2024-12-30 - Where the Falling Angel Meets the Rising Ape

With Christmas past and New Year's still looming, the park is busy with tourists on their winter breaks, spending their end-of-year bonuses on family vacations, or using tickets given to them as gifts. The employees don't get much of a break, but for many, the perks of the park are worth the busy hours they've put in. River Village is bustling with traveling characters roaming through the square.

One employee not in a costume is Doctor Sullivan -- he's not in his scrubs he wears in the clinic, either, but street clothes -- jeans, boots, a hunter-green sweater, and a beat up leather jacket. Normally he's not the one to go out and attend to the health problems in the park; if they're serious enough, they come to him, but with staff stretched, everyone does what they must.

A fellow employee tended to and sent home with a prescription of take two and call me in the morning more or less, Sully now ambles around the square curiously -- there's not really enough time to go back to the clinic before his work day is through, and he hasn't truly looked around this corner of the park.

Around a corner in a little strategic nook, one of many that the entertainment types frequent, Scheherazade the Storyteller (also known as Cait) is plying her trade -- specifically, she is telling the story of Thumbelina, the tiny girl who sleeps in a walnut shell and is carried off by a toad. As she tells the story, her eyes bright, her voice clear and melodic, all around the little clearing, enormous flowers seem to grow up out of the ground, unfurling beautiful but massive petals as big as Priuses, with giant blades of grass shooting up around them, as her audience is made to feel quite small indeed -- and at first, her audience is too wrapped up in the story to notice, until with a graceful leap and a swirl of her bohemian skirts, the storyteller hops up onto a bluebell the size of a mailbox and perches atop of it to continue her tale --

"Poor Thumbelina, carried away by a mean old toad -- and that mean old toad had a very rude, very stinky son, and she meant to marry poor Thumbelina off to him so they'd have someone to wash up all of their sticky toad dishes." Shivering in horror, Cait leans forward, eyes bright, as behind her, a shimmering image of Thumbelina hops and scampers across the flowers to get away -- and as she scampers, a massive butterfly, wings beautiful and bright, flutters down, and carries Thumbelina away to safety.

As an abridged tale, the storyteller relays that there were many further adventures of the tiny girl, but that as with all good stories, it is a happy ending yet to come -- and the massive flowers and oversized grass slowly recede, disappearing into the clearing, as the storyteller hops off her oversized bluebell and gives a grand curtsy to her audience.

Cait's familiar-ish voice pulls Sully's focus that way, and he watches for a moment before drawing closer, just in time for those ephemeral blades and flowers to grow up out of the ground, dwarfing the children who watch the storyteller, rapt in her tale.

He reaches out to touch one of the flowers, running his hand along the oversized petal and marveling at the way velvety texture, wondering its very tangibility when he knows very well that it's just a construct of Cait's mind and going to slip away into nothing in a moment.

When that moment comes, and she finishes her story, Sully adds to the applauds that they grant her when she curtsies. He finds a spot to lean, to watch her interactions with both awed children and adults alike, rather than interrupt her while she's working.

At the end of her performance, Scheherazade the Storyteller gives out little trinkets to the children who want a reminder of their experience -- small silk and paper flowers like the giant ones they saw, or a little origami toads for those not interested in flowers, and she smiles charmingly to the parents and others who come up to her afterwards; it isn't too long before the small crowd wanders off to go explore the other wonders of the park, and she gives a little stretch and glances around.

Her costume consists mostly of pretty bright skirts in a few layers, with a classic Ren Fair belt & dangly things bodice; her hair is braided and twisted around in a pretty way, but mostly hangs loose to her waist, threaded with pretty beads. It's mostly a vaguely bohemian, non-specific sort of fantasy look, and it lets her wear tall, comfortable boots without high heels, giving her a leg up over traditional princess fare at least. When she finally notices Sully, she smiles brightly and greets him with a cheery wave. "Hey."

He watches, grinning at the kids who run by him, and when the little nook has cleared, he pushes out of his lean to walk a little closer to her.

"Hey," Sully returns, reaching into the inner pocket of his leather jacket to pull out two wrapped striped candy sticks, like candy canes sans the hook, and offers her her choice. "My tip for looking after one of the confectioners," he says. "The pink is dragonfruit and the green is kiwi, I think. But I'll tip you with one of them since that was a very pretty little story. And not so little, as it turns out."

He gestures to where the flowers have all disappeared. "Pretty impressive. I didn't realize they'd be strong enough to stand on. More useful than you made it out to be. You tell these fanciful tales, but undersell yourself, I think." It's not said unkindly. He nods to her. "How are you?"

"Oh, if it goes well, they're quite real while it lasts -- I can do a fairly large area, and with sound or touch or taste, too. It's a bit unpredictable, so I only use it for a bit of flash, really. If I'm not good enough to entertain without the magic, I should give in and retire," Cait says with a laugh. She perks up and chooses the pink candy, "Thanks. I never turn down a tip -- especially when it's candy. How've you been? No catastrophes to worry about, I hope?"

She sidles into a little nook near one of the buildings a few steps away, covered with an overhang, conveniently tucking out of sight of the main pathways to have a little break from the attention of those passing by.

He unwraps the green when she takes the pink, sticking in one side of his mouth -- a bit like one might tuck a cigarette, maybe, though there's no lingering scent of tobacco on him to suggest he's currently a smoker.

"You're plenty good without it, I'd say, except that today's kids," he says, glancing as some run by on the main path, "are so surrounded by tech and media that it's hard to keep their attention without a little flash and fancy, or so I imagine." He grins. "I sound like my ol' granda or something, don't I."

It's not really a question.

"Anyway, I don't know if there's something about whoever gives us these powers -- some of us got some that fit us or our callings or what have you. I'd say you did, as well, and you put it to good use. It's quite the wonder -- I'm not sure when I'll get used to it, but I'm happy to say it isn't today."

He glances over his shoulder for a moment, at her question as to catastrophes. "Nothing too terrible. The usual sorts of maladies but I haven't had to deal with anything truly dangerous, knock on wood." He reaches out to knock on a rail of a fence that is probably really vinyl, but it'll do in a pinch.

"Hmm, yes, as a stealth octogenarian, I can confirm that you sound like a grandpa," Cait confirms with a laugh. She looks wistful for a moment, glancing back towards the now empty little patch of path where she did her most recent show. "I suppose I've always been a bit of a dreamer, but I'm not sure what it means that my affinity is for illusions -- maybe that I prefer the dream, most of the time, to something real. Ah, well. That's a bit sad now, and I think I'm going to just enjoy my sweet and stop thinking on it."

She is unabashedly delighted as she sticks the candy into her mouth and gives it a proper lollying, which isn't a word but should be.

"Kids only learn what they're taught, or what they're given time to figure out for themselves -- if they're losing their whimsy or their knack for being delighted at simple things, that's a bit more on the world that's not giving them time to breathe, I think. There's nothing like being bored for a few hours to kick up the creativity muscles. But I suppose the observations of an outsider to the parenting race aren't exactly welcome or needed in most respects." She pulls a wry grimace, as if she's had her fair share of "you aren't a parent, you don't know anything" conversations over the years.

"That's right, I forgot all about that," Sully says with a laugh, recalling their prior conversation when he had posited she might actually be a fae who last pretended to be a human several decades ago. "It makes sense you prefer it here where you don't have to keep up with the times."

His eyes crinkle with some merriment, but then as she gets a little philosophical -- and sad -- about her ability, his brows draw together and looks a little apologetic.

"Now I've gone and made you feel sad, which makes me feel sad. I didn't mean to drag you down. I don't think it's sad, necessarily -- only that you have a vision for things to be better than they are. You can call it sad that things aren't the way you want them, but I see it as a good thing, myself."

He glances down, scuffing a boot into the path for a moment, then nodding in agreement with her take on kids and their parents. "It's not the kids' fault, that's for sure. We -- as a society, I mean, because I sure don't have any kids -- want to give them so much but we actually take away a lot by giving them everything their little hearts desire. You go places that don't have any screens to worry about screen time? Those kids are thinking critically and creatively. The games they come up with when they don't have televisions or iPads... I once saw a play with all the angst of a Shakespearean tragedy put on with ragtag action figures and Barbie dolls older than I am, because that's all the kids had to play with."

"Humans have been making stories with whatever they have handy ever since they stood up for the first time -- stories about bears becoming constellations, or heroes holding up the sky, or stealing fire from the gods. Kids will keep doing it, one way or another," Cait says philosophically, before she adds drily, "It'll just be Minecraft-themed and have a bunch of words anyone over the age of 25 doesn't understand. But I think that's how it always goes, more or less."

She shakes her head a bit, smiling, "Now, how can I be sad when I have a dragonfruit candy? Besides, people need dreams. To quote Sir Terry, 'People need fantasies to make life bearable -- to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape'. I don't mind being a bearer of that torch...even if I can't heal a wound or mend a broken heart."

"Mm, true. Wise beyond your years -- or are you?" Sully says with a mock-suspicious squint as she speaks of stories adapting to the times. But the faux suspicion becomes another broad grin, much more suited to his face.

But as she speaks, he shakes his head, and pulls the candy stick out of his mouth to point it at her. "See, that's where you're wrong. With the right words and the right story, I think you can mend a broken heart, or at least help take the ache away while time does the rest. I know I've been made more whole by reading some books or poems. Those stories can fill a crack in us we didn't know we had."

He huffs a laugh as he rubs his mouth and looks up at the sky for a moment, like he could read what he's just said and check for errors -- that is not a talent he has, but some do. But then he nods, apparently not planning to amend his words.

"All right, I'll give you that one," Cait allows, another laugh sneaking out. "Not that I'm an ancient fae, but that stories can help with a bit of heartbreak. Honestly, I think that's more empathy than just the stories themselves -- that feeling that you aren't in it alone, you know? A good story can make the world seem a little less lonely."

Unbidden, she looks up at the sky, too, and after a moment, a ✅ floats gently across the sky above them. "I think you got it, yeah," she says innocently.

He smirks when he sees the check mark approving of his little statement of belief, and he looks over at her again, popping the stick back into the side of his mouth.

"What are stories but an attempt to understand the human condition, and tell one another we aren't alone? Though I'm not sure I have a lot in common with your little Thumbelina these days, I probably could find something to relate to, even if I was never a tiny little girl the size of a thumb." He holds out his own thumb, to squint at it, perhaps trying to picture the mouse-sized girl, before he slides his hand back in his pocket.

With a tip of his head in the direction that will eventually lead to the ferry, Sully asks, "You off soon or working this evening? That was my last house call, so to speak, not that I usually make them. I'm heading back to Crescent here soon. If you're heading that way in the next hour or so, I can wait around, take the ferry over with you?"

"Ah, but you were a young one once, yes? Out on your own for the first time, figuring things out? Hans Christian Anderson's tales linger for us because at their heart, they're about the sorts of human experiences so many of us have. Or at least that's what I think. The Little Mermaid longing for another life, or the Ugly Duckling finding the family that actually loves them when their own rejects them." Cait tilts her head, lilting philosophical again for a moment, before she smiles again and glances down.

"I'm done with my shows, but I was going to do a little walk around and do some charming along the way -- I've got the evening off, but they like us to meander offstage in character. But if you don't mind taking the slow way, yeah, that'd be nice."

"Me? No. I was born fully sprung from my father's head like Pallas Athena, but I get your point," Sully says with a grin. "Especially as it agrees with my point. We're of an accord, Madame."

When she agrees that she's almost off for the evening, but for her little meandering and charming, he nods. "I'll follow from a distance so the children don't wonder why their beloved storyteller's hanging around with a Sons of Anarchy extra. Not that they know that show. Jaysus, where does the time go?" His brogue creeps in on that last bit.

"I'll grab us some coffees along the way for the trip over. It may not be as cold as this neck of the woods should be here on the isles, but it's chilly enough on the water," he adds. "You have any requests? Of course you could make your own, and get all the warmth with none of the insomnia, I suppose."

"Oh, I'd love a black coffee -- but yeah, decaf would be good. Much as I'd love to stay up all night, those days are behind me and I have the early show tomorrow." Cait grins. "I used to do hot chocolate, because you know, who doesn't love a cocoa...but oof, the sugar rush."

She laughs and shakes her head, admitting, "Biker chic doesn't quite work with the Ye Olde Village aesthetics, sadly. But don't worry about it too much. When I'm working, people's eyes stay on me." With a grin and a little wink, she finishes her candy and steps out of the alcove, ready to do her little bit of character walk on the way off for the night -- nothing too crazy, just pulling coins and flowers from behind ears and the like.

"Decaf it is. Meet you at the finish," Sully says with a grin, letting her walk off before he starts a slow, ambling stroll. It's easy enough to take in the sights while keeping up with her meandering course through the crowds, and the oohs and aahs of the guests responding to her magic make it easy to find her if he loses sight

Coffee is found along the way, to keep them warm on the ferry ride back to Crescent.