post-self/motes-played.post-self.ink
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Madison Scott-Clary
2024-03-19 13:43:31 -07:00
parent efbb536f94
commit 1cda3a05b3
7 changed files with 57 additions and 45 deletions
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@ -44,13 +44,13 @@ Motes giggled. "I mean, I guess so. Big Motes understands it better, but she is
This had long ago become a hint to drop into conversations that to continue would be to break the illusion, to pull back the curtain and expose the play for what it was: merely a performance.
Neither of them, neither of these two consummate performers, wanted that. Alexei could probably pry it out of her, pry out all of the details of all that had happened — and she may yet send him a letter as Big Motes for more context later — pry her out of this space for a little bit if he wanted.
Neither of them, neither of these two consummate performers, wanted that. Alexei could probably pry it out of her, pry out all of the details of all that had happened, pry her out of this space for a little bit if he wanted — and she may yet send him a letter as Big Motes for more context later.
He did not, so he said nothing and flopped backwards on the rock, resting his head on one arm while draping the other over his face to block out the sun. "Sounds dumb," he said. "I'm just glad you're back and that you're not in trouble or anything."
Panting, Motes scooted so that her back rested against a spire of rock to get as much shade as she could. Black fur and bright sun coexisted too energetically at times. "No, not really in trouble," she said. "I may have made myself feel like I was in trouble, but that is just me being a dummy."
There was a snort of laughter from the boy. "That is definitely a you thing."
There was a snort of laughter from the boy. "That's *definitely* a you thing."
She mulled over this, tallying up the various anxieties she had felt over the years, the worries she had expressed or let color her actions, all the times she disappeared from youth, from play, from this form. Despite her desire to let Big Motes handle such things, a question began to gnaw at her, a desire for feedback.
"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled. "You ever get anxious about all this?"
@ -97,7 +97,7 @@ She laughed. "Some of us. Some of us drifted apart, but some of us stick togethe
"I guess, yeah," he said. "I'm not a dispersionista, though, so I can't really understand. I don't have any up-trees or cross-trees or whatever. It sucks that she's being a bully, though, 'cause she kind of *is* you, isn't she?"
Motes sighed. "I guess, yeah. That is why it hurt and why I had to spend a lot of time thinking about it."
Motes sighed. "Sort of, yeah. That is why it hurt and why I had to spend a lot of time thinking about it."
He reached out and gave her tail a gentle tug — not something she usually tolerated, but the conversation had been so gentle, it had no scent of meanness to it — and smiled up to her. "Well, *I* think you're better than she is, so clearly she isn't you. Tell her to get stuffed!"