Now every woman and every man/They wanna take a righteous stand

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

[Afternoon of Thursday, June 10 (day 375)]
[Walkin' the beat]

Gotta say that if we're gonna get two days of snow in summer, the two we had were about the pleasantest you could expect. I didn't even hardly have ta shovel, an' think the worst winter brought on was snowballs. Don't even look like the crops are gonna have a particular hard time of it, which I am damn grateful for.

Hell, I walked through a coupla flurries and was in the park fer a bit, an' I didn't even get damp.

Find I'm humming a bit as I cut up away from Saint Willigis and stroll back on down the road. All glory be to God on high,/And to the earth be peace;/Good-will henceforth from Heaven to men/Begin and never cease. Tomorrow afternoon'll be busier, what with folk comin' in ta market, an' then I'll be glad I don't need ta sleep. Today... well, I'm just gonna be glad it's seemin' a pretty quiet day, all told.

[Open]
[Closed]

Now every woman and every man/They wanna take a righteous stand

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

[Afternoon of Thursday, June 10 (day 375)]
[Walkin' the beat]

Gotta say that if we're gonna get two days of snow in summer, the two we had were about the pleasantest you could expect. I didn't even hardly have ta shovel, an' think the worst winter brought on was snowballs. Don't even look like the crops are gonna have a particular hard time of it, which I am damn grateful for.

Hell, I walked through a coupla flurries and was in the park fer a bit, an' I didn't even get damp.

Find I'm humming a bit as I cut up away from Saint Willigis and stroll back on down the road. All glory be to God on high,/And to the earth be peace;/Good-will henceforth from Heaven to men/Begin and never cease. Tomorrow afternoon'll be busier, what with folk comin' in ta market, an' then I'll be glad I don't need ta sleep. Today... well, I'm just gonna be glad it's seemin' a pretty quiet day, all told.

[Open]
[Closed]

To move is to abut against the world. Sit quietly and it vanishes.

[samuel-durand.livejournal.com]

[location; 7 miles from Excolo]
[Wednesday, June 9th, Day 374]

I sit sketching in the dying light, adding the ground covered in the day’s ride to maps of my own devising.  I note the topography, water sources, points of interest.  Wildlife. Plants and trees. There are no hesitations or wasted strokes.

Later I can feel the ground cooling beneath my back while I watch the sky fade from blue to black. To someone watching from between the stars, did the planet Earth’s end of days register as anything more than a sparkle in the great celestial eye?  I decide that a new world needs a new name, and smile.

If the tanner told the truth, I’ll reach the next settlement by mid-morning. Excolo.

After all these years of wandering, I’ve learned not to light fires when I bed down for the night unless it’s truly a matter of life and death.  Fire warms, but fire blinds.  In exchange for bodily comfort, you announce your presence to anyone and anything with eyes to see and a nose for scent, and blind yourself to their approach.  I check the pistol underneath the jacket I use for a pillow, the knife in its sheath nestled against my breastbone, and settle deeper under the blanket.  The restive animals will wake me if anyone nears.  I will sleep the sounder for being invisible.

And I do sleep soundly.  But sleeping, I dream of fire, and of fever-bright eyes that are more uncomprehending than afraid.

[June 10th, Day 375]

[Location: Southwestern Entrance to Excolo]

First light finds me changing into the faded habit of my old order and removing the hobbles from my pack animals.  I take special care to check the straps that secure my bundles of leatherbound notebooks to the mule, and to make sure the oilcloth is keeping them properly dry.  My only truly valuable possessions, more valuable than diamonds, though they would not seem so to thieves.  All the better. 

Breaking my fast on dried fruit and salted meat, I rein Memory to a halt when the town first comes into view midst forest and field.  She tosses her head angrily, and I quiet her with a hand on her dappled neck.  Spirited.  Fights me every step of the way, sometimes.  It’s why I chose her, why I named her. There are days she’d kill me if she could.  The nameless mule merely waits, glumly, mute as meat.

It is important to me that my mount never be capable of true domestication, so that I can never be deceived as to the nature of our relationship.  A symbiosis of force, my will and her resisting spirit.  In the naked use of force there is at least respect for the separateness of that which you dominate.  The truly domesticated creature has been emptied of all it has to give, and is not even worthy of the lash.

I'll sell the mule as soon as I can find a place to stow my things.

A squeeze of my knees and Memory is moving again, taking me toward the town.  I stop well short, though, and dismount.  I always dismount before entering a new place. Better to enter such a place on foot, pulling the animals behind me on leads.

Smiling gently, as I do now. A humble man of the cloth.  

[Open to all]

To move is to abut against the world. Sit quietly and it vanishes.

[samuel-durand.livejournal.com]

[location; 7 miles from Excolo]
[Wednesday, June 9th, Day 374]

I sit sketching in the dying light, adding the ground covered in the day’s ride to maps of my own devising.  I note the topography, water sources, points of interest.  Wildlife. Plants and trees. There are no hesitations or wasted strokes.

Later I can feel the ground cooling beneath my back while I watch the sky fade from blue to black. To someone watching from between the stars, did the planet Earth’s end of days register as anything more than a sparkle in the great celestial eye?  I decide that a new world needs a new name, and smile.

If the tanner told the truth, I’ll reach the next settlement by mid-morning. Excolo.

After all these years of wandering, I’ve learned not to light fires when I bed down for the night unless it’s truly a matter of life and death.  Fire warms, but fire blinds.  In exchange for bodily comfort, you announce your presence to anyone and anything with eyes to see and a nose for scent, and blind yourself to their approach.  I check the pistol underneath the jacket I use for a pillow, the knife in its sheath nestled against my breastbone, and settle deeper under the blanket.  The restive animals will wake me if anyone nears.  I will sleep the sounder for being invisible.

And I do sleep soundly.  But sleeping, I dream of fire, and of fever-bright eyes that are more uncomprehending than afraid.

[June 10th, Day 375]

[Location: Southwestern Entrance to Excolo]

First light finds me changing into the faded habit of my old order and removing the hobbles from my pack animals.  I take special care to check the straps that secure my bundles of leatherbound notebooks to the mule, and to make sure the oilcloth is keeping them properly dry.  My only truly valuable possessions, more valuable than diamonds, though they would not seem so to thieves.  All the better. 

Breaking my fast on dried fruit and salted meat, I rein Memory to a halt when the town first comes into view midst forest and field.  She tosses her head angrily, and I quiet her with a hand on her dappled neck.  Spirited.  Fights me every step of the way, sometimes.  It’s why I chose her, why I named her. There are days she’d kill me if she could.  The nameless mule merely waits, glumly, mute as meat.

It is important to me that my mount never be capable of true domestication, so that I can never be deceived as to the nature of our relationship.  A symbiosis of force, my will and her resisting spirit.  In the naked use of force there is at least respect for the separateness of that which you dominate.  The truly domesticated creature has been emptied of all it has to give, and is not even worthy of the lash.

I'll sell the mule as soon as I can find a place to stow my things.

A squeeze of my knees and Memory is moving again, taking me toward the town.  I stop well short, though, and dismount.  I always dismount before entering a new place. Better to enter such a place on foot, pulling the animals behind me on leads.

Smiling gently, as I do now. A humble man of the cloth.  

[Open to all]

Call in 3 months time and I'll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

( Continued from here )

Another Wednesday rears it's ugly head in Excolo.  Wanda, in a fit of melancholy, finds herself pining for her husband, and examining her own changing feelings for him.  It calls to him, and Iblis shows up in Kent form.  As always, she is lulled into the fantasy when he is kind to her, and finds her mood and morning much improved.

Unfortunately, Micah!Tez happens by, and Iblis decides to have a bit of fun at both their expenses.  Manages to make both of them jealous, which ends in a very pissed off Wanda Micah and hauling him away.  Mab shows up and takes Micah away, leaving Wanda to deal with Iblis.

Finding herself right back in the mood she started the morning in, and having her worst fears confirmed.... she asks for a divorce.

"I used you, Wanda. Initially for my own amusement, and then to get the child that I wanted. The sooner you accept that, the better you will fare, and whilst it matters little to me I would rather you were well for the sake of our daughter.  I quite liked you, before you fell in love with me. Perhaps you should find that old strength again. I will never love you, but I respect you more now than I have done for some time."

(Open to Iblis, Tez and Mab)

Call in 3 months time and I'll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

( Continued from here )

Another Wednesday rears it's ugly head in Excolo.  Wanda, in a fit of melancholy, finds herself pining for her husband, and examining her own changing feelings for him.  It calls to him, and Iblis shows up in Kent form.  As always, she is lulled into the fantasy when he is kind to her, and finds her mood and morning much improved.

Unfortunately, Micah!Tez happens by, and Iblis decides to have a bit of fun at both their expenses.  Manages to make both of them jealous, which ends in a very pissed off Wanda Micah and hauling him away.  Mab shows up and takes Micah away, leaving Wanda to deal with Iblis.

Finding herself right back in the mood she started the morning in, and having her worst fears confirmed.... she asks for a divorce.

"I used you, Wanda. Initially for my own amusement, and then to get the child that I wanted. The sooner you accept that, the better you will fare, and whilst it matters little to me I would rather you were well for the sake of our daughter.  I quite liked you, before you fell in love with me. Perhaps you should find that old strength again. I will never love you, but I respect you more now than I have done for some time."

(Open to Iblis, Tez and Mab)

may your days be merry and bright [cont]

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

[from here]

It's snowing, and Kate decides to do some baking. And Dorian swings by with a bag of treats to share with her, because that's what you do with your friends, right? They have some nice conversation in their pretty aprons before Glass shows up, and everything becomes slightly awkward.

Things are beginning to feel a bit more normal, thank goodness, and I start pouring Glass out a cup of cider, but Dorian comes over and interrupts.

"And no, you can't have any. You're pregnant."

"Those are two unrelated things, Dorian," I say, giving him a slightly irritated look. "What harm will a cup of cider do Glass?" I think suddenly of how he insisted on walking me home in case I twisted my ankle or something ridiculous, that day that never really happened in the Miskatonic Cafe, and I smile a bit to myself. Dorian spends so much time being supercilious, I think sometimes when he wants to be kind he overcompensates.

[open to Glass and Dorian]
[closed]

may your days be merry and bright [cont]

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

[from here]

It's snowing, and Kate decides to do some baking. And Dorian swings by with a bag of treats to share with her, because that's what you do with your friends, right? They have some nice conversation in their pretty aprons before Glass shows up, and everything becomes slightly awkward.

Things are beginning to feel a bit more normal, thank goodness, and I start pouring Glass out a cup of cider, but Dorian comes over and interrupts.

"And no, you can't have any. You're pregnant."

"Those are two unrelated things, Dorian," I say, giving him a slightly irritated look. "What harm will a cup of cider do Glass?" I think suddenly of how he insisted on walking me home in case I twisted my ankle or something ridiculous, that day that never really happened in the Miskatonic Cafe, and I smile a bit to myself. Dorian spends so much time being supercilious, I think sometimes when he wants to be kind he overcompensates.

[open to Glass and Dorian]
[closed]