Topic: Sylince, the way, and the broken home (open)

TheSylince

Date: 2007-12-20 23:37 EST
~~ Where the moonlight kissed the night is where Sylince was most often found, that is, when the sun was not busy flirting with the open greens and tops of trees; the harlequin had a love for all things, unrequited, and unfaltering. In the snow, by the sea, tracing a river's edge to discover a tree newly grown where the forest dared to reach beyond its limits, Sylince never aimed to be there but was often found wandering them. They called to the harlequin, as all things can and do call to all other things, to be heard, to be discovered, to be known and remembered and shared and enjoyed and to be closer to being one with every other thing that is and shall ever be; Sylince knew this, Sylince heard them and Sylince was glad to be their medium to Those Not So Perceptive. It should, before assumptions made, be noted that the harlequin is by no means a channel of a good thing. In lore the French Hellequin was a servant to the devil who chased damned spirits back to hell when they slipped out; the English Arlecchino was demon in Hell of Dante's creation; the Italian hero Harlay who protected actors....The harlequin is a descendant of mixed histories of earth, but this harlequin, Sylince, was different. Sylince was a modern myth, Sylince was a modern creature in a flip-side world of the one from which the harlequin was first dreamed. Sylince, though, is in the here and now and now the harlequin wonders the streets, pays homage to the cracked walls of the city and tends to the brush that struggles against the concrete. Not, of course, without smite and mischief to the deserving, Sylince exists entirely for the sake of happy existence and whatever is necessary to be so, the harlequin does. ~~

"We are here to create, not merely survive," she continued, "Sylince, you're everything and anything come and gone, create with what you have, destruction is not evil nor good it is simply empty and emptiness, in the end, is enemy to us all." Umbra, in here misinterpreted way, had the most valuable lesson the harlequin would learn for the trials ahead. Where dreams and nightmares tread and evil and good create and destroy, Sylince was to walk the thin gray line only the Knowing could see and only the Knowing could maintain. "Do not forget," she smiled without a mouth, "the difference between them is as thin as where black and white meet." ....Sylince had been thinking of it for time these days, not sleeping of course, laying on a rough bed of collected soft things beneath a crumbling but trustworthy bit of roof that remained; the second floor had been less well built than the first. A sigh pressed between face and mask and made the air visible and the harlequin shook a foot over a knee to make bells ring away the quiet. The tufts that lines the walls and corners all swayed with pleasant movements to the sound. "To create, all of us, we have the power to bring things not just into a world, not just into thought, but into existence. Imagine had we not been imagined or created," the tufts began to shudder rather comically. Sylince giggled and agreed picking out, now, the bits of white that were stars and the bits of white that was falling snow before is slipped through the holes in the mock-roof. Sylince had come to Rhydin without purpose or know how or meaning and thus far had not seemed to care, happy being a bit of black and white eyesore or a rumor or in the paper even. Spreading word of ones thoughts was all the more rewarding when people reacted, but recently things had begun to look like they would not continue to go well. Not so much for Sylince, but for the whole of the lands. Buildings were being senselessly destroyed, people senselessly murdered, monsters senselessly destroyed....it was a senseless mess of unnatural decay and unpiecing of a civilization. Sylince had once, some time ago, been pulled between the forces of a war, had seen atrocities and unnecessary help and effort and had brought down the walls of zealous extremism and crumbled their division so as to bring the moderation and gladness of peace. But remembering the past, or bits of what may have been real was not solving the gut twisting sensation that fought away the cold, "What am I supposed to do?" The harlequin never wondered in times of general chaos or unorganized peace. The peoples here were strange and their wills were wild and free to and drawn in all directions. Streets were littered now with the calm and happy notes that Sylince had laid out with chalk and stone and charcoal. The forest bared home to the generous snow statues of the Centre Tower and the symbols of balance. But it didn't matter, not here anyway, these things were too close to the harlequin's world, to the harlequin's home to make a difference. In this place something remarkably drastic would have to take place. In what was once a home, now broken, the harlequin laid beneath the stars to look up and to wonder and to devise and the night passed and the tufts swayed and the snow fell and despite the chaos the world turned and the trees shivered and the wind blew and no one with all of their might could stop the way things went with or without them. Sylince smiled at the beautiful way the stars and worlds were governed, the Will of all things was to be glad, and so the harlequin was, cold, but glad.

The door was missing and the home was open and the harlequin was quiet.

TheSylince

Date: 2007-12-24 14:03 EST
For four days Sylince had spent most of the time pouncing through melting snow packs in what was a very strange warmth. But now the snow was falling again and breaths were clouding all around peoples faces, it was a perfect time to be out and about to look down on things as they were. There was a nook just sized for a harlequin to comfortably slip through and stand on what was left of a second story roof that sometimes crumbled in the wind. From this ledge a small series of drain pipes and forgotten debris made for relatively safe passage to the buildings surrounding. In fact, Sylince had discovered that if you went around one way and watched, you would eventually come back to where you started, only from the other direction. The harlequin had suspected that all of these things had been connected like this for a reason and, because it went in a circle where the scenery down below always changed, it was one of Sylince's favorite things to do. Today it was cloudy, like many other days that snowed, and before the clouds had come, Sylince had been reading a book that had been dropped and was missing the middle page. A bright orange book with a shine and a strangely drawn white figure on the front. Dr. Suess's "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" was printed in silly letters. Sylince was glad to be able to read, the story was wonderful. The harlequin had read the story some thirteen times in a row before the people walking by and pointing up had instilled in Sylince a desire to move about. In the streets, liquidly passing through the ever moving labyrinth of people, when they were there, the harlequin bounced and trotted and moved the time away. Stopping first at the fountain at the market place where terrible things had been happening. In a quiet, special way, Sylince said a rhyme for the well being of the people who should pass the fountain and moved on. The walk ended on the other side of the city at the wall where the land began again and the trees grew tall. The pillars had all gone missing and the trees seemed lonely and forgotten. The rest of the day, it seemed, would be spent on the border, listening to the world that not many cared to notice.