickly as it had attached itself, it took off. The scales of its hide scraping along the armor he wore. Another roar, the pressure was gone, the dragon had vanished, as had every piece of the armor he'd donned for this Knighting ceremony.

Kruger put his hand to the lip of the basin to push himself up. The druids were still in the same places, there had been no outcry from the crowd either. All of them stood in the same positions they'd occupied when his name had been called. Something had happened though, Kruger stood before the druids completely bare from navel to neck. Bare that is save for the single impression of a daffodil that had imposed itself upon his chest. "I?"

"The offering is accepted, rise and go forth Knight of the Daffodils."

(Symbolism of Daffodils)

(Edited to include symbolism and this explanation. Kruger's attempts to create the flower of his knighting will manifest for only a moment before they blooms vanish from sight. Apologies to those who would like to receive one. If it helps, giving single daffodils is a bad omen, best not to be on the receiving end.)