I need my role in this very clearly defined.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

"I see you left a mark
Up and down my skin
I don't know where I end
and where you begin.

I need your discipline
I need your help
I need you discipline
You know once I start I cannot help myself."   
Nine Inch Nails

(October 14th, Wednesday night)
(the basement of the Dormouse)
(Ten minutes of Ten pm)

"If you want to be beaten up, I can certainly do that for you!"
Lucien's words still ring through my head.  Oh, I know he didn't mean it like it sounded, and he has every right to be angry.... furious at me.  I should have known better.  I should have known Dorian would run to him.  I had hoped he was out of it enough when I changed into one of his T shirts to sleep he wouldn't notice, or remember the marks, but he did.   Lucien showed up to fix the damages, looking like hell.  I tried, I tried to down play it, laugh it off, but he dragged me upstairs and all but tore the dress off...
At least he didn't ask for specifics.  I think he knew though.... he looked as if he might retch as he was fixing the damage.  I wonder if he can sense the nature of the wound when healing it, but I figured then was not the time to inquire...
The yelling started soon after that.
Lucien was not wrong.  Why bother staying away to keep me safe?  Why indeed? 
After healing me up and a good long argument, he stormed out, muttering; "If your going to get thrashed about so, maybe one of these days someone will beat some sense into you... and don't run to Dorian afterwards!  Especially after you allow the dog to maul you!"  The glass in the door cracked as he slammed it shut. 

He's not wrong.
Maybe I do need a someone to knock some sense into me, per se..... radical thinking, but maybe.....?
Maybe I need to lose control, in a controlled setting, to regain it.  Or at least some sense of clarity.  "I realized I enjoyed the pain,  the clarity it brought...."
I thought about asking Lucien.  I agonized over it for two days.  I wanted to ask him....
But I still do not trust that it would be only him in control.  But soon, soon.... and I can make amends to him properly then.

No....
The idea crept into my mind this morning, and once there, it would not go away.  

So tonight I dressed in a simple black skirt, black silk shirt, thigh highs and the lingerie set Kent gave me. I am already downstairs, awaiting my perfect submissive.  I am going to ask Kent to do something I have never asked of another client.  
I wonder if he'll be receptive?  I hope so.... for my sake.

(open to Kent/Iblis)
(cautions! go without saying)   

I need my role in this very clearly defined.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

"I see you left a mark
Up and down my skin
I don't know where I end
and where you begin.

I need your discipline
I need your help
I need you discipline
You know once I start I cannot help myself."   
Nine Inch Nails

(October 14th, Wednesday night)
(the basement of the Dormouse)
(Ten minutes of Ten pm)

"If you want to be beaten up, I can certainly do that for you!"
Lucien's words still ring through my head.  Oh, I know he didn't mean it like it sounded, and he has every right to be angry.... furious at me.  I should have known better.  I should have known Dorian would run to him.  I had hoped he was out of it enough when I changed into one of his T shirts to sleep he wouldn't notice, or remember the marks, but he did.   Lucien showed up to fix the damages, looking like hell.  I tried, I tried to down play it, laugh it off, but he dragged me upstairs and all but tore the dress off...
At least he didn't ask for specifics.  I think he knew though.... he looked as if he might retch as he was fixing the damage.  I wonder if he can sense the nature of the wound when healing it, but I figured then was not the time to inquire...
The yelling started soon after that.
Lucien was not wrong.  Why bother staying away to keep me safe?  Why indeed? 
After healing me up and a good long argument, he stormed out, muttering; "If your going to get thrashed about so, maybe one of these days someone will beat some sense into you... and don't run to Dorian afterwards!  Especially after you allow the dog to maul you!"  The glass in the door cracked as he slammed it shut. 

He's not wrong.
Maybe I do need a someone to knock some sense into me, per se..... radical thinking, but maybe.....?
Maybe I need to lose control, in a controlled setting, to regain it.  Or at least some sense of clarity.  "I realized I enjoyed the pain,  the clarity it brought...."
I thought about asking Lucien.  I agonized over it for two days.  I wanted to ask him....
But I still do not trust that it would be only him in control.  But soon, soon.... and I can make amends to him properly then.

No....
The idea crept into my mind this morning, and once there, it would not go away.  

So tonight I dressed in a simple black skirt, black silk shirt, thigh highs and the lingerie set Kent gave me. I am already downstairs, awaiting my perfect submissive.  I am going to ask Kent to do something I have never asked of another client.  
I wonder if he'll be receptive?  I hope so.... for my sake.

(open to Kent/Iblis)
(cautions! go without saying)   

then with the fuse in my hand

[anushka-excolo.livejournal.com]

Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Mid morning



[closed]

then with the fuse in my hand

[anushka-excolo.livejournal.com]

Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Mid morning

I know it when I wake. The beat of it thudding all through me. It is today. It is today. I know it with blood and bones and flesh and fire. I know it with the gauze of thought. I know it as the pale fish know the sun: filtered through darkness but unmistakable.

Oh hush. Oh, hush.

There are no more photographs to be burned. Winter creeps in across the town and the apples are drying in cellars. Starlings flock across the bare fields. Think of all these things before they are gone. Know them for one last time. The smell of cold earth and old wood. The way flames are bleached of colour in the daylight. So much, so much. The way the fairground rides are sinking into the damp earth down at the Carnival, the way grass grows up around them. Think of the photograph of Anton and Konrad and Anushka. Think of how happy they were on the shore.

Think of Monster waking in the library attic. Think of Wanda in her cellar, and Glass with her dead, and the candle which has not gone out, and Mab working at her desk, and Valmont's careful handwriting, and Gaueko, and his smile, and Verdandi at her still, and Reed in the shadows of the Boy, and the smith with his scent of metal, and Miao there with her diamond feet, and Kate stacking the shelves of the store, and the teacher at the school, and the boys at the bakery, and the carnies taking breakfast in the cook tent. I watch you all. It is all so beautiful. It is all right.

Turn away from the window. Let the garden gate stand open. Today. Let those animals which have crept back into the garden turn away. Steer the people who stray this way back into the town. Today. Steady your hands. Close all the doors. Remember what it was to be a woman once, what it was to bleed and to hurt and to love. Remember what it meant to be Anushka.

Now let these things go. Do not be afraid. Today. Today.

I grasp the wargod's mind and I drag him to me.

[closed]

From the ashes a fire shall be woken

[bakeneko-excolo.livejournal.com]

Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Dusk

The sun was in the sky when the ember went out. It should have been a flare. A blazing inferno. Loud and changing the world. I am left with echoing ash in the corner of my mind.

Boku recovered from the choked bite of the late breakfast. I wrapped myself tight in ash and let him have his day with the boy of horse and leather. Let them have their joy in flesh and life and each other until they were wrapped like kittens in sleep. It is much easier to slip out of his arms when a tenth the size. Cat shifts to yamaneko and the journey is swift. The youngest does not comprehend the waves of feeling, but pays his respects to a den mother in speed.

The last of the onlookers have left with the setting sun. There is barely rubble left, just ash cooling. All the embers are gone. My knees hurt where they press against sharp cinders. The black and white all covered in grey. The only thing hot is the water etching tracks in my face.

No more garden dances, winter has come.

[Open to Luke] [Closed]

From the ashes a fire shall be woken

[bakeneko-excolo.livejournal.com]

Voronin Manor, Wednesday, October 14th, Dusk

The sun was in the sky when the ember went out. It should have been a flare. A blazing inferno. Loud and changing the world. I am left with echoing ash in the corner of my mind.

Boku recovered from the choked bite of the late breakfast. I wrapped myself tight in ash and let him have his day with the boy of horse and leather. Let them have their joy in flesh and life and each other until they were wrapped like kittens in sleep. It is much easier to slip out of his arms when a tenth the size. Cat shifts to yamaneko and the journey is swift. The youngest does not comprehend the waves of feeling, but pays his respects to a den mother in speed.

The last of the onlookers have left with the setting sun. There is barely rubble left, just ash cooling. All the embers are gone. My knees hurt where they press against sharp cinders. The black and white all covered in grey. The only thing hot is the water etching tracks in my face.

No more garden dances, winter has come.

[Open to Luke] [Closed]

Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon of Wednesday, October 14 (day 136)]
[Miskatonic Café]

Finished with Reaves and with Underwood and came home late last night, and spent an hour scrubbing the last of that dull tang of wolfberry and corpses out from under my nails. No work today, and Iago and I awoke late morning and wandered down to Main meaning to go by the Miskatonic for noon, and was listening light to the words in the street when their meaning trickled in.

Voronin, they said. Burnt before anyone could save it, they said. A little ways outside of town, they said, and strange standoffish woman and one or another said madgirl and that was when I gathered my thoughts up into my throat and took Iago's hand and turned around, walking slow back down Silk and not noticing any of it passing.

Well, then.

Well, then.

I've... no mind for how to take what might be. Trying to tell myself that the odd lifting weightlessness within me is a plainer dizziness like to sunstroke, not the feel of slipping out from under something, things are not can not be so simple so kind... I will not hope. I will not hope.

I took Iago home and I think I wept a little, but there's no sorrow in it. Lay with his arms around me afterwards and his breath in my hair and watched the sunlight paint itself along the walls of our room until I remembered he had to work today, and insisted he go and not worry. And without his arms around me I couldn't keep still, was up and around and scattering myself trying to keep from being giddy, fluttering in helpless motion until I pinned myself down and worked on giving it sense. Turn to what I'd meant to set out, the draw and pace of the calm and common day. Was planning to read a book from the library, the shapes of silver and salt and ash in wards and blessings, and I go out and I'm down to the Miskatonic afore realizing I've left it back in our living room. Light uneasy smile to myself and I get some of Tulzcha's coffee and sit down by the window. Leaves all the colours of Verdi's beers and whiskeys are collecting in the corners of the street, and the sky's clear and cool. Fine time of year, all quiet embers shading down to ashy grey, and I find my hands are yet shaking a little.

I am holding back hope like someone trying not to breathe in the smoke of a fire. Must not, dare not, let it in.

[Open to Dorian and Valda, and Lucien]
[Closed]

Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon of Wednesday, October 14 (day 136)]
[Miskatonic Café]

Finished with Reaves and with Underwood and came home late last night, and spent an hour scrubbing the last of that dull tang of wolfberry and corpses out from under my nails. No work today, and Iago and I awoke late morning and wandered down to Main meaning to go by the Miskatonic for noon, and was listening light to the words in the street when their meaning trickled in.

Voronin, they said. Burnt before anyone could save it, they said. A little ways outside of town, they said, and strange standoffish woman and one or another said madgirl and that was when I gathered my thoughts up into my throat and took Iago's hand and turned around, walking slow back down Silk and not noticing any of it passing.

Well, then.

Well, then.

I've... no mind for how to take what might be. Trying to tell myself that the odd lifting weightlessness within me is a plainer dizziness like to sunstroke, not the feel of slipping out from under something, things are not can not be so simple so kind... I will not hope. I will not hope.

I took Iago home and I think I wept a little, but there's no sorrow in it. Lay with his arms around me afterwards and his breath in my hair and watched the sunlight paint itself along the walls of our room until I remembered he had to work today, and insisted he go and not worry. And without his arms around me I couldn't keep still, was up and around and scattering myself trying to keep from being giddy, fluttering in helpless motion until I pinned myself down and worked on giving it sense. Turn to what I'd meant to set out, the draw and pace of the calm and common day. Was planning to read a book from the library, the shapes of silver and salt and ash in wards and blessings, and I go out and I'm down to the Miskatonic afore realizing I've left it back in our living room. Light uneasy smile to myself and I get some of Tulzcha's coffee and sit down by the window. Leaves all the colours of Verdi's beers and whiskeys are collecting in the corners of the street, and the sky's clear and cool. Fine time of year, all quiet embers shading down to ashy grey, and I find my hands are yet shaking a little.

I am holding back hope like someone trying not to breathe in the smoke of a fire. Must not, dare not, let it in.

[Open to Dorian and Valda, and Lucien]
[Closed]

But the sacred part is kept alongside the desecrated form

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

Wednesday, October 14th
Early morning

"That which man has witnessed in the cultivation of grains, that which he understood from seeds as they are reborn, represents a definite lesson: the resurrection. But this lesson is no longer useful. That which he has gleaned from seeds holds no more meaning for you. It's like a distant memory that no longer affects you. In fact, there are no gods."

I've been thinking about what Iblis said.

It began earlier than that, really, with Verdi, with what she said her brew could do to Syl. And the roots of it go deeper still, spreading unseen through all the years of my being. Endlessly shaped.

I take the most recent bottle of whiskey when I go out. As I told him, it can't hide what I am from me any longer, but there's comfort in the habit. Need still in my body, too, and I drink as I walk. The autumn sky's warm above me, stretching wider as I leave town. The fields are shorn and umber, grain harvest long since gathered; there are trees heavy with fruit, and the broad sprawling vines of pumpkins. This season: all ripeness, and all decay. Life gives itself away to life.

I remember being that.

The rain's sent the truck's wheels sinking deeper into the soft soil near the river, set new rust blossoming on the wheel arch nearest. Sit down with my back against it, warm and familiar. The grass is thick with dew: it's soaked the hems of my pants, seeps through their seat now. If I took a sip of whiskey and closed my eyes, I could pretend it was still the carnival years around me, thirty years' home. Tip my head back instead and look up at the dawn sun, broad and low and golden.

( (Cut for length) )

But the sacred part is kept alongside the desecrated form

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

Wednesday, October 14th
Early morning

"That which man has witnessed in the cultivation of grains, that which he understood from seeds as they are reborn, represents a definite lesson: the resurrection. But this lesson is no longer useful. That which he has gleaned from seeds holds no more meaning for you. It's like a distant memory that no longer affects you. In fact, there are no gods."

I've been thinking about what Iblis said.

It began earlier than that, really, with Verdi, with what she said her brew could do to Syl. And the roots of it go deeper still, spreading unseen through all the years of my being. Endlessly shaped.

I take the most recent bottle of whiskey when I go out. As I told him, it can't hide what I am from me any longer, but there's comfort in the habit. Need still in my body, too, and I drink as I walk. The autumn sky's warm above me, stretching wider as I leave town. The fields are shorn and umber, grain harvest long since gathered; there are trees heavy with fruit, and the broad sprawling vines of pumpkins. This season: all ripeness, and all decay. Life gives itself away to life.

I remember being that.

The rain's sent the truck's wheels sinking deeper into the soft soil near the river, set new rust blossoming on the wheel arch nearest. Sit down with my back against it, warm and familiar. The grass is thick with dew: it's soaked the hems of my pants, seeps through their seat now. If I took a sip of whiskey and closed my eyes, I could pretend it was still the carnival years around me, thirty years' home. Tip my head back instead and look up at the dawn sun, broad and low and golden.

( (Cut for length) )

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain…away.

[erisdiscordious.livejournal.com]

the Marks' Ranch
Mid-morning of Day 136


I awaken with a pain in my head, my stomach, my teeth, my feet. Blood. There is blood and pain and--

I sit up straight in bed and run to Ares' room. It is empty. I knew it was empty. I clutch the sides of the doorway with my fingers and cry out, not caring if my fingers or the wood break under the pressure.

No. Ares. No. My eyes well up with tears. I rush out into the courtyard, the best place I can see the sky, and it is clear. The sun dares shine at a time like this.

"I HATE YOU," I scream to my father and I know he can hear me. Not again. Not again. My knees buckle and I collapse on the stone. "Damn you," I whisper and feel my face touch the cool stone. There's a puddle beneath my face, water pouring from these mortal eyes.


Ares. No.




They always leave.



[CLOSED.]

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain…away.

[erisdiscordious.livejournal.com]

the Marks' Ranch
Mid-morning of Day 136


I awaken with a pain in my head, my stomach, my teeth, my feet. Blood. There is blood and pain and--

I sit up straight in bed and run to Ares' room. It is empty. I knew it was empty. I clutch the sides of the doorway with my fingers and cry out, not caring if my fingers or the wood break under the pressure.

No. Ares. No. My eyes well up with tears. I rush out into the courtyard, the best place I can see the sky, and it is clear. The sun dares shine at a time like this.

"I HATE YOU," I scream to my father and I know he can hear me. Not again. Not again. My knees buckle and I collapse on the stone. "Damn you," I whisper and feel my face touch the cool stone. There's a puddle beneath my face, water pouring from these mortal eyes.


Ares. No.




They always leave.



[CLOSED.]

You Wither, You Blister, I Watch You Burn and Peel

[lugh-thecelt.livejournal.com]

Silk Road
Late Afternoon, Wednesday 14 October

He left today.

Eris has spent all day in the courtyard. I tried talking to her. I tried moving her. Nothing works. I can't imagine the pain she's in. Can't imagine how personally she takes his leaving, even when she shouldn't. I know she feels like we always leave her.

Ares may have. I will not.

Left the ranch earlier this afternoon. Needed to vent my own anger, my own pain. Ares shouldn't have left her. Left us.

I know where he is. Shadow has seen him.

Hera better not have lied to me...

So, here I am. Alone. On Silk Road. The rage boils barely under my surface. I snarl at some kids and they rush off to the other side of the street. An old woman shakes her head at me disapprovingly. I make her think I look like a wolfman.

I hate this fucking town.

[OPEN]

[CLOSED]

You Wither, You Blister, I Watch You Burn and Peel

[lugh-thecelt.livejournal.com]

Silk Road
Late Afternoon, Wednesday 14 October

He left today.

Eris has spent all day in the courtyard. I tried talking to her. I tried moving her. Nothing works. I can't imagine the pain she's in. Can't imagine how personally she takes his leaving, even when she shouldn't. I know she feels like we always leave her.

Ares may have. I will not.

Left the ranch earlier this afternoon. Needed to vent my own anger, my own pain. Ares shouldn't have left her. Left us.

I know where he is. Shadow has seen him.

Hera better not have lied to me...

So, here I am. Alone. On Silk Road. The rage boils barely under my surface. I snarl at some kids and they rush off to the other side of the street. An old woman shakes her head at me disapprovingly. I make her think I look like a wolfman.

I hate this fucking town.

[OPEN]

[CLOSED]