<div class="floatleft">(https://mermaidvision.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/33415043.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>Alfred Birche in a fancy shirt (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/26/fe/c5/26fec5036d81c55adf73c16aaab4a700.jpg)<br/><strong>Alias</strong>Leshy<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Dark Wings, Ghost, open.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Going, going, going... gone<br/><hr/>He watched the two dance for a while, how they took turns; listened to the rhythm of the music, but also followed the rhythm of their own hearts. One of these days, he'd have to snag a dance with Aislyn. Then again, there was the lynx prowling in the back of his mind that wanted to cross blades with her, and see her prowess as a warrior.<br/><br/>Body language being a good thing to read at, he saw when they were winding down, almost looking about for where the wily cat had gotten himself off to... they might just catch a wave of the hat as he exited the tent, and went a-ways away from it. He wanted to pick his way down towards the coast, and find some place comfy, where he could sit down--away from the scents and sounds of people--and close his mind off; go somewhere else; focus.<br/><br/>His eyes closed. His hearing went dull as he reached out to the area around them. It was like his consciousness had drifted out of his body, and was gliding with the winds themselves, while simultaneously falling into the depths of the nearby water. He churned at the elements, pleaded, coaxed, promised, negotiated; worked what some would call magic, and others would call a strong super-power that came with only a subtle effect.<br/><br/>The relatively calm weather up to this point starts to change. The wind begins to blow, to twist and turn this way and that. The waves enthusiastically lap at the nearby coast, their crashing sounds blending in with the tune that the wind itself seemed to carry with it. Water and wind working in concert, in tandem, the air growing salty, humid, and somewhat chilly as he altered the balance around to create the sort of atmosphere he wanted--without throwing nature itself into disharmony, as his Mother did. She chained nature; he negotiated with it as an equal.<br/><br/>He should be easy enough to pick out in the dark, with the gold laced into his clothing catching the moonlight. Add to that that he was the nexus of the changing weather. The longer he's left uninterrupted, the more intense things would become; clouds swelling and darkening with the promise of rain, even as his own body seemed to be down into a dangerously deep hibernation mode. Every power did come at a cost, after all; the strain on his body and psyche was not expressed as excitement or strain, but rather, drain and struggle; keeping his head above the metaphorical water long enough so as not to drown in the deluge of metaphorical and metaphysical recoil.<br/><br/>And yet, ironically enough, producing the storm also dissipates some of his energy usage,  because it revitalizes him. Go figure. But, as for the two, they should be able to find him easily enough, even if he was away from the party proper. The weather pattern he's bringing in would start sustaining itself even if he's brought out of his concentration, right up to its eventual dissipation. After all, nothing lasts forever.<br/><br/>Nothing.