a dance through the autumn of memory, recalling the tastes and smells of times past, of the old dragons and their dreams... each name here is that of an old friend; the associations transcribed, that i, in my old age, may return here to recall them.
a rich dark purple, a taste like japanese plums. she smells like
sandalwood and cinnamon and scotch broom; the scent of a louisiana
burial. her mystic geek-fu baffles many, but is largely appreciated. she
can find faults in wiring by touching it.
stark white on solid black, zach will not leave his terminal unless he has to, or is coaxed out with offers of food. his glasses and tangled hair are his most distinguishing features. he too smells of louisiana, but tastes like latte and stale cigarettes.
a rainbow in a bright blue sky; a bag of skittles. definitely a candylike flavour to this one, she ran the now disbanded first church of entropic apotheosis, and kept a child's curiosity to supplement her crone's wisdom.
a taste like clove cigarettes and dust; the scent of a burnt wooden match. heather grey in the city, but naturally brown like the desert sands. the winds of fate turn when she waves a hand. she moves like an old crow, and has an eye for shiny things.
gold and green, an altogether pixyish creature with an eye for trouble and a head to take it sensibly. a sharp flavour not unlike fresh peppermint, and a mouth to match it.
dark red, like fresh blood or a tin cup of pomegranate juice. a taste like ripe pomegranate, a smell like old blood. patrician and almost vain. anachronistic in a very english way.