ArchivedLogs:Baklava

Baklava
Dramatis Personae Sage
In Absentia	Sunday night Part of Morpheus TP.
Location in dreams
It's a pleasant morning in New York. The sun is shining, birds are singing, the smell of baking fills the air inside a small apartment. A woman, about her late thirties-early forties is inside the kitchen of the apartment, baking some sort of pastry, whistling and over-all cheerful. And then from a bedroom..emerges Sage, wearing a white night gown, her glasses gone and her blue eyes radiating. Her voice actually sounds cheerful, though still has bits of her usual tone and her same speech patterns. "Mother, that smells delicious. What are you baking?". The woman turns to Sage, a silver pendant hanging around her neck. "Baklava. Your father won't be home tonight, so it'll just be you and me.". Sage smiles, another usually rare feat for her. "That sounds fantastic!". The baklava /is/ delicious, really. It's pouring out of the oven, a delicious crispy-flaky honey-laced tumble of golden-baked pastry that soon laces the table and fills the apartment with rich warm scent. Birds flock to the windowsill, perhaps attracted by the aroma in hopes of getting a crumb. One particularly daring bird, brilliantly plumed in purple and glittering gold with ruby-red eyes, hops inside and flutters over to perch on Sage's shoulder, preen gently at her hair. Nuzzle impossibly-soft feathers against the pendant. At the arrival of the birds, especially the beautiful one that lands on her shoulder, she grows a big grin, spinning around and waving out a hand to invite all the birds in. "You can all come in! There's enough for all of you!". As the bird reaches at her pendant, Sage's mother, Darina, puts out a finger to stroke it, smiling as well. "They are all so beautiful. Just like you. Try the baklava, I made it just how you like it.". At this, Sage is taking a piece of the pastry, biting into it, her smile widening. The flock of birds /descends/, each of them just as bright as the last, a brilliantly coloured array of plumage as they scatter around the countertops onto the feast of baklava. The kitchen fills up with music, the twittering of birdsong singing not any normal chirruping but a soft rendition of the moonlight sonata that floods the apartment in a chorus of gentle birdlike notes. It doesn't seem to stop them /descending/ on the baklava. Peckpeckpeck, mmm. /Mmm/. The bird on Sage's shoulder hops up onto her head, a little birdy /hat/ that bobs up and down in time with the music. Honey drips from the pastries. Sticky-sweet. Coating the floor. Coating the everything. Bobbing in a little /lake/ of honey, filling the apartment like it's turning into a honey-ocean. The song continues in soft chirruping. As the birds enter and the apartment turns to honey, Darina steps up and sits on the counter, a smile on her face, inviting Sage up with a hand. Sage's grin is even wider as the music plays, her dancing her way up to the counter with her mother, dipping her feet into the ocean of honey. "It's so sweet and sticky, but it's beautiful! Just listen to them go!". Sage has started chiming in with the birds, her mother's whistling also changing tune, as Sage pets the bird on her head. One of the birds swoops over, plucking the baklava out of Sage's hands with a mischievous tweet. The bird on Sage's head nuzzles into the petting. Climbs down Sage's arm, scooting off towards her neck. A quick peck of beak has plucked the pendant off Darina's neck, and the bird /dives/ off into the honey-pool, swimming off deep into the glistening gold to dive deep with the necklace glinting in a shimmering trail behind him. And vanish. The honey melts away. The music melts away. The everything melts away. But when morning comes (with a shining /rainbow/ of multicoloured snow falling in fluffy flakes outside the windows), the silver pendant rests glittering on the table at Sage's bedside. With one very vividly purple and one -- /real/ gold-flaked? -- feather resting over top.