Three Twisted Knots

We headed away from the Faire. And for me, away from the Faire, from my last glimpse of her (and in retrospect I think she and the satyr ducked into a shop to avoid me), meant also away from Faerie. The Roads we travel are old, old and winding, and they take us to, well. To everywhere, I guess you could say. Sometime during the first day after we left the Faire, I began to feel a little different, a little odd, a little like fleeing back to Faerie. But I won’t. I won’t do it. And they’re starting to tease me. “Uncle!” they say. “Uncle! You look so pale and wan!” Ritual words from ritual ballads about the way a man’s skin goes pale and his appetite goes, the farther he gets from Faerie, and how he is never the same. I had one of the tinker girls lend me her hand mirror, and, yes. I am paler than I was yesterday. I rather like it. I like this change in my skin. It will be a mark, the first mark, of my emigration from Faery.

Around dawn on the second day, I looked out the vardo door and saw…. power lines. Joy. “Boys!” I said. “We’re heading into some more modern country; better fix up the vardo so it looks more … presentable while I go check out the surroundings. “Yes, Uncle.” I’m not sure how many of them are actually nieces and nephews, but they all call me Uncle, which is much better than being called King. My father was the Gypsy King: I am his son, Davey.

I walked the length of the power lines, all set above some strange, watery surface that seemed to have no depth at all, yet reflected everything around them as if all were liquid glass, until I came to a Crying Girl.

We find Crying Girls in many places we visit: I am convinced they are the relics of some ancient civilisation. My father said when he was a child he made a game out of marking his initials on each one his band found. He said he never found one that already had his initials on it in a new place, which I guess is some comfort. And his initials weren’t on this Crying Girl.

The land was deserted, barren but for a few trees. But the things we find in these places! I don’t think I can really use a bicycle delivery truck, but it was worth a look. Seemed to be in perfect working order and miraculously free of rust, given its environment. Though—I don’t know that I’d trust whatever was in those sacks.

See that hill behind me? It’s the highest place I could see. Of course, I had to climb it, because how do you get the lay of the land except by climbing to the highest point?

What I found there surprised me: A little yard full of sheep (Why are there always sheep?), and further up, a working neon sign that said the place was “Open”. Well, open it was, though it certainly wasn’t properly open for business.

I couldn’t resist playing a little game. So I said, to nobody but the slightly disturbing taxidermy, “Good afternoon, madam. Welcome to the Nameless Coffeehouse. I’m the Gypsy Davey, and I’ll be your server for today.”

Of course, nobody answered. All that silence, the desolate beauty of it all.

It made me think, think about what my life might have been like, had I travelled another road; or if I’d not travelled at all. What would it be like, to work in a coffeehouse, day after day, and then one day to look up and find the woman of my dreams asking me to make her a latté?

Which of course took my thoughts back to Fair Elfland.

Which of course made me want to leave the coffeehouse and never look back;

which I did.

Oh, there were many wonders to be seen. A busking spot in front of a transport station that couldn’t possibly have ever been usable. I had my doubts about the guitar as well, but I didn’t pick it up: it’s been too long, and my callouses are gone, anyway. Must get a guitar though. Soon.

Eventually, I wondered round to find a sign that said, “Welcome to WindWept.” So the place has a name. There were portal windows there, advertising visits to other nearby realms, but I knew I had to get back and see how the boys were doing: the sun should have been high in the sky by this point, but overhead there was the same dull grey. The only evidence that the sun ever shone here is the shocking green of the trees against that paper-like sky.

When I got back to where we’d parked the vardo, the boys had a surprise for me. They’d glamoured the wagons to look like a delivery truck, put the whole thing up on blocks, even made us a little decoration, and a fire. The fire, at least, was welcome.

“Boys,” I said, “What do you think you’re doing? We’re not staying here. There’s no people, no work. We’re passing through. You glamour the vardo, but you glamour it so it’s still mobile.”

The biggest boy glared at me. “Uncle,” he said, “We’ve been working for hours. You never said we needed to keep moving.”

“Lad, lad, lad. We always keep moving. You must never, ever make anything that couldn’t be packed up to move within an hour’s time, and preferably less.” I sat down on one of the shabby lawn chairs, stretched my legs out, felt the fire warm the soles of my boots. “Back to work, the lot of you. Don’t mind me: I’ll just sit here and wait ’til we’re ready. Brought you some coffee: I made it myself.”

Style Card:
Skin:  7 Deadly s{K}ins: B UniQue Kurt, Caramel, available at the 7 Deadly s{K}ins Mainstore.
Hair: Damselfly: Gustov, Onyx
Clothes: Les Encantades: Finrod, Ruby (from We ❤ RP)
Necklace: glYph: Miraculous Necklace, Black from We ❤ RP)
Hands: SLink

Location:
WindWept is a water sim created by Inez Pennell and Cinderr Resident, and it is gorgeous. As with so many of these things, I discovered the location through Ziki Questi, who remains my favourite SL place blogger no matter how many other great art and location blogs I read. The extra locations, which you get to by clicking window portals, are also fun to visit; I just didn’t think they fit this part of The Gypsy Davey’s story. If you have a moment, take the time to visit WindWept.

Spiffy photos taken with the indispensible aid of my LumiPro. Go look at the web page. Yes, I know they’re expensive. If you want to take amazing photos in SL, they’re worth every Linden.