Festival of Fire
Jan 20, 2015 21:31:59 GMT -6
Post by Orion Basilískos on Jan 20, 2015 21:31:59 GMT -6
Hot. Raw. Luminous. It twisted with serpentine style, like the swaying skirts of belly dancers. It cracked like a whip; it glowed - no, it shone! It bloomed like a wild and dangerous rose, cast its essence onto the ancient walls of the Hippodrome. It balanced as nimbly as an acrobat atop the narrow heads of torches; burned audaciously within brass braziers, and flexed on the various tools in the hands of Romani performers. Nestled in the southwestern part of the Imperial District, not too far from Topkapi Palace itself, the drums and tambourines beat sprightly into the clear night air. The playful voices of flutes echoed and resonated from the stone walls, and the rhythmic stomps of dancing boots and jingles of ankle bells plodded against the ground. Small and medium sized crowds already settled on the outskirts of the track, and vendors pulled carts and carried small mobile collections of their wares and various foods to sell. Some of them brought their own braziers or borrowed from the set up, and the smell of freshly cooked meats rose with the smoke.
On the far end of the Hippodrome, the Romanis were preparing the last of their props. Whips waited in barrels of oil; torch-fans and poles and dull swords were lined in various artistic powders and fluids. Jugs of liquid made for spitting fire were filled and distributed among the group, along with brief hand gestures and smiles and wishes of good luck. Small tents and curtains blocked them from the view of the onlookers, ensuring that every step of their performance would be a surprise.
The children were the first to go on, alongside their small animal counterparts. Those that were old enough to be sufficient in gymnastics performed their own tricks, their air summersaults and cartwheels and dancing kicks. Others commanded their pets, their dancing dogs and ponies and gardener snakes.
Meanwhile, Orion waited behind his curtain, smiling to himself and rolling his shoulders. It would be just a while yet before it would be his turn to begin. His own steed, a dapple-grey and white gypsy vanner mare named Xena, munched steadily on a pile of hay behind him. To his left was another horse and his female counterpart who would be performing with him. Though she was mute and illiterate, she and he had learned to work well and communicate with one another. Safiye was her name. As if on cue, they looked over at each other and smiled and nodded. Showtime.
On the far end of the Hippodrome, the Romanis were preparing the last of their props. Whips waited in barrels of oil; torch-fans and poles and dull swords were lined in various artistic powders and fluids. Jugs of liquid made for spitting fire were filled and distributed among the group, along with brief hand gestures and smiles and wishes of good luck. Small tents and curtains blocked them from the view of the onlookers, ensuring that every step of their performance would be a surprise.
The children were the first to go on, alongside their small animal counterparts. Those that were old enough to be sufficient in gymnastics performed their own tricks, their air summersaults and cartwheels and dancing kicks. Others commanded their pets, their dancing dogs and ponies and gardener snakes.
Meanwhile, Orion waited behind his curtain, smiling to himself and rolling his shoulders. It would be just a while yet before it would be his turn to begin. His own steed, a dapple-grey and white gypsy vanner mare named Xena, munched steadily on a pile of hay behind him. To his left was another horse and his female counterpart who would be performing with him. Though she was mute and illiterate, she and he had learned to work well and communicate with one another. Safiye was her name. As if on cue, they looked over at each other and smiled and nodded. Showtime.