I'm looking at the river, but I'm thinking of the sea.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early morning, Wednesday, May 19. Day 353]
[The carnival side of the Pontarlier, outside both town and the Lot]


S'lookin't th'water't duzzit fer me. Seein' th'flow, th'curd'a th'foam, smellin' th'river on th'wind...lacks th'salt, th'sound'a th'tides, but th'water 'tself still hazza presence. Still echoes'n m'brain. Still pounds'n m'blood. Smells've damp sand, weed, th'cold blood've fish. Smells'f need. Smells'f home.

S'near t'summer, but't's still cold attis time'a th'mornin'. I shuck m'clothes, stash'em quick 'neath a rotten log. Th'water laps 'round m'ankles cool an' sweet, graspin' 'n strokin' like a million tiny hands. I tilt back m'head, breathe deep'a th'river air, an'en I start t'change.

Dunno why't ain't th'same, goin' from human t'not, but't ain't. M'skin peels free like'at ovvan orange, an'I jes' gotta pause t'swallow't. Ev'ry strip goes down m'throat, tastin'a salt 'n metal 'n fat. Notta single piece gets left b'hind. I know damned well what could be done wit' even th'smallest piece'a m'hide, an'I ain't 'bout t'give nobody th'opportun'ty.

Th'last piece'a flesh passes down m'throat, an'I heave m'self inta th'water. Ain't near so deep's'd prefer, but it'll do. Oh, it'll do. Down I plunge, deep inta th'mud 'n weed choked depths. Snap a trout inta m'jaws, feel th'bones crunch, taste th'copper tang've blood, swallow sweet shreds've meat. Oh, it ain't th'sea, but it'll do fer now.

[OPEN]

I'm looking at the river, but I'm thinking of the sea.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early morning, Wednesday, May 19. Day 353]
[The carnival side of the Pontarlier, outside both town and the Lot]


S'lookin't th'water't duzzit fer me. Seein' th'flow, th'curd'a th'foam, smellin' th'river on th'wind...lacks th'salt, th'sound'a th'tides, but th'water 'tself still hazza presence. Still echoes'n m'brain. Still pounds'n m'blood. Smells've damp sand, weed, th'cold blood've fish. Smells'f need. Smells'f home.

S'near t'summer, but't's still cold attis time'a th'mornin'. I shuck m'clothes, stash'em quick 'neath a rotten log. Th'water laps 'round m'ankles cool an' sweet, graspin' 'n strokin' like a million tiny hands. I tilt back m'head, breathe deep'a th'river air, an'en I start t'change.

Dunno why't ain't th'same, goin' from human t'not, but't ain't. M'skin peels free like'at ovvan orange, an'I jes' gotta pause t'swallow't. Ev'ry strip goes down m'throat, tastin'a salt 'n metal 'n fat. Notta single piece gets left b'hind. I know damned well what could be done wit' even th'smallest piece'a m'hide, an'I ain't 'bout t'give nobody th'opportun'ty.

Th'last piece'a flesh passes down m'throat, an'I heave m'self inta th'water. Ain't near so deep's'd prefer, but it'll do. Oh, it'll do. Down I plunge, deep inta th'mud 'n weed choked depths. Snap a trout inta m'jaws, feel th'bones crunch, taste th'copper tang've blood, swallow sweet shreds've meat. Oh, it ain't th'sea, but it'll do fer now.

[OPEN]

No man is justified in doing evil on the grounds of convenience.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Noon, Wednesday, May 19 (day 353)]
[Sheriff's Office]

Admit that after the fight with Thiess, Durant's bin a lot less trouble. Think nearly having his skull cracked open had him stop and think over a coupla things. So when he was splitting a pitcher with one of the drift trade that came through town last year and they got onta exactly how bad it got last summer, and the man actually had somethin' useful ta say, Durant talked him inta sobering up and coming down. Told me'n Mab what he'd seen down in the old apartments, the night that poor bastard was nailed up ta the town sign.

An ya don't take someone's word fer somethin' like that. So I went down an' looked 'round again, twice over this time, an' found the bullet. Musta gone right between the lath neat as you please, an' so spent by the time it hit the far room it just dropped down. Mab never really did feel entirely sure 'bout Maryk, and what with the bullet an' all it's worth takin' another look, an'...

Found the bloody shirt, half of a very sleepy rat's nest.

Found the tent peg and chain in the room under the one where he was hangin'.

Found, thank you Christ the Carpenter, prints. Woulda sworn you can't, not after so long. Mab got Bluebeard ta do something to them, an', well, between that an' the description we got enough ta ask some real pointed questions and give the pair a'them room and board. Feel kinda sick thinking of all the times I spoke ta them. And really goddamn glad she never got elected.

Not sure what Miss Leah's gonna do. The kinda people that beat and stab a man ta death for no particular reason ain't the kinda people you wanna be sharing a house with. Lettin' her stay there, a' course, but not sure she'll want to. Chills me ta wonder how close she might a' come to getting beaten boneless and nailed up somewhere.

I put them in the downstairs cells. Left the light on an' all, but... Well. Bin a while, but people're still pretty disgusted with that whole crucifying a battered corpse on the town sign thing. No reason, no reason at all except that they wanted ta brag about what they'd done. Brag. So'm thinking out of sight ain't gonna get them all the way outta mind, but it'd help.

Just let's please not have another mob get worked up. Stopping by the 'Boy a bit more often yesterday an' today, but leastways Bathory ain't bin associated with it in a while. For now'm just writing up the report and tryin' ta make sense of it all.

[Open]

No man is justified in doing evil on the grounds of convenience.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Noon, Wednesday, May 19 (day 353)]
[Sheriff's Office]

Admit that after the fight with Thiess, Durant's bin a lot less trouble. Think nearly having his skull cracked open had him stop and think over a coupla things. So when he was splitting a pitcher with one of the drift trade that came through town last year and they got onta exactly how bad it got last summer, and the man actually had somethin' useful ta say, Durant talked him inta sobering up and coming down. Told me'n Mab what he'd seen down in the old apartments, the night that poor bastard was nailed up ta the town sign.

An ya don't take someone's word fer somethin' like that. So I went down an' looked 'round again, twice over this time, an' found the bullet. Musta gone right between the lath neat as you please, an' so spent by the time it hit the far room it just dropped down. Mab never really did feel entirely sure 'bout Maryk, and what with the bullet an' all it's worth takin' another look, an'...

Found the bloody shirt, half of a very sleepy rat's nest.

Found the tent peg and chain in the room under the one where he was hangin'.

Found, thank you Christ the Carpenter, prints. Woulda sworn you can't, not after so long. Mab got Bluebeard ta do something to them, an', well, between that an' the description we got enough ta ask some real pointed questions and give the pair a'them room and board. Feel kinda sick thinking of all the times I spoke ta them. And really goddamn glad she never got elected.

Not sure what Miss Leah's gonna do. The kinda people that beat and stab a man ta death for no particular reason ain't the kinda people you wanna be sharing a house with. Lettin' her stay there, a' course, but not sure she'll want to. Chills me ta wonder how close she might a' come to getting beaten boneless and nailed up somewhere.

I put them in the downstairs cells. Left the light on an' all, but... Well. Bin a while, but people're still pretty disgusted with that whole crucifying a battered corpse on the town sign thing. No reason, no reason at all except that they wanted ta brag about what they'd done. Brag. So'm thinking out of sight ain't gonna get them all the way outta mind, but it'd help.

Just let's please not have another mob get worked up. Stopping by the 'Boy a bit more often yesterday an' today, but leastways Bathory ain't bin associated with it in a while. For now'm just writing up the report and tryin' ta make sense of it all.

[Open]