Thoughts

content/draft/001.md

@@ -12,12 +12,10 @@ She played with life, enjoying and enjoying and enjoying.
 
 She played with death. She had died countless times, on-stage and off — to knives, to falls, to drowning, to games, to those who said they loved her, to those who said they hated her.
 
-She played because she was a kid.
+Motes played because she was a kid and she was a kid because she played. She was a kid because kids are resilient. She was a kid because kids bounced, because they fell, cried, and then picked themselves up once more and went back to playing. She was a kid because she liked being small. She was a kid because she liked it when others played, too. She liked when others fell into enjoyment and laughter along with her. She liked the way that it brought out the best in those in her life. She was a kid because a life would not truly be complete without kids, and she believed with all of her heart that life should be complete.
 
 She played because she *was* play. Play incarnate.
 
-Motes was a kid because she played. She was a kid because kids are resilient. She was a kid because kids bounced, because they fell, cried, and then picked themselves up once more and went back to playing. She was a kid because she liked being small. She was a kid because she liked it when others played, too. She liked when others fell into enjoyment and laughter along with her. She liked the way that it brought out the best in those in her life. She was a kid because a life would not truly be complete without kids, and she believed with all of her heart that life should be complete.
-
 And so Motes played. 
 
 She sat atop her stool, one of her feet perched up there with her so that she could rest her chin somewhere while she painted. A palette sat on an infinitely positionable nothing beside her. A canvas sat on an easel, rickety and well-loved, before her. A brush sat in her paw, and paint sat on the brush. A thin, black rectangle sat on that canvas, as did a mountainous landscape. Music sat in her ears, chirpy and glitchy to offset the serenity of the scene in a new way.
@@ -30,13 +28,13 @@ Once feeling returned to her rump, she pushed herself back to sit cross-legged a
 
 She used to just wave away her supplies, either letting them dissipate back into her memories or float back to their proper locations in her studio, but some decades prior, she had started using the process of putting things away by hand to unwind from the context of painting.
 
-She split the difference today, and forked quickly into four Moteses: one hauled the stool up above her head and trundled over to plop it down in the corner by the workbench; one ran off with the brush and palette to wash them off in the sink; one brought the easel, painting still clamped to it, over to the corner to dry; one tried to do a handstand in the middle of the room while Motes#Root watched. Eventually, she managed for a few seconds before collapsing into a giggling heap.
+She split the difference today and forked quickly into four Moteses: one hauled the stool up above her head and trundled over to plop it down in the corner by the workbench; one ran off with the brush and palette to wash them off in the sink; one brought the easel, painting still clamped to it, over to the corner to dry; one tried to do a handstand in the middle of the room while Motes#Root watched. Eventually, she managed for a few seconds before collapsing into a giggling heap.
 
 One by one, the various Moteses quit until #Root was the only one remaining. She pushed herself to her feet, stretched, and padded out of the pleasantly cluttered studio.
 
 "Lights, Dot."
 
-Motes jolted at the sound of A Finger Pointing's voice from the couch beside the door. "Oh! Yeah!" she said, forking off one more ephemeral instance to go flip the switch in the studio, make some spooky noises, then quit, all while #root climbed up to join her down-tree instance on the couch, slouching against her side.
+Motes jolted at the sound of A Finger Pointing's voice from the couch beside the door. "Oh! Yeah!" she said, forking off one more ephemeral instance to go flip the switch in the studio, make some spooky noises, then quit, all while #Root climbed up to join her down-tree instance on the couch, slouching against her side.
 
 "All done painting?" Beholden asked, the other, larger skunk not yet looking up from where she was slicing a lime into wedges at the bar.
 
@@ -50,11 +48,11 @@ A Finger Pointing ruffled a hand lazily through the skunk's mane. "What were you
 
 Motes giggled. "I do not know. Probably. Are you making drinks, Bee?"
 
-The other skunk scoffed, tossing her head back, adopting a scolding tone. "Am I making drinks? Am *I* making drinks? And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights of the Ode clade, what happened to your brain?" She laughed, adding, "Why? Want one too?"
+The other skunk scoffed, tossing her head back, adopting a scolding tone. "Am I making drinks? Am *I* making drinks? And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights, what happened to your brain?" She laughed, adding, "Why? Want one too?"
 
 Motes blew a raspberry in response. "Yes please!"
 
-"Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps of the Ode clade, you had best not be feeding the child gin," A Finger Pointing scolded in turn, leaning hard into her full name. Her scowl was nevertheless patently overwrought.
+"Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps of the Ode clade, you had best not be feeding the child gin," A Finger Pointing scolded in turn, leaning hard into that full name. Her scowl was nevertheless patently overwrought.
 
 "Right, virgin gin fizz it is."
 
@@ -104,7 +102,7 @@ She shrugged. "Beckoning and Muse? Slow Hours, maybe? Dry Grass? I think Warmth
 
 "I do not know. Usually that happens when ey gets a letter from one of the Dear-cules."
 
-"Mm, usually Pollux, yes." She sighed, passing the drink back to Beholden and resting her head against the back of the couch. "It has been a while since you bothered Dry Grass, then. You flopped on Slow Hours earlier today and pestered your aunts earlier this week. You tracked soil all over the floor."
+"Mm, usually Pollux, yes." She sighed, passing the drink back to Beholden and resting her head against the back of the couch. "It has been a while since you bothered Dry Grass, then. You flopped on Slow Hours earlier today and pestered your aunts earlier this week. You tracked soil all over the floor, remember?"
 
 "Alright, I will ping her soon, then."
 
@@ -146,11 +144,11 @@ Motes snorted. "You are also a fat skunk, though."
 
 The playful banter continued, and while she would occasionally poke her snout in to make a quip of her own, Motes largely just savored her drink, bitter and sour and sweet, and the comfort of being nestled in between her two cocladists, thinking.
 
-She thought about the more than two centuries that had passed since A Finger Pointing had forked into the other nine instances of her stanza, that point when Motes had become Motes. She thought about the time that had followed when she remained essentially the version of A Finger Pointing who had taken up responsibility for sets and props, about those slow years of individuation and differentiation. She thought about the way she had started to toy with her appearance, her actions, her approach to life, and how she had steered herself into this focus on play to reclaim a childhood that had, yes, been pleasant enough, and yet which could have been so much more, now that she had all the time in the world.
+She thought about the more than two centuries that had passed since A Finger Pointing had forked into the other nine instances of her stanza, that point when Motes had become Motes. She thought about the time that had followed when she remained essentially the version of A Finger Pointing who had taken up responsibility for sets and props, about those slow years of individuation and differentiation. She thought about the way she had started to toy with her appearance, her actions, her approach to life, and how she had steered herself into this focus on play to reclaim a childhood that had, yes, been pleasant enough, and yet which could have been so much more, now that she had all the time in the world. Something to live intentionally. Something to savor.
 
 It had not always been smooth, to be sure. The compromises she made early on far outnumbered the ways in which she was earnest to herself.
 
-She did not blame A Finger Pointing, never once. She, of all those in her life, was trustworthy. Motes had once *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 blame A Finger Pointing, never once. She, of all those in her life, was trustworthy. Motes had once *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 perfect 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 *Dóttir.* She was the kid, and they were the grown-ups who loved her.
 
@@ -158,7 +156,7 @@ And so their protectiveness made sense, yes? They wanted to keep her safe, 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 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 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.
 
 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 *optics* that needed minding.
 
@@ -210,7 +208,7 @@ There was a moment's silence, a sense of laughter, and then, *"Motes Motes Motes
 
 *"Mmhm. Was going to make a food or two. Do you want some?"*
 
-There was a sensation of a haughty frown from Dry Grass. *"Are you allowed to be using the stove, my dear?"*
+There was a sensation of a haughty frown from Dry Grass. *"Are you allowed to be using the stove, young miss?"*
 
 Motes sighed dramatically. *"Fiiine, I will fork older."*
 
@@ -242,7 +240,7 @@ Once the dishes had been waved away and drinks had been made — sweeter cocktai
 
 "What is on your mind, kiddo?" Dry Grass asked. "Usually you do not want to just flop unless you are already worn out or something got you all thinky."
 
-"I dunno," she said. The use of a contraction itched, brushing against the linguistic idiosyncrasies that plagued all of the Odists, even these many years later, but she had practiced for certain occasions. She shrugged, careful not to mess up the current shape. "I spent the day with Slow Hours and Sasha, and they got to talking about the past because Sasha had a question. Just thinking about being me."
+"I dunno," she said. The use of a contraction itched, brushing against the linguistic idiosyncrasies that plagued all of the Odists, even these many years later, but she had practiced for certain occasions. She shrugged, careful not to mess up the current shape. "I spent the day with Slow Hours and Sasha, and they got to talking about the past because Sasha had a question for Slowers. Just thinking about being me."
 
 "'Being you'?"
 
@@ -260,7 +258,7 @@ Holding up her hands disarmingly, Dry Grass added quickly, "Not from me, my dear
 
 The skunk's smile returned. "I know. You are nice to me. I had figured if not the eighth, then In Dreams would have been the one."
 
-"Oh, she was definitely another one of the big culprits. Do not get me wrong, I like the seventh stanza alright, but In Dreams can be a stickler over...well, most anything, really."
+"Oh, she was definitely another one of the big culprits, at least early on. Do not get me wrong, I like the seventh stanza alright, but In Dreams can be a stickler over...well, most anything, really."
 
 "Yeah, she pulled me aside once and started talking about there being a time and a place and blah blah blah."
 
@@ -270,15 +268,15 @@ The skunk's smile returned. "I know. You are nice to me. I had figured if not th
 
 Dry Grass frowned, looking down at her spread out fingers, watching the polish dry. "It is hard to put succinctly into words that make sense because then it just comes off as a series of tautologies. She thinks that there are children and there are adults. She thinks this because that is what makes a mother a mother to someone. The child is the child and the adult is the adult in contrast. They are complements. It is all very prescriptive."
 
-Motes frowned and pulled apart the logic, doodling pink spirals onto her fingerpads. "So she thinks kids have to be actually kids? *Actual* children, even if there are none here?"
+Motes frowned and pulled apart the logic, doodling pink spirals onto her fingerpads. "So she thinks kids have to be actually kids? *Actual* children, even if there are none here? You still have to be over eighteen to upload."
 
 "I think so, yes, though it does not help that you are a cocladist of hers."
 
 "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 would mean that she had the capability to become you, yes? That any of us would have that, 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 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 was the daughter of the PTA president or something."
+"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."
 
 Dry Grass laughed as well. "She is already essentially the prissy HOA president. I respect her as a person, but I do not like her, and I *certainly* do not respect her authority."
 
@@ -296,4 +294,4 @@ Dry Grass nodded, expression serious. "It absolutely is. She has gotten quite up
 
 Motes huffed, nodded. "Good. If you stop talking to me, I *will* cry."
 
-"Perish the thought!" The Odist 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 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."

content/draft/002.md

@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@ Tonight, she let him take her home. Tonight she let him pin her to the bed, paw
 
 And then it was a night for sitting on his balcony and talking while the waves of whatever drug he'd given her continued to roll through her in languid pulses. "It is like someone is brushing the underside of my skin with satin in the best possible way," she said, and he laughed.
 
-They sat and talked, legs dangling through the bars of the balcony's railing over an impossibly high drop, her ears filled with the chatter of an impossible myriad of monkeys some balconies over, startled from slumber by their arrival, her eyes filled with the black and gold of an impossible city built into a cylinder. He pointed to a building in the distance down the length of the cylinder, told her how that one was filled all with gardens, all flowers like those in her hair, now crushed lopsidedly from her forgetting to remove the crown when they fucked. He pointed up to the gentle glow in the sky, golden stars made of lights from so many buildings just like this one, told her that the sun here was in a long, thin line, that it turned on from one end to the other so that one could see dawn coming from down the tube, could hear birdsong come on like a wave, and then turned off in the same direction in a linear sunset. He pointed from one end of the cylinder to another, the bounding walls marked by arcane symbols in neon, and explained that nearly a quarter billion people called this home, then laughed as she asked, "How many do you think are fucking right now?"
+They sat and talked, legs dangling through the bars of the balcony's railing over an impossibly high drop, her ears filled with the chatter of an impossible myriad of monkeys some balconies over, startled from slumber by their arrival, her eyes filled with the black and gold of an impossible city built into a cylinder. He pointed to a building in the distance down the length of the cylinder, told her how that one was filled all with gardens, all flowers like those in her hair, now crushed lopsidedly from her forgetting to remove the crown when they fucked. He pointed up to the gentle glow in the sky, golden stars made of lights from so many buildings just like this one, told her that the sun here was in a long, thin line, that it turned on slowly from one end to the other so that one could see dawn coming from down the tube, could hear birdsong come on like a wave, and then turned off in the same direction in a linear sunset. He pointed from one end of the cylinder to another, the bounding walls marked by arcane symbols in neon, and explained that nearly a quarter  of a billion people called this home, then laughed as she asked, "How many do you think are fucking right now?"
 
 They added one more to that number before they slept.
 
@@ -38,7 +38,7 @@ Empty auditorium.
 
 Empty stage, but for one skunk, kneeling in the center with a clipboard and script laid out before her in a neat arc, a bank of three different colored highlighters resting in her lap.
 
-Where so many of the skunks of the clade had the stark contrast of black and white fur, hers was the warm brown of cinnamon with the pale cream of white chocolate. Where so many of the other skunks had black noses, black fur fading all but seamlessly before them, hers was far more pink, more easily seen twitching this way or that at some scent or another. Where so many of her family had long, poetic names, hers remained simple, a remnant of some more complicated past.
+Where so many of the skunks of the clade had the stark contrast of black and white fur, hers was the warm brown of cinnamon with the pale cream of white chocolate. Where so many of the other skunks had black noses, black fur fading seamlessly before them, hers was far more pink, more easily seen twitching this way or that at some scent or another. Where so many of her family had long, poetic names, hers remained simple, a remnant of some more complicated past.
 
 Motes traipsed down the long, shallow steps of the auditorium aisles, all but skipping in that long-running afterglow. "Sasha!"
 
@@ -80,11 +80,11 @@ She looked up once more, rolled her eyes. "Can you really picture May being into
 
 An eloquent shrug was the reply.
 
-"Well, *huh,*" she said, grinning still. She could feel the limerence for her form starting to fade, could feel the humanity begin to itch, so she waved the topic away. "But we can talk about that later. I need to re-skunk. I want to keep this shirt, though."
+"Well, *huh,*" she said, grinning still. She could feel the limerence for her form starting to fade, could feel the humanity begin to itch, so she waved the topic away. She had been seen, had been witnessed; that was all she had needed. "But we can talk about that later. I need to re-skunk. I want to keep this shirt, though."
 
 "Alright, dear. I shall look away."
 
-Motes shimmied out of the blouse and folded it neatly, setting it on the stage before forking into her usual, smaller, soft-furred self once more. Younger, as well, back to that comfortable, comforting expression of youth. "Okay," she said once she was done once more, rolling around to lay on her belly and poke her snout at one of the piles of paper. "What are you working on, anyway?"
+Motes shimmied out of the blouse and folded it neatly on the stage before forking into her usual, smaller, soft-furred self once more. Younger, as well, back to that comfortable, comforting expression of youth. "Okay," she said once she was done, rolling around to lay on her belly and poke her snout at one of the piles of paper. "What are you working on, anyway?"
 
 Sasha smiled, tipped her clipboard forward to let the skunk see the stage diagram. "Blocking. Planning. Memorization."
 
@@ -98,13 +98,13 @@ She was startled back to awareness by Sasha's voice. "What are you thinking abou
 
 "Mm?"
 
-"You seemed deep in thought." She smiled faintly. "Or perhaps blissfully without."
+"You seemed deep in thought." She smiled affectionately. "Or perhaps blissfully without."
 
-Motes stuck her tongue out at her. "I was thinking about how I was talking with Dry Grass yester– the day before yesterday, and how she was telling me about Hammered Silver being a b-word."
+Motes stuck her tongue out at her. "I was thinking about how I was talking with Dry Grass yester– the day before yesterday. She was telling me about Hammered Silver being a b-word."
 
-Unexpectedly, Sasha winced, carefully setting down her clipboard with exaggerated care. "Yes. I am sorry, And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights, it was never my intent to create such a schism in the clade."
+Unexpectedly, Sasha winced, carefully setting down her clipboard with exaggerated care. "Yes. I am sorry, And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights," she said, voice and movements stiff, contrite. "It was never my intent to create such a schism in the clade."
 
-Pushing herself to hands and knees and crawling around the piles of script, she knelt beside the other skunk, hugging around her shoulders. "It is okay. I do not blame you," she said hastily. "Dry Grass also said that that was just a...um, a last straw, not even the biggest thing."
+Pushing herself to hands and knees, she crawled around the piles of script to kneel beside the other skunk and hug around her shoulders. "It is okay. I do not think it is on you," she said hastily. "Dry Grass said that that was just a...um, a last straw, not even the biggest thing."
 
 "What did she say was?" Sasha asked quietly, shifting an arm around to hug Motes in turn.
 
@@ -120,7 +120,7 @@ After nearly a minute of silence, Sasha said, "Years back, centuries ago, Jonas
 
 Sasha snorted. "Do not let her hear you say that. She would say that she is not, that it is a partnership, it is two actors playing their parts: she, the mother; him, the father — dad jokes and all. They are roles in a long-running production." She winked conspiratorially, adding, "Though I am not sure that Waking World would agree with her. I think he very much thinks of himself as her husband, of the both of them as very much in love with each other."
 
-Motes furrowed her brow in consternation. "She does not make any sense," she said. "She hates Ma and Bee for dating and hates me for being their daughter and all the others my siblings or whatever, and then she marries Waking World?"
+Motes furrowed her brow in consternation. "She does not make any sense," she said. "She hates Ma and Bee for dating and hates me for being their daughter and all the others for being my siblings or whatever, and then she marries Waking World?"
 
 "Perhaps her performance is so convincing that she is fooling us all. Perhaps she is simply fooling herself."
 
@@ -164,7 +164,7 @@ She nodded, pressing her face all the firmer against the stage manager's belly.
 
 "Right, and those principles go beyond just the three of you. She was thinking of Dry Grass, too, yes? And of Waking World and of Fogs The View and of Time Makes Prey, and of all of the other, nicer folks she has spoken to in the sixth stanza on the sly. Many have continued to shun me, which is fine, so be it, they value their relationship with Hammered Silver more than Dry Grass does, but at least they are still talking with A Finger Pointing."
 
-"Yeah, that is true. And at least Dry Grass is still here."
+"Yeah, true. And at least Dry Grass is still here."
 
 "That she is." Sasha smiled, nudging Motes on the shoulder. "Now, come. Let us get you home, yes? Get you some food and let you crow about your exploits to anyone who will listen, yes? Show off your blouse, yes?"
 

content/draft/003.md

@@ -106,7 +106,7 @@ As it spoke, ey dreamed up a shallow bowl. "No fucking clue! It apparently means
 
 Motes leaned forward and squinted at the dish, sniffing. It smelled like precious little.
 
-"I have not gotten around to adding the scent yet," Warmth explained. "That is one area where Codrin did not give much detail."
+"I have not gotten around to adding the scent yet," Warmth explained. "That is one area where Codrin did not give much detail. I replied asking █████ to help with things like that."
 
 "Well, okay," she said, doubtful. She dreamed up a spoon and poked at the...foam? Froth? It was surprisingly sturdy, and although it wobbled, it did not fall over under the touch. 
 
@@ -188,7 +188,7 @@ She scoffed. "They just write each other letters."
 
 "Well, okay," Motes said, still giggling. "Do you really think they have cut you off? Effectively if not actually, I mean."
 
-"I have not talked with them, but neither have they talked with me," they said. "I think that I am one step away from being in their cross-hairs. I am over here doing my weird stuff, making things and food and such. I am not really political, I am not being sneaky or dating a Bălan or whatever, and My is off doing her own thing now. I *am* part Dear, though, and I *am* small like you."
+"I have not talked with them, but neither have they talked with me," they said. "I think that I am one step away from being in their cross-hairs. I am over here doing my weird stuff, making things and food and such. I am not really political, I am not being sneaky or dating a Bălan or whatever, and My is off doing her own thing for now. I *am* part Dear, though, and I *am* small like you."
 
 "Which do you think would piss them off more?"
 
@@ -202,7 +202,7 @@ Ey shrugged. "It would suck, but yeah." It thought for a moment, then shrugged.
 
 "Sorry, Mote." Warmth scooted closer and draped an arm over her front. "I did not mean to rub it in any."
 
-She nodded and tugged Warmth's arm up to hug her own around it. "It is okay, just had not heard it put like that before."
+She nodded and tugged Warmth's arm up to hug it to her front. "It is okay, just had not heard it put like that before."
 
 "Dear got its fair share of getting cast out as it became more and more of a snotty little shit, and some of that rubbed off onto us. I have a fair few people who dislike me because of that."