"Yeah, no, I get it," Dylan agrees, nodding. He's not about to force anyone to join the Eye, either, even if there are perks that come with that, too. "I was just kinda thinking out loud."
He might continue thinking, albeit much more quietly, even if it gets him no where. It would be nice for all the kids who don't have the advantages he and Hope do to be able to have a little freedom during the full moon, without having to worry about hurting someone.
Later, though. Right now, they seem to be coming up on the perimeter of the party-proper, a man playing bouncer for anyone who might have impossibly made it this far sitting on a stump, nearby.
He stands as they approach, glancing between Hope and Dylan, then back again, his eyes lingering on her for a second too long. Dylan draws his attentions back to him with a terse, "She's with me."
He sits back down, apparently cowed, and Dylan guides Hope past him and towards the crowd.
"There's your usual party shit," he tells her, nodding to where stalls serving food and drinks have been set up -- or, well, maybe 'set up' is bad wording. Instead, they look miraculously like they've been carved out of trees, still living, or woven entirely out of fresh spring flowers. Miraculously, in either case, they don't seem to be hurting anything, whatever the stalls have spawned from still somehow alive. There's probably magic involved, to be perfectly honest. Either way, Dylan doesn't seem particularly surprised, himself.
"And there's some games -- " He nods towards what appears to be a hedge maze in the distance, the concept of walking a labyrinth as part of more somber ritual made into something more entertaining. A gesture to a group running around with a football follows -- there are also more traditional games, too, albeit with a slightly more violent lent. " -- and then some more traditional shit."
Somewhere, someone is standing on a tree stump, telling a story -- a fantastical view of history. Somewhere else, there's a more traditional labyrinth for self-reflection and meditation. There's a ritual being prepared, somewhere else. And so on and so forth, though music and sound seem present through it all.
Also through it all, beyond the man on the door, no one seems to have noticed Hope, for better or worse. Right now, for today, she's one of them.
no subject
He might continue thinking, albeit much more quietly, even if it gets him no where. It would be nice for all the kids who don't have the advantages he and Hope do to be able to have a little freedom during the full moon, without having to worry about hurting someone.
Later, though. Right now, they seem to be coming up on the perimeter of the party-proper, a man playing bouncer for anyone who might have impossibly made it this far sitting on a stump, nearby.
He stands as they approach, glancing between Hope and Dylan, then back again, his eyes lingering on her for a second too long. Dylan draws his attentions back to him with a terse, "She's with me."
He sits back down, apparently cowed, and Dylan guides Hope past him and towards the crowd.
"There's your usual party shit," he tells her, nodding to where stalls serving food and drinks have been set up -- or, well, maybe 'set up' is bad wording. Instead, they look miraculously like they've been carved out of trees, still living, or woven entirely out of fresh spring flowers. Miraculously, in either case, they don't seem to be hurting anything, whatever the stalls have spawned from still somehow alive. There's probably magic involved, to be perfectly honest. Either way, Dylan doesn't seem particularly surprised, himself.
"And there's some games -- " He nods towards what appears to be a hedge maze in the distance, the concept of walking a labyrinth as part of more somber ritual made into something more entertaining. A gesture to a group running around with a football follows -- there are also more traditional games, too, albeit with a slightly more violent lent. " -- and then some more traditional shit."
Somewhere, someone is standing on a tree stump, telling a story -- a fantastical view of history. Somewhere else, there's a more traditional labyrinth for self-reflection and meditation. There's a ritual being prepared, somewhere else. And so on and so forth, though music and sound seem present through it all.
Also through it all, beyond the man on the door, no one seems to have noticed Hope, for better or worse. Right now, for today, she's one of them.