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estdeus_innobis[From the lightening sky to the mid-morning, Monday, September 14th (day 106)]
[By the fields and the farms 'round Excolo]
Finally, fine weather... Rain's coming down as if the Pontarlier lept its banks again, and the drops are stripping the air down to bare chill. Head out as the sky's beginning to lighten, taking my own jacket (I'm working; I'd not drag Iago's through brush) and my gathering bag. Pass by the Parson farm on my way out, and leave a tourtière well-wrapped on the porch step, and what passes for a note, and...
May be I would've brought something by for them earlier, if things'd been less mad. May be I wouldn't've, and it's only an tale I tell myself. I'm not certain, and I've not much to say for them, so I only bring what I had and then leave. Been a while since Kate and I found Julian in pieces, and I'm not sure of the exact how of it, but I'm minded to think that maybe gossip's worn down concern a touch, and that seeing to some small practicality might... I'm not sure. Think it might be the kind of thing that comes natural to Kate, if not to me, and... well. In any case.
Poor child, helpless as a corpse afore being turned into one.
Set it aside as I head out working. Blue vervain's yet flowering, and for not working behind a counter I've yet things to do for the Apothecary's. Wish I had my mam's gift for herb-witchery; she could've used it to have unwelcome folk leave, and I spend a little time of the hours thinking on who I'd have gone if I could will it. Might as well wish to weave a dress of raindrops, although much as I love this weather that's a turn of words which is seeming both plausible and damn cold.
Don't go back to Excolo direct; head out to the Merton's, instead. No-one's out in this weather, and the fields where they grew barley have already been stripped bare. Can't tell for looking if there're folk inside; it's never too dark for me, but the rain blurs the air and the house behind it. Settle down on the rockpile where they've thrown what they harrowed out of the fields over the years, and huddle in on myself, breath ghosting in the air a moment before the rain beats it down. No lights in there yet, and I wonder if it's that they're away or that Dorian's galanas was so rich that they've luxury to sleep, and hope Lucien thought to see if Oscar'd need something to help him sleep afore his family set him away. 've not had that trouble myself, though it always went the other way for me; diving deep and drowning in sleep, losing days and letting the nights run together. Peace like to the dead, if I needed it.
Trying to set a few things out about Iago's pale shadow. Standing unmarked leaves me glad of Lucien, but between the valerian and the crack in my skull and no truth of bruises, I keep catching myself wondering if I dreamed it. Know I didn't, I've Iago's own word and my sense's certainty for that, and yet... I've been beaten, dammit. Wounds and bruises blossom and wither, they don't mere vanish.
It's worth half a smirk that I'm now the one who has what is erasing what was in this matter, and he's the one who can't see the present for the past. 'd've taken it for the other way around, truly.
So we're even, and I need to think on what that means, what I can do that won't upset that balance and leave me with a grudge carried by someone stronger and quicker and richer and finer. Suppose I could tell Mab of the whole of it; I think she'd care to know, even if I'd not have her start anything up again, and I'm not thinking anyone else'll do it.
And Iago still cares for him. Bitter enough to swallow that, but take it for true, and I'm minding myself of how I was taking Dorian's company for no worse than catscratches after Iago still held that grudge for seeing him with that mockingbird bitch. Try to tell myself it's not much different, no harm done...
...ah, there's memory of the beating slipping 'round to being a dream again.
Sit out there for a while watching Oscar's home, until the rain's near to soaking through the shoulders and back of my jacket, and then head back to town.
[Closed]
[By the fields and the farms 'round Excolo]
Finally, fine weather... Rain's coming down as if the Pontarlier lept its banks again, and the drops are stripping the air down to bare chill. Head out as the sky's beginning to lighten, taking my own jacket (I'm working; I'd not drag Iago's through brush) and my gathering bag. Pass by the Parson farm on my way out, and leave a tourtière well-wrapped on the porch step, and what passes for a note, and...
May be I would've brought something by for them earlier, if things'd been less mad. May be I wouldn't've, and it's only an tale I tell myself. I'm not certain, and I've not much to say for them, so I only bring what I had and then leave. Been a while since Kate and I found Julian in pieces, and I'm not sure of the exact how of it, but I'm minded to think that maybe gossip's worn down concern a touch, and that seeing to some small practicality might... I'm not sure. Think it might be the kind of thing that comes natural to Kate, if not to me, and... well. In any case.
Poor child, helpless as a corpse afore being turned into one.
Set it aside as I head out working. Blue vervain's yet flowering, and for not working behind a counter I've yet things to do for the Apothecary's. Wish I had my mam's gift for herb-witchery; she could've used it to have unwelcome folk leave, and I spend a little time of the hours thinking on who I'd have gone if I could will it. Might as well wish to weave a dress of raindrops, although much as I love this weather that's a turn of words which is seeming both plausible and damn cold.
Don't go back to Excolo direct; head out to the Merton's, instead. No-one's out in this weather, and the fields where they grew barley have already been stripped bare. Can't tell for looking if there're folk inside; it's never too dark for me, but the rain blurs the air and the house behind it. Settle down on the rockpile where they've thrown what they harrowed out of the fields over the years, and huddle in on myself, breath ghosting in the air a moment before the rain beats it down. No lights in there yet, and I wonder if it's that they're away or that Dorian's galanas was so rich that they've luxury to sleep, and hope Lucien thought to see if Oscar'd need something to help him sleep afore his family set him away. 've not had that trouble myself, though it always went the other way for me; diving deep and drowning in sleep, losing days and letting the nights run together. Peace like to the dead, if I needed it.
Trying to set a few things out about Iago's pale shadow. Standing unmarked leaves me glad of Lucien, but between the valerian and the crack in my skull and no truth of bruises, I keep catching myself wondering if I dreamed it. Know I didn't, I've Iago's own word and my sense's certainty for that, and yet... I've been beaten, dammit. Wounds and bruises blossom and wither, they don't mere vanish.
It's worth half a smirk that I'm now the one who has what is erasing what was in this matter, and he's the one who can't see the present for the past. 'd've taken it for the other way around, truly.
So we're even, and I need to think on what that means, what I can do that won't upset that balance and leave me with a grudge carried by someone stronger and quicker and richer and finer. Suppose I could tell Mab of the whole of it; I think she'd care to know, even if I'd not have her start anything up again, and I'm not thinking anyone else'll do it.
And Iago still cares for him. Bitter enough to swallow that, but take it for true, and I'm minding myself of how I was taking Dorian's company for no worse than catscratches after Iago still held that grudge for seeing him with that mockingbird bitch. Try to tell myself it's not much different, no harm done...
...ah, there's memory of the beating slipping 'round to being a dream again.
Sit out there for a while watching Oscar's home, until the rain's near to soaking through the shoulders and back of my jacket, and then head back to town.
[Closed]
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