No mask like open truth to cover lies.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

“We are only falsehood, duplicity, contradiction; we both conceal and disguise ourselves from ourselves.”
Blaise Pascal

Friday, February 5th, afternoon
The salon

My afternoon's tormenting of the preacher has put me into better spirits, as well as re-excited my enjoyment of using bodies as masks onto which other people project their fears and desires. I remember a promise I made some time ago; better late than never. I don the Conley body, that slim boyish form with its sly smile, brown hair dishevelled in a way that suggests the teenager will grow up to be a rake, not a slob. It was autumn the last time this body saw the salon girl; he looks similar enough that she will remember him, but different enough to suggest he has spent time away - hair slightly shorter, stubble a little heavier, denim jacket traded for leather.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk up Main Street, whistling like I am lord of all I survey. The cheerful arrogance of adolescence can be entertaining. I push open the door to the salon.

"Bet you didn't reckon you'd see me again," I say, grinning, when I see her bright head of hair. "Alright, Ri?"

[OPEN to Verite and later to Tarquin]

No mask like open truth to cover lies.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

“We are only falsehood, duplicity, contradiction; we both conceal and disguise ourselves from ourselves.”
Blaise Pascal

Friday, February 5th, afternoon
The salon

My afternoon's tormenting of the preacher has put me into better spirits, as well as re-excited my enjoyment of using bodies as masks onto which other people project their fears and desires. I remember a promise I made some time ago; better late than never. I don the Conley body, that slim boyish form with its sly smile, brown hair dishevelled in a way that suggests the teenager will grow up to be a rake, not a slob. It was autumn the last time this body saw the salon girl; he looks similar enough that she will remember him, but different enough to suggest he has spent time away - hair slightly shorter, stubble a little heavier, denim jacket traded for leather.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk up Main Street, whistling like I am lord of all I survey. The cheerful arrogance of adolescence can be entertaining. I push open the door to the salon.

"Bet you didn't reckon you'd see me again," I say, grinning, when I see her bright head of hair. "Alright, Ri?"

[OPEN to Verite and later to Tarquin]