#sylph ruminates

[sylphidine]

Viewing the novel DRACULA through the lens of having read both Jane Austen and Mary Balogh, the thought comes to mind...

How did Mina Murray and Lucy Westenra meet? How did they grow up together. since they seem to be of different social classes?

[Yes, I know there's massive societal changes occurring in England between the end of the Napoleonic Wars and the Industrial Revolution, but some of the same class strata still existed by the time period in which DRACULA is set.]

In Mina's first letter to Lucy in May, Mina writes of her position as an assistant schoolmistress [where?] and Jonathan's employment; presumably Mister Hawkins has offices in London. I can imagine that Mina may be a gentlewoman by birth, but if she's orphaned and / or impoverished and has to go out to earn her living, it begs the question as to why she'd be invited to Whitby for the summer holidays in August.

In her first reply, also in May, Lucy talks about "town" being dull... I am presuming that the London Season is in full swing after its launch just after Easter [April 2, 1893], and Lucy's attending teas and balls and garden parties where a certain tall, curly-haired man has become her dedicated satellite. And why do Lucy and Mrs. Westenra summer in Whitby? It doesn't seem to be in the least bit a fashionable "see and be seen" place. However, it would seem to be the perfect retreat for Mrs. Westenra and her heart complaint.

None of this musing, however, takes anything away from my enjoyment of the friendship that Lucy and Mina have. I adore it through every reread, and my adoration of that friendship has grown stronger through the @re-dracula podcast and the voice actors for Mina and Lucy.

I'm just curious as to how that friendship started.

How Mina and Jonathan met is a reflection for another time.

[squibll]

fantrollz

info under the cut!

>ATHENS GUDMAN        >tealblood    >he/they, tdude    >TYP3S lik3 THIS. (alternating capitalization of words. replaces e with 3. proper punctuation)    >retrospective thinker. ruminates too much on the past to focus on the future    >knifekind. just fucking stabs people    >pesterchum/trollian tag is shieldDeflector (SD)    >lamest legislacerator this side of the planet    >Page of Time    >lusus is an armadillo

>FENNEC CANIDE    >Oliveblood    >she/her, tgirl    >ttypess llikee tthiss (all lowercase, no punctuation, doubletypes the first and last letters of every word. vocally she talks kinda slow)    >very calm and collected. values comfort over all else, including the comfort of other people. very affectionate.    >toothkind (strife specibus is a fake set of even sharper teeth. think those shitty fake vampire teeth ppl wear on halloween)    >pesterchum/trollian tag is vulpesMaw (VM)    >she writes poetry.    >sylph of heart    >Lusus is a giant fennec fox

>MAGFUC KINNET   >purpleblood   >he/him, cis dude   >tyPes liKe thIs (capitalizes every third letter in a word. does not apply to words that are shorter than three letters. no punctuation.)   >Skeptical as all shit. curious motherfucker, that one. also a jester or something by way of being pathetic and in clown terms. devious asf.   >flowerkind   >pesterchum/trollian tag is dreamsRumor (DR)   >interested  in flower language. or like, an alternian equivalent   >Bard of Space   >Lusus is a Cockatiel dressed up in a suit

>ZERENY APOLLO   >rustblood   >they/them, nonbinary   >/TYPEs L\KE TH\S. (all caps. proper punctuation. begins sentences with / (forward slash), replaces i's with \ (backslash))   >accidentally vague all the time. Doesnt explain because they hate explaining   >arrowkind (not bowkind. arrowkind.)   >their pesterchum/trollian tag is arbitersBow   >archery is a passive hobby of theirs   >Mage of Doom   >Lusus is a highland cow

[auburniivenus]

╰┈➤ @burdenedreverence got healed !

Within   an   arboreal   cathedral,   verdant   in   its   GRANDEUR,   did   they   set   forth   upon   a   spiritual   voyage.   Their   movements   were   but   quietly   spoken   utterances   to   the   earth   beneath,   each   tread   bestowing   a   silent   benediction   upon   the   spiraling   path   that   narrowed   through   this   luxuriant   and   viridescent   expanse.   Environs,   choreographed   in   a   symphony   of   renewal—cool,   crisp—frolicked   around   them   as   some   whimsical   sylph,   besotted   with   the   aromatic   potpourri   of   pine   and   the   fecund   musk   of   terra   firma,   a   fragrance   that   infused   their   senses,   penning   a   sensual   sonnet   within   their   very   essence.

Aloft,   the   arboretums   stood   as   prestigious   wardens   of   this   sanctum;   their   branches   ascending   skyward   in   oblation   like   supplicants   amidst   divine   communion,   their   foliage   communicating   ancient   enigmas   with   the   zephyr's   caress.   Journeying   through   this   woodland   demesne,   Orihime's   laughter   cascaded,   a   libretto   canticle   as   dulcet   as   avian   chorales,   rejuvenating   the   stillness   with   stimulating TINCTURES   of   delight.   They   emerged   into   an   aureate   glade,   an   unseen   beacon   piercing   the   verdurous   cloister   above   to   tinge   the   sylvan   floor   beneath   with   lustrous   motes,   a   natural   parterre   engineered   by   Helios   and   Chloris'   hands.   Hereupon   they   created   a   beautiful   magnum   opus   and   arrayed   thereon—a   pastoral   cornucopia—a   festal   motif   adorned   with   fruitage,   fromage,   and   panification,   an   exquisite   picnic.

She   found   herself   overwhelmed   by   reflection   even   as   she   interacted   with   their   repast—a   mind   floating   on   streams   of   light   that   danced   through   leaves   to   adorn   her   gaze.   She   mused   amidst   her   ruminations   if   peradventure   this   sojourn—their   congress   with   nature’s   very   soul—was   tacitly   attached   within   her   spiritual   odyssey.   A   tranquility   encompassed   her   being,   cozy   as   eiderdown   in   Aurora's   icy   caress—a   gratification   surfeiting   as   lore   well   spun;   it   was   akin   to   unlocking   an   opus   inscribed   by   one's   cherished   fabulist.   “Is   this   adventure   part   of   my   training?"   Queried   aloud.

[mcprincessdiaries-archive]

starting to forumlate a bonana bunch timeline in my head...i am rotating it

bo himself starts in black shroud and does all the stuff there, grammy starts in la noscea, while sasabe starts in thanalan and meets o’ranje about halfway through (minds a bit foggy on events but im thinking shortly after she saves lilira?)

bonana goes on to run sastasha, sas & ranje do tam-tara, while grammy completes copperbell mines. they each get invited to join the scions after their respective dungeons, but are left unaware of one another.

bonana does all the eastern thanalan stuff leading into fighting ifrit, spends some time ruminating on his role in things. at some point he runs into grammy & through vision learns that she also faces ifrit not long after he did, but she leaves before he can ask about it.

sasabe and oranje are the ones that meet with the sylphs & save the elder in thousand maws. grammy does all the stuff at little ala mhigo & takes on haukke manor.

grammy and bonana formally meet as scions to take on titan, and the trials of the company of heroes leading up to it....and the hardships that come right after it.

all four of them come together at the church in drybone, with sasabe following a dream vision of her compatriot. they team up with cid and alphinaud and head to coerthas, and u know how the rest goes ;)

[serararku]

Duet: Under the Storm’s Chorus

  <Theme>

Buscarron’s Alehouse was remarkably busy for a Tuesday. The sound of plates clacking together, laughter, idle conversation, and footfalls created an almost deafening white noise that filled the building up to the brim. The two alehouse wenches scurried from corner to corner, refilling drinks and swapping out dirty plates with fresh food as quickly but as carefully as they could manage. Wall to wall the alehouse was stuffed with patrons, overflowing out to the outside pavilion; every chair at every table was occupied, except for the lone Miqo’te resting after a long day’s work in the back-corner of the establishment.

R’zevi had spent all morning and the better half of the afternoon patrolling up and down the South Shroud, fending off wild animals and roaming bandits alike from preying on Lalafellin merchant caravans. The pay was decent, but hardly worth all that effort, and now that he was sore from the neck down all that was left to do today was stare at the bottom of his tankard before turning in for the night. Yet unbeknownst to R’zevi, the alehouse wenches were giving him more than the standard attention issued to the other patrons once word got around that he was a surprisingly generous tipper; by the time he realized his table was gradually covered in untouched tankards of ale, it was too late to stop them. After all, he wouldn’t tell these women off for going the extra mile, and the last thing he wanted was trouble from the Roegadyn bouncer wandering around the alehouse.

"Excuse me…" A strangely familiar voice whispered beneath the discordant noise of the alehouse. He looked up to see a woman weaving in and out of view while she made her way to the bar, dressed in a black dress normally seen during a party or celebration. R'zevi swore he knew her from somewhere, and the bandages on her forearm was giving him the worst case of déjà vu in recent memory. The Miqo'te woman walked a little awkwardly in her high heels while she squeezed between two drunken patrons to get her drink; it wasn't until she turned around to search for a place to sit did he recognize her.

“S’era! Over here!” R’zevi called out over the commotion and waved to get her attention; she gave him a quizzical look at first, clearly not knowing who he was or how he knew her name- but no sooner did he recognize her did she recognize him, and a bright smile flashed over her face before she began making her way to his table.

“Good evening!” She sighed, brushing off her backside with her good hand before settling in the chair beside him. “You’re one of Lord Isenhart’s Ashen Wolves, right?”

“Yes, I am.” He paused only long enough to push some of the cups away to give her some space. “My name is R’zevi. How are you doing?” His gaze flashed to her outfit, but he successfully resisted the urge to glance down at her bare thighs through the slit in her dress. “What’s the uhh… occasion?”

She looked down at her getup while her cheeks flushed a vibrant red. “Oh… I was supposed to go on a date with someone, but um… they never showed up. I waited for them in Quarrymill for maybe an hour or so? Then I gave up and came here to get a stiff drink.”

“A date?” R’zevi gave her a puzzled look. “I thought… you were training to rescue someone? Your Nunh, right?”

“Oh I still plan on it, yes.” S’era paused to take a quick sip of her mug. “This was supposed to be practice. Nothing serious, just… something to help me get an edge on being his favored wife once he’s returned.”

It still didn’t make sense to him. “Practice? Do the women in your tribe take the Nunh out on dates often?”

S’era gave him a blank stare for a long moment. “No, the other kind of practice. The stuff that usually happens after the date.”

“Oh.” Now it was R’zevi’s turn to blush. “Right… that makes a lot more sense.”

“My sisters are pleasing the false Nunh of my tribe. If I’m to keep up with their experience, I need experience of my own.” S’era glanced over her shoulder at one of the bar wenches walking past the table before continuing. “Training with Lord Isenhart will only get me so far… if I don’t practice on pleasing a Nunh, then… I’ll be at a sore disadvantage once I finally rescue him.”

“You know…” R’zevi set his mug down to ruminate a bit, deciding to choose his words carefully. “You seem to be sacrificing a lot for the sake of your tribe. And, I know this doesn’t hold much water coming from a Tia who isn’t trying to become a Nunh, but, maybe you should reconsider your priorities for your own sake.”

S’era gave him a gentle smile- something he wasn’t expecting. “I know what it looks like… some naive foolish girl chasing a man she hardly knows. But I have to do this. My tribe is… everything to me, and… I want to do my best to make sure it remains strong."

“As long as you’re happy.” R’zevi didn’t want to press the matter further; this woman was clearly set in her ways and determined to see this through. Instead of trying to argue, he decided to change the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

She pursed her lips and fell silent for a moment before answering with, “Probably get tipsy, and watch the sunset before I return to my apartment to go to sleep.” A defeated shrug raised her shoulders. “Not nearly as exciting as I was hoping, but it is what it is.” No sooner did she mention watching the sunset did thunder roll across the sky above. S’era leaned all the way in her chair to peek out of the open door, and her ears flattened against her head at the sight of the large black clouds choking out the warm but fading sunlight. “A-ahh… or I can just sit here and wait for this storm to pass…”

R’zevi raised a brow and asked, “Not a fan of storms, huh?” Another roll of thunder caused the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle, and her tail grew bushy. 

“Mmmn… a bad childhood experience with lightning…” She nervously fidgetted. “We don’t get many storms out in Thanalan near the Sagolii Desert… usually the worst is a heavy shower or two once or twice a year. But sometimes my tribe would travel all the way up to the outskirts of the Black Shroud, where lightning likes to strike. Gods, I can’t imagine why…” R’zevi opened his mouth to explain the nature of a certain primal the local Sylph have been known to summon, but refrained from interrupting her story. “A-anyway, I was climbing a tree in search of bird eggs, and a really big bolt struck the tree nearby. It was so… so loud… and it shattered the tree into blazing pieces. I fell maybe three stories, struck my head against a branch, and did a front flip into a bush. If it weren’t for my mother sending out a search party for me, I… I would have probably burned to death in that forest fire.” She let out a sharp sigh before chugging the rest of her tankard down. “I just freeze up when I hear thunder now… at least in Thanalan I had caves I could scurry down into…”

R’zevi ruminated on his thoughts again as he watched her become twitchy. Seeing her so jumpy at even the slightest movements around her was a tragedy indeed, especially over a little rain and the occasional thunder. “Hmm…” He hummed lightly, getting her attention. “Come with me, I want to show you something.” S’era gave him a quizzical look while he rose to his feet and headed to the door, but she reluctantly followed.

Outside it was pouring. The raging thunderheads above made quick work of any remaining clear sky, and most of the outside patrons had either retreated back inside or left for other shelters. S’era slowly opened the door and saw R’zevi standing out there between abandoned tables, already soaked from head to toe. “Come on out and join me.” He called, gesturing for her.

“Are you crazy?!” S’era called back, wearily glancing up at the sky as if the lightning was hiding just above the roof. “Come back inside! You’ll get sick out there!”

“It’s just a little water.” He raised his face to the rain and closed his eyes, basking in the bounty of the storm. “I want to show you that you don’t have to be terrified any longer. You won’t be struck by lightning out here.”

“You don’t know that…!” She shrunk away from the rain like it was acid. “Please come back inside! I don’t want to see you die!”

R’zevi opened his eyes and smiled warmly at her, despite standing in a growing puddle with soggy and soaked clothes. “Lightning only hits the tallest point in the forest, or anything wearing a lot of metal.” He touched his chest before gesturing to hers. “We’re both wearing leather and linen. We’re completely safe, I assure you. Come join me… it feels amazing.”

“I’m wearing silk, actually…” S’era didn’t like this idea one bit. “Gods, you really are crazy…” Much to R’zevi’s shock, she took off her heels before scampering out from under the roof. The woman squeaked when the rain splashed against her head and shoulders, causing her eyeliner and lipstick to run down her face; it was only after she was soaked did R’zevi realize he probably just persuaded her into ruining that dress. He would have to make a mental note to repay her for that. “Alright…” She mumbled, standing a few inches away from him. “Now what?!”

“Just listen.” He gently took her by the hands and held them together. “To the storm’s chorus. To the applause of rain surrounding us. To the harmless bark of thunder.”

“Harmless…? Hardly.” S’era glanced up at the sky again, but flinching every time raindrops struck her eyes dissuaded her from continuing that for much longer. Instead she looked down as she felt the cold mud squishing between her toes, and against her better judgment, she also braced herself for the rolling thunder overhead.

Booooooom…

R’zevi heard her squeak and nearly leap into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. Slowly he patted the top of her head before gently whispering, “It’s alright… it’s just thunder. It’s not going to hurt you.” He hesitantly ran a hand through her soaked hair. “You’re safe.”

He could feel her heavy breathing. Her heart pounded against his stomach, and her vice grip around his waist remained steadfast; she didn’t dare look up, fearing the flash of lightning would be the last thing she saw before joining her ancestors. Thunder bellowed again- louder this time- but she didn’t flinch as hard as she did before. “I’m safe…” She repeated, taking slow and steady breaths. “I’m safe… I’m safe… I’m safe…”

“I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.” R’zevi cooed, grinning madly. “A woman who traveled the four corners of Eorzea and shoved her hand into a fireplace for him is terrified of a little noise?”

“Mmmn… quiet you…!” She pulled her face away from his chest to pout at him. “This isn’t so bad… with you being much taller, I can at least survive the first strike, huh?”

“All you need is some time.” R’zevi pulled a few strands of hair away from her face. “Exposure is the best way to overcome your phobias. Just take a little bit at a time, just enough for you to handle… and eventually you won’t give these rainstorms a second tho-”

BOOOOM!

Forked lightning streaked across the sky and lit up Buscarron’s Druthers. Her grip around his body suddenly tightened, and S’era almost leapt right out of her skin. R’zevi wrapped his arms around her and looked around, somewhat relieved no one was around to witness two strange Miqo’te hugging in the downpour. “Shhh… it’s alright. It can’t reach you down here…”

"Alehouse is taller… trees are taller… R'zevi is taller…" S'era mumbled to herself, squinting from the rain as she looked up into the sky. "It can't reach me… I'm safe… I'm- huh?" Almost instantly the rain completely stopped, as if someone had turned off a giant faucet high above. 

"I knew it wouldn't last long when it started so suddenly and angrily." He smiled, reaching up to wipe his wet brow. "... I still figured it would last longer than it did."

"Thank you anyway." S'era beamed up at him awkwardly before she hesitantly let him go. "It really means a lot… and… you didn't have to do this."

"Defeating childhood trauma can't happen overnight." R'zevi gave her another warm grin. "A good memory in a storm to fight a bad one. That's one for one for now, S'era."

She chuckled nervously as she ran her hand through her soaked hair. “You can call me Era… if you like…”

“Era it is.” R’zevi blushed a vibrant red once he realized her ruined silk dress was now clinging to and highlighting her figure, and his gaze snapped back to her eyes to avoid ogling at the outline of her smallclothes keeping everything in place. Quickly he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need an escort back to your apartment complex? I doubt you’d run into any trouble, but I really don’t mind accompanying you…”

A sly smirk spread across her face before she said, “Hasty, are we? I’d like to know you more before I take you back to my apartment.”

“O-oh! No, no no no, I didn’t-! That was not what I was implying!” R’zevi sputtered, his face as bright and red as a tomato. S’era let him ramble on for a few more seconds before she couldn’t take it anymore; she was gripped by a giggle-fit that only got more uncontrollable every time she looked at his face, but he was determined to explain himself. “Era-! I uhh…! I’m sorry if-!”

Once her laughter was reigned in, she quickly placed a finger on his lips. “I was just messing with you, Zevi. I can call you Zevi, yes?”

“Of course you can.” His voice was heavy with relief, which only forced her to stifle another fit of laughter. She wiggled her index finger at him to gesture him closer, saying nothing. R’zevi half-expected her to mock him right to his face, but when he bent over to meet her at eye-level, she gently wrapped her arms over his shoulders and embraced him in the most uncomfortably wet hug he’s ever had.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered.” She softly whispered in his ear, before pressing her lips together and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. "Until next time, okay?"

Without thinking R'zevi reached around her waist just as she began to release him and pull away, pressing a hand against the small of her back, an ilm or two above her tail. He drew her back into his arms until their soaked bodies were firmly smooshed together again. As S'era gazed invitingly into his eyes, the fear of rejection fled into the night, and he did the only thing that felt natural. They both closed their eyes when their lips met. With their hearts pounding against each other's chests the two Miqo'te stood in silence, lip-locked and dazed. Eventually S'era tilted her head and parted her lips, while her leg lifted off the ground to give him something warm to hold on to. It wasn't until they were at the zenith of their deep kiss did they snap out of their lustful trance.

"You two'll catch yer death in the cold, pluckin' and cluckin' like that." An elderly Roegadyn groundskeeper grumbled, shambling by with a mop and broom in his grasp. “Damn kids, no restraint… back in my day you would get walloped and your girl snatched right out from under ya if you mmmn hrgmm mergmmm…” He was still rambling to himself when he turned around the corner and vanished.

S’era and R’zevi were left standing there awkwardly, the mood killed and the magic gone. “Um- Era, you’re um…” He gestured to her dress, which was now turned slightly to the side and riding up her thighs.

“Mmmn… you should look down…” She quietly retorted, motioning to the bulge in his pants. They both adjusted themselves, too uncomfortable and embarrassed to look each other in the eyes. "So…" She started again, now that she was wearing her dress correctly. "You should take me on a date soon…"

"I will!" He did a poor job concealing the excitement in his voice, especially when he tried to play it off by clearing his throat immediately after. "Where would you like to go?" She gave him a wide grin as she slowly walked back toward the alehouse, shrugging halfheartedly at him; despite being genuinely invested in the answer to the question, R'zevi couldn't shake the notion that where the date started didn't actually matter- but where it ended.

"Surprise me." S'era finally spoke, winking slyly at him. She ducked back through the doors and vanished, leaving him out in the night… cold, wet, and antsy.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[norhimorovine]

The Mocking Sylph

Norhi leaned against the counter in her shop, tail flicking behind her in irritation. Course, the hyur in front of her did not seem to grasp the particulars of miqo’te body language. So, if Norhi’s ears were lowered in agitation, if her tail lashed a little more than normal, he didn’t even appear to notice.

No, the boor was too busy swirling a potion bottle in front of the window, as if he could discern some quality from the way it filtered light. “Hmmm…. I confess, I must question the efficacy of a healing potion that doesn’t glimmer properly.”

Norhi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That was one cue that even inexperienced non-miqo’te seemed to pick up on. “I assure you, good sir, it’s an excellent potion. We make ours with a different recipe than the alchemy guild teaches. As such, it has a different look to the liquid.”

The hyur hums with a non-committal frown. “I don’t know. Deviating from the alchemy guild seems dangerous. After all, their methods are the most tried and true. They brew their potions for two or three times longer than most freelance alchemists.”

Norhi’s ear twitched once, then twice. “Ah, but you see, my husband, our alchemical master, grew up in Othard, where he did not have access to our guilds. He learned his recipes from ancient traditions passed down in his village. It is even said they sold them in Kugane for a while, with great success. Eastern recipes are going to be different. But they still work just as well.”

The hyur pursed his lips. “Why’d they stop selling them in Kugane?”

Norhi sighed. She hated when they asked for the full story. “A competitor had the… who was it? Great great uncle Kage? Something like that. It’s been a few generations. A competitor had Uncle Kage killed. Paid a small gang to do it. The Sekisegumi dealt with the matter when they found the gang carting Uncle Kage’s body to a foundry. And Zuki’s family decided they would not sell in Kugane anymore.”

The man grunted in soft disbelief. “Well that’s just life in Kugane. Kill or be killed. It’s so lawless there you know.”

Norhi stared at the man, barely keeping her incredulity off of her face. Did this man do nothing but talk out of his ass? Her frustrated ruminations were interrupted by the ringing of the bell over the shop door. She nods to the hyur and turns to move closer to the front. “Welcome to Stormvine Alchemy, Conjury, and Botany! Let me know if you need any help!”

It was a roegadyn man who’d come in. He was probably one of the shorter roes that Norhi had seen, but that still made him insensibly tall. She smiled though, recognizing the Sea Wolf. “Hollgeiss Blyngraeb! Welcome back.”

Hollgeiss smiled warmly and gave a bow. “Thank ye, Miz Norhi. I’m mostly here ta find my friend, Carter. He said he’d meet me here, to see yer potions.”

Norhi nodded and then half turned, gesturing to the back end of the shop. “Only other customer here is this gentleman by the window.”

Hollgeiss squinted and then shuffled to the side. “Ah yep, that’s him. Carter! Mornin!”

Norhi snorted, watching Hollgeiss move to his friend’s side. “Where are your glasses, Holl?”

The roe quickly winced and then patted his pockets and his belt pouch, before finding them hanging from his back pocket. He winked at Norhi and slid the glasses on. “Carter! So… Whatcha think?”

Carter gave his friend a dismayed frown. “I think you’ve been bamboozled, friend. She doesn’t even use alchemy guild recipes. Look. No shimmer.”

Hollgeiss blinked at this and then answered, “What in the seven hells does the shimmer have to do with shite, Carter? The potions work. I know they do cuz I take them. I survived my last run in with the Ixal, thanks to Stormvine’s alchemy. Hells, Miz Norhi was able to finish healing me, when I collapsed on her doorstep right after!”

Carter huffed. “But they’re eastern! Why can’t she use alchemy guild recipes?”

Holl shook his head and took the potion from his friend. “They’re her husband’s recipes and they work fine. If yer gonna be an arse about it, go wait outside. We can waste the money on the aetheryte to Ul’dah if yer gonna be so damned picky. But I’m buyin’ mine here.”

Carter opened his mouth to object, but Hollgeiss cut him off. “No. I hear another rude word out of ya about Miz Norhi, her shop, or their potions, yer gonna need healing after my fist catches ya.”

Carter fidgeted and then mumbled, “Pick me out a set.”

Holl smiled then and patted his friend on the shoulder. He turned and started grabbing bottles off the shelf. When he got to the counter with his selections, he gave Norhi an apologetic frown. “I am direly sorry, Miz Norhi. Carter.. Well, he likes thinking he knows what he’s about.”

Norhi started counting and tallying the cost of the purchase, accounting for Holl’s repeat customer discount. “He’s hardly the first, Holl. And I will be dearly surprised if he’s the last. Though, at least he wasn’t angling to bring the price down off of his comments. I’d rather deal with doubt about the product, than someone trying to work an angle. It’s a good thing he’s got a friend who’ll help him learn.”

Holl ducked his head over a goofy grin and rubbed his neck. “Aw, Miz Norhi. I ain’t that good a friend. I broke his nose plenty enough.”

Norhi shrugged and passed the pad with the total over. “Maybe. Or maybe some friends need their noses broken. Or else they’ll just be another mocking sylph.”

Holl tilted his head then. “A mocking sylph?”

Norhi huffed a laugh. “Sorry. Old miqo’te fairy tail. I’ve been sharing a lot of the old stories with my siblings lately.”

Carter shuffled closer then, having stayed inside. “I… like fairy tales.”

Norhi hummed and then grinned. “Alright. I’ll tell you the story. But you have to promise me that you’ll actually learn about the things you’re talking about, before turning your nose up at them.”

Carter nodded. “Of course, Miss.”

So, most miqo’te tribes avoid the sylphs, if only to avoid crossing into each other’s hunting grounds or sacred groves. Also, we like it when they don’t summon Ramuh. Life’s more peaceful like that. Anyhow, for all that we weave around their borders and steer clear, there is some benefit to trade with them.

One such tribe prized the sylph’s skill with silks and threads. And it was that they had a number of new training shamans among their kits. So, one of their healers and one of their huntresses went to the nearest sylph village. They took with them paints and dyes, glass vials bought from a lalafellin merchant, and quality sewn leather satchels.

As they neared the village, the huntress stopped the healer. “I hear something, sister.”

The healer looked around but heard nothing. But the huntress didn’t wait. She dashed off into the underbrush, chasing the sound. This distressed the healer, who had no real skill as a fighter. She stayed on the path and slowly started walking again, hoping the huntress would find her.

And then the healer heard a cry. Someone was in pain. She could not ignore that someone needed help. So she turned from the path and started searching. She heard the sound again and turned to keep following. But then she heard a mocking laugh. She frowned and kept searching, following the sound of pained groans and mocking laugher.

But then she ran headfirst into her sister. The huntress was uninjured, but angry. “It taunts me! Calling like a hunting party in danger and then laughing!”

The healer frowned and then looked around. “I thought I heard someone in pain, just a moment ago.”

And then they both hear another sound, a roar of a great beast. They quickly bolt for the path, racing to get out of the underbrush and to the safety of the sylph village. And then they heard the laughter. The healer then spotted movement. She pointed to the treetops and the huntress scaled the nearest trunk.

There was a squawk of surprise and a small green creature flew off down the path. The healer gave chase, just behind the huntress. And when they reached the sylph village, the small sylph was cowering behind her elder.

The huntress pointed at her and yelled, “That little scoundrel lured us from the path, fooling us with sounds of distress and fear, and then laughing at us for stumbling through the underbrush!”

The healer quickly nodded. “And then she chased us with the sound of a great beast! Before laughing again!”

The elder looked at the young sylph and shook her head. “Night-walking ones are these one’s friends. They bring these ones trade. Why does this one bring them trouble?”

The young sylph flailed their fists as they answered, “This one was making a joke! This one wanted to laugh!”

The elder sighed. “This one needs learn that night-walking ones carry spears and magic. And this one must learn that making night-walking ones fear, is not a good joke. Misplace their belongings, change into a large pumpkin, instead. Do not chase night-walking ones, like great beast. Lest this one is turned into a great beast for penance.”

The young sylph hung her head. “Yes, Elder one.”

After that, the young sylph was made to work on the silks the huntress and the healer had come to trade for.  And when that sylph once again mocked some poor traveler, the elder did indeed turn them into a beast of the forest, to learn their lesson.

Hollgeiss tilted his head in confusion, as Norhi finished the story. “Seems awful tame fer a sylph.”

Norhi shrugged. “Well, the story’s probably lost bits over time and translation.”

Carter, however, was humming excitedly, writing quickly in a little book. “Do not laugh at people chasing you,” he mumbled to himself.

Holl and Norhi looked at Carter and then exchanged a worried look. Norhi reached under the counter and grabbed one more healing potion. “Here. Call it insurance or something.”

Hollgeiss nodded. “Right. Thank ye, Miz Norhi. See ya soon.”

He then turned and herded his distracted friend from the store. And Norhi just sighed in relief. She hoped this wouldn’t come back to bite her later.

[kineticallyanywhere]

It’s ya boi hs anon back again. Yeah, Sarge has me stumped :/ I feel rlly solid on Sylph of Blood Grif, but blood player Sarge also felt good? But then, like, what if they were both blood players? The session lacking a space player is great, and I feel like having two bloods would add to that. No room, so people are a bit too familiar with each other. Also, it would add more to Sarge and Grif’s conflict I feel?

Kai seems like a rlly good light player, maybe someone who has a lack of it? She seems to have rlly good luck avoiding all the shit, but she almost never gets any spotlight. Also, her economic fortune could jive with light. We see so little of her that it’s tough to classpect her… meanwhile, DocMalley is a perfect rage playerBut back to Sarge and grif, I feel like it’d be interesting? I’m still big on Heir Sarge so someone who’s made of these bonds and alliances and rules vs someone who can take that overbearing personality and be the ‘hate glue’ is like. Rlly good, esp with how Sarge is less mean to Grif after chorus and he realizes how much he missed him… Sarge needs these bonds, and Grif does too (tho he’s less aware) and Grif is really good at repairing them, while Sarge provides the direction and basis? Idk

SORRY I VANISHED FOR A BIT AGAINThat overlapping player aspects idea intrigues me. I’m just not enough of a Sarge or Grif expert atm to really get into them. I’d have to ruminate on it, but I’ve always felt like the “hateglue” description for Grif isn’t objectively accurate. Maybe it’s something he feels about himself, but it’s not like the group actually hinges on picking on Grif (or even picking on Donut). They’re all assholes to each other, yeah, but their relationships don’t depend on it. 

That was a bit of a tangent, but I am still behind a sylph of blood Grif idea

For Kai, I don’t think I could make any decisions on her until at least the end of this season (since we might be getting more on the Grifs soon!!) DocMalley for rage heck yes. 

[hellspawndoodles]

I know ruminating on stupid shit is not at all healthy, but I’m still thinking about this one interaction I had with my brother at one point.

See, I’m writing a story-a fanfic, actually-in which one of the characters was raised by an abusive father, and a major aspect of that was that the character wasn’t allowed any autonomy; it’s actually kind of a major plot point that the character in question developed anorexia because of the pressure he was under to not just act perfect, but look ‘perfect’. And what this ends up culminating in is that once he’s an adult and is in a healthy relationship, he ends up gaining a lot of weight and it’s mainly because I wanted to write a plus-sized character that was okay with their own body, right?

Well, I’m explaining some part of the fic involving that character to my brother, and we somehow arrive at a point where my brother is insistent that I have this character have some catalyst that causes them not just to lose weight, but to make themselves, for lack of a better word, kind of unrealistically buff for the average human being, particularly so for a character that doesn’t exactly have a physically strenuous job. And I tried explaining why I didn’t want to do that and wanted to keep the character with the body they had, brought up his backstory and everything, and this guy just hits me with this absurd gem of a justification:

“Well, if he’s really fit, he’s still subverting his father’s expectations by not being skinny.”

And that isn’t the fucking point because the whole idea is that he’s come to actually be okay with his appearance despite not living up to others’ expectations when it comes to what’s seen as attractive, and his partner thinks he’s beautiful as he is. And because of the nature of the setting, he doesn’t have to worry about any hypothetical long-term health issues so there’s no reason for him to try and lose weight aside from being swayed by other people’s opinions of him which I didn’t want to do for obvious fucking reasons.

Like yeah, sure, he’d still be subverting his father’s expectations by not looking all sylph-like and shit, but he’d still be deferring to what others think of him, especially if I went with what my brother wanted, which was the character’s partner trying to get him to lose weight for unspecified reasons.

I don’t see how that’s so hard to understand and yet SOMEHOW IT IS.

[grimoiresontape]

Ritual Magic at the Museum of Witchcraft

I returned from the UK at the end of last week after attending the annual Museum of Witchcraft and Magic conference in Boscastle, Cornwall. The conference, which I attended last year, continues to grow from strength to strength. This year's theme was Ritual Magic, and the range of talks delivered really showcased how a great title like this allows speakers to bring a refreshing variety of approaches to such a topic.  This also linked the conference to the current exhibition “Dew of Heaven: Objects of Ritual Magic” running until October 31st 2018.

As always, there is so much to be said, and so I am just going to summarise some of my favourite papers. I apologise to any speakers who feel I have grossly misinterpreted their key points. Any errors or over-emphases are mine and mine alone!

Dan Harms' talk, A Liverpool Cunning Man and his Magical Manual, took us into the eccentric consultation room of William Dawson Bellhouse, a nineteenth-century "surgeon, professor, and astrologer" whose cunning craft was melded with Bellhouse's interest in Galvanism and the potentially therapeutic effects of (hopefully mild!) electric shock treatments. Charting those bizarre overlaps of medicine and entertainment, Bellhouse's magical practice seems a fascinating admixture of the techniques and services of traditional English cunning folk and the instrumentations of the new sciences. Of particular interest to me was the rundown of the library of one technically unnamed cunning man operating in the area whom Harms seems sure refers to Bellhouse himself. The books used by this nineteenth-century practitioner should be very familiar to the early modernist and those interested in this kind of British folk magic: Agrippa's Three Books, the Fourth Book, Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, Hiebner's Mysterium Sigillorum and a whole host of charms only thus far found in manuscripts. Dan ended by sharing an incredibly detailed list of ingredients and instructions for constructing a witch-bottle which - beyond the usual urine and pins - included dragon's blood, "devil's dung" (i.e. asafoetida), and other choice materia magica. You can listen to the whole talk right here.

My other highlight of the first day was undoubtedly Peter Grey's poetic reflection The Shining Land: Ritual Magic in Cornwall. Not content to simply be a report on what makes some kind of "authentic Cornish magic", Grey's narrative exposed the very modern folly of such an attempt at constructing such an authenticity at the expense of the actual storied, cross-sectioned, and re-storied history of that land. More than a summary of all the magical things of Cornwall - and there are undoubtedly many! - it was a profoundly moving and potent meditation on the importance of place and the land in any magical practice. Those familiar with Grey's Apocalyptic Witchcraft should hardly be surprised by this, but the manners in which engagements with terroir were modeled in this piece were especially inspiring. I was personally delighted to discover Paracelsus' work in Cornish mining communities directly fed into his Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, and to hear Peter's rendition of the Prayer of the Gnomes - a prayer I use heavily in my geomantic consultations - was a particular treat.

The evening's entertainment came in the form of my dear friend and Golgothan co-host Jesse Hathaway Diaz of Wolf & Goat giving an extended and interactive presentation on Quimbanda. As precisely no-one familiar with Jesse and his work was surprised to discover he effortlessly introduced this Afro-Brazilian witch-cult, grounded it in its historical and social contexts, before going onto explore the influence and contribution of European grimoires to this particular melting-cauldron of a necromantic tradition. There was singing, a lot of laughter, some shocked gasps, and plenty of excited chatter about it all in the bar afterwards. As is only proper.

It is said on this night that candlelight filled the afterhours Museum and the sound of rum-fueled carousing might have been caught on the wind. But who can say...

My two favourite papers delivered the following and already-upon-us final day of the conference were undoubtedly those of Tim Landry and Peter Mark Adams. Anthropologist Tim Landry gave an absolute tour-de-force in his presentation Willful Things: Sorcery and Encountering Ritual Magic in West Africa and Beyond. The task ahead of him - of introducing and contextualising the key epistemological and ontological differences between a European approach to magic and a West African approach to those activities and engagements sometimes characterised as equivalent - was not straightforward. Yet Tim demonstrated both great depth and clarity of analysis in presenting how West African modalities of sorcery impact on everything from basic social provisions to efforts to protect endangered species. Ending his talk on a definite high, Dr Landry posited that to examine this material and these practices responsibly we should move away from considering ritual magic as the manipulation of some emanated symbols in a (Neo)Platonic idealist universe, and towards a recognition of sorcerous potency in that which could be biologically dead but still ontologically alive. That, moreover, we benefit from considering ritual magic less as dealing in symbols, and more in terms of entering into relationships with non-human persons. I could not have applauded harder and more vehemently.

My final favourite was Peter Mark Adams' wonderful presentation on the Sola Busca tarocchi deck. While I have a copy of his excellent Game of Saturn, I must admit I have not worked my way through its entirety: this paper definitely highlighted the broader, deeper, and more practical utilities of his voluminous research into this elite Renaissance Italian Saturnine cult. Adams' work indicating and assessing the history and utility of ritual gesture alone was worth the price of admission, and his case-studies of but a few of the beautiful cards of this deck were so captivating there was an audible room-wide sigh of disappointment that the ride was over when he announced his last slide. Peter's conception of different levels of analysis - the historical, the alegorical and the magical - "trapdooring" down into further levels of each other has certainly given me plenty of methodology to muse on in my own work.

And speaking of my own work, I was very pleased to be able to present my paper on Ritual Magic of Early Modern Geomancy. This essay combined specific and general attitudes. In the case of the former, I sought to make assessment of geomancy's specific sorcery, considering especially the talismanic and semiotic consequences and utilities of Agrippa's assessment that geomantic figures and their sigils fell "betwixt images and characters". In service of the other, more generalist goal of this paper, I attempted to ruminate more broadly on ritual magical interrelations of all forms of divination and operative sorcery: how categories of divination become tools of enchantment, and how the lots of fate can be not simply read but re-written.

Threading these various presentations together like pearls on a tightly woven cord was Judith Hewitt of the Museum staff, framing these talks within an ongoing and unfolding revelation of the relationship between the Museum's founder Cecil Williamson and the work and disciples of Aleister Crowley. Owing to a last minute cancellation, Judith stepping in to fill the dead air and actually got to present and develop some of her own notions and questions of how Williamson considered and used the Museum, and this kind of critical reflexivity upon the Museum's own alchemical and thoroughly magical existence and operation was a perfect conclusion to a wonderful and expertly run conference.

I will continue to recommend the conference to anyone who can get a ticket quick enough! Long may it continue to pull practitioners, scholars, and seekers together under its sign to share their thoughts, their secrets and their rum! Long may it continue selling the wind!

[jojolightningfingers]

The New Party Meta - Part 2

Welcome back to my attempt to dissect character relationships in Berserk! Today we’re gonna talk about the disaster that is Serpico!

Serpico-->Guts

Serpico's relationship to Guts is intrinsically one that revolves around his relationship with Farnese and as such is slightly challenging to parse. It feels at times as though there are two halves to it—the half which deals mostly with how Serpico feels about Guts and what he means for Farnese, and the half which deals more with how Serpico interacts with Guts in matters where he's suppressing his “personal feelings” and doing his best to get along with him.

The biggest and most obvious thing is that Serpico considers Guts to be a threat—to Farnese's safety, and to hers and his views of the world and their places in it—and he has told Guts this on at least one occasion. He has stated that were it his choice, they would not be traveling with Guts. In the beginning, before they're traveling with each other, he does try to hide these feelings—neutral faces and simple requests that he not antagonize Farnese overmuch, which only break in the instants that he attempts to claim Guts' life (shooting him in the back with a crossbow bolt, the one-stroke battle after Farnese is possessed, and their later battle on the cliffside spring to mind). The real heart of their relationship, as laid out by Serpico himself in his own ruminations, is both that Guts is dangerous for Farnese's well-being and changing her in ways that Serpico could not or did not think to try to (which, I think, bothers him more than he lets on) and that Guts also is changing him, making him feel things with an intensity that shocks him (“While I arrayed myself in feigned ignorance, perhaps before I knew it, I too was affected by that heat. You certainly are a man impossible to ignore.” “Truth be told I thought to kill you many times. And the violence of these emotions within me shocked me.”)

Yet, they do still get along with each other quite well on the surface, when Serpico's threats don't hang over them overmuch. Even right after the Tower of Conviction, when the Kushan attack, Serpico admits that there's nobody more reassuring to fight alongside than Guts. Serpico is willing to offer him his shoulder when he's wounded, to try and carry him to safety when he's been struck by Ganishka's lightning (and here I think it's interesting that Guts calls him out on trying to do that, accusing him of not thinking straight because there's no way he can lug Guts back to shore even with the sylph hood). He overhauls Guts' attire with ease of use in mind, which Guts shows appreciation for. He defers to Guts as the leader of the group. With the exceptions of the instances in which Guts dons the berserker armor and poses a legitimate danger to the entire group, Serpico seems to have mellowed out to Guts the more time has worn on, and I wonder if that's not because of the extent to which Farnese has changed for the better—proving perhaps to Serpico that Guts is far less of a threat to her than he thought.

As far as the facet comparisons go, I think Serpico most represents Guts' fixations—on someone who he feels he must protect at all costs, and on someone that he believes to be a danger to that person. There's also an interesting little thing going on regarding how Serpico feels about his freedom—he's stated that he feels chained down by obligations (to his mother, to his father, to Farnese), and Guts, while certainly chained down by the obligation to keep Casca safe now, once roamed the lands without aim and without purpose, and he wasn't very happy doing that. What I'm saying is that what Serpico thinks he may want, as far as this freedom goes, may not be what he actually wants in the end.

Serpico-->Farnese

If I'm being totally honest, the first time I read Berserk I thought theirs was a nigh impossible to sort out trainwreck, and I do still kind of think that now.

There are two big things to keep in mind when trying to figure Serpico's side of the relationship out. The first is that Farnese is the most important thing in Serpico's world, without question. Serpico will, and does, prioritize Farnese's safety over the safety of everybody else in the group even after he warms to them. The second is that he considers Farnese his other half, considers them to be if not exactly the same, then similar enough as makes no difference—save for expressions in emotion of course.

Serpico was introduced to Farnese as Farnese's servant, and up to a certain point, this is how Serpico acts to her. He goes where she goes without question or complaint, but he is not always direct about it. He appears to refuse Farnese's order to kill Guts because they're only supposed to capture him, but he makes an attempt to do just that as soon as she's run away. He doesn't explicitly protest her decision to leave the Holy See and go chasing after Guts, but he does pick and choose his moments to try and get her to go back. The only reason that Serpico appears to stop acting like a servant to her is because Farnese stops acting as his master.

Serpico knows Farnese—he knows her moods, her expressions, and what each of them mean, again because he was raised with her, but he only is certain of them until she begins to change. And then, frankly, he's at a loss. He does not “know this defenseless side of her”, as he tells Guts. He resists these changes in his own way—trying to get her to return to the Holy See in an oblique manner, trying multiple times to kill Guts, who he perceives as the root cause of all these changes. And then, eventually, he stops, because Farnese is growing for the better and he can tell that it's for the better despite how he personally feels about it. So he lets it happen, neutrally accepting at first (“[...]the wind has blown. A wind strong enough to blow down everything you yearned for. And so I shall at least see to it that my other half isn't torn to pieces in the storm.”) and, gradually, with pride and happiness at her accomplishments.

And then, of course, there's the romance that never was. It's my read on it that Serpico does harbor at least some romantic feeling for her—otherwise he wouldn't call Farnese's mother 'astute' after her comment (“Such companions cannot be separated, because they cannot stand without entwining against each other, just like a pair of trees... my, the scent of the forbidden.”). This is of course to say nothing of his initial reaction to her entreating him to run away with her after her father intends to marry her off, though that's admittedly ambiguous at best and may or may not be influenced by him knowing that he's related to her while she does not.

There's also the slight side-issue of what kind of negative feelings he may harbor towards her because, for all that he's devoted to her, he does imply she's something that he's chained to, and Serpico again has weird issues with the idea of being free. When she asks him outright if he hates her his answer isn't an answer (“To talk of hate...”) and the subject is immediately dropped, never to be brought up again. Worthy of consideration, maybe, but as far as present canon goes it may well be a moot point, as they both seem much happier with themselves and each other.

Oh yeah and there's also that he completely, 100% loses his cool when Farnese says she wants to become a witch, and it notably takes him a while to wrap his head around that idea and accept it. Not sure what the significance of that is but it was pretty funny.

Serpico-->Schierke

Serpico and Schierke don't interact directly very often, but she does give him items blessed by wind elementals and oddly enough, they appear to be the means by which he begins self-reflecting in earnest. He thinks the wind is the thing most alien to him, being free to do whatever it wishes without consequence—so then, what does it say that he masters that power so quickly, as Schierke notes?

The other interesting thing is his general attitude towards magic. Delighted, I think, isn't the right word, but he seems much more smiley when in magical places, surrounded by magical things. The aforementioned sylph hood and sword are things he considers heartening to have in battle against monsters and they end up rather attached to him—he's impressed with their power, and with Schierke's power. He urges Schierke to have pride in herself when she feels down about her inexperience, calling her skills miraculous. He defers to her on matters that he's less experienced in, with a view that isn't colored by differences in age or gender.

Serpico-->Isidro

Serpico and Isidro aren't very close to each other—if Isidro's view of Serpico is hard to pin down and theoretical at best, Serpico's view of Isidro is even harder. He does have opinions of him though—opinions that giving him a dagger that spits fire is probably not the safest idea (though he does note that at least it's better than Farnese getting it), and that Isidro's skill in improvisation is surprisingly good (noted mostly by how Serpico sits up and takes notice when Isidro starts dual-wielding against Guts in practice, managing to make some headway but ultimately coming up short).

Aside from this the bulk of their interaction is kind of the hotheaded eager to prove younger brother and the cool aloof older brother who checks some of his more reckless impulses, though Serpico doesn't seem to go out of his way to do it. Serpico holds him back, physically if need be, when he's about to do something rash, he's constantly telling Isidro to mind himself in battle, and he's willing to explain himself to Isidro if Isidro doesn't understand something (at the end of his second fight with Guts, for instance).

I think the problem here is that we don't see a lot of the interactions they do have, but are implied—they do after all go out into Vritannis alone together to search for a ship, and at some point Isidro must have told Serpico something about his past, because Serpico's the only one who brings up that Isidro grew up in the mountains.

[sylphidine]

Usually I re-read DRACULA each year on my own, in homage to the previously mentioned LiveJournal crew moderating "dracula1897" from 2006 through 2008.

Here on Tumblr, I've been following the "dracula daily" tag since 2022. I fell hard for the @re-dracula podcast because of the connection to THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES; having Jonathan Sims playing Jack Seward, the DRACULA character I relate to most, felt like a precious gift meant just for me.

This year I subscribed to the Dracula Daily email AND am listening to the podcast at the same time, and the tears are rolling down my face. The pairing of hearing and reading, the innocence and hopes that our good friend young Harker expresses through the words of Bram Stoker and the voice of Ben Galpin... well.

I have been slammed against a metaphorical wall with the horrors of knowing what is going to happen next.

And I am so going to enjoy pressing this metaphorical bruise.

[miselleany]

Today's #meditativemessage ... #onewordoracle ~ ruminate.⁠ ⁠ Thought, thinking, reason, logic...it's all the domain of the sylphs. Airy creature of light. Taitin reminds us of this internal connection to these things, their importance. Mindfulness & discernment are important too.⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ *What are you mindful of right now?⁠ *What logic do you regularly follow?⁠ *Are you thoughtful?⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ #CardoftheDay #oraclereading #MessageswithMeaning #GoodNeighbors #Fae #fairy #faery #Celtic #Druid #BrianFroud #FroudFaery #FroudFairies #faerywisdom #crystalwisdom #crystalmedicine #Sodalite #Amethyst #SmokyQuartz #Quartz⁠ ⁠ Faeries Oracle by Brian Froud & Jessica MacBeth https://www.instagram.com/p/CEeWSuzJcSl/?igshid=1bk89s0gkl0w3

[memoirsversefic]

A Grievous Error in Memory: Prologue the Second

Book One of the Series Memoirs of a Tourist

Characters: The Eighth Doctor, Evelyn Alvar

Rating: R (violence)

Contains spoilers for the Eighth Doctor Adventures book series

Prologue the First

Prologue the Second

The Doctor was, he discovered to his chagrin, unaccustomed to solitude.

It was a strange thing to learn about one's self, when the greater bulk of one's memories consisted of wandering, alone and through linear time, across the surface of the Earth for one hundred years.  A time far more expansive than the time he had spent traveling with Fitz, Anji, and then later, Trix.

The years before all of that were dark.  Blank.  However, now he knew why.  It was a thing he did not enjoy contemplating.

They all were gone now, his friends.  All living their own lives, in their own world.  He realized that he had never particularly thought of them as a fleeting presence in his life, only because he wasn't given to such ruminations.  It was pointless really, dwelling on the inevitable, the contrast between his life and theirs.  Better, really, that they should leave of their own accord, where they could remain alive in his mind-- absent, but alive.  In a sense, this allowed them to live as long as he.  They would always be there, in their time, like the dancing figures on Keats' Grecian urn.  

They were the present presence in his life, while they were there.  Now they were not there, but they were alive, and he was alone again, and attempting to hold a conversation with an empty console room.

"That's that, then.  Another day, another mad computer overloaded by an unanswerable riddle."  He smiled a little ruefully, as if somehow disappointed by the ease of his victory. "Honestly, though, one would think such a blatant weakness would be noted more often."  His hands flew over the console, absently, setting the time ship into cacophonic motion.  The TARDIS, groaning, shifted herself between worlds, spinning through the crackling, screaming pressure of the Vortex.

He had set no particular destination.  He felt aimless, a bit turbulent, like the Time Winds that surged around the outer shell of the TARDIS.  He just wanted to move.  So move he did, in a whirl of rumpled green velvet and flyaway auburn curls, dancing gleefully around the console, flipping switches, punching buttons, spinning spinners. He hummed to himself all the while, an aria from a Venduvian opera that he could not quite recall the name of, because the title itself was quite protracted, the length of a small novel.  It was the fashion of the time and place; nobody could ever quite remember opera titles in that day and age.  Succinctly, it translated to something like The Death of the Mountain as Told By the Valley that Had Been Eaten By the Second Autumn Moon.

He had just reached the part of the aria where D'legsna kills Verid in a blaze of dramatic tenor when something on the scanner caught his eye.  A flash of billowing white, like a ghost.

A figure.  A... person.  A woman-- white hair, white skin, white dress, everything white, as if she had been carved from marble and brought to life, gliding on the Time Winds like a sylph.

The Doctor stared.  His aria stuttered to silence.  

He had no memories, and he knew why, understood that it had been essential.  But they did often leave inconvenient gaps in his mind, when he encountered something that he felt he should know about, but didn't.  What he felt now, on seeing this improbable woman not falling, but soaring through the Time Vortex, was not memory.  Not precisely.  It was something else, anchored in a different part of his mind, long dormant, and yes, forgotten, but undeniably there.

He watched the figure for exactly three seconds before it began to fade from view.  And, his jaw set and his eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and ferocious determination, his hands flew again over the controls as he commanded his ship to lock onto this figure's course and follow her to her destination.

Next Chapter: Chapter One

[sylphidine]

A reminder that this is a fandom blog first and foremost, and an additional reminder that just because I don't post about world news does not mean I don't care.

I have other social media for my personal and professional presence where I will address world news.

Yes, I admit occasional bookselling stuph sneaks onto my Tumblr , but I ***try*** to keep it minimal, under my "bookseller hat on" tag. For the most part this is my space for squeeing about the fandoms that rotate in my brain.

In troubled times, I need to compartmentalize for my mental health, because if I'm neglecting my self-care I'll be of no use to online and offline folk who need me, I'll be in no position to help anyone else, and I'll be unable to make a difference in a troubled world.

[sylphidine]

Out of curiosity, what videogames do you like? You dont necessarily have to play them, I barely play the games I like either. I know deltarune is in there. What else if anything? - Charles 🐌

I haven't had a chance to play very many in recent years, because of what I call My Complicated Life. Uninterrupted time is at a premium, and games generally have to be desktop-computer-based.

The most recent one would be Stray. C'mon, it's cats and robots! How could I not love it?

I've played some of the Ultima games and some of the Civilization games, as well as Railroad Tycoon.

Because of my physical and visual disabilities, I tend to lean towards text-based and turn-based games, rather than anything that requires rapid hand-eye coordination.

My involvement with most videogames has been because people around me have been playing them, rather than my seeking them out. Back at the dawn of time [the 1980s] when I was in college, computer games were on the school's mainframe, and I would have friends in my D & D group playing The Code of Hammurabi to see who the worst ruler could be. Later, when we graduated / moved out / got jobs and desktop computers, our group played a game called The Bard's Tale that had really good music.

For a while in the mid-2000s my partner and I played in a MMO game called Evony.

Undertale came along just around the time that I joined LiveJournal, and I was more interested in the fanart than the game itself. But I did appreciate its text-based vibe, and mentally bookmarked it to play "someday".

Deltarune Chapter 1 came out at a very bad time in my life, so I didn't get the chance to explore it either in gameplay or following the fanart.

Chapter 2 came out after my life calmed down a bit.

One day this particular Tumblr post crossed my dash, with a broken little man making a nest in a laundry basket.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Thank you for the ask!

[sylphidine]

I ***believe*** I have sent askbox sunflowers to everyone who didn't have asks closed or was an RP blog where I know their main.

However, I am a tired human recently recovering from a bad bout of respiratory ick and blargh, so if I missed you, please assume it wasn't intentional.

Don't be the anon person who essentially told me what I should be doing with my own blog, that I should have better things to do with my time.

This is a flippin' fandom blog. I have to deal with enough aggravation in my professional social media spaces.

My thanks to all of you who enjoyed them and told me so. As I said initially, sunflowers are very personal to me because of my late partner Joanna, who has been immortalized in my ROTG story "Starmeadow" set in GretchenSinister's The Doors of Perception AU. So when this lighthearted askbox game crossed my dash, I thought of her and figured it would cheer a few of you.