Every silver lining's got a touch of grey

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon, Tuesday October 20th]
[The Abbey grounds]


Got ten more days 'fore me'n Tez 'n Verdi get down t'it, an'm nervous azza cat inna fuckin' dog pen. Been stayin' away from folks's much's poss'ble, jes' cuz I know I get snappy 'n tough t'be 'round when'm scared. Ain't seen much'a Tez, nor m'girls inna few days, spendin' all m'time brewin' charms 'n gath'rin' reagents. Works keeps me busy, work keeps me from thinkin' 'bout what we's gonna do, an' y'never know what we might need, right?

"I do have something for any physical damage she may sustain...except for her personal sacrifice. I won't ruin that."

Personal sacrifice.

What? Onna m'eyes, like Odin? Onna m'tits, like'ose bloody Amazons? A hand? What?

Willin' t'do it still, willin' t'do most anythin' if'n it'll get'at bitch outta th'fuckin' Grindhouse 'n offa m'Lot...but don't mean I ain't scared. Hafta be fuckin' stupid not t'be, an' I ain't stupid.

After a while, though, start t're'lize'at cabin fever's gettin's makin' me's nervous's anythin' else. Also re'lize I ain't fuckin' showered in near t'five days. Fine. Fuck'is. Head out, scrub m'self near raw 'n get some clean clothes on. Mebbe don't wanna 'nflict m'self on th'folks 'round'ere, but I c'n go inta town'n bug some strangers. Get m'head clear, 'n if'n I snap't someone, no harm done.

Don't really know when'm goin' when I set t'wand'rin', an' ferra sec don't get why m'feet d'cided t'go t'th'fuckin' church, spec'ally seein'at me'n churches don't got th'best hist'ry. But'en I gettit. Preacher-man, yeah. 'vited me down fer lunch sometime. Seemed nice, good t'talk to...even asked me down t'do some tradin', mebbe some dream work. Sure. Somethin' t'do, ain't it? Helluva lot better'n sittin' in m'wagon drinkin' cold coffee 'n eatin' dried meat fer th'third day inna fuckin' row.

Head through th'gate 'n onta th'grounds. Sure hope 'e's in.


[OPEN to Nanse-Kam and others around the Abbey]

Every silver lining's got a touch of grey

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early afternoon, Tuesday October 20th]
[The Abbey grounds]


Got ten more days 'fore me'n Tez 'n Verdi get down t'it, an'm nervous azza cat inna fuckin' dog pen. Been stayin' away from folks's much's poss'ble, jes' cuz I know I get snappy 'n tough t'be 'round when'm scared. Ain't seen much'a Tez, nor m'girls inna few days, spendin' all m'time brewin' charms 'n gath'rin' reagents. Works keeps me busy, work keeps me from thinkin' 'bout what we's gonna do, an' y'never know what we might need, right?

"I do have something for any physical damage she may sustain...except for her personal sacrifice. I won't ruin that."

Personal sacrifice.

What? Onna m'eyes, like Odin? Onna m'tits, like'ose bloody Amazons? A hand? What?

Willin' t'do it still, willin' t'do most anythin' if'n it'll get'at bitch outta th'fuckin' Grindhouse 'n offa m'Lot...but don't mean I ain't scared. Hafta be fuckin' stupid not t'be, an' I ain't stupid.

After a while, though, start t're'lize'at cabin fever's gettin's makin' me's nervous's anythin' else. Also re'lize I ain't fuckin' showered in near t'five days. Fine. Fuck'is. Head out, scrub m'self near raw 'n get some clean clothes on. Mebbe don't wanna 'nflict m'self on th'folks 'round'ere, but I c'n go inta town'n bug some strangers. Get m'head clear, 'n if'n I snap't someone, no harm done.

Don't really know when'm goin' when I set t'wand'rin', an' ferra sec don't get why m'feet d'cided t'go t'th'fuckin' church, spec'ally seein'at me'n churches don't got th'best hist'ry. But'en I gettit. Preacher-man, yeah. 'vited me down fer lunch sometime. Seemed nice, good t'talk to...even asked me down t'do some tradin', mebbe some dream work. Sure. Somethin' t'do, ain't it? Helluva lot better'n sittin' in m'wagon drinkin' cold coffee 'n eatin' dried meat fer th'third day inna fuckin' row.

Head through th'gate 'n onta th'grounds. Sure hope 'e's in.


[OPEN to Nanse-Kam and others around the Abbey]

To accomplish great things, we must dream as well as act.

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

The Night of Tuesday, October 20th

It was daylight when it happened; a weaker time for me, when I myself rest, the dreams around me the formless brightness of the infant or the pale thin restlessness of the very old. But I felt it all the same, a sudden hollowing in the state of things. But it took me until nightfall, and others' dreams, to see the flame and the falling ash. A god and a seer lost at once. Ares' dreams are gone; no more bright blood and the clash of spears on shields. It is a grave thing for a god to die, although I am not as shocked by it as many of my fellow gods seem to be. I have seen too many of us pass out of existence to think that we are truly immortal. We are only that in the sense that it is not in general written into us to die and to stay dead; but there are always ways for any thing to find its ending. All I wonder is whether Ares will stay dead, or if he will return as something else. He would not be the first. The seer, meanwhile... Her dreams had the smooth texture of pearls and the ashen taste of things burned and fallen away. I do not know into what realm she has passed; but I hope that she will see her fair haired child again. It is a hard thing to be a mother without a child; this I know.

Excolo has been calm of late, dreams less lurid, the dreamscape less bruised with purple-scarlets and the sour taste of adrenalin. The dark times have not passed, but this is a moment of greater peace, and I am glad for it. I am strong, now, from the worship I have received in the harvest, in the growing body of my church. I will never be what I was, I do not think; I will not walk the town as judge and queen. That time is as long gone as Babylon herself. But my eyes are sharper, and my voice carries farther, and the harvest has fallen greater and more golden ripe than it has done in years. And as I walk the night there seems barely to be a dream I cannot touch, a dreamer whose mind does not fall open to me. But I do not pry; I tread the threads between dreams, the light-sound spaces like the breath in before a sigh. I wait until I see something shape itself into something that calls to me.

[OPEN]

To accomplish great things, we must dream as well as act.

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

The Night of Tuesday, October 20th

It was daylight when it happened; a weaker time for me, when I myself rest, the dreams around me the formless brightness of the infant or the pale thin restlessness of the very old. But I felt it all the same, a sudden hollowing in the state of things. But it took me until nightfall, and others' dreams, to see the flame and the falling ash. A god and a seer lost at once. Ares' dreams are gone; no more bright blood and the clash of spears on shields. It is a grave thing for a god to die, although I am not as shocked by it as many of my fellow gods seem to be. I have seen too many of us pass out of existence to think that we are truly immortal. We are only that in the sense that it is not in general written into us to die and to stay dead; but there are always ways for any thing to find its ending. All I wonder is whether Ares will stay dead, or if he will return as something else. He would not be the first. The seer, meanwhile... Her dreams had the smooth texture of pearls and the ashen taste of things burned and fallen away. I do not know into what realm she has passed; but I hope that she will see her fair haired child again. It is a hard thing to be a mother without a child; this I know.

Excolo has been calm of late, dreams less lurid, the dreamscape less bruised with purple-scarlets and the sour taste of adrenalin. The dark times have not passed, but this is a moment of greater peace, and I am glad for it. I am strong, now, from the worship I have received in the harvest, in the growing body of my church. I will never be what I was, I do not think; I will not walk the town as judge and queen. That time is as long gone as Babylon herself. But my eyes are sharper, and my voice carries farther, and the harvest has fallen greater and more golden ripe than it has done in years. And as I walk the night there seems barely to be a dream I cannot touch, a dreamer whose mind does not fall open to me. But I do not pry; I tread the threads between dreams, the light-sound spaces like the breath in before a sigh. I wait until I see something shape itself into something that calls to me.

[OPEN]