Motes edits

motes-played/content/001.tex

@@ -272,7 +272,7 @@ Motes frowned and pulled apart the logic, doodling pink spirals onto her fingerp
 
 ``Is this that stupid optics thing again?''
 
-``I do not know. Certainly in part, though it is also in part because, if you are her, then you could not be her child. You could not be a different age.'' She hesitated, then added, ``It means that she has the capability to become like you, yes? That all of us have that within us, yes?''
+``I do not know. Certainly in part, though it is also in part because, if you are her, then you could not be her child. You could not be a different age.'' She hesitated, then added, ``It means that she has the capability to become like you, yes? That all of us have\pagebreak\ that within us, yes?''
 
 ``Oh god,'' Motes said, laughing. ``I cannot imagine Hammered Silver as a kid. She would be one of those prissy, stuck up girls who is the daughter of the PTA president or something.''
 
@@ -292,4 +292,4 @@ Dry Grass nodded, expression serious. ``It absolutely is. She has gotten quite u
 
 Motes huffed, nodded. ``Good. If you stop talking to me, I \emph{will} cry.''
 
-``Perish the thought!'' Dry Grass laughed and leaned over to hug her cocladist, careful of her nails. ``I will not. Do not worry, my dear, you are stuck with me for a good while yet. I would rather tell Hammered Silver to go fuck herself.''
+``Perish the thought!'' Dry Grass laughed and leaned over to\pagebreak\ hug her cocladist, careful of her nails. ``I will not. Do not worry, my dear, you are stuck with me for a good while yet. I would rather tell Hammered Silver to go fuck herself.''

motes-played/content/007.tex

@@ -27,6 +27,7 @@ This letter serves as a means to reinforce that this no-contact order still stan
 \item
   There is to be no contact between I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass and the rest of the sixth stanza until further notice.
 \end{enumerate}
+\pagebreak
 
 I expect better from Odists. Perhaps my expectations are misguided.
 
@@ -487,7 +488,7 @@ That was the time their friendship died, the moment A Finger Pointing received t
 
 The dissociation had before long defined her life, her existence.
 
-It had dampened her hedonism. It had put a stopper on so much of her wild enthusiasm and had instead led her to softer comforts—sun-bathing on a rock by a quiet creek a lovely pastime—at best, to so often asking Beholden to take her home when she had so often before outlasted the skunk on their outings at worst. Whereas before she had dwelt in even the excesses of hedonism until she overflowed and locked herself away from it, a self-harm by omission, she now dwelt in the quietudes of hedonism until she overflowed and threw herself with abandon into wildnesses, a self-harm by overindulgence.
+It had dampened her hedonism. It had put a stopper on so much of her wild enthusiasm and had led her to so often asking Beholden to take her home when she had so often before outlasted the skunk on their outings. Whereas before she had dwelt in even the excesses of hedonism until she overflowed and locked herself away from it, a self-harm by omission, she now dwelt in the quietudes of hedonism until she overflowed and threw herself with abandon into wildnesses, a self-harm by overindulgence.
 
 The dissociation, derealization, depersonalization had defined her in her play and, perhaps more painfully, in her care. Here she was, sat on the couch and staring unseeing toward the kitchen, having had to step away from a meeting of care, unable to engage. Here she was, unable to help—never mind that there may not be anything she \emph{could} do to help right now—until her sense of self recohered, until she could return to that care.
 
@@ -533,7 +534,9 @@ She read the letter through twice and then committed it to her long-running exoc
 
 At least it had worked.
 
-A simple dinner. A few glasses of wine. A quiet evening saying nothing as she lounged with her head on Beholden's lap while the skunk worked.
+A simple dinner. A few glasses of wine. A quiet evening saying nothing as she lounged with her head on Beholden's lap while the skunk worked. Simple pleasures as she mulled over the day and its varied traumas.
+
+There was so much more she wished she had done. There was so much more she wished she \emph{could} have done. Perhaps there was nothing more available to her, no further tasks before her to address in order to make Motes more comfortable or Dry Grass's life easier, but all the same, the drive to care itched. It grated up against her inability to engage further, thanks to her sense of self already being stretched taut, thanks to that dissociation preventing her from being more earnestly herself.
 
 As darkness fell, as they planned on bed, she checked up on Motes for herself.