#earth and sky

[coco9728]

Awww I love this!💕

They always have each others backs.💙💚

Hey Brother

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Scott

They have each other.  Always.

Day seven of Earth&Sky and I am mildly amazed I actually managed to complete it!  Big thanks to both @flyboytracy and @sonatanotwo for organising this week - it’s been a lot of fun and shoved me a little way out of my comfort zone (so much Virgil!).

Scott falls.

That’s not an unusual state of affairs.  Virgil lost count years ago, if he ever kept one in the first place, of the number of times he’s seen Scott fall.  What goes up must come down, and Scott’s always been one for going up.

Climbing on the back of the couch, climbing onto the roof, climbing up trees.  Up, up, up, because big brother always wanted to touch the sky.

The inevitable falls were varied.  Sometimes they were controlled, a simple jump from a safe height that had Scott flashing a cheeky, innocent grin at whichever adult had told him to get down from there, Scott.  (It’s the exact same grin Gordon started using when it was his turn to be the troublemaker.) Sometimes they should have been controlled, Scott having something on hand that should have kept him safe during the descent but didn’t always do its job – Virgil still vividly remembers the day he leapt from the top of the old oak with a folded bedsheet for a parachute, and the broken arm that followed.

Most of the time, it fell into varying levels of control.  Scott flies high but he knows how to land, because his family are there and he’s worried them enough in his lifetime not to take some level of care over it.  Virgil was not the only person who made sure Scott’s IR gear was chock full of ways to slow and stop his falls – whether it be a jetpack, remote controls for his Thunderbird, or grapples.  Even a wingsuit snuck its way in, for particularly reckless stunts.

Keep reading

[edutainer2022]

A cold, vicious cyclone caught me unawares in the middle of the city the other day, right as I decided it was too hot for the coat. So, naturally, Scott gets under the weather in NYC, quite literally (and is being a stubborn doofus about it). It's an Earth and Sky fluff, but in the end, John decided he wanted in, so Earth and Star have a good hearty chat too. Virgil and John are being very good brothers. Absolutely nothing hurts. A greatful boop to @idontknowreallywhy, @astranite and @janetm74 for soft fabrics and Top Gun featuring.

UNDER THE WEATHER

The perks of living on a tropical island included not only it being remote, secluded and perfect to house a state-of-the-art rescue operation. It was also the whole being TROPICAL deal. Whenever one stepped out - it was reliably warm. The downside of living on a remote tropical island was losing the habit to navigate the regular four-seasons weather. Or the fickle New York City climate.

Truthfully, Scott didn't miss it much. Of course, he'd be fondly nostalgic about Kansas and snow slides, or, would occasionally get caught up in the inherent wistful mood of early NYC fall. But he definitely didn't miss THIS - being caught up in the icy torrent and orange warning winds two blocks away from the Tracy Tower. In nothing but his dress shirt and slacks.

They were at Tracy Industries headquarters with Virgil for the better half of the week. Virgil was involved in pre-screening the latest batch of R&D pitches, before they would move on to Brains and John for the final approval and production. Scott was held hostage by the Department of Finance for budget amendments and redistribution.

When the opportunity presented itself, well into the afternoon, to escape his own untimely death by paperwork or premeditated murder of a high ranking employee, Scott ran for the hills, slipping expertly beneath the radar of Kayo's handpicked security detail.

His underlying motive was quite noble - to walk to that coffe-shop Virgil liked and get his brother and himself some decent coffee. Virgil loved coffee and Scott loved Virgil - the rationale for his sortie was ironclad. Of course, pursuing exclusively immaculate fraternal care didn't provide for ditching his earpiece and wrist com. The hasty retreat also meant his designer (and more importantly in his current predicament - woolen) jacket got left hanging on the back of his chair by the bay window. He forgot this wasn't Tracy Island, the sun outside the window and climate control in the offices and their penthouse at the top of the Tracy Tower lulled his vigilance. And now, without a comm to get a timely warning from Eos or to call a cab (or the security SUV with a profound apology, or One from the landing pad on the roof), Scott was caught in the sudden onslaught of a cyclone.

The prudent thing to do would be to go back to the Tower. So, of course, Scott decided in favor of the opposite and broke into a run for the rest of the distance to the coffee place. The relentless laws of physics - speed and resistance - made sure he was soaked through the very last thread of clothing on his body and chilled to the bone by the time he got there.

His hair plastered to the forhead, the supershiny gel having lost the round with the freezing downpour, rivers of water drained down from the top of his head all the way past the suit slacks and dress shoes splashed in muck. There were poodles of water INSIDE his shoes. His socks were wet. His shirt was drenched. The squelching of the fabric as he walked up to the counter suggested he was wet EVERYWHERE. Yuk! That, at least, he didn't know as he was getting numb all over from the cold.

Scott was aware he probably looked like a wet stray cat. It was that or his shirt became see-through in the rain - as a barrista with a cute smile tried to waive his fee for the coffee. Unacceptable! He paid for two extra large, extra strong brews,  and rushed out, stifling a sneeze. Must have been the shirt, since one of the take-away cups had a phone number scrolled on the side. Which was a small consolation, as he broke into a jog again, making his way back through the raging elements.

***

The Tracy Industries front desk in the lobby, thankfully, didn't detain him, so he snuck into the elevator, not making eye contact with anyone. It was getting increasingly hard to hold the coffee cups - his hands were numb and shaking, and his teeth were clattering in time with full body shivers. Scott was sure he had hit the executive floor button, but the elevator made no stop, gliding all the way up to the private penthouse. Figures. He'd probably earned himself a lecture not only from the on site security team, but from John as well.

The door slid open on his approach across an antechember and he was welcomed in the hallway by a wall of flannel presided by furrowed black brows. Scott brandished the procured coffee cups like a shield, instinctively. He would sound more nonchalant if he were not stuttering from the cold.

"Hey, Virg, I got your favorite coffee!"

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

Virgil was holding a massive towel, or maybe a full body length terrycloth sheet, like an unfurled banner, and appeared completely unmoved by Scott's heroic endeavor.

"How very kind of you! Now step on the rug and strip. I'm not mopping after you!"

Scott looked down and found himself standing, indeed, on one of Gordon's old bright pool towels. It was already soaked halfway through with all the water Scott was dripping. He felt marginally ashamed as the elevator likely sported poodles too. But it was hard to maintain several self-deprecating emotions at once, being that cold and miserable.

The styrofoam cups were tentatively deposited on the glove table. Scott peeled off his soaked dress shirt and shed the trousers more than eagerly, toed off wet (and probably ruined too) shoes. Francesco the designer would bite his head off. But that could wait. He needed something warm off the rack now! A move off the towel was aborted, however, by the reappearance of the Eyebrows over the terrycloth edge.

"Uh-uh! Everything, Scooter! You're NOT wedging your undies behind the shower stall. Again!"

Scott sighed. That was ONE TIME! He was sneaking back past the curfew and tried to conceal evidence. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. The moment the last wet cloth on him joined the pile on the floor, he was wrapped head to ankles in the sea of soft blue fabric and steered in the general direction of the shower.

"You know the drill! Try to warm up under hot water as long as you can. If you feel lightheaded - yell, I'll be right here."

The scolding shower helped somewhat. He could still feel the freezing grip around his ribs, but his extremities were not as numb anymore, at least. There was a stack of warm sleepwear waiting for him as he stepped out in the cloud of fog. Scott smiled - it was a motley assembly of his own clean trunks and sweatpants, a well-worn soft flannel shirt and a Denver Engineering hoodie, that swapmed his frame. Hair toweled off and curling every which way, he was mostly ready to venture back out into the colder world, but felt dead tired.

There was a nest of throw pillows and a blanket, assembled on the couch, unfolded to full length, in the living room. Scott made an immediate beeline for it and tugged the blanket around his shoulders, trying to fold his feet beneath as well. The shivers were crawling back. Virgil emerged from a door that was decidedly neither Scott's nor his own room, carrying a pair of fluffy bright orange socks and an extra comforter.

***

After some gentle, yet determined, coaxing, the orange socks were tugged onto Scott's icy cold feet and a second blanket was tucked snuggly around him. Virgil settled by his side against a couple of snatched pillows, pondering idly that they would need to get a spare weighted blanket for the penthouse too. They would also owe John more socks. The Scott-sized frozen burrito shuffled closer and Virgil wrapped an arm around his wayward big brother, offering more of his body warmth. The chills worried Virgil. Scott was fit and healthy, but he was chronically exhausted and hadn't been exposed to cyclones without IR-grade water-proof gear, or at least a raincoat, in a while.

"So... you wanna watch Top Gun?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Scott's face immediately shot up, beaming with a thousand suns. He also did an enthusiastic giant caterpillar wiggle, blanket and all. Virgil thought in that moment his core memory was probably Scott, all bright eyes, gap-teeth smile and dimples, bouncing with excitement and unbridled energy. He wished he got to revisit it more often.

The opening frames rolled on the holoscreen to the sound of the all too familiar Anthem. Virgil finally reached for so hard earned cup of coffee, now reheated, and couldn't contain a snort.

"Aw, Scooter, you actually scored a number for your troubles?"

It was obvious Scott wasn't going to last through the movie - his eyes were droopping and voice slurred, mostly muffled by plaid flannel.

"M'dashin'!"

A smaller hologram appeared at that exact moment on Virgil's comm. John looked way too amused:

"Actually, that's the number of a homeless shelter around the corner from the coffee shop."

Virgil's laughter full on rumbled at that. He raised a hand to ruffle the back of big brother's head:

"Oh yeah, you're a dashing idiot."

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

"Sure, Scotty! You're a cold, wet, dashing idiot."

There was no protest to that, just a soft, slightly stuffed snore. Virgil adjusted the hold on the now sound asleep biggest brother to snuggle him closer.

***

The F-14A Tomcat was playing chicken with a MiG-28 on the screen. John's hologram lingered. Virgil could tell the space ginger was concerned more than he let on. John finally spoke.

"Is he gonna be alright? Should I cancel his Friday?"

Untamed by the gel, the now dry and fluffy ringlets made it difficult to reach Scott's forhead, but the back of Virgil's hand found the way, careful not to disturb. The skin was cool to his touch, no signs of fever.

"He'll be alright. He just needs to warm up and sleep it off."

He moved to rub a soothing circle over Scott's back as the big brother relaxed deeper into sleep. It was sorely tempting to clear Scott's schedule for the next day and mandate more rest. But Virgil was aware it would pose a risk of Scott, not held down by a cold, hairing off to the island in One, insisting to be back on the roster, if not on TI business. That would be a shame, as a big part of the weekend, Virgil had been looking forward to, was going to see Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera with biggest brother.

John  was still hovering, unconvinced. Virgil siged, but smiled:

"Well, Johnny, unless you want to come down from orbit and join me at the box, I'd rather our reservation to a sold out six months in advance opera didn't fall through."

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

"I love you more than my life, brother, but I do draw a line at too many people doing too many loud things in a confined space. Call me Johnny and see how often I come down from orbit!"

Virgil stifled a huff of laughter, as Scott shuddered and groaned quietly, but, thankfully, didn't wake up. The warm-up circles over his back and shoulders resumed. Virgil hugged him closer. John shifted attention to the swaddled biggest brother in fond amusement.

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

"Apfelschtrudel from that place Gordon found. And he can preview the R&D projects I selected for Brains, if he gets bored. No call-outs, no reports, no work mail though."

The gazed Virgil fixed on John was full of fair warning. It was John's turn to smile.

"Don't worry. You love watching opera and Scott loves watching us doing what we love. He'll be fine. And locked out of his work accounts, for good measure."

Silence stretched for several moments, interrupted only by Scott's soft snoring.

Virgil looked down on the slumbering brother in his arms, then back at John.

"I wish he did more of what he loves. Just Scott. For himself - not for us, or for the company, or the world."

That wasn't an issue easily solved in a casual conversation through an impromptu movie night. If at all. John knew that too, all too well. The brother in orbit chewed on his lip, lost in thought.

"You could sugget he get coffee in that place again. She's a Hudson Uni postgraduate. Cultural Anthropology."

Virgil was mostly used to John's the Resident Genius thoughts veering in unexpected directions, but the ginger thoroughly lost him there.

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

John rolled his eyes in exasperation commonly reserved to explaining things to the bristling rescuees and a five year old Gordon.

"The barrista that gave Scott a shelter number today. She works part time and volunteers there often. One time she even volunteered at the IR disaster site. Remember, the sinkhole? She seems nice."

Top Gun closing scenes were replaced by assorted social media pages and university profile pages. Virgil gulped.

"John! You can't go doxxing random people!"

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

"I have Eos run background checks automatically on anyone who comes in contact with you guys. We can't take any chances!"

There was sound and, sadly, field proved reasoning behind what nearly cost them barely averted tragedy on several occasions. But still... Virgil kept staring at a pretty blond smiling from the holoscreen.

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

Turquoise eyes twinkled in nothing remotely resembling remorse. He still didn't cut off the call.

"Do you wanna come down here for the weekend?"

Virgil suddenly felt the need to have more brothers accounted for and within reach. There was hope in the way John actually gave it a thought.

"Only if you don't make me go to the opera. I ordered you pizza, by the way."

A wave of warmth washed over Virgil and he tightened the grip on Scott's frame instinctively.

"You're my favoretest brother not asleep at the moment!"

He was graced with another eyeroll.

"You spend entirely too much time around Gordon. I'll have Eos screen the calls and land the elevator on the Tower tomorrow evening, your time, if there's no major catastrophe."

Virgil resisted the urge to fistpupm in the air. Definitely too much time around Gordon. Another thought occurred to him as he remembered a detail John mentioned when vetting the unsuspecting compassionate barrista.

"Hey, John! Could you..."

"Right ahead of you, brother. An anonymous donation was made to the homeless shelter and free kitchen an hour ago."

And they said Virgil and Scott were uncanny telepathic. Then again, it was to be expected. Anyone who was genuinely kind and considerate to their favorite Idiot, or attempted to course-correct his destruction path, inadvertently gained a lifelong ally in every one of them. Maybe he really needed to nudge Scott to go get more of the good coffee tomorrow. Equipped with an umbrella that time around.

[flyboytracy]

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP-I-am-so-out-of-kilter-this-week-I-can’t-keep-track-of-what-day-it-is-but-suspect-I-missed-Wednesday

What the heck is going on here? I have the faintest of ideas but… who knows…

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Scott blinked rapidly as the second contact lens slipped into place. They deepened the shadows at the edge of his vision. The brown tint deliberately covered more of the pupil than would be usual - they couldn’t take any risk of the lighter colour creeping through.

“Scott… is this really…” Virgil began.

“Vee, if you have a better idea I would love to hear it. Dearly love to. But it’s got to be detailed and it’s got to be now.”

Virgil said nothing, but fiddled aimlessly with the items strewn across Scott’s desk, running his fingernail slowly across the teeth of a comb. The arrhythmic series of clicks was so un-Virgil it made Scott shiver.

He sighed and touched his brother’s shoulder lightly. Virgil shrugged him off and picked up the little pot of gel, turning it over in his fingers.

“It won’t be for long. I promise.”

Virgil remained quiet but turned and pushed Scott gently down into the chair and stood behind him, brown eyes meeting brown in the mirror. The family resemblance was stronger without the distraction of the blue, Scott realised.

Virgil ran his fingers through Scott’s hair, the way Mom used to. Scott swallowed hard and looked down at his knees, which seemed strangely detached from himself, clad as they were in black combats rather than blue denim. His breath caught and he closed his eyes. They didn’t have time for a sappy farewell, Scott knew that, he still had things to find, things to pack. But when it came down to it he couldn’t bring himself to tell his brother to stop, to relinquish this last moment of comfort.

His eyes flew open again as fingertips were replaced with the sharper edges of the comb. Virgil didn’t look up, but carefully coaxed Scott’s hair out of its usual style into a severe side parting, adding gel at intervals to smooth it down.

Scott could only stare at his reflection. He hated the new style with a passion. But couldn’t deny the impact: Scott Carpenter Tracy was nowhere to be seen.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

[stone-cold-groove]

Vintage primary school learning aid - Rocks.

[astranite]

Five Minutes But Maybe Forever

Earth and Sky ft. feverish Scott who's not having a good time and really needs a hug. Scott’s sick and scared because his brothers have left him. And he doesn’t do well being alone. Virgil makes sure he gets one.

Written from this prompt by @comfortingcatharsis :)

@edutainer2022 and @lying4sport as you both wanted to see feverish Scooter.

---

Virgil was gone for five minutes, absolute tops. He’d stepped out to go to the bathroom and refill his coffee mug, leaving a feverish Scott dozing with a hand brushed over his warm forehead to check his temperature and partly just for the contact, getting a mumbled affirmative in return.

The latest virus making the rounds of the Island had hit Scott hard, compounded by the utter exhaustion Scott fought through on a daily basis. He’d finally managed to get Scott to rest when he was weaker than a newborn kitten with a nasty hacking cough that had gone to his chest. Sitting with him as he looked over the latest update schematics for Two as proposed by Brains was both to enforce resting and keep Scott company as out of it as he was.

What Virgil hadn’t expected on his return was to find Scott curled into a ball on his bed, body heaving with sobs. The sounds were choked and painful, dragged out of his throat by gasping breaths. In between, they were broken by harsh, choked up coughs. 

The final detail that nearly shattered Virgil’s already split heart completely was how big brother clung to his abandoned flannel shirt, holding it protectively to his chest as if it the last piece of his brothers left in the universe. 

It was only because of the heat of the tropical day Virgil had taken the flannel off in favour of t-shirt beneath it on its own. He’d draped it over his chair by Scott’s bed and made sure Scott was tucked in before he stepped out; now the blankets were in disarray on the floor, with Scott’s desperation keeping the flannel, Virgil’s flannel close.

Virgil was back by Scott’s side in an instant. He reached for Scott slowly, wanting to do anything but startle and scare him further. 

What had happened in the brief time he’d been away? Unless he thought he was alone, Scott usually hid his hurt until he utterly couldn’t anymore. 

“I’m here, Scotty. You’re safe.” Virgil murmured reassurances without knowing exactly what was wrong. He grasped for what he could to comfort Scott, letting his voice fall into an even cadence in hopes it would get through the more than misery, the desolation rolling off of Scott in waves.

Scott tossed his head, mumbling.

“It’s Virgil. I’m right here,” he tried.

“Nuh uh.” Scott gripped the shirt tighter like he expected someone to tear it from his white knuckled grip. “Virgie’s gone.”

Tears welled up in Virgil’s own eyes. Dammit. He dashed at them as they threatened to track down his cheeks; he wasn’t ashamed of wearing his heart on his sleeve but right now he needed to concentrate on Scott.

Ever so carefully, Virgil pressed a hand to Scott’s shoulder, hoping for physical touch to get through to his brother and ground him. 

Scott froze; Virgil held his breath.

When Scott leant into his touch, resting his shoulder against Virgil’s palm with the force of his weight, his tears came to a startled pause as he registered Virgil’s presence. As he seemed to finally believe it. 

“I’m back, here with you and I’m not going anywhere, we’re going to be okay, Scotty. We’re safe and we’re gonna be okay.”

It became a hand rubbing circles on Scott’s back over his sweaty t-shirt, as Virgil eased himself closer to his brother. 

Feverish blue eyes pierced his. “You left me. You— you were gone.” Scott blinked in confusion, attempting to work out what was happening. 

Virgil crumpled. It was such a short time, he hadn’t thought to even alert John to watch over Scott in his absence.

“I’m so sorry, Scott.”

Scott frowned as he put the pieces together, like they kept trying to slip away. 

“How long was it actually?” It was a command, barely couched as a question.

“A few minutes. I thought you were okay, you were mostly asleep. Wasn’t sure you’d even notice,” Virgil admitted.

Scott scrubbed a shaky hand over his face. “Woke up from a nightmare and you weren’t there. The light had changed, so y’know, seemed like longer.”

Before he left, Virgil had pulled down the blinds to darken the room so it would be easier for Scott to sleep.

A shiver racked Scott’s body, transforming into trembling aftershocks. He’d be due for more fever meds soon, but frustratingly for all of Virgil that hated to see anyone hurting, not yet.

“Everything’s all blurry, blending together. Don’t know what day it is anymore. I can’t—” Scott cut himself off.

At that, Virgil gathered Scott into his arms as gently as he could, arranging lanky limbs so they would be comfortable as Scott barely moved to help, just let it happen.

“—didn’t think you were coming back. Everyone else abandons me too. I mean why wouldn’t they,” Scott mumbled into his neck as Virgil propped him up to lean on his chest.

Virgil swallowed, hard, to not break down there and then as his heart really did shatter. There were going to be messy, ugly paintings at some point later as he worked through all the emotions.

“Scott, listen to me. I will always come back to you. Nothing in the world could possible stop me.”

His big brother twisted around to look up at him with those bright, sky blue eyes filled with tears. 

“‘Cause we’re brothers?” Scott asked. 

“You’re my brother. I’ll always love you.”

Scott crumbled then, and it took Virgil a long, terrifying few seconds stretching out to realise it was in relief, even as Scott took a deep, sudden breath in and begun to cry like everything but the exhaustion had been wrung out of him.

It was less harshly than before but still interspersed with hiccups and coughs. 

Virgil wrapped Scott up closer, cradling him as Scott rested his head at the crook of Virgil’s neck and let him take his weight. All he wanted was for his brother to rest, to know that he could lay down his burdens because they were here for him. He could let Scott cry as he obviously needed to after the whiplash of thinking Virgil was gone, before Scott put back up the walls and bounds that he used to make himself who he thought everyone wanted of him to be, when his family wanted him to just be Scott. Hopefully, bit by bit, Virgil could get it through to him.

Fever made Scott far too warm to the touch, yet Scott was caught up in violent waves of shivers coming and going like the tides. 

Virgil picked up his flannel that Scott had abandoned in favour of Virgil himself and draped it around him. In spite of gentle coaxing, Scott wouldn’t or couldn’t let go for long enough to put his arms through the sleeves properly. Instead Virgil tucked it in, pulling up an extra blanket over them both. 

He settled back against the pillows, cuddling his big brother which went some way to mending his own heart and letting himself relinquish the guilt no matter how difficult that was to do. Beating himself up wouldn’t help Scott, he could only figure out how to do better next time. 

“You okay there, Scotty?” he checked in. 

The tears at least had slowed, reduced to the occasional catch in his breath where it brushed against Virgil’s neck. 

Scott shuffled to bury his face in Virgil t-shirt as he shrugged. It was probably the most honest Scott had been in answer to that question for a long time.

Rubbing a hand over his brother’s arm prompted Scott to tuck it around Virgil, clinging closer. He hated that Scott was hurting but he was ever so glad for the chance to hold Scott and comfort him while Scott let himself be held.

“‘m not going anywhere,” Virgil told him softly, “Before you worry, I don’t have anywhere I need to be.”

The schematics of Two he could look over here, and even then those could wait. 

With one arm securely around Scott, he reached over to the bedside table to grab his headphones and the bright blue water bottle there. 

He nudged Scott to drink as he fished around for the packet of tablets so he could take them too. 

After, Scott went limp against him, melting into the hug. Virgil pressed a kiss to his hair before carding through it in a gentle attempt to lull Scott to sleep, humming along softly to his music to keep away the silence. The less reminders Scott had of being alone, the better.

“Mmmm. Thanks for being here. Glad you’re here with me.” Scott words blended together in exhaustion but they told Virgil Scott would be okay. 

They both would be, because they were here together. 

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Star Lovers in Folk Tales: A Primer

Adapted from my Winter 2022 Twitter thread

One common variation of animal spouse tales is the star husband or star bride. In this case, the lover is a celestial creature from the otherworld of the sky. Sometimes they fall to earth, and other times they beckon a mortal to join them.

Star husband tales are common to North American indigenous cultures, often featuring pairs of maidens who long for more than mortal lovers and so are whisked into the sky to marry star husbands.

In these tales, the mortal brides are compelled to dig, either to find roots or other food on earth, or to escape the sky world. In either case, the digging is a transgressive act, one that triggers the bride’s passage from one world to another.

Another star husband tale comes from Korea, merged with another animal husband tale in which he is banished from the sky by his father, the King of the Stars, cursed to live as a frog in a pond until he can marry the most beautiful woman on Earth.

In this tale we find motifs of the frog consuming all the water and fish in the pond, and the bride cutting away (rather violently) the frog’s animal skin to reveal a handsome man. The happy couple then returns to the sky, and two new stars appear in the heavens.

Star brides have much more in common with swan maidens. Many myths compare the sky to a body of water, and in some tales, celestial beings are actually aquatic creatures as well. These brides are often captured by a mortal hunter or held captive by a mother goddess.

Like the mortal wives of star husbands, star brides often come in groups, like the Pleiades in a South African tale who send their husband on a hunt from which he never returns. Similarly, a group of 10 Hungarian star brides take mortal husbands only to lose them in a war.

In all of these stories, the fall to earth is a kind of death, whereas the ascension is a rebirth or even the achievement of immortality. Water, hunting, and agriculture are prominent in these stories, indicating the importance of celestial patterns to human subsistence.

Obedience or defiance to parental figures is another major theme in star lover tales. While it is defiance that opens the path to the otherworld, the lovers are often punished for it until they show obedience to the parent.

Lastly, while not every star couple gets a Happily Ever After, they usually leave some eternal mark on the earth or sky. The tears of separated star lovers sometimes form fresh springs or even monsoons, bringing new life to the earth.

Sources:

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

[gumnut-logic]

It was morning. The birds were making their dawn ruckus, one that usually irritated a pillow onto his head as the sun peeked over the horizon. Today was different, though.

The grass was wet with dew and his boots shone as he stepped through it. The sun cast ever so long shadows through the crisp air, streaking the paddocks with stripes.

A cow moaned in the distance.

Behind him the Tracy homestead rose out its protective windbreaks, the two storey farmhouse old, but well kept. None of its inhabitants were asleep. The noise had been loud and one of the reasons he had skedaddled out into the fields.

For a moment of quiet.

But it wasn’t what he found.

Because it was too quiet.

The birds still sang. Insects still rose and buzzed about. But gone were the familiar sounds of the functioning farm. The chickens had been passed onto a neighbour. Polly the trash disposal pig had retired similarly and the horses…

He didn’t want to think about the horses.

But it was all for a positive reason. All for a future of doing what was right, for the lives they could save.

But a small part of him longed for home.

Because this was home.

How many times had he curled up under that tree with a sketchbook?

The table outside the barn had seen his first engineering triumph in the form of a reassembled and much improved bicycle.

And Mom.

Mom was here.

Her ghost could almost be seen moving about, laughing, loving.

He closed his eyes.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s not easy, is it?” Scott’s voice was soft and full of understanding.

Virgil pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“We’ll take it all with us. It will be a new home.”

Virgil nodded.

Scott sighed and his arm slipped around Virgil’s shoulders pulling him in tight. “Hey, I hear you managed to get the soundproofing into the villa. No more waking up with the birds.”

A sideways glance in his big brother’s direction. “Define the word ‘bird’.”

A cackle and that arm got even tighter. But again, quiet. “You know she will always be with us, that she would love what we are doing in her name.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re doing it for mom.”

A cranky bird flew overhead and squawked at them.

A breeze washed over the grass.

It was going to be so different. Amazing, fascinating, exciting, but so, so different.

Gordon was suddenly heard yelling Alan’s name. His voice carried through the trees and vibrated blades of grass.

Scott sighed. “C’mon, bro, we have littler bros to herd.”

A grunt and Virgil turned to face his brother. “Yeah.”

Blue eyes fixed him where he stood as both hands landed on his shoulders. “She will always be with us.” Azure punctuation sunk into his bones.

Another bird squawked in agreement.

Ever so quiet. “Yeah, she will.”

-o-o-o-

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

The Pyrophone

@thalassastra and @janetm74 said on a post ages ago that they would like to see Virgil play a pyrophone. I can't make that happen because I can't draw, but here's a fic about it instead :-)

I posted this a couple of weeks ago as a WIP Wednesday and lots of you were very nice about it, so I hope you enjoy the ending. It's written in the TAG universe but there's a TOS reference in it.

Very minor warning that a pyrophone works on small controlled explosions in glass tubes. Otherwise no warnings at all.

_______________________

“Good evening Mr Tracy. I'm Sophie and I'm going to be your guide this evening.”

“Hi Sophie. Please call me Scott. And this is my brother Virgil.”

Scott gestured towards Virgil, who was admiring a large model train set for sale in the museum shop area near where they were standing. 

“Hi Sophie” Virgil replied, suddenly paying attention. “Perhaps you could show us our dad’s space section first?”

“Yes of course” Sophie nodded at Virgil, turned round and started walking towards the entrance to the museum galleries. Scott and Virgil followed her. She was a petite woman, about their age with a bright red bob.

Scott was so pleased the museum had created an exhibition for Dad’s collection from his space missions. They had so many artefacts from the missions stored on Tracy Island, and Scott was keen to display them to inspire a new generation of space enthusiasts. The museum’s offer had been excellent, to display the items alongside interactive exhibits in a large space. Now they’d invited Scott to check he was happy with it before it opened.

Scott had no particular idea why Virgil had wanted to come along too, especially since it would have usually been Alan and John with the particular space interest. Virgil usually left these things to Scott but he seemed interested and Scott wasn’t about to quiz his adult brother on his reasons.

Sophie showed them the exhibit and both brothers were really pleased. Scott said as much to Sophie, who replied that was what the museum did best, bringing objects to life and explaining their current and historic relevance whilst displaying the originals.

Scott noticed that although Sophie was polite, she clearly wasn't a space enthusiast or had a particular interest in speed. He wondered why she’d been allocated this job in particular, since clearly somebody with more energy for the topic had set up the exhibition. 

He thought about saying that to Virgil, but then he knew what Virgil would say, you think she’s unenthusiastic because she’s not flirting with you.

The in-his-head Virgil was probably right.

After about an hour Scott and Virgil both agreed that they'd seen everything they needed. “Thank you so much for giving up your time this evening Sophie. Virgil and I have seen all we need to see. The exhibition is fantastic and I hope Alan can join you for opening day next week.”

 “Oh” Sophie looked confused. “Have you changed your mind?”

Scott looked at her with a blank look, and Sophie's face changed to crestfallen. “I just … I was told Mr Tracy would like to play the pyrophone and I …” Sophie trailed off and looked at the floor as Virgil walked over.

“There's more than one Mr Tracy” Virgil said with a knowing smile.

Sophie paused for a moment, then processed the meaning and her face lit up. “Oh fantastic. I just need to turn the valve on the gas pipe and run the checks. I've put in colour salts for the notes, I hope you don't mind. I rather like the colours in the tubes” she said with a slight blush.

“Even better” Virgil replied. 

Scott was still confused, but one question stood out. ‘Gas pipe?’

“Yes” Sophie said, as if the need for this was obvious. “It’s a pyrophone, your brother can’t play it without the gas to make the notes. Come on through and you can read about how it works before we hear it. I’m so excited for this, I’m learning to play but I’m struggling with the bass clef.”

Scott found himself following Virgil and Sophie through a hallway to a different room. Sophie was now talking extremely quickly in an animated fashion about shaping glass and Virgil seemed fascinated. 

There were two musical instruments in the room which resembled church organs. Both had keyboards, but the pipes were made of glass. One was stored in a huge glass case and was obviously very old. The other looked fairly new and had a stool in front of the keyboard ready to play.

Scott scanned the information board between the two instruments. It said they were both pyrophones, which made musical sounds by having small explosions within the glass tubes. The shape of the tubes and exact position of the tiny explosion made the musical sound. 

Scott looked over at Virgil, who had produced some sheet music from somewhere and was grinning with excitement. Sophie had disappeared.

“Virgil!” Scott whispered.

“Yes?”

“Is this safe?”

“Very safe. I’ve checked all the designs and it works perfectly. Automatic cut off switches are on the instrument and the gas supply. There's fire suppressors in the room.”

“And you really want to play this thing?”

“Yes! It’s magnificent. Look at the precision involved in the engineering of the glass. The tubes will light up with colour. The sound is unique …”

“Of course it’s unique! Nobody is going to put a fire breathing musical instrument in their house are they?”

Virgil used the full force of his eyebrows to scowl at Scott and folded his arms. “We have a rocket under ours.”

No further replies were given because Sophie reappeared. The professional instinct to never argue in front of a rescuee kicked in, even though nobody needed rescuing. Scott hoped they all didn’t need rescuing soon from an instrument invented by the 1860’s incarnation of Langstrom Fischler. 

“Everything is ready” Sophie announced, beaming. 

“Thank you Sophie.” Virgil turned and sat at the instrument without looking at Scott again.  

Scott wondered how long it would take him to fly One here remotely. Then again, he could sit and catch up with his admin. He was so behind with so many things recently, so many people needed rescuing. He’d been so hopeful about the GDF’s rescue robots giving them a break but it hadn’t happened. 

Virgil was always telling him he should take a break anyway, so he sat in a comfy chair in the corner of the room, found his phone from his pocket and resolved to sort through the endless messages staff at Tracy Industries hadn’t been able to deal with.

He didn’t read them. Not that night anyway.

Virgil began to play the pyrophone and Scott admitted Virgil had been right. The Pyrophone did sound like nothing he’d heard before. It was a soft sound despite how it was being made, and when Scott looked up rainbows were being created in the tubes with the colour salts Sophie mentioned earlier. 

He put his phone down and watched and listened. Virgil was playing his own version of ‘Dangerous Game’ a song Kayo and Gordon particularly liked and played endlessly. Scott had no idea who the artist was, for which Gordon constantly reminded him that he was old and not cool. 

Virgil’s version was better. If that was not cool so be it.

Another thing Virgil had been right about was his need to have a rest. A rest didn’t mean doing paperwork. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat and listened to his brother play, or managed to watch a whole film with his family without feeling that he should be doing something else. 

A notification popped up on his phone, which he resolutely ignored. If anybody needed rescuing a holographic John would appear, so whatever it was could wait.

Virgil had moved onto a jazz tune that Scott didn’t know by name but he knew he’d heard Virgil play on the piano. 

Scott pulled up the low table near the chair, put his feet up on it, slouched down in his chair, shut his eyes and listened to the music with a warm feeling inside. Yes, Grandma would have killed him for doing that in public, but the museum was only open for him and his pyrophone-playing brother.

A scraping suddenly made him jump. Sophie had pulled up another chair, put her own feet on the table and was holding out a bucket of popcorn for him. He smiled and took a handful.

Not quite popcorn with an action movie, but wow he needed this. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Aaron Morse

* * * *

“We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all. We sleep to time’s hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God.”

~ Annie Dillard

[fallensapphires]

Planets: Earth

How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean.

[alexthefly]

THUNDERPRIDE GIFT EXCHANGE

Happy Pride everybody!!! Hope you've all enjoyed the month's festivities and all the Thunderbirds-y goodness. I've got a bit of reading and art to catch up on, but what I've seen so far has all been amazing - you're all so damn talented! 😊

For the Thunderpride gift exchange I was lucky enough to be matched with the incomporable @emtb319 ! I've taken their prompt of seaside and kinda run with it, but if you look closely and squint a bit, you might just spot hints of their other prompts - stray cat and green - as well.

Also just to say that although this was meant to be pure Earth and Sky fluff, it did get a bit angsty in the middle (when does it not with me? 😅) But I promise it all turns out well in the end.

Hope you like it. Thankyou so much for the prompts, and happy Pride!

Word count: 2365

Also available to read on AO3

Just You

The morning of the annual Pride beach party had broken warm and bright, and now at mid-morning the place was jumping. Right across the crowded seafront, smiling people draped in banners and flags of every kind thronged together in a cacophony of colour and sound. Grilling stations had been set up along the edge of the beach to cater for the hungry revellers and, on the stage at the far end, performers in elaborate costumes kept the mood high with a joyous concoction of music, spectacle and thumping beats.

From his vantage point on the stone steps leading up from the beach, Scott Tracy was surrounded by the sounds, sights, and smells of a damn good time. Entranced, he took a moment and just breathed the jubilant atmosphere in.

It was intoxicating.

After a few minutes, he sensed his brother draw up next to him, a cool oasis of calm in a tumultuous sea of sensation.

“Quite the scene, huh?”

He breathed. “...Yeah.”

A delicious-smelling package was suddenly thrust into his hands.

“Got you some chips,” smiled Virgil knowingly.

Scott’s spirits soared and he tore into the paper cone immediately. Real British chips - distinct from fries and, according to Parker at least, far superior - were a rare treat that were best enjoyed piping hot.

That first bite of salty, crispy fluffiness elicited a moan of pleasure from him that frankly bordered on the obscene. 

Parker might have had a point.

Thankfully the ambient noise from the party spared him most of his blushes, although of course Virgil’s ever-sensitive ear caught it; but he just chuckled, rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his own similar package.

Over on stage the bands were swapping over, with the new one announcing themselves - Cat Distribution Network - before launching into a cover of some old dance track. It was apparently a popular choice; the crowd on the beach cheered, pulsed and tossed in waves to the beat.

“They sound good,” said Virgil, popping one of his own chips into his mouth. “That song works well pitched lower like that. Makes the chorus more robust. And the sax solo in the middle eight is an interesting choice - I’ve not heard that done before.”

Scott had no idea if the changes to the song were any good or not, but he nodded anyway, happy to hear his brother chatting away about something he enjoyed.

“So, you gonna go change?” 

Unlike Virgil, who was already back in his familiar red flannel and jeans, Scott was still sporting his distinctive IR blues from the opening ceremony earlier.

He shoved another morsel of fried goodness in his mouth.

“Food first.”

Virgil smirked. “Alright,” he said, “but I’m not explaining it to Brains if you end up with grease stains down your jacket.”

It was an empty threat - their uniforms were engineered to be way more than stain-resistant - but Scott made a show of wiping his fingers on his brother’s sleeve anyway, just because. Virgil grumbled, but let it slide. He could hardly complain; oil stains were kind of his signature look.

Scott finished off his chips and, crumpling the paper into a ball, pitched it straight into the recycling bin; nothing but net.

“Show-off,” grumbled Virgil, picking his own attempt up off the floor and spiking it in.

“Gotta make a good impression Virg,” replied Scott, just a little smug. “We’re official representatives at this event, after all.”

Technically it was Tracy Industries who were the actual sponsors for this year’s shindig, but it had been agreed all round that an appearance from International Rescue at Pride was just too much good publicity to turn down. It was also for that reason that a certain green sky-whale was currently parked on a specially-built platform just off the main beach, temporarily adorned with about fifty different painted flags of the LGBTQIA+.

There’d been a lot more than just oil on Virgil’s shirt for the last few days.

But unlike his ‘bird - or a certain squid, who even at this moment was sparkling his way somewhere across the packed beach dressed head-to-toe in pink, yellow and blue sequins - Virgil himself had apparently gone the subtle route with his own attire this year, choosing only a small green and blue pin in recognition of his own identity.

It was a very Virgil move.

“So, didn't fancy getting all dressed up, huh?”

Virgil shrugged. “Nah. I wasn't feeling it,” he said, nudging a stray pebble down the steps with his boot.

Virgil hadn't really ever been the type to draw attention to himself. Not shy exactly, at least not the way John was sometimes in a crowd, he preferred to play a background, backup role to bolder, more adventurous (reckless?) brothers. Sure, he’d done all the usual art student-y things in college - hair colour, nose piercing, his infamous goth phase - but none of it had stuck. 

The truth was that Virgil had never really felt the need to shout about who he was. He just…was. Even with his sexuality, there had been no “coming out” as such; somehow they’d all always known he was gay, just as Virgil had always known that they knew.

Still, it was a surprise not to see him with at least a little glitter in his hair today. Pride was a big deal in the Tracy household. Obviously Gordon was the usual driving force for getting the family into the spirit of things, but Virgil had always been right there behind him, ready to make his little brother’s more outlandish plans happen with all the enthusiasm and creativity that a double masters in engineering and art demands.

So why had Scott been left to source his own fairy wings this year?

“Are you okay, Virgil?” He asked, realising the need to tread carefully. “You don't exactly seem…yourself.”

Brown eyes looked up at him from under thick, slightly knitted eyebrows.

“I’m fine, Scott.”

Uh-huh. Nice try.

“Virg…”

He put one hand gently on the shorter man’s shoulder, noting the tension carried through it. Scott squeezed gently, and was happy to feel taut muscles relax just a little.

“Talk to me, Virgil.”

His brother held fast for a moment, but then seemed to wilt.

He sighed.

“I just… Look, I love Pride. Really I do. It's vibrant and joyful and so so important. But…” He swallowed. “I just wonder if… Is it all worth it?”

Scott tilted his head.

Nope, gonna have to run that by me again. 

“If what's worth what?”

Virgil huffed, clearly struggling for the right words. 

“If… If maybe I’m getting too old for all this.”

There was a moment where Scott knew he should be sensitive and simply listen, but he just couldn't hold back the sudden laugh trying to burst the back of his throat.

“Too old? You?!”

He gave in and let it out.

“Virgil, for god’s sake! If you’re over the hill then I must be at death’s door! You’re not even thirty yet! ‘Too old’...”

Glare-powered daggers stabbed at him as he fought for composure.

“It's a young person’s game, Scott. All of this…” He swept his arm across the scene of the party. “I just don't seem to have the energy for it at all.”

Down the beach, as if to illustrate the point, Cat Distribution Network were on their second encore; a loud, clangy, cymbal-fest of noise that sounded to Scott a lot like the last tropical storm they’d had back home.

Okay, maybe he had a point right this second, but…

“Virgil, you don't have to be young to enjoy Pride. It's not just for teenagers and Gordon; it's for everyone, from stroller to walker, every walk of life. It doesn't have to be the parade or this party - there's all kinds of things going on, from the clubs to the local library. Everyone’s welcome at Pride; there's something for everyone.”

He reached across and pulled his brother closer to him, needing more contact.

“And I know you know that. So tell me, what's really going on?”

Virgil said nothing for a moment, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, brow furrowed.

Scott waited.

“I guess… I s’pose it's just that these days it's hard to feel connected to that side of me anymore. Being gay, I mean.”

Virgil shifted and sat down on the step, resigned to spilling his guts, and Scott went with him, refusing to let go.

“I guess with what we all do, how busy we are, it doesn't leave a lot of time for other things - dating and whatnot - and that's fine; I love what we do. It's what I signed up for. But lately it feels like… oh I don't know! Like I should be doing more. Being more gay.”

Scott's brain glitched.

“Being more gay?” 

Virgil nodded. 

“Doing more. Making a show of it. No-one ever looks at me and goes ‘oh yeah, there's a gay guy’. I’m not flashy or flamboyant or camp; I don't go to nightclubs or have… Oh, I don't know, posters of Judy Garland on my wall. I’ve never been that kind of person.”

He put his head in his hands, hiding his face from Scott.

“I guess what I’m saying,” he said quietly, “is that I don't really feel as if I belong here. I see all these people showing off their identities and revelling in them and I… I just don't feel…valid.”

There was a moment of silence as each of them processed what had just been said. Virgil seemed to shrink in on himself, spent from the effort of verbalising it all, but Scott remained motionless, brain churning.

Wow.

Where to begin?

How long had Virgil been feeling like this? Feeling like his own identity didn't belong to him? 

His brother was so sensitive to everyone else’s feelings and moods, but he almost never talked about his own; not without being asked, or using them to offer advice to someone in need of it. He was always so busy playing backup to the rest of them, seeming so comfortable in his skin, self-assured, not needing to perform…

Had Scott really misunderstood his brother so badly?

Virgil was still sitting there, not moving, head still in his hands. Slowly, gently, Scott shifted around until he was right in front of him, then reaching slowly out and gently pried his brother’s hands apart, scooching down to try to catch his eye.

“Virgil, I don't…” 

No, that's not right.

He took a breath and started again. 

“I can't know what it feels like to be gay in this world. It's something I’ve never known; never could know. You have all the knowledge of how that feels. All I can tell you is how I see it from the outside.”

“And what I see… is you.”

Virgil looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“Those things you just listed?” Scott continued, resting one hand on his knee. “They're all only one way to be gay; they're not the blueprint. Stereotypes and archetypes aren't the be all and end all; there's as many ways to be queer as there are stars in the sky, and just as many ways to celebrate that queerness.”

Brown eyes dimmed, full of doubt.

“You don't have to perform it for anyone or put on some costume. You painted the flags on Two. You helped Gordon with his costume. You…” 

He could feel himself flailing. 

“Virgil, you love so completely. You live your life with your whole heart, every single day. You do it your own way; you always have.”

He reached out to put one hand on the back of Virgil’s neck, bringing him in closer until their foreheads touched.

“You are you, and you are gay, so being you is showing your gayness. No ifs, no buts. It just is. You don’t have to prove anything. Those two things are inexorably linked, Judy Garland poster or not.”

He felt a small chuckle rumble through his brother’s chest and breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“Just be, Virgil,” he said. “That's all. Just be you.”

A breath. Two.

“...Thanks Scott.”

And suddenly he needed to be closer than just a forehead. Arms acted on their own accord, wrapping around each other in a fierce hug, each of them desperate to reassure the other that they were there, that it was okay.

It was all going to be okay.

From over his shoulder Scott could hear the party clearly still going on strong. Cheers and noise bounced around the beach as the next band struck up on stage, and as the first chords sounded, the crowd roared their approval.

I am what I am,

I am my own special creation…

Scott and Virgil looked at each other, and dissolved into fits of giggles at the serendipity of it all.

Sometimes it was just like that at Pride.

Eventually they managed to get a hold of themselves again. Virgil extricated himself from his brother’s arms and stood up to brush himself off. 

The song was still going into the second verse, with the crowd singing along to every word in raucous harmony.

“Now this?” he said, inspiration dancing in his eyes, “This is a Pride song worth getting a little dressed up for.”

Grinning, he reached across to Scott’s baldric and nabbed his laser cutter. Then working quickly, he bent down and burned a small tear in each jean leg, before ripping them right across the mid-thigh. He kicked off the remaining tubes of denim, leaving him in a pair of ragged shorts. Then he shrugged his shirt off, whipped off his undershirt (drawing interested looks from more than a few passers-by), and finally pulled his red flannel back on, tying the bottom of it tight across his chest, Daisy Duke style.

The effect was striking.

“How do I look?” he asked, standing proud.

Scott smiled.

“Very you.”

Virgil beamed.

“Dance with me?” he asked, holding out a chivalrous hand to him.

Scott took it with a little curtsy. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, smiling broadly.

And with that the pair of them made their way joyfully down the steps - sand, heels and spirits all kicking high - to join the celebration.

[edutainer2022]

I made it to Vienna for the week-long Digital Humanism event and I've been meaning to place Earth and Sky in Vienna for ages. This is an absolutely indulgent, decadent, undiluted fluff, full of bosom headcanons, informed by the first Sunday of fall here, drenched in sunlight, late summer flowers and classic German poetry. That's it, that's the story - Scott in Virgil go to Vienna and absolutely nothing hurts.

Thank you always to @janetm74 for putting up with my ramblings.

SUNLIGHT AND POETRY

He could smell the eye-wateringly expensive coffee first. Then the steps, muffled by luscious grass, were followed by a nondescript grunt that probably summarized the general state of the joint World Council, World Bank and GDF committee. An equally obscenely expensive suit jacket was thrown on the lawn unceremoniously to dub as a picnic blanket and, finally, the full length of Scott flopped and stretched beside him, wiggling to get comfortable. A goody bag with a tell-tale Zacher Hotel crest landed in Virgil's lap and he put aside the sketchbook, wasting no time to dig in. Coffee and the most luxurious chocolate cake in the world certainly worked the magic to improve Scott's mood and soon he was grinning up to the sky, although Virgil knew to look for signs of weariness in the corners of blue eyes. He was tempted to return to sketching, though - Scott's relaxed smiles, although in a far more ample supply after Dad's return, were still a rare treat.

Usually, it would be Virgil dragging biggest brother along to Vienna, when Opera was in season or an art exhibition Virgil didn't want to miss - a feat frequently accomplished with toddler-wrangling worthy bribery in form of copious amounts of Austrian finest street food and baked goods or the deployment of most deadly puppy eyes. The exasperated groan signaled that the odorous Wienerwurst from a digny kiosk on the corner of Bristol Hotel was still in the cards that day, much to the hotel staff's (and finest chefs') incessant bewilderment. The Tracies rented the penthouse floor at the historic Bristol, facing Vienna State Opera, for years, the place deemed secure enough by Kyrano Sr. all those years ago. That time, however, it was Virgil who tagged along whole Scott had a week of sessions set up with the Joint Committee of Global Services on the update of interoperable search and rescue policies. Trust Scott to spend his hard carved downtime on redrafting global policies and making the world a better and safer place.

That was just it, Dad having put his foot down (two, actually, and a fist) on IR rota expansion and rearranging operations with A LOT more of their habitual toll outsourced to GDF and local response services, they had more time to pursue their interests and develop their personal strengths. To have a life in an unironic way. But that also meant spending less time together on rescues, even on the island. Scott of course up and found himself the next all-consuming cause, so Virgil was kinda... missing him. Missing his best friend in the way he hadn't since Scott left for Yale, then for AirForce. Maybe it was the ever present thrum of dread over Scott involved in any thing GDF since... That Place... that got Virgil wistful and a bit clingy. Scott, naturally, didn't mind. They were having a great time, actually, reconvening in the afternoons for leisurely strolls, good food and uninterrupted talks about everything and nothing. Virgil treated himself to revising his favorite exhibits at Albertina and Kunst Museum, then took to camping out on sundrenched lawns of Burggarten, sketching statues or people around. He never felt as at home in Vienna as Scott did. Much as their ginger spaceman could fit right in on any red brick Gothic campus, Scott, all towering height and blue eyes, and slim athletic built, and structured suits just MATCHED the stately grandor of old imperial capitals. Virgil always felt too big and too rural American among the understated regal splendor of Vienna. But here, in the landscape informed by art, and the shade of Mozart's monument, and calm, and familial bonding, he was in his element.

Scott was stretching in the evening sun, like a giant cat, and blinking his eyes slowly at Virgil - that definitely called for a sketch.

Chocolate treats were, apparently, Scott not only loot that afternoon. He shifted to the side, wiggled a hand into the suit pocket and produced a small tattered volume. Faded gilded embossing and yellowed pages belied the treasure only found in antique bookshops. Virgil wasn't surprised when Scott started reading. One of the Tracy family best kept secrets was Scott's affinity for classic reading. Passionate, well-spoken and charismatic - Scott was the darling of every AP English class teacher, the Speech and Oratory Team captain and persistently courted for a graduate degree in French Modernism through his Lit Elective at Yale. In a different life Scott would have been an inspirational military leader, a kickass defense attorney or an Office-track politician and public speaker. But a different life had not been in the cards for Jeff Tracy's eldest Son and Heir.

What DID surprise Virgil was Scott settling up to read out loud. In German.

"Wem der große Wurf gelungen

Eines Freundes Freund zu sein;

Wer ein holdes Weib errungen

Mische seinen Jubel ein!"*

And raven brow shot up quizzically and in perfect synchrony the shit-eating grin erupted:

"What?! I'm his brother too!"

"To the point of speaking German?"

The grin faded a shade. Damn.

"To the point of speaking World Bank finance and AirForce parade drills with the old European Uninion Anthem. Schiller's statue is right OVER THERE, I was in the mood."

The returned smile was muted, but mellow. Virgil thought back to an old comedy, "what? like it's HARD?" almost audible in big brother's nonchalant shrug.

Only Scott Tracy would make a point to swing by a rare books shop and get himself a 1820s copy when he felt like reciting Schiller's poetry on a sunny afternoon in the old royal palace park. Virgil certainly hoped that indulgence streak broadened and became a habit.

----

* A stanza from Ode to Joy, Friedrich Schieller

[flyboytracy]

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

“Scott?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Always.”

“It’s a weird one”

Scott turned and raised an amused eyebrow.

“Would you wear it again?”

“Wear what? If you’re asking about Halloween and that cursed superman costume, it’s a hard no. I might be persuaded to consider Batman but only if you’re going to be Robin.”

Virgil snorted.

“As you very well know I don’t do tights. Not after the Christmas debacle.”

“I think you made a lovely elf.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Yeah but you love me.” Scott lay back on the lounger and grinned his most maddening grin.

Virgil threw an ice cube at his head before conceding: “I do. Yes.”

[vir-gogh]