diff --git a/motes-played/book.pdf b/motes-played/book.pdf index bac76b0..b6808b3 100644 Binary files a/motes-played/book.pdf and b/motes-played/book.pdf differ diff --git a/motes-played/content/001.tex b/motes-played/content/001.tex index 1d3cfda..bf9dbb4 100644 --- a/motes-played/content/001.tex +++ b/motes-played/content/001.tex @@ -150,13 +150,13 @@ It had not always been smooth, to be sure. The compromises she made early on far She did not blame A Finger Pointing for suggesting such compromises, never once. She, of all those in her life, was trustworthy. Motes had once \emph{been} her, after all, yes? They had had their spats—more than a few—as would be the case between any parent and child—as would be the case between any two individuals. She had had spats with more than just Ma. She and Beholden had fought, and at times bitterly, and it was at those times that Bee's guardianship had felt most precarious. It had never disappeared, but it had verged well into the realm of sister—the realm of Slow Hours—or bestest friend~--- that of of Warmth In Fire—and away from guardian, away from that parental love. -She did not remember what the spats were about. She could, yes, her memory was as imperfectible as anyone else's on the three Systems. But she would not, because that was not the point. The point was that she was Motes. She was their Dot, their \emph{Dóttir.} She was the kid, and they were the grown-ups who loved her. +She did not remember what the spats were about. She could, yes, her memory was as imperfectible as anyone else's on the three Systems. But she would not, because that was not the point. The point was that she was Motes. She was their Dot, their \emph{dóttir.} She was the kid, and they were the grown-ups who loved her. And so their protectiveness made sense, yes? They wanted to keep her safe, yes? They just could not help but keep \emph{themselves} safe as well, yes? And that is where the friction came from. It came from others fussing about Motes-as-kid. -She was not always. Often, she was in her early twenties. Certainly a far cry from the 41 she had been when she had been forked, or the 32 she had been when Michelle Hadje had first uploaded, but still, far more acceptable in the eyes of many on the System, far more acceptable in the eyes of the rest of the Ode clade. +She was not always. Often, she was in her early twenties. Certainly a far cry from the 41 she had been when she had been forked, or the 31 she had been when Michelle Hadje had first uploaded, but still, far more acceptable in the eyes of many on the System, far more acceptable in the eyes of the rest of the Ode clade. It was them, through A Finger Pointing and, on a few occasions, through Slow Hours and Time Rushes, who suggested that she should not do this thing. It was too close, they said, to unwelcome paraphilias, here on the System where one had to be at least eighteen to upload. It was too close, they said, to coming off as someone seeking unwanted attention, affection, sexuality. ``I understand that you wish to reclaim childhood,'' they told her through her ma or siblings. ``But you must understand the optics.'' Never mind that she had long since set aside sexuality while in this form, that she harbored her own fears of those offering unwanted attention, affection, sex. No, it was the \emph{optics} that needed minding. @@ -226,7 +226,7 @@ Dry Grass laughed. \emph{``You had me at maccy-chee. Shall I come over now?''} No sooner had the message completed than Dry Grass blinked into being on the default arrival point over by the front door. -Motes finished shoving the tray of salad ingredients up onto the counter and zipped over to her cross-tree cocladist, all but launching herself into her arms. Dry Grass caught her, letting her momentum swing the two of them around in a circle. ``Hey little one! Way to go almost knocking me over.'' +Motes finished shoving the tray of salad ingredients up onto the counter and zipped over to her cross-tree cocladist, all but launching herself into her arms. Dry Grass caught her, letting her momentum swing both human and skunk around in a circle. ``Hey little one! Way to go almost knocking me over.'' ``I am not sorry!'' Motes said and just as quickly dashed away and back to the kitchen. ``Help me cut up everything. I am going to nick a claw, I know it.'' diff --git a/motes-played/content/003.tex b/motes-played/content/003.tex index cfb592e..34a1cb9 100644 --- a/motes-played/content/003.tex +++ b/motes-played/content/003.tex @@ -194,7 +194,7 @@ She scoffed. ``They just write each other letters.'' Motes snorted. ``You do not sound like you would mind too much.'' -Ey shrugged. ``It would suck, but yeah.'' It thought for a moment, then shrugged. ``I will amend that somewhat. Even if it would not be any big loss for me, I do not think it would make any of us feel good. No one wants to be an outcast.'' +Ey shrugged. ``It would suck, but yeah.'' It thought for a moment, then shrugged again. ``I will amend that somewhat. Even if it would not be any big loss for me, I do not think it would make any of us feel good. No one wants to be an outcast.'' ``Yeah\ldots{}''