From 8eff223c41e5ff893e3213ed1198beddfc1623d3 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Sat, 27 Jan 2024 11:47:20 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] Edits --- content/draft/001.md | 2 +- content/draft/002.md | 12 ++++++------ content/draft/003.md | 18 +++++++++++------- content/draft/004.md | 14 +++++++------- content/draft/005.md | 2 +- content/draft/006.md | 16 ++++++++-------- content/draft/007.md | 40 +++++++++++++++++++++------------------- content/draft/008.md | 32 ++++++++++++++++---------------- content/draft/009.md | 18 +++++++++--------- content/draft/010.md | 14 +++++++------- 10 files changed, 87 insertions(+), 81 deletions(-) diff --git a/content/draft/001.md b/content/draft/001.md index e4b6f74..6a6de30 100644 --- a/content/draft/001.md +++ b/content/draft/001.md @@ -270,7 +270,7 @@ 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 non 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?" "I think so, yes, though it does not help that you are a cocladist of hers." diff --git a/content/draft/002.md b/content/draft/002.md index 1945baf..ddbe765 100644 --- a/content/draft/002.md +++ b/content/draft/002.md @@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ Motes played. -Tonight, she played hard. It was a Big Motes night. It was a human night. It was a grown up night. It was a night for hovering somewhere between twenty and twenty-five. It was a night for standing as tall as Beholden, as tall as so many of the other Odists, yet far more lithe. Tonight, she dressed up in her finest crepe-cotton blouse and gauzy skirt, and she braided for herself a fresh crown of flowers — marigolds, this time — grown by Beckoning and Muse A Finger Pointing and Beholden's long-lived up-tree instances A Finger Curled and Beholden To The Music Of The Spheres. +Tonight, she played hard. It was a Big Motes night. It was a human night. It was a grown up night. It was a night for hovering somewhere between twenty and twenty-five. It was a night for standing as tall as Beholden, as tall as so many of the other Odists, yet far more lithe. Tonight, she dressed up in her finest crepe-cotton blouse and gauzy skirt, and she braided for herself a fresh crown of flowers — marigolds, this time — grown by Beckoning and Muse, A Finger Pointing and Beholden's long-lived up-tree instances A Finger Curled and Beholden To The Music Of The Spheres. Tonight, Motes played in hedonism. A night at a restaurant out on the town, where she stuffed herself with two Chicago-style hot dogs. "Drag them through the garden!" She laughed — and she was always laughing. "Everything but the ketchup!" A night when she ate all of her fries, and even mopped up the last of the fry sauce with a fingertip. @@ -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'd 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 would 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 added one more to that number before they slept. @@ -50,9 +50,9 @@ Hiking herself up onto the stage, undignified, she plopped down into a cross-leg "Sharp!" she explained, miming fangs with two fingers. -She laughed. "Right, right. I didn't know you were into the slinky types," she said, leaning forward to gently probe at the side of Motes's neck and shoulder, investigating the shallow puncture wounds that had been left behind. "One of those 'looks worse than it is' things, seems like." +She laughed. "Right, right. I did not know you were into the slinky types," she said, leaning forward to gently probe at the side of Motes's neck and shoulder, investigating the shallow puncture wounds that had been left behind. "One of those 'looks worse than it is' things, seems like." -Motes sighed dreamily. "Yeah." +Motes sighed dreamily. "Yeah~" Sasha snorted. "We are of a type, are we not, dear?" @@ -132,7 +132,7 @@ She scoffed. "Probably the second." Sasha laughed and turned the ruffling into a noogie. "This is not a competition, Motes," she chided. "But if it were, then yes, you would win. She has cut off even A Finger Pointing." -Giggling helplessly and pulling herself away from the knuckles grinding against her scalp, the skunk sat up. "I thought they were on better terms, though. Ma met with her once a month, even." +Squeaking and giggling, pulling herself away from the knuckles grinding against her scalp, the skunk sat up. "I thought they were on better terms, though. Ma met with her once a month, even." "When she found out that I had joined Au Lieu Du Rêve, Hammered silver cut all contact with the fifth, yes?" @@ -150,7 +150,7 @@ The smaller skunk giggled helplessly, slouching down until she was able to use S "So Hammered Silver is upset that Ma has principles," Motes said flatly. "Okay. Got it. Good good, good good good good. Wonderful." -She laughed. "Yes, apparently. A Finger Pointing had some tense meetings with Hammered Silver early on when it became clear — at least within the clade — that she and Beholden were in a relationship, but that tenseness became the norm when you started to poke your little snout–" She tapped at Motes's nose-tip, getting a giggle. "–out into the world, which led to a tacit agreement that they were essentially just meeting up to collect data on their respective stanzas, and then only when A Finger Pointing agreed not to talk about you." +She laughed. "Yes, apparently. A Finger Pointing had some tense meetings with her early on when it became clear — at least within the clade — that she and Beholden were in a relationship, but that tenseness became the norm when you started to poke your little snout–" She tapped at Motes's nose-tip, getting a giggle. "–out into the world, which led to a tacit agreement that they were essentially just meeting up to collect data on their respective stanzas, and then only when A Finger Pointing agreed not to talk about you." Motes fell silent for a long minute, then two, and eventually rolled onto the other side so that she could bury her face against Sasha's side. "Well, that makes me feel like garbage," she mumbled. diff --git a/content/draft/003.md b/content/draft/003.md index af52d78..e681a0b 100644 --- a/content/draft/003.md +++ b/content/draft/003.md @@ -44,7 +44,7 @@ It was Motes who caved first, ducking down onto paws and knees at the last secon "Gotcha!" ey cried, scampering off to the forest. -Motes galloped after her, giggling. +Motes galloped after her, laughing giddily. A few more rounds of leapfrog — repeated a dozen times over with a dozen different instances — and both Motes and Warmth collapsed in the clearing in the woods, panting and laughing. They shoved at each other for a few seconds, rolling about in the grass and wildflowers before sprawling out on their backs, looking up into the cloud-dotted sky. @@ -140,7 +140,7 @@ It nodded. "She really is, and I love her. She is...mm," ey squinted up at the t She waved away the utensil and glass of water, flopping back onto the grass once more. "That is why I like her, yeah," she said, folding her paws over her belly, pensive. -Warmth dismissed the *frahabrodåt* and stretched out on their belly. "Now why did *you* get all mopey all of the sudden?" +Warmth dismissed the *frahabrodåt* and stretched out on their front. "Now why did *you* get all mopey all of the sudden?" She shrugged, peeking over at the other skunk through the blades of grass and drooping columbines. "Just family stuff on the brain." @@ -152,7 +152,7 @@ She shrugged, peeking over at the other skunk through the blades of grass and dr "I know, but like the smallest. Like, the youngest." -Warmth huffed, indignant. "But *I* am the youngest! I am the babiest. That is my whole thing, yes? I am the most recently forked, the most recently-claimed line." +Warmth huffed, indignant. "But *I* am the youngest! I am the babiest. That is my whole thing, yes? I am the most recently forked, the most recently-claimed line!" Rolling over onto her side, Motes smiled apologetically at her friend. "I know, I am sorry. We are the little ones, right? Dry Grass even calls us that. Her little ones." @@ -176,15 +176,19 @@ Warmth sighed, stretching their arms in front of em. "I know she has not *actual Motes frowned. "Wait, really?" -"I mean, I have not actually talked to them, but they cut off Dear for less." Ey laughed bitterly. "But again, I am also a little one, right? I have dated a cocladist before, have I not? My stanza also has our family dynamic, yes? Hell, Rye and Pointillist are *plenty* chummy, if you know what I mean." +"I mean, I have not actually talked to them, but they cut off Dear for less." Ey laughed bitterly. "But again, I am also a little one, right? My stanza also has our family dynamic, yes? I have dated a cocladist before, have I not? And My and I have been getting close again, too." -She laughed. "They just write each other letters." +Motes laughed and clapped her paws. + +Grinning, it continued, "Hell, Rye and Pointillist are *plenty* chummy, if you know what I mean." + +She scoffed. "They just write each other letters." "Yeah. *Sexy* 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 whatever. I am not really political, I am not being sneaky or dating a Bălan or whatever. 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 now. I *am* part Dear, though, and I *am* small like you." "Which do you think would piss them off more?" @@ -198,7 +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 own around it. "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." diff --git a/content/draft/004.md b/content/draft/004.md index 400367c..68c7437 100644 --- a/content/draft/004.md +++ b/content/draft/004.md @@ -50,7 +50,7 @@ This was not supposed to happen. Michelle/Sasha sneered through that omnipresent exhaustion. "Some mote who styles herself Motes. Some grasper-after-fame. Some fetishist who wishes only to taint the Ode with lurid visions of youth." -In her free hand/paw, this ghost brought into being a dagger, silver-bladed, wood-hilted, ruby-pommeled. She reached out and slowly, almost tenderly, pressed it into Motes's paw. Holding her wrist, she brought that paw up so that the tip of the blade was pressed against the skunk's neck, pricking at the skin over her jugular. When she let go, Motes found her paw remained there, immobile, unresponsive to her efforts to pull it away. +In her free hand/paw, this ghost brought into being a dagger, silver-bladed, wood-hilted, ruby-pommeled. She reached out and slowly, almost tenderly, pressed it into Motes's paw. Holding her wrist, she brought that paw up so that the tip of the blade was pressed against the skunk's neck, pricking at the skin over her carotid. When she let go, Motes found her paw remained there, immobile, unresponsive to her efforts to pull it away. "This is your kink, is it not 'Motes'? Your fetish, 'Speck'? 'Skunklet'?" Sasha/Michelle leaned forward, nearly nose to nose, whispered, "*'Dóttir'?*" @@ -116,7 +116,7 @@ Both of the skunks fell into laughter, sprawled awkwardly beneath their down-tre "We will swim! We will be happy!" Motes chimed in. -Sighing dreamily, A Finger Pointing nodded. "We should have been poets." +Sighing fondly, A Finger Pointing nodded. "We should have been poets." Motes could tell what they were doing. She was as adept at this as they were. The job of an actor is to trick the audience — just for a moment! — that the story playing out before them is more real than the rest of the world, that it is the rest of their lives that is merely a play. A Finger Pointing and Beholden, Ma and Bee, were nudging her to set aside for now this dream-rotted headspace, this mopery. @@ -142,7 +142,7 @@ No one answered the door when she knocked, so she hesitantly pressed the doorbel *Why am I so nervous?* one part of her wondered, and then another answered, *Perhaps because you are worried she will tell you the truth.* Another chimed in, *Is that not the goal? Perhaps–* -She was startled out of her anxious spiral by a gentle ping in return. *"Speck? What is up? I am the ALDR library. Would you like me to cycle the door?"* +She was startled out of her anxious spiral by a gentle ping in return. *"Speck? What is up? I am at the ALDR library. Would you like me to cycle the door?"* Motes nodded. *"Hi Slow Hours. Yes please."* @@ -164,7 +164,7 @@ Motes huffed. She was a long time in opening up, which seemed to suit her cocladist just fine. Slow Hours summoned up a blanket and, disregarding the patio furniture that littered the concrete that ringed the solarium as well as the hard-packed dirt trail, picked her way out into the prairie. Holding two of the corners, she threw the blanket out to spread it over the shin-high grass. It seemed to float there, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. Skunk and woman observed this magic carpet in gingham hovering inches above the ground, bending blades and heads of stiff-stalked grass. -When Motes remained in place, Slow Hours instead stepped onto the blanket and tramped dutifully around the rim of it, tamping down the grass so that they would not sink so deep into the blanket. That done, she lowered herself to sit cross-legged near the center and patted her lap. +When Motes hesitated, Slow Hours stepped onto the blanket and tramped dutifully around the rim of it, tamping down the grass so that they would not sink so deep into the blanket. That done, she lowered herself to sit cross-legged near the center and patted her lap. At last, the skunk sighed and stepped onto the blanket, lowering herself to all fours and crawling forward to flop down beside her cocladist, resting her head on her thigh. @@ -174,7 +174,7 @@ Unable to hide a smile, she replied, "You cannot just steal my weirdo questions "Can and will." -She giggled. "Well, okay. My second greatest joy is that you brought a fricking picnic blanket out here because you knew I would just get all frumpy in one of those stupid chairs, and my third greatest fear iiiis..." She trailed off for a moment, thinking. "I am afraid you are going to just tell me this is nothing." +She giggled faintly. "Well, okay. My second greatest joy is that you brought a fricking picnic blanket out here because you knew I would just get all frumpy in one of those stupid chairs, and my third greatest fear iiiis..." She trailed off for a moment, thinking. "I am afraid you are going to just tell me this is nothing." "When have I ever been able to stop myself at "it is nothing", Speck?" Slow Hours tweaked one of the skunk's ears gently. "And if I do say that it is nothing, would that be so bad? You may have spent some time worrying, but is that not also time spent thinking through your emotions? We will still have spoken about *why* it is nothing." @@ -200,7 +200,7 @@ She was not so sure now. The immediacy of the dream felt too bound to time. Sure She was not so sure that dreams were meaningless firings of neurons composed into some semblance of order in the process of waking as she recalled tearfully the way that Michelle had caught her up by the scruff and told her horrible things — such horrible, horrible things — and then bade her drive home the blade to end her own life. -All throughout, Slow Hours listened in silence, letting her talk while brushing her fingers slowly through the thick fur of her mane. Even after she finished speaking, while she lingered a while in those tears, her cocladist simply sat with her in silence, stroking through her fur. It was a comforting silence. Thoughtful. Patient, with no need of filling. +All throughout, Slow Hours listened in silence, letting her talk while brushing her fingers slowly through the thick fur of her mane. Even after she finished speaking, while she lingered a while in those tears, her cocladist simply sat with her in silence, stroking through her fur and sharing in those tears. It was a comforting silence. Thoughtful. Patient, with no need of filling. Once her tears began to slow and she wiped at her nose with a tissue, Slow Hours leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I am sorry, Motes. You deserve better than what your sleeping mind has told you," she said gently. "It sounds as though this false vision of your past self was upset with two things: your explorations around age and your explorations around death, yes?" @@ -248,7 +248,7 @@ Motes shrugged. "I guess." Slow Hours nodded, letting her paws go. "I will not say "fuck 'em", much as either of us might want. You must not hyperfixate on them, but neither must you disregard them." -"Why? Do you have a prophecy for me?" Motes asked, grinning faintly. "The last time you gave me a prophecy, it was about whether I should stay friends with someone I met at a club." +"Why? Do you have a prophecy for me?" Motes asked, grinning faintly. "The last time you gave me a prophecy, it was about whether I should stay friends with Alexei." She laughed. "I remember that, yes. You were bound to run into someone who was also into kidcore stuff as Big Motes, and we were stifling you." The mirth faded to something more thoughtful. "But, yes, I have a prediction for you: the clade is not done with you, And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights. Even those who have cut you off have not forgotten you, and it is best that you not forget them." diff --git a/content/draft/005.md b/content/draft/005.md index 5b4da29..1af0ec4 100644 --- a/content/draft/005.md +++ b/content/draft/005.md @@ -91,7 +91,7 @@ And then it was dark and she was alone, her body and this mere mote of a Motes w Days passed out of time and time passed out of mind and mind drifted only in darkness where darkness gave no count of days. Delineations came only ever from within. She knew, for instance, that she got hungry at one point and quickly turned the sensation off. She knew that at one point she got too warm and so she commanded the room to be colder so that she could bundle up. -The only interruption that came from the outside was the door at one point creaking open. Motes did not know how long had passed — this life without play admitted no hours — but she did know that it must have been night, for precious little light came in, and what light did make it into the room was Moon silver. She knew also that she was far closer to her body now, perhaps halfway there. +The only interruption of note that came from the outside was the door at one point creaking open. Motes did not know how long had passed — this life without play admitted no hours — but she did know that it must have been night, for precious little light came in, and what light did make it into the room was Moon silver. She knew also that she was far closer to her body now, perhaps halfway there. Even with so little light, it was plain to see A Finger Pointing's silhouette, tall and slender, and so she remained where she was. diff --git a/content/draft/006.md b/content/draft/006.md index 961a46a..30efb7f 100644 --- a/content/draft/006.md +++ b/content/draft/006.md @@ -22,7 +22,7 @@ And Michelle cried. She cried because — people-pleaser her — she wanted noth It was all so silly! She was a kid! She was five and a half! Of course she was going to get messy. Of course there would be paint on her hands, and so why should there not also be paint on her pants? She was a kid and she was clumsy, and a mess like that was just a part of her life. -Her mother picked her sobbing daughter up from school, and after much cajoling, much reassuring her that she would not abandon her, would not leave her by the side of the road to be picked up by...who exactly? She reassured her that the paint stain was fine, and that she would have a chat with Miss Willard. When your daughter's neurodivergence presents itself in anxiety, perhaps you get used to reassuring her that you love her, and when you are mother, perhaps you never tire of doing so. +Her mother picked her sobbing daughter up from school, and after much cajoling, much reassuring her that she would not abandon her, would not leave her by the side of the road to be picked up by...who exactly? She reassured her that the paint stain was fine, and that she would have a chat with Miss Willard. When your daughter's neurodivergence presents itself in anxiety, perhaps you get used to reassuring her that you love her, and when you are a mother, perhaps you never tire of doing so. ----- @@ -40,7 +40,7 @@ Sometime in the late 2100s, Motes was invited to a strange, hyper-formal event, Warmth dressed in its best mixture of clothes, something that shifted slowly over time between masculine and feminine, and yet those in attendance addressed em as almost exclusively 'she', and partway through, they pulled Motes aside to have a little grumbly bitch session. The bitch session quickly turned into into an emotional wave, a tide rolling inexorably in, and Motes burst into tears. She had dressed up in a fine black dress, hip-hugging and chic, and it was making her absolutely miserable. -As Warmth and her on-again-off-again partner, Hold My Name, comforted her, four or five Warmths surrounding her while Hold My Name brushed her hair, the three of them got to talking about identity and the ways in which appearance and social situations ground up against that. Warmth wanted– no, needed that recognition of fluidity that night. +As Warmth and her on-again-off-again partner, Hold My Name, comforted her, four or five Warmths surrounding her while Hold My Name brushed her hair, the three of them got to talking about identity and the ways in which appearance and social situations ground up against that. Warmth wanted– no, *needed* that recognition of fluidity that night. Motes increasingly needed out of this strict adherence to form. @@ -74,7 +74,7 @@ She fell into and out of friendships and forgot, perhaps, how to form adult frie Motes leaned hard into that memory. She leaned into the laughter and joy of painting with her fingers and, apparently, her pants, as well as the tears of fear of being abandoned for having messed up so badly. -It was not always a kid thing. She aged down her appearance, sure, falling into a comfortable vision of a twenty-something, but it was not just appearance. It was the way she acted. It was owning of playfulness as a form of hedonism, much as the rest of the fifth stanza owned hedonism as a core part of their identity. +It was not always a kid thing. She aged down her appearance, sure, falling into a comfortable vision of a twenty-something, but it was also not just an appearance thing. It was the way she acted. It was owning of playfulness as a form of hedonism, much as the rest of the fifth stanza owned hedonism as a core part of their identity. She owned playfulness because life is play. She owned it because it was so easy to forget the role that play plays in one's life, with its carefully delineated fun times that one fits in around work and sleep and obligations. Life is play, and over time, Motes *became* play. @@ -84,13 +84,13 @@ She liked that. ----- -Slow Hours, Motes's big sister, had once had it said about her by Deny All Beginnings, town crier to her town scryer, "It seems so often to me that you have the criss-cross pattern of a schoolyard tool imprinted on your face, no doubt hurled at at you by a god." She explained this to Motes that there was some contemporary interpretation of the Greek god Apollo hurling a dodgeball at the innocent to bless them with the gift of prophecy. +Slow Hours, Motes's big sister, had once had it said about her by Deny All Beginnings, town crier to her town scryer, "It seems so often to me that you have the criss-cross pattern of a schoolyard tool imprinted on your face, no doubt hurled at at you by a god." She explained this to Motes that there was some contemporary interpretation of the Greek god Apollo hurling a dodgeball at the unwitting to bless them with the gift of prophecy. And she had indeed become the prophet of the clade, the one checkered with predictions and who bore the heady scent of omens. She was the Delphic oracle to so many other prognosticators. She would get this dreamy, distant smile on her face and then she would speak. She would say, "I will tell you two truths and one lie about the future" and then she would say unnerving things that would almost certainly come to pass. Yes, they might take years to do so, but she was uncanny in her accuracy. So Motes came to her, to the crowd of other crew, who always seemed to tolerate Slow Hours better than the cast, came to her and threw herself dramatically across her cocladist's lap, requesting some brushings to get the paint flecks out of her tail while she thought about how to say what she needed to say. -"Slow Hours, I made a friend," she said, relying on the comparatively formal name as opposed to Slow — and she was the only one Slow Hours would accept that name from — or Slowers to convey a bit of the gravity of the question. +"Slow Hours, I made a friend," she said, relying on the comparatively formal name as opposed to Slow — and she was the only one from whom Slow Hours would accept that name — or Slowers to convey a bit of the gravity of the question. "Tell me of your friend, my dear," Slow Hours replied, setting up a cone of silence. @@ -146,7 +146,7 @@ Once Motes saw what she was saying, saw through the everblue tint of prophecy an Motes understood after some days of consideration that it was not her prophecy. It was theirs. It was Slow Hours's and A Finger Pointing's and Beholden's and Unbidden's and the whole rest of Au Lieu Du Rêve's. -She was still good friends with that person, that kid who was not a creep, never had been a creep, years later. That person and so many more. +She was still good friends with Alexei, that kid who was not a creep, never had been a creep, years later. That person and so many more. ----- @@ -154,9 +154,9 @@ Motes should not, she is told, do many things. She should not look too much like a child. She should not look like a kid because there are those with paraphilias surrounding children, and this would be both potentially harmful to her, as well as to the optics of the Ode clade as a whole. -She should not act too much like a child. She should not act like a kid because, while a focus on play is all well and good, a sense of maturity would keep her grounded in the world around her where leaning into childhood would not, and would potentially be harmful to the optics of the Ode clade as a whole. +She should not act too much like a child. She should not act like a kid because, while a focus on play is all well and good, a sense of maturity would keep her grounded in the world around her while leaning into childhood would not, and would potentially be harmful to the optics of the Ode clade as a whole. -She should not treat her stanza as family. She should not treat her down-tree as her mother, nor A Finger Pointing's partner, Beholden, as a parent, nor Slow Hours and Time Rushes as her sisters, as the rest of the fifth stanza as siblings throughout, because family dynamics within one extended definition of a singular person create more room for potentially unhealthy modes of interaction, just as might intraclade romantic relationships, and this might also potentially be harmful to the optics of the Ode clade as a whole. +She should not treat her stanza as family. She should not treat her down-tree as her mother, nor A Finger Pointing's partner, Beholden, as a parent, nor Slow Hours and Time Rushes as her sisters, the rest of the fifth stanza as siblings throughout, because family dynamics within one extended definition of a singular person create more room for potentially unhealthy modes of interaction, just as might intraclade romantic relationships, and this might also potentially be harmful to the optics of the Ode clade as a whole. Motes should not, she is told, do many things, and yet she does them anyway. She is careful. She is gradual. She has allies. diff --git a/content/draft/007.md b/content/draft/007.md index 98c0f9c..9cc3508 100644 --- a/content/draft/007.md +++ b/content/draft/007.md @@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ A Finger Pointing was not playing. -She was not fucking around. She was not putting up with this. She would never put up with this, never should have put up with this. Seven years of silence, five decades of barely concealed spying, a century of awkward attempts to maintain a friendship, a cohesion, a sense of community with someone who clearly loathed some integral part of her life. +She was not fucking around. She was not putting up with this. She would never put up with this, never *should* have put up with this. Seven years of silence, five decades of barely concealed spying, a century of awkward attempts to maintain a friendship, a cohesion, a sense of community with someone who clearly loathed some integral part of her life. She was not going to play around, here. She was not going to play soft. She was not even going to play hard: she was not going to play at all. Not with Hammered Silver. Not anymore. @@ -28,7 +28,7 @@ She was not going to play around, here. She was not going to play soft. She was ----- -Some treacherously sunny afternoon some centuries back, Sasha/Michelle Hadje sat tiredly on the edge of a fountain in the middle of a brick-paved pedestrian mall. Just a woman or a skunk or perhaps both sitting on the rough stone in classical white, head bowed in concentration as the sun warmed the back of her neck. Beside her sat a man, a politician, watching as she drained her reserves of reputation to bring into being ten more instances of herself, each blissfully unafflicted by the restlessness-of-shape and in many ways less affected by the restlessness-of-mind that plagued her, though never completely without. +Some treacherously sunny afternoon some centuries back, Sasha/Michelle Hadje sat tiredly on the edge of a fountain in the middle of a brick-paved pedestrian mall. Just a woman or a skunk or perhaps both sitting on the rough stone in classical white, head bowed in exhaustion and concentration as the sun warmed the back of her neck. Beside her sat a man, a politician, watching as she drained her reserves of reputation to bring into being ten more instances of herself, each blissfully unafflicted by the restlessness-of-shape and in many ways less affected by the restlessness-of-mind that plagued her, though never completely without. "So, what next?" the man asked. @@ -54,7 +54,7 @@ She was forked smiling. And so when this man, this politician, this Jonas asked who wanted an assignment, she had decided instead to linger in that joy, to remember that lovely day instead of searching for some way to reengage with politics. That was left to The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream, the first line of the eighth stanza. She did not know what compelled True Name to lean into politics as she had been forked after A Finger Pointing, but she wished her all the best. -When Michelle/Sasha stood at last, swaying, and tottered towards the remainder of her newly-formed clade, each bearing in their heart some secret, individual joy bestowed upon them by their tired creator, they had all welcomed her into their presence as a first-among-equals and bore her away to home, to her field of grass and dandelions. +When Michelle/Sasha stood at last, swaying, and tottered towards the remainder of her newly-formed clade, these ten emanations bearing in their heart some secret, individual joy bestowed upon them by their tired creator, they had all welcomed her into their presence as a first-among-equals and bore her away to home, to her field of grass and dandelions. What followed was a conversation that lasted until dusk. Each of them minus True Name, already at work, talked about the experience of coming into being, the experience of being settled firmly into one shape unlike their root instance, about the things that they loved and what they might do with that love. @@ -106,7 +106,7 @@ Sasha laughed. Her two cocladists tensed. Neither wished to contend with the thought that Hammered Silver might have it in her to kill anyone in the only way the System knew how, some object loaded up with a contraproprioceptive virus to pierce their very being and crash them entire. However, though neither wished to, they both had to, and so they both nodded. -Sasha smiled reassuringly. "I do not believe you need worry about *that.* She is mad, yes, and perhaps feeling betrayed, but she is not feeling murderous. She does not have that within her, I do not think. Would you like me to check all the same?" +Sasha smiled reassuringly. "I do not believe you need worry about *that.* Making your name anathema would taint her own reputation, would it not? She is mad, yes, and perhaps feeling betrayed, but she is not feeling murderous. She does not have that within her, I do not think. Would you like me to check all the same?" Dry Grass nodded. @@ -126,7 +126,7 @@ Sasha smiled and patted the back of that hand. "Of course. If I am able to sooth ----- -To fall in love with a cocladist is to engage in a radical form of self-love. To fall in love with a cocladist is to find a way that perhaps you *are* your type. To fall in love with a cocladist is to accept that you are large; you contain multitudes. To fall in love with your cocladist is to recognize that your hyperfixations define, in part, your sense of self, and that if you expand beyond one, then perhaps you are more than just one self. +To fall in love with a cocladist is to engage in a radical form of self-love. To fall in love with a cocladist is to find the ways in which perhaps you *are* your type. To fall in love with a cocladist is to accept that you are large; you contain multitudes. To fall in love with your cocladist is to recognize that your hyperfixations define, in part, your sense of self, and that if you expand beyond one, then perhaps you are more than just one self. A Finger Pointing forked all nine of her up-tree instances in systime 3, back in the early days when it still cost to fork. She had plans, though, and she had a way around those costs. She forked once, leaving her and her new instance with half of her original reputation, less than it would cost to fork again, and then her new instance simply granted the reputation back to her, enough to fork once more. She had a way around those costs, for in those days, back before the reputation market had patched out that particular glitch, her up-tree instances did not need reputation beyond hers. She had plans. She had ideas for her particular joy. She would lean into theatre, build a troupe made up of just herself, for surely there were ten roles that needed to be filled in running a theatre. @@ -158,7 +158,7 @@ At some point, though they disagreed on when — was it five years later? Ten? E There was sense of aromancy in A Finger Pointing that grew after she forked. She never could say where from; perhaps it was simply that she would rather have been friends with anyone than foster a particular friendship with one person. And yet there was something about Beholden. Something fulfilling, perhaps, or complementary, or a self-love that rose above all others. -And so they fell in love, each in their own way. They fell in love and, for the most part, reveled. Yes, they had their spats. Yes, they had their flings besides, and the occasional relationship, all negotiated and cherished and bound up in compersion. But yes, they had each other. +And so they fell in love, each in their own way. They fell in love and, for the most part, reveled. Yes, they had their spats. Yes, they had their flings besides, and the occasional relationship, all negotiated and cherished and bound up in compersion. But always they had each other. There was, of course, the social implications to consider, the taboo around intraclade relationships, the implications of narcissism and other, far more crass terms. Suggestions were made from on high, such as it were, from across the clade. @@ -168,9 +168,9 @@ Hers were the kind suggestions. The comprehensible suggestions. The ones based i Other suggestions: not so kind. -For there was Hammered Silver, strangely quiet during one of A Finger Pointing's many lunch dates with her. Quiet and distant, all conversation polite and full of nothing comments about the sim, the salad, the coffee, all gazes cast upon everything but her. +For there was Hammered Silver, strangely quiet during one of A Finger Pointing's many lunch dates with her. Quiet and distant, all conversation polite and full of nothing comments about the sim, the soup, the coffee, all gazes cast upon everything but her. -When pressed, she had simply shrugged and offered some plainly false words about being distracted. +When pressed, she had simply shrugged and offered some plainly false words about being distracted and begged an end to the meal. A Finger Pointing hardly needed to wait for some explanation more true, for when she arrived home — home to that apartment building, home to the simple and cozy unit that Beholden had only moved into a few weeks prior — there was an envelope waiting for her, taped unceremoniously to her door. In it were words of scorn, a sense of a nose pointed snootily up into the air as though to escape some rancid smell. @@ -182,7 +182,7 @@ It was the first letter of several. It was the first time of many that she stood A Weapon Against The Waking World, it turned out, was perfectly happy to meet with them. -Waking World had long ago taken up the mantle of 'dad'. Not father, not guardian, but specifically dad. Where Hammered Silver reveled in feelings of motherhood, of caring and cherishing and clinging tight, such as they might be sys-side, he had reveled in all the glorious humor of fatherhood, of protecting and uplifting and letting go. He was a being of idle quips and truly terrible dad jokes. He was a man who might call you 'sport' or 'champ' as easily as 'friend'. He was, in all ways except physical, *your* dad, whoever you might be. +Waking World had long ago taken up the mantle of 'dad'. Not father, not guardian, but specifically *dad.* Where Hammered Silver reveled in feelings of motherhood, of caring and cherishing and clinging tight, such as they might be sys-side, he had reveled in all the glorious humor of fatherhood, of protecting and uplifting and letting go. He was a being of idle quips and truly terrible dad jokes. He was a man who might call you 'sport' or 'champ' as easily as 'friend'. He was, in all ways except physical, *your* dad, whoever you might be. He had long ago taken the form of a stocky man, hairline receding, tall enough, looking just enough like an Odist that one could see that he might belong to the clade — his name aside, of course — and yet the resemblance was slight enough that seeing him beside Hammered Silver would not inspire comments of "siblings...?" @@ -198,7 +198,7 @@ Beholden, leaning back with her arms crossed over her chest, snorted. "Great," s He held up his hands and shook his head. "No, no, I do not think you do. She hit me because that is the relationship that we have. Despite how often we say 'I love you' or the fact that we share a bed, despite the fact that I *do* earnestly love her, she remains staunchly of the opinion that we are in no way in a relationship." -"Okay, but how can you love her after all she has done?" the skunk snapped. A Finger pointing rested a hand on her paw, but, even as she rested her free paw atop that hand, she continued regardless. "Motes is fucking catatonic in bed now. She cut us all off, cut off whole stanzas, cut off the Bălans. Now she has cut off Dry Grass — one of her own — and here you are, skulking into the library because you know that she cannot track you here." +"Okay, but how can you love her after all she has done?" the skunk snapped. A Finger pointing rested a hand on her paw, but she continued regardless. "Motes is fucking catatonic in bed now. She cut us all off, cut off whole stanzas, cut off the Bălans. Now she has cut off Dry Grass — one of her own — and here you are, skulking into the library because you know that she cannot track you here." Waking World averted his gaze. "That is not how love works, Beholden. I do not like what she has done. I *hate* what she has done. I wish that I could get to know Motes better, even, but I do love her, and my position in our little game is...precarious. I must be careful." @@ -206,7 +206,7 @@ Waking World averted his gaze. "That is not how love works, Beholden. I do not l "My muse," A Finger Pointing murmured. "I know that you are angry. We are all angry. Hell, I am *livid,* but this needs to be a conversation for another time. Right now, there are too many pieces in play." -Beholden subsided, lips still curled in a snarl. After a moment's silence, her shoulders slumped and she looked away. "Yes, of course. I am sorry, Waking World. I was the one who found Motes overflowing and she was covered in blood from getting hit in the nose or something, and was all scraped up. It was...hard on me, is all." +Beholden subsided, lips still curled in a snarl. After a moment's silence, her shoulders slumped and she looked away, resting her paw atop A Finger Pointing's hand. "Yes, of course. I am sorry, Waking World. I was the one who found Motes overflowing. She was covered in blood from getting hit in the nose or something, and was all scraped up. It was...hard on me, is all." Waking World blanched. "Wait, shit, really? Uh..." He folded his hands in his lap and frowned down to them. "Shit. I am sorry, Beholden. I did not know." @@ -238,7 +238,7 @@ Waking World laughed weakly. "Please do not do that, my dear. That is not what a "She needs to feel like she has hurt you," he said, speaking slowly. "She needs to know that her words had the power to do that. She needs to feel like she accomplished something through them." -"She did hurt us, though," A Finger Pointing said flatly. She could feel a wave of dissociation, of vertigo. She pushed it down so that she could continue. "She hurt Motes and Dry Grass, and she re-traumatized us all all over again. I would say that she succeeded admirably." +"She did hurt us, though," A Finger Pointing said flatly. She could feel a wave of dissociation, of vertigo. She pushed it down so that she could continue. "She hurt Motes — quite literally. She hurt Dry Grass, and she re-traumatized us all all over again. I would say that she succeeded admirably." He shrugged helplessly. @@ -252,7 +252,7 @@ They sat in silence for nearly a minute while Waking World thought. A Finger Poi A Finger Pointing snorted. "You are not wrong, my love. Motes at her youngest has never thrown a tantrum quite like this. Do we just drop it, then? Let her feel superior?" -"That would certainly work," he said, shrugging. "I do not know how how much it would accomplish for your feelings, but she would leave you alone. She really does just want to feel like she is in the right, and no amount of argument will make her feel anything but justified." +"That would certainly work," he said, shrugging. "I do not know how much it would accomplish for your feelings, but she would leave you alone. She really does just want to feel like she is in the right, and no amount of argument will make her feel anything but justified." "Yeah, fuck that," Beholden said, to which Dry Grass nodded emphatically. @@ -335,7 +335,7 @@ And so she did. She laid out several points about what she felt described Motes' They all boiled down to yet more of the same. Optics and optics and optics. Even True Name thought less about optics than Hammered Silver. Even the politician. -The lunch date ran long and A Finger Pointing grew weary of discussing point after point after point, talking about optics and optics and optics. Even refuting these claims about the optics of the problem led to Hammered Silver admitting in essence that the core of the problem was that she did not like it. Simply did not enjoy it. +The lunch date ran long and A Finger Pointing grew weary of discussing point after point after point, talking about optics and optics and optics. There were no refutations that made a dent in the argument. In the end, Hammered Silver let out a frustrated sigh and said, "We may continue to meet, my friend, but only on the condition that we do not speak further of Motes." @@ -387,7 +387,7 @@ She could still comprehend, at least, and could still see Beholden there beside She shook her head and carefully sipped her water. "Nothing in particular, no, though if you could stay here for a little while, I would appreciate that." -"Do not be ridiculous," Beholden said, grinning wanly. "Like I would ever fucking leave. I *am* going to send a fork to go check on Dot, though." +"Do not be ridiculous," Beholden said with a wan smile. "Like I would ever fucking leave. I *am* going to send a fork to go check on Dot, though." "Please do so, yes." @@ -419,11 +419,11 @@ They were friendship colored because that was the tinted glass that A Finger Poi It was not a pair of rose-colored glasses. She was not burying her head in the sand to avoid some unpleasant facts. She was as realistic as ever she had been, as Sasha/Michelle had been before her and Michelle Hadje before that. -It was an expectation of herself and others. It was a standard to which herself and others were held. It was a trust that others would aim for joy and friendship as she did. +It was an expectation of herself and others. It was a standard to which she and others were held. It was a trust that others would aim for joy and friendship as she did. And thus it was an expectation one might fall short of. It was a standard one might not reach. It was a trust that could be breached. -At some point in the past — there were so many admonitions against joy that she could choose from! — A Finger Pointing's friendship with Hammered Silver came to an end. The most visible of these was perhaps when Sasha joined Au Lieu Du Rêve as stage manager in systime 231, five years after she became Sasha. That was when Hammered Silver had moved beyond cutting off Sasha herself and the entirety of the eighth, first, and part of the ninth stanzas, and had included the entirety of the fifth stanza. +At some point in the past — there were so many admonitions against joy that she could choose from! — A Finger Pointing's friendship with Hammered Silver came to an end. The most visible of these was perhaps when Sasha joined Au Lieu Du Rêve as stage manager in systime 231, five years after she had become Sasha. That was when Hammered Silver had moved beyond cutting off Sasha herself and the entirety of the eighth, first, and part of the ninth stanzas, and had included the entirety of the fifth stanza. For the rest of the fifth stanza also included this expectation, this standard, this trust that there was within all people something worth friendship, some kernel of joy, and none of them shunned Sasha, either. @@ -469,6 +469,8 @@ But a full half of the letter was devoted to a particular combination of particu How dare she, Hammered Silver cried — and with such a loss as that of Sasha/Michelle, she truly sobbed. How dare she test the clade's position in this most precarious life time and again by doing this awful, awful thing. On and on and on. +She proved their fears accurate, in her own unkind way. + And so, at that point, their friendship ended. They went a year without meeting, and when next they scheduled a coffee date, they spoke hardly at all. They made their goodbyes wordless. The next meeting was similarly silent. There was no more love between them. The trust had been broken. They met to keep tabs on each other. They met to ensure that the other was not living outside the bounds of society in some abhorrent way. They met to spy on each other. @@ -477,7 +479,7 @@ That was the time their friendship died, the moment A Finger Pointing received t ----- -Once she had had her water, and then a simple drink mixed by Beholden, and spent an hour resting, A Finger Pointing stood and walked to the back patio, out where the concrete ended in a sharp seam and the wild grass of the field threatened to tickle at her ankles, were it not for socks and slacks. +Once she had had her water, and then a simple drink mixed by Beholden, and spent an hour resting once the wave of dissociation had started to roll back out, A Finger Pointing stood and walked to the back patio, out where the concrete ended in a sharp seam and the wild grass of the field threatened to tickle at her ankles, were it not for socks and slacks. She forked, and her new instance moved to stand facing her. When she nodded, the instance opened a simplex sensorium message to Hammered Silver. It was essentially a recording of whatever the instance saw and heard that would be sent when she was finished. @@ -525,7 +527,7 @@ The skunk lay tightly curled beneath her covers, a pillow held tightly in her ar Or...not sleep, but withdraw from the waking world. -Better to show what she could without bothering the girl too much, so she stepped quietly into the room and climbed up onto Motes's bed with her, curling behind her and draping an arm across the little skunk. +Better to show what she could. She stepped quietly into the room and climbed up onto Motes's bed with her, curling behind her and draping an arm across the little skunk. "I love you, Dot," she mumbled, burying her face against the back of the skunk's neck. "I am sorry." diff --git a/content/draft/008.md b/content/draft/008.md index e998ed0..bd905da 100644 --- a/content/draft/008.md +++ b/content/draft/008.md @@ -6,7 +6,7 @@ She *played,* that was for sure. She played with her music, her sound design. Sh She hummed and sang. She played the piano, the drums, the guitar. She played the clarinet badly and the flute worse. She played with A Finger Pointing, their own little jazz trio, their own little big band. She played with her friends, jam session after jam session after jam session. She played her own sets, forking countless times over to play at however many clubs or venues. She played at The Party — several instances thereof! — running now for the last century and a half, a party that never ceased, attendees sleeping wherever, in beds or where they had fallen, with each other, alone. Beholden To The Flow Of The Crowds existed for a reason, yes? -She played as she danced. She played with others, dragging them home for a one-night stand, a few-nights fling, a relationship that lasted a month or two, but so rarely any longer. +She played as she danced. She played with others, dragging them home for a one-night stand, a few-nights' fling, a relationship that lasted a month or two, but so rarely any longer. And she played with Motes, too. She really did! She played with her little Dot, tickling her until she said she was going to be sick, or pretending to pick her up by the ears as the skunklet clutched at her forearms. She played dead for Motes when she grew too exhausted to keep up. She lay there, on the floor, eyes closed, breathing turned off, while her charge scampered around, leaping over her, triumphant, hollering about victories, or wept over her unalive-yet-still-souled body at the tragedy — oh, woe! Such tragedy! — of a fallen comrade. Less mother than cool stepdad, she played with her kid. @@ -40,7 +40,7 @@ A Finger Pointing hesitated, frowned, and pulled a letter from her pocket, handi As Beholden read through the letter, her lips curled up into a snarl, and she could feel a low growl build in her chest. "'I expect better'!" she muttered darkly, stamping her foot. "Jesus *fucking* Christ. 'Grounded in reality' indeed." -Smiling humorlessly, A Finger Pointing nodded toward the letter. "I am assuming that this mention of a letter is what took Motes down." +Smiling humorlessly, A Finger Pointing nodded toward the paper in her paws. "I am assuming that this mention of a letter is what took Motes down." "Took her down?" Beholden cried, then quickly tamped down the flare of anger, returning the letter to her partner. "She was covered in blood when I checked on her. Someone must have hit her hard enough to give her a bloody nose. She was all scraped up." @@ -54,9 +54,9 @@ Beholden nodded. "What do we do?" "Protect our own," came the immediate answer. "Protect ourselves. Protect our Dot." -And so they did. They circled around each other, brought Dry Grass into the fold as officially as they saw fit, providing her with a house. They set up a gentle watch on Motes, set up alerts throughout the house for when her door opened from the inside, for when the bar or kitchen were entered by her. They sought out Slow Hours for a meeting seeking her premonitions, such as they were. They sought out Sasha for a meeting to confirm that there were no existential threats. They sought out Waking World for a meeting to get a better sense of Hammered Silver's intentions. +And so they did. They made their calls. They brought Dry Grass into the fold as officially as they saw fit, providing her with a house. They set up a gentle watch on Motes, set up alerts throughout the house for when her door opened from the inside, for when the bar or kitchen were entered by her. They sought out Slow Hours for a meeting seeking her premonitions, such as they were. They sought out Sasha for a meeting to confirm that there were no existential threats. They sought out Waking World for a meeting to get a better sense of Hammered Silver's intentions. -All the while, Beholden did her best to remain calm, or to at least tamp down expressions of overwhelming emotions. There were walks. Many walks. Many excuses to step away to the auditorium or to get fresh air or stretch her legs. +All the while, Beholden did her best to remain calm, or to at least push down expressions of overwhelming emotions. There were walks. Many walks. Many excuses to step away to the auditorium or to get fresh air or stretch her legs. She went always alone on her walks, pacing out along the deer trails or walking the loop of the neighborhood time and again or poking her way among the seats and catwalks of the auditorium. @@ -98,7 +98,7 @@ She shrugged. "Sure, though I also want to know why you are curious about this i Dry Grass smiled, shrugged as well. "Something to talk about that is not my down-tree being a terrible fucking person." -Beholden smirked. "Okay, yeah, that is fair." She scuffed a paw against the gravel, thinking. "It was mostly just hard for me to wrap my head around, I guess. I have some of those same desires in me as your whole stanza does, but they were always minimized and pushed to the side. Even boss has way more than I do, right? Like, it is her job to take care of things. She is not really the boss of Au Lieu Du Rêve, she is its mom." +Beholden barked a laugh. "Okay, yeah, that is fair." She scuffed a paw against the gravel, thinking. "It was mostly just hard for me to wrap my head around, I guess. I have some of those same desires in me as your whole stanza does, but they were always minimized and pushed to the side. Even boss has way more than I do, right? Like, it is her job to take care of things. She is not really the boss of Au Lieu Du Rêve, she is its mom." Holding onto the chains of the swing and nudging herself back a meter or so with her feet, Dry Grass nodded. "I can see that, yes. It is like how I headed into systech stuff because I cared for the System." She smiled faintly. "I was Lagrange's mom." @@ -108,13 +108,13 @@ Dry Grass winced. "Me too. I will not show up to a performance if I know that wi "Really? Shit. I am sorry. At least I am not alone in that," Beholden mumbled, nudging herself to start swinging as well. "It is moments like those when I feel most like she is my kid, though. I feel that family dynamic most when she is at risk, you know? When Slow Hours and I argue about that sort of thing, that is when I feel most protective of her, like my sister is doing something bad to her." -"Was it always like that?" +"Was it always like that?" Dry Grass asked. "Did you always feel that? She hesitated, simply letting the swing carry her for a few moments. "I do not know. I was really caught off guard when she started calling A Finger Pointing 'Ma'. I mean, so was A Finger Pointing, but that had a lot of implications for me, too, did it not? I was suddenly her mom's wife, right? Or at least partner." Dry Grass nodded. -"So it took me a lot of getting used to. Even boss was a little caught off guard by that." She hesitated, looked down to the gravel as she kicked a foot through it. "I am a little ashamed to say that I backed off from her for a while when she did that. 'Bee' is a compromise that felt on the edge of comfort at the time, though now it feels really good when she calls me that. She was so patient with me." Drawing her attention back to Dry Grass, she smiled, adding, "She calls you 'Ma 2.0', did you know that?" +"So it took me a lot of getting used to." She hesitated, looked down to the gravel as she kicked a foot through it. "I am a little ashamed to say that I backed off from her for a while when she did that. I took a lot of walks like this or went out to clubs on my own to...well, to not be around her. I loved her even then, but it felt like too much. 'Bee' is a compromise that felt on the edge of comfort at the time, though now it feels really good when she calls me that. She was so patient with me." Drawing her attention back to Dry Grass, she smiled, adding, "She calls you 'Ma 2.0', did you know that?" Dry Grass blinked, then burst out in laughter, laughing until once more the tears flowed down her cheeks, holding herself still on her swing with feet planted firmly on the ground. @@ -122,7 +122,7 @@ Beholden waited in silence. She knew well the mechanics of a hysterical laugh-cr "Sorry, Beholden," Dry Grass said, once she was able. "I am a little fucked up still, I think." -She laughed. "I mean, this is a pretty fucked situation, my dear. I would be surprised if you were not." +She chuckled. "I mean, this is a pretty fucked situation, my dear. I would be surprised if you were not." They both settled into swinging in silence once more, just a gentle rocking back and forth to calm down and enjoy time away from so much stress before it would doubtless ramp up once more when Waking World was set to visit after lunch. @@ -132,11 +132,11 @@ They both settled into swinging in silence once more, just a gentle rocking back "Can you tell me something good?" Dry Grass sighed, gaze drifting out over nothing in particular. "Just a good memory about Motes or the fifth stanza or whatever. Something to make this all feel a bit more worthwhile." -Beholden let her swinging come to a stop as she thought back across the years, hunting for something that might fit. Finally, she said, "One year, boss got Motes this harness that was kind of stretchy. It was sort of a strong elastic that wrapped all the way around her torso. It let us carry her around like a briefcase." +Beholden let her swinging come to a stop as she thought back across the years, hunting for something that might fit. Finally, she said, "One year, boss got Motes this harness that was kind of stretchy. It was sort of a strong elastic that wrapped all the way around her torso and around her thighs like a climbing harness or something. It let us carry her around like a briefcase." Dry Grass laughed. "Oh god, I cannot imagine." -Grinning, the skunk continued, "That was fun enough, but what we would use it for was, on summer days, we would lift her up, give her a good heave-ho and toss her into the pool. She would laugh so hard that she would have a hard time swimming and kept swallowing too much pool water. When it was winter, we would have it snow a bunch in one spot–" She pointed over toward a spot by the slide. "–and toss her into it, or let her go down the slide directly into the snow bank." +Grinning, the skunk continued, "That was fun enough, but what we would use it for was, on summer days, we would lift her up, give her a good heave-ho and toss her into the pool. She would laugh so hard that she would have a hard time swimming and kept swallowing too much pool water. When it was winter, we would have it snow a bunch in one spot–" She pointed over toward a spot by the slide. "–and toss her into it, or let her go down the slide directly into the snow bank. We should dig it out again soon. When she is better, I mean." "I am absolutely going to do that if you all are comfortable." @@ -154,23 +154,23 @@ Still, she managed to clean her plate, managed to straighten herself up for the She tamped down her emotions throughout, press-fit them into place within her so that they would not spill over into the world around her, bottled them up, wrote a label on the jar, and set it on a shelf high in her mind to deal with later, right next to all of the other jars about which she had promised the same. -She had to, at least for now, at least for the time being. She would need to reckon with the person that she had built herself up into. She would need to deal with all of the compromises that she had made in order to be Beholden. She was Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps! Sound and music director for the troupe! She was lead sound tech! This was the cost of engaging so closely with what had once been her dearest friend's specialty. Michelle acted, and later taught. AwDae was the sound engineer. This was the price she paid for being Au Lieu Du Rêve's very own AwDae. While the others within the stanza, within the clade may dance with em as they moved through the System, she, of all them, was perhaps one of the most entangled with em. It was Beholden who was with AwDae on her quiet walks, Beholden who was with AwDae under the stars, Beholden who was with AwDae when she was working. Or playing. Or crying. Or laughing. Or indulging. She could never escape em, try as she might, and so, from time to time, a woman needed a break from grief. +She had to, at least for now, at least for the time being. She would need to reckon with the person that she had built herself up into. She would need to deal with all of the compromises that she had made in order to be Beholden. She was Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps! Sound and music director for the troupe! She was lead sound tech! This was the cost of engaging so closely with what had once been her dearest friend's specialty. Michelle acted, and later taught. AwDae was the sound engineer. This was the price she paid for being Au Lieu Du Rêve's very own AwDae. While the others within the stanza, within the clade may dance with em as they moved through the System, she, of all them, was perhaps one of the most entangled with em. It was Beholden who was with AwDae on her quiet walks, Beholden who was with AwDae, drunk under the stars, Beholden who was with AwDae when she was working. Or playing. Or crying. Or laughing. Or indulging. She could never escape em, try as she might, and so, from time to time, a woman needed a break from grief. It was her fragility, and the only way she knew to reinforce herself was through setting such emotions aside. She would need to confront that, but not just yet, not with so much before her. -And so, when A Finger Pointing stood, wobbled, and requested that she take her home, Beholden had been immediately ready to stand up and gently guide her partner from the library and back to the neighborhood. She let her partner hold onto her to the extent that she was comfortable, rather than the other way around, trusting that she would take only what touch she needed lest she get yet more overwhelmed. +And so, when A Finger Pointing stood, wobbled, and requested that she take her home, Beholden had been immediately ready to stand up and gently guide her from the library and back to the neighborhood. She let her partner hold onto her to the extent that she was comfortable, rather than the other way around, trusting that she would take only what touch she needed lest she get yet more overwhelmed. She knew well by now the ways in which A Finger Pointing had changed over the years, about how the crash had affected her. -She knew well because she had seen the exhaustion or fear or slackness in her partner's expression when the dissociation would crawl over her, had heard how she would turn down her sensorium almost all the way just to survive. +She knew well because she had seen the exhaustion or fear or slackness in her partner's face when the dissociation would crawl over her, insidious, had heard how she would turn down her sensorium almost all the way just to survive. -She knew well because she had heard A Finger Pointing fall as the world ceased to make sense to her, had heard the shout of surprise as she tumbled from a catwalk where she had been placing lights, had heard the thud of her hitting the stage and the note of dreamy confusion in her voice when she realized how badly her body was broken, the tired frustration as she forked herself whole. +She knew well because she had heard A Finger Pointing fall as the world ceased to make sense to her, had heard the shout of surprise as she tumbled from a catwalk where she had been placing lights, had heard the thud-crunch of her hitting the stage twenty feet below and the note of dreamy confusion in her voice when she realized, "Oh, I am *quite* broken," the tired frustration as she forked herself whole. -So she set her mind to caring for her partner. It was as she had always done. It was as she must do. +So she set her mind to caring for her love. It was as she had always done. It was as she must do. She pressed those emotions down and instead lingered on love. She lingered on her devotion to A Finger Pointing, on her protectiveness of her charge. She lingered on those good memories as best she could to keep the very air from tasting desiccating, to push away the feeling of sand gritting between her teeth. -Once A Finger Pointing was settled at home and Motes had been checked on, once the message had been sent to Hammered Silver and they had eaten and settled down on the couch for the night, only then, did Beholden very carefully open the jarred emotions from earlier, carefully withdrawing them one by one and laying them out before herself in her mind. She did not touch them. She used tweezers or tongs or perhaps chopsticks to lift them free, nudge them to lay flat that she might read deeper into them. +Once A Finger Pointing was settled at home and Motes had been checked on, once the message had been sent to Hammered Silver and they had eaten and settled down on the couch for the night to rest, to pretend to work, only then, did Beholden very carefully open the jarred emotions from earlier, carefully withdrawing them one by one and laying them out before herself in her mind. She did not touch them. She used tweezers or tongs or perhaps chopsticks to lift them free, nudge them to lay flat that she might read deeper into them. And then, exhausted by day, by the last few days, by worry over her Dot, her *dóttir*, by worry over her boss — "not your boss" the common refrain — she carefully replaced all of those emotions, still unprocessed, into their container and once more sealed it tight. diff --git a/content/draft/009.md b/content/draft/009.md index 510c31a..7bca9f9 100644 --- a/content/draft/009.md +++ b/content/draft/009.md @@ -12,7 +12,7 @@ She forked into Big Motes and straightened her hair and blouse, set a well-remem There was silence there, and emptiness. There was the place to herself in the warm sunlight of a late morning, some three days after first she fell on the playground. There was the comfort of familiarity set beside a hollow feeling in her chest. -Adjusting to a view of the world a few feet higher than it had been some seconds ago, she made her way to the kitchen and poked around. It did not feel like a day for some sugary cereal, nor the cinnamon-sugar toast that she had always loved. It was a day for coffee and something savory and filling. Perhaps a day for a mimosa. +Adjusting to a view of the world a few feet higher than it had been some seconds ago, a view without a snout, movement without a tail, she made her way to the kitchen and poked around. It did not feel like a day for some sugary cereal, nor the cinnamon-sugar toast that she had always loved. It was a day for coffee and something savory and filling and hot. Perhaps a day for a mimosa. *An adult breakfast,* a part of her whispered. *Setting aside childish things...* @@ -86,9 +86,9 @@ The answer was a long time coming, the silence filled with the gentle tink of gl Beholden tasted her drink, nodded appreciatively, then asked, "Have you come to any conclusions?" -"I think so," she said, looking down at her mimosa. Beholden had topped it with a maraschino cherry poked through with a cocktail umbrella. There was a warmth of adoration starting to fill hat hollow space in her chest. "I am not going to stop playing, not going to stop being her, but...but that really fucking hurt, and I need to know what to do with that pain before I reengage with that, you know?" +"I think so," she said, looking down at her mimosa. Beholden had topped it with a maraschino cherry poked through with a cocktail umbrella. There was a warmth of adoration starting to fill that hollow space in her chest. "I am not going to stop playing, not going to stop being her, but...but that really fucking hurt, and I need to know what to do with that pain before I reengage with that, you know?" -Letting her free arm dangle over the arm of the couch, glass held by the rim, A Finger Pointing tucked her own cocktail umbrella into Motes's hair, adding a wheel of bright pink to the yellow of the dandelions before draping her arm around her cocladist's shoulder. "That does make sense, yes. That was one of my worries, even: that this would leave you too wounded to reengage with that part of you that has been so important over the years." +Letting her free arm dangle over the arm of the couch, glass held by the rim, A Finger Pointing tucked her own cocktail umbrella into Motes's hair behind her ear, adding a wheel of bright pink to the yellow of the dandelions before draping her arm around her cocladist's shoulder. "That does make sense, yes. That was one of my worries, even: that this would leave you too wounded to reengage with that part of you that has been so important over the years." Motes shook her head gently so as not to dislodge crown or umbrella. @@ -142,7 +142,7 @@ She shrugged. "Well, I pinged Miss Genet, so we are going to meet later." She sat up straight, staring at her partner like she was some alien creature, something too dense to understand the importance of kettle corn. "Yes. Busy." -As A Finger Pointing and Beholden finally got around to whipping up lunch for themselves, the conversation once more fell into comfortable chatter, the sort of banter that so often filed the house, and while, by the time her appointment arrived, Motes had not yet felt comfortable enough to refer to them as 'Ma' and 'Bee', that welcoming sense of family had returned in force, and she felt once more in her comforting role as their Dot, their *dóttir*. +As A Finger Pointing and Beholden finally got around to whipping up lunch for themselves, the conversation once more fell into comfortable chatter, the sort of banter that so often filed the house, and while, by the time her appointment arrived, Motes had not yet felt comfortable enough to refer to them as 'Ma' and 'Bee', that welcoming sense of family had returned in force, and she felt once more in her comfortable role as their Dot, their *dóttir*. As the afternoon threatened to slide right into evening, Motes took her leave and left A Finger Pointing and Beholden on the couch, canoodling. Clearly that had taken precedence over whatever they had had planned at the auditorium for the rest of the day. That they had come home for her, for Motes, was the base of that warmth that had grown within her. @@ -152,11 +152,11 @@ The neighborhood formed a lazy semicircle, a 'U' that butted up against an avenu In the bowl of the 'U' sat all of the common areas. A pool — one with seats and jets, one that could be a hot tub seating a hundred as easily as it could be an Olympic pool — a few tennis courts for the few — who? — who actually enjoyed the game, a liberal dotting of grills — everyone had a favorite — for cook outs, a "community center" which had long ago turned into a movie-theater-*cum*-cuddlepit... -And there, right at the very lowest point of the bowl of the 'U' sat a playground. What was initially intended to be Motes's haunt, hers and her friends, had long ago turned into a place for late-night musings. Thousands and thousands of times over the years, couples or small groups or lone individuals would converge on the swings or the slide and sit in the dark, staring up on the star-speckled sky, the Milky Way glowing bright enough to light one's face beyond even the Moon, even the gold-and-black of the rest of the neighborhood with its sodium vapor lamps and countless darknesses. It was a place for play, yes, and it was often used for such, but it was also a place for couples to work out their problems or groups to chat about everything and nothing or for one to sit alone, drunk, beneath the stars, looking up and feeling good or bad or simply introspective. +And there, right at the very lowest point of the bowl of the 'U' sat the playground. What was initially intended to be Motes's haunt, hers and her friends, had long ago turned into a place for late-night musings. Thousands and thousands of times over the years, couples or small groups or lone individuals would converge on the swings or the slide and sit in the dark, staring up on the star-speckled sky, the Milky Way glowing bright enough to light one's face beyond even the Moon, even the gold-and-black of the rest of the neighborhood with its sodium vapor lamps and countless darknesses. It was a place for play, yes, and it was often used for such, but it was also a place for couples to work out their problems or groups to chat about everything and nothing or for one to sit alone, drunk, beneath the stars, looking up and feeling good or bad or simply introspective. It was not dark now. -There, on the swings, sat a child, a girl, looking to be perhaps twelve or thirteen with brown hair cut into an unruly bob, pale skin shining in the sun, swaying lazily back and forth as she faced away from Motes. She looked mostly down, skidding the heels of her shoes through the gravel beneath the swings, scooping the pebbles out of the way and then smoothing them back into place with her toes. +There, on the swings, sat a child, a girl, looking to be perhaps twelve or thirteen with black hair tied in an unruly ponytail, coppery skin shining in the sun, swaying lazily back and forth as she faced away from Motes. She looked mostly down, skidding the heels of her shoes through the gravel beneath the swings, scooping the pebbles out of the way and then smoothing them back into place with her toes. Motes moved quietly through the grass — quietly enough that the girl did not notice her — and sat down on the free swing within that segment. @@ -170,7 +170,7 @@ Motes held onto the chains of the swing and gave herself a push with her feet, t "Yeah, actually, I think I would like Big Sarah today." -Nodding, Sarah Genet stepped off the swing and summarily disappeared, leaving behind a fork still sitting down. This new instance was far older, looking to be sixty or so years old with silvery-gray hair in a similar bob, her skin just as pale and yet fraught with wrinkles, her smile kind and gaze always attentive. +Nodding, Sarah Genet stepped off the swing and summarily disappeared, leaving behind a fork still sitting down. This new instance was far older, looking to be sixty or so years old with salt-and-pepper hair in a much neater ponytail, her skin just as brown and yet fraught with wrinkles, her smile kind and gaze always attentive. "Is this better?" she asked. @@ -254,7 +254,7 @@ Motes frowned. Motes snorted. "*One* thing I can do is reclaim it and turn it into a family spat, right?" -Sarah laughed and pushed herself to start swinging in earnest. "That's what I was getting at, yeah. But tell me more about being Big Motes. You've talked about the family aspect of it, but it sounds like you were thinking about this even before Hammered Silver sent you her letter." +Sarah laughed and pushed herself to start swinging. "That's what I was getting at, yeah. But tell me more about being Big Motes. You've talked about the family aspect of it, but it sounds like you were thinking about this even before Hammered Silver sent you her letter." Before she realized what she was doing, Motes was already starting to swing along with Sarah. Back to that movement, back to that little twinge of play. *This* was why she appreciated her therapist, all of these little nudges, all of this meeting her on her terms. After all, had she not appeared at first as a girl a few years older than her, as she had so many times before? One of those girls who seems infinitely wise to someone younger? @@ -292,7 +292,7 @@ She remained silent. She remained silent for a long time, and when the arc of he "Nothing!" Motes said, laughing joyously. "It changes nothing. In fact, I hope that *is* the case! At that point, Hammered Silver really *is* just a bitch." -Sarah laughed, and Motes felt the sound in the air as she breezed past. +Sarah laughed, and Motes felt the sound in the air as she breezed past, felt her flower crown flutter away in the wind of her passage and fall to the ground in a lazy shower of dandelions, felt the little pink cocktail umbrella A Finger Pointing had tucked behind her ear, by her ma, tug this way and that on her hair. *I respect her as a person, but I do not like her,* Dry Grass had said. *And I certainly do not respect her authority.* diff --git a/content/draft/010.md b/content/draft/010.md index 5cac99a..2123aa7 100644 --- a/content/draft/010.md +++ b/content/draft/010.md @@ -12,9 +12,9 @@ She played with her friends. She played with strangers she had seen before yet n She played until she got tired, until enough of her friends got bored and wandered off, until the long, breezy morning in this sim sighed its way into the heat of afternoon. She played until the obvious thing to do was to climb up to the top of the tunnel-ridden pile of flagstone to sit at the summit, enjoying the sun with Alexei. -The park was only one part of a small town, only one part of a sizeable sim, but it was a popular destination for those who leaned into childhood on Lagrange for its permissive attitudes and curious inhabitants, most of whom seemed to be families — found or blood — and many of whom were the kids who played here. Alexei lived here with the family he had built: three guardians, one of whom was his great-grandfather by blood, and a sister. +The park was only one part of a small town, only one part of a sizeable sim, but it was a popular destination for those who leaned into childhood on Lagrange for its permissive attitudes and curious inhabitants, most of whom seemed to be families — found or blood — and many of whom were the kids who played here. Alexei lived here with the family he had built: three guardians — one of whom was his great-grandfather by blood — and a sister. -"Motes," he said after they had sat in silence for some time. "Where were you, anyway? I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, but it's just us, right?" +"I'm glad you're here, Motes," he said after they had sat in silence for some time. "Where were you, anyway? I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, but it's just us, right?" She shrugged and picked at the rock with a claw, worrying loose a thin chip of flagstone. "I still do not *want* to talk about it," she said, then grinned over at him. "But I will anyway." @@ -58,7 +58,7 @@ She mulled over this, tallying up the various anxieties she had felt over the ye "Being a kid, that sort of thing." -"Isn't this stuff for Big Motes being busy?" +"Isn't this stuff for Big Motes?" She frowned. "I know, but I want to know. I just got back from two weeks of freaking out." @@ -104,13 +104,13 @@ She laughed, reaching out to bat at his hand. "I guess I pretty much did, becaus After that, their conversation fell back into more comfortable things. They spoke of friends. They spoke of the pros and cons of Rock Park. They spoke of families and the secret pleasures of being punished. Then they played a half-hearted game of tag before Motes finally said goodbye and stepped home just in time for the evening's planned activities, floating on a cloud of joy like she had not experienced in more than two weeks. -At home, she dashed to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water, laughed at the uncomfortable chill this left her with, and then dashed out into the fading afternoon. +At home, she dashed to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water, laughed at the uncomfortable chill this left her with, and then ran out into the fading afternoon. It was a night for good food and terrible movies. Beholden grilled hot dogs and bratwurst and Motes, yes, had them loaded up with veggies, dragged through the garden. -Ioan grilled *frigărui,* kebabs loaded up with Carpathian seasonings, and *mititei,* a quick sausage. +Ioan grilled *frigărui,* kebabs loaded up with Carpathian seasonings, and *mititei,* yet another sausage. Warmth made an array of its best guesses at Artemisian food, some of which were quite tasty. Few who tried the fluffy tower of *frahabrodåt* went back for seconds, at which ey seemed quite proud. @@ -150,9 +150,9 @@ There was another moment of silence, of Dry Grass furrowing her brow and thinkin They stayed like that for the rest of the film, Dry Grass petting Motes and Motes telling Dry Grass stories about the day, little nothings that showed that fun, that lack of pain. -And then, when the movie was over and many of those in the community center had started to doze on their beanbags and couches, and her ma and Bee put kisses on her snout and left arm in arm, when Dry Grass fell asleep one too many times and begged off to walk back home — not without yet another tight hug from Motes and a promise to be back soon — when Motes herself started to get sleepy, she disentangled herself from the rest of that dozy comfort and slipped out into the cool of the night. +And then, when the movie was over and many of those in the community center had started to doze on their beanbags and couches, when her ma and Bee put kisses on her snout and left arm in arm, when Dry Grass fell asleep one too many times and begged off to walk back home — not without yet another tight hug from Motes and a promise to be back soon — when Motes herself started to get sleepy, she disentangled herself from the rest of that dozy comfort and slipped out into the cool of the night. -Rather than turning left, off toward home, she turned right to the other arm of the 'U' that made up the neighborhood and started wandering through the grass until she hit sidewalk. There, vines in chalk blossomed lazily behind her footsteps, and in the night. In the light of the stars and the moon and the streetlamps, they seemed to glow in pale oranges and whites and blues. She played with them by taking wobbling, drunken steps, crossing one leg in front of the other, pirouetting clumsily to make them tie themselves into knots. +Rather than turning left, off toward home, she turned right to the other arm of the 'U' that made up the neighborhood and started wandering through the grass until she hit sidewalk. There, vines in chalk blossomed lazily behind her footsteps, and in the night, in the light of the stars and the moon and the streetlamps, they seemed to glow in pale oranges and whites and blues. She played with them by taking wobbling, drunken steps, crossing one leg in front of the other, pirouetting clumsily to make them tie themselves into knots. Even so, she continued down around the slow curve of the neighborhood's main street, not bothering to venture into any of the cul-de-sacs. The chalk lines were fun, a little trail describing where the little skunk had wandered, but she *was* tired. It had been a long first day back as Little Motes, and she had successfully packed it to the brim with all that she had wanted to do, and that success gave to her a sense of rightness.