(no subject)

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

Early hours of Saturday

The ties that bind the waking world to its time are stretched gossamer thin in the pale hours between midnight and dawn. At this time I am at my closest to breaking into the world that ajoins my realm; not when reality sleeps deepest, but when it is half-caught between sleep and waking, the restless dappled space where dreams are at their brightest, where sleepers are most restless.

And people are restless indeed, their dreams spattered scarlet-black and the purple of bruises. So many dreams are of pain, lately, and it gives my realm the taste of ashes and polluted rain. I can grant good dreams, and I could cleanse this place; but by and large, I govern dreams, rather than creating them. Gods should not meddle too deeply in man's day to day affairs, or else what is man but a puppet? Some gods like to play with men like dolls, but the novelty palls after a time, and then they discard their toys... And man is no detritus to be discarded on a whim, nor to be toyed with for my amusement or comfort.

Here are there I have granted dreams, of course. To my dear Reed, one of the most loyal of my followers, I give places that grant peace. Reed does not need to see me to believe, and so I have not been there. She knows I see her. Others I have visited with dreams they do not remember on waking, but that have given them a sense of purpose or hope. I hope these few will find that a relief from despair with urge them toward greater things, but I have not instructed or cajoled.

Perhaps, I sometimes think, I should. Once I was a queen-goddess, ruling as judge and monarch in the waking realm, but that time is gone long and far away. To each of us there is a time and a place, and I am gone so very far from my homeland...

I am still ruler of this domain, however, and I walk it tonight with purpose. I am waiting to see if any dream calls out to me, if any sleeping mind presents itself as a ready place for me to bring dream. For what I am looking I do not know; but I believe I will know it when I see it.

[open]

(no subject)

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

Early hours of Saturday

The ties that bind the waking world to its time are stretched gossamer thin in the pale hours between midnight and dawn. At this time I am at my closest to breaking into the world that ajoins my realm; not when reality sleeps deepest, but when it is half-caught between sleep and waking, the restless dappled space where dreams are at their brightest, where sleepers are most restless.

And people are restless indeed, their dreams spattered scarlet-black and the purple of bruises. So many dreams are of pain, lately, and it gives my realm the taste of ashes and polluted rain. I can grant good dreams, and I could cleanse this place; but by and large, I govern dreams, rather than creating them. Gods should not meddle too deeply in man's day to day affairs, or else what is man but a puppet? Some gods like to play with men like dolls, but the novelty palls after a time, and then they discard their toys... And man is no detritus to be discarded on a whim, nor to be toyed with for my amusement or comfort.

Here are there I have granted dreams, of course. To my dear Reed, one of the most loyal of my followers, I give places that grant peace. Reed does not need to see me to believe, and so I have not been there. She knows I see her. Others I have visited with dreams they do not remember on waking, but that have given them a sense of purpose or hope. I hope these few will find that a relief from despair with urge them toward greater things, but I have not instructed or cajoled.

Perhaps, I sometimes think, I should. Once I was a queen-goddess, ruling as judge and monarch in the waking realm, but that time is gone long and far away. To each of us there is a time and a place, and I am gone so very far from my homeland...

I am still ruler of this domain, however, and I walk it tonight with purpose. I am waiting to see if any dream calls out to me, if any sleeping mind presents itself as a ready place for me to bring dream. For what I am looking I do not know; but I believe I will know it when I see it.

[open]

My heart is old, it holds my memories...

[valda-excolo.livejournal.com]

[Valda’s Cottage]
[Saturday Evening]

I know what I have to do. It’s simple, really. Just reach out…only a few inches, even a child could do this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and slowly release it as I lean forward, arms outstretched…almost..have them…

As my fingers curl around the last of the split wood I spent the better part of the day hauling in from my woodpile outside, the familiar pull beginning again in my back. I grit my teeth, knowing it’s about to become worse. I manage to gently set the final pieces on top and close the woodbox before the searing heat rips through my body, and I collapse to the ground. A pox on this useless human body! A mere day’s labor, and I’ve worked it to the point of exhaustion and excruciating pain. I lay on the floor, soaked in my own freezing sweat, and wait for the pain to subside enough so I can move. I crawl toward the small room that sits to one side of my cabin…just large enough for a potbellied stove and a copper bathtub. Thankfully I had the foresight to fill the tub with hot water before I began hauling in the rest of the wood. I grab the liniment I use on Destrier’s legs after a hard day, and a bottle of whiskey. Half the liniment goes into the hot water and the smell of witch hazel, chamomile, and cayenne pepper wafts up with the steam. Smiling, I pour a healthy glass of whiskey for myself, and before I recork the bottle, I pour some into the bath as well.

For the first time since my breakfast in Excolo, I begin to relax. I think it went well, but everything was just so…strange. While I’m certain no-one uses the formal hand gestures that are second nature to me, Ri and Zann looked surprised when I tried to offer my hands in that wiggling gesture I thought was acceptable as I left. And the expression on Ri’s face when I gave her the initial payment for my tattoo… distrust? Does she think I would cheat her out of her due? Has she been given forged gold before? A strange, aching sensation seems to swallow me from the inside. While Conley seems to be nothing more than a simpering, lascivious boy; Ri and Zann were amiable companions. And when Zann spoke of the Carnival in that melodious and frightening way…

Friends are hard to come by when one spends their life settling debts the cruel have inflicted on those they seek to dominate. But even if we are not meant to be friends, if I am meant to wander this existence alone practicing my art, it would be nice to know that they thought of me as honorable.

Finishing my whiskey, I close my eyes and sink further into the water. I’ll have to tell them how I came by that gold.

[closed]

My heart is old, it holds my memories...

[valda-excolo.livejournal.com]

[Valda’s Cottage]
[Saturday Evening]

I know what I have to do. It’s simple, really. Just reach out…only a few inches, even a child could do this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and slowly release it as I lean forward, arms outstretched…almost..have them…

As my fingers curl around the last of the split wood I spent the better part of the day hauling in from my woodpile outside, the familiar pull beginning again in my back. I grit my teeth, knowing it’s about to become worse. I manage to gently set the final pieces on top and close the woodbox before the searing heat rips through my body, and I collapse to the ground. A pox on this useless human body! A mere day’s labor, and I’ve worked it to the point of exhaustion and excruciating pain. I lay on the floor, soaked in my own freezing sweat, and wait for the pain to subside enough so I can move. I crawl toward the small room that sits to one side of my cabin…just large enough for a potbellied stove and a copper bathtub. Thankfully I had the foresight to fill the tub with hot water before I began hauling in the rest of the wood. I grab the liniment I use on Destrier’s legs after a hard day, and a bottle of whiskey. Half the liniment goes into the hot water and the smell of witch hazel, chamomile, and cayenne pepper wafts up with the steam. Smiling, I pour a healthy glass of whiskey for myself, and before I recork the bottle, I pour some into the bath as well.

For the first time since my breakfast in Excolo, I begin to relax. I think it went well, but everything was just so…strange. While I’m certain no-one uses the formal hand gestures that are second nature to me, Ri and Zann looked surprised when I tried to offer my hands in that wiggling gesture I thought was acceptable as I left. And the expression on Ri’s face when I gave her the initial payment for my tattoo… distrust? Does she think I would cheat her out of her due? Has she been given forged gold before? A strange, aching sensation seems to swallow me from the inside. While Conley seems to be nothing more than a simpering, lascivious boy; Ri and Zann were amiable companions. And when Zann spoke of the Carnival in that melodious and frightening way…

Friends are hard to come by when one spends their life settling debts the cruel have inflicted on those they seek to dominate. But even if we are not meant to be friends, if I am meant to wander this existence alone practicing my art, it would be nice to know that they thought of me as honorable.

Finishing my whiskey, I close my eyes and sink further into the water. I’ll have to tell them how I came by that gold.

[closed]

Dance with me in cold clear air.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

[Morning of Saturday, September 19 (day 111)]
[Out by the Voronin Estate]

Management, oh, hey, Management. It felt so good to hear back from them, it really really did. I mean--look, hey, I know Management aren't saints, but they're--hell. They're family. Not in the real close way, but in a true way. I missed being sure that they knew, you know? Feels like maybe things are a little steadier here, and now I've got a chance to go out and take a look at a few things. It's Saturday, so market's on and I'll need to be back for the afternoon and evening, but right now I've got time.

Get up early in the cold morning and get dressed, jeans and warm socks under my shoes and a T-shirt and a shirt over that and my jacket, and I head out over the Pontarlier into town, and the air's chilly enough to make me notice all the soft baffle of my clothes, holding my own little bubble of warmth steady against the air running quick and cold all around. Not a lot of people around, and my feet are clacking over the bridge and down the stones and hard dirt of the roads until I reach the tall iron gates, edges of rust and the smell of cold cold metal.

And I stop a minute and curl my fingers around the uprights of fence and gate and stand there, feeling the metal press into my hands and breathing in a hint of old smoke, like a long-dead campfire, and I start to worry. Anushka, lovely lovely psychokine wonder, touching and seeing and holding out the wonder of the world like a clock winding up and measuring golden time--no-one from town would've come to hurt her, would they? Running scared and looking for something to blame, missing the wonder and sweep of her and seeing only the strangeness?

Swallow once and slip through the gate and listen to the early-morning silence.

"Lady Voronin?"

[Open to Anushka]
[Closed]

Dance with me in cold clear air.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

[Morning of Saturday, September 19 (day 111)]
[Out by the Voronin Estate]

Management, oh, hey, Management. It felt so good to hear back from them, it really really did. I mean--look, hey, I know Management aren't saints, but they're--hell. They're family. Not in the real close way, but in a true way. I missed being sure that they knew, you know? Feels like maybe things are a little steadier here, and now I've got a chance to go out and take a look at a few things. It's Saturday, so market's on and I'll need to be back for the afternoon and evening, but right now I've got time.

Get up early in the cold morning and get dressed, jeans and warm socks under my shoes and a T-shirt and a shirt over that and my jacket, and I head out over the Pontarlier into town, and the air's chilly enough to make me notice all the soft baffle of my clothes, holding my own little bubble of warmth steady against the air running quick and cold all around. Not a lot of people around, and my feet are clacking over the bridge and down the stones and hard dirt of the roads until I reach the tall iron gates, edges of rust and the smell of cold cold metal.

And I stop a minute and curl my fingers around the uprights of fence and gate and stand there, feeling the metal press into my hands and breathing in a hint of old smoke, like a long-dead campfire, and I start to worry. Anushka, lovely lovely psychokine wonder, touching and seeing and holding out the wonder of the world like a clock winding up and measuring golden time--no-one from town would've come to hurt her, would they? Running scared and looking for something to blame, missing the wonder and sweep of her and seeing only the strangeness?

Swallow once and slip through the gate and listen to the early-morning silence.

"Lady Voronin?"

[Open to Anushka]
[Closed]

(no subject)

[notte-halthor.livejournal.com]

Sunday, early hours of the morning
Day 112

Whisperings in the dark keep me awake. The patterns above my bed are purely imaginary, conjured by tired eyes open too long in the dark. But when I close my eyes, the images burn beneath them. Great shapes like fresh brands pulse dully, and finally I toss the covers off. Too much pent-up energy inside of me. The plants wailed until I agreed not to go to market yesterday--a few of them have been uncomfortable as of late, and just like faithful pets, they refused to let me get into (what they thought was) harm's way. Fine, as long as they didn't keep that racket going.

Can't even read. None of the lights will turn on, not even the ones downstairs--not all of the bulbs could have gone out at the same time! I give up around one thirty and go to get some glow-plants to take with me to the greenhouse to look about, soothing the fussing nocturnal plants who weren't used to seeing me with them for so long.

Around two, suddenly my house floods with light (should have made sure they were OFF, ugh) and I rush to turn them off. Hear a pop--well, one of them is out now. I hope I didn't wake anyone up, 'specially with us so close. The nursery and living space upstairs are dark in two minutes with the exception of a faint light upstairs and down.

Definitely not tired anymore. Well, I doubt the goddess will mind one less person dreaming. Play around until it's time for sunrise, then just before go to sit by the river to watch. With my nightclothes soaked by the dew and my hair floating freely about me, I finally feel at peace.

Oh, election day is tomorrow! Wonder how the process works? Will I need to be up extra early?



[closed]

(no subject)

[notte-halthor.livejournal.com]

Sunday, early hours of the morning
Day 112

Whisperings in the dark keep me awake. The patterns above my bed are purely imaginary, conjured by tired eyes open too long in the dark. But when I close my eyes, the images burn beneath them. Great shapes like fresh brands pulse dully, and finally I toss the covers off. Too much pent-up energy inside of me. The plants wailed until I agreed not to go to market yesterday--a few of them have been uncomfortable as of late, and just like faithful pets, they refused to let me get into (what they thought was) harm's way. Fine, as long as they didn't keep that racket going.

Can't even read. None of the lights will turn on, not even the ones downstairs--not all of the bulbs could have gone out at the same time! I give up around one thirty and go to get some glow-plants to take with me to the greenhouse to look about, soothing the fussing nocturnal plants who weren't used to seeing me with them for so long.

Around two, suddenly my house floods with light (should have made sure they were OFF, ugh) and I rush to turn them off. Hear a pop--well, one of them is out now. I hope I didn't wake anyone up, 'specially with us so close. The nursery and living space upstairs are dark in two minutes with the exception of a faint light upstairs and down.

Definitely not tired anymore. Well, I doubt the goddess will mind one less person dreaming. Play around until it's time for sunrise, then just before go to sit by the river to watch. With my nightclothes soaked by the dew and my hair floating freely about me, I finally feel at peace.

Oh, election day is tomorrow! Wonder how the process works? Will I need to be up extra early?



[closed]