The adventures began with a trip in the belly of the metal snake called Metro, wending its way across hill and dale into the rusty, slightly damp heart of the city of DC. Then, I obtained a brief breath of fresh air before plunging into the cave of the dragon named Greyhound. After a goodly amount of ritual to summon the beast (involving waving papers at its guardians), I plunged into its maw and rode into the night. Conveniently, its scales were translucent, so I admired the speed at which we flew across the concrete forest, leaving other, smaller beasts in our burgeoning wake.
At last, the dragon deposited me in the cold, dripping, glittering thing that is the city of Manhattan. Following a conveniently laid trail of bread crumbs deftly dropped by Baba Yaga (sometimes called regyt), I entered the metal belly of the cousin of the DC Metro, the serpent NY Metro. Surviving its twisting and turnings intact, I escaped into the nighttime pathways of the land of Brooklyn. The trail of breadcrumbs held, fortunately, and soon I found myself at the newly created apartment of Baba Yaga.
There was much merriment with Baba Yaga, and her Katya (who was pronounced quite solemnly as being "full of the floofins"). There was tea and eggs and chocolate and small amounts of giggling and then dreams.
In the morning, Baba Yaga and I entered the serpent's belly again to begin our quest through the faerie city of Manhattan. We encountered a shop of masks and feathers and gleaming jewels, from which we stole the idea of making a mask with lace covering the eye holes. We scoured the Goblin Market, with its fresh apples and yellow blossoms and blueberry ginger jellies, and ginger snaps and butterfly plants and roots of all shapes and sizes. We sought out the sweet stock of chocolates from within The Chocolate Room, with their lavender and copper and lemon, and sea salt and hot pepper and cardamom.
Narrowly escaping the siren lure of wicked hot chocolate, we transformed ourselves for the evening's revels back at the apartment of Baba Yaga. Black and black, and floof and black, and top hats and black, and frock coats and black. Suitably attired, we fought our way through the chilly wet winds and rode the serpent Metro to the fey feast. There, we dined on butter-sweet challah and sweet yam pierogies and raspberry blintzes, and we partook of the sparkling essence of blackberry and sweet, dripping vanilla milk. And then, to the revels we went.
And, oh! The violin music that greeted us as we entered - sweet Vivaldi! And the structure of the revels, a gorgeous soaring masterpiece of angles and lines and curves and hidden nooks! We sliced through the milling denizens to seek out what lurked in the less-explored places. Up stairs we went, and around corners until we reached balconies from which the view was sublime. And then, the music began, from Human Wine - a delicious, unctuous mixture of notes and words and rhythm. The three-quarter time of a Viennese Waltz began, and on the balcony, fey creatures began to dance. Jaunty and bendy and flying, they danced. Twirling and jumping and jumping, they danced. And I, with the blessing of Baba Yaga, joined them. And so we danced together, in spontaneous patterns and spins and leaps, my frock coat flying behind me, my boots stomping in perfect time to the music upon the shining floor.
At last, I grew tired and rejoined Baba Yaga, who then displayed her own formidable dance talent by means of fire-spinning (using a bit of floof I had brought, since fire would have brought the displeasure of the other fey in this place). A gorgeous thing it was, and I marveled at the precision with which she conjured the floof into its swirling perfection.
And then, the main entertainment emerged for the revel: The Dresden Dolls. And the music was a soaring thing, sometimes frantic, sometimes haunting, always lovely. Some of the fey continued to dance, but I preferred to sway to this music, to give it and its performers more heed. And so it went, for timeless moments.
And then, it was into the deep, dripping night with us. Torrents of icy water thrashed at us and our feeble magics of metal and fabric. But after some fortification of the hot cocoa and french toast variety, we successfully discovered the serpent Metro and rode it home again to Baba Yaga's.
Unfortunately, some sprites had been about wreaking havoc with Baba Yaga's magic fire, and so we cobbled together makeshift solutions for the making of tea and the keeping of food stuffs cold until the wizard could be called the following morning to remedy the mischief. And then, we dined on tea and glittering chocolates and laughter until the yawning call of sleep overtook us.
In the morning, the wizard arrived and restored Baba Yaga's magic fire, sharing with her the intricacies of his knowledge. And then, it was time for me to leave the faerie city. Laden with my rightful treasure of jams, chocolates, and nonsense, and my borrowed store of books, I sought once more the serpent Metro to carry me to the cave of the Greyhound dragon. The serpent obliged, and I entered the mouth of the dragon.
As the dragon flew back down the concrete forest, I dreamt of the sun of my homelands. And when I awoke, I found it to be a true dream, for my familiar sunlight streamed through the translucent scales and I saw the bright green of my remembered lands. The dragon kindly left me at the entrance of its cave in DC, and from there, I took a deep breath and taunted the DC Metro snake until it opened its mouth wide enough to let me in.
Once inside, it was only a short while until I had to use my magic SmarTrip talisman to obtain my escape from the snake's belly. But this turned out to be an easy feat, for the SmarTrip talisman was strong with credit. And so I emerged once more into the light of my home.
And that is the tale of my time, and every word of it is true.