DoT: A Discussion

"They haven't engaged," said Livethirn, looking around at his charges accusingly. "You killed the fence, didn't you?"

"Fuck you. We did what you asked," said Danna, putting a hand on her sword and glaring at the elf across the table. She was human, frustrated with their servitude, and easily goaded to anger. 

Werril sighed. He was a half-elf, and far too used to being caught in the middle of arguments. "We killed the fence. Word is, the Mist Eyes found him and brought him back. If you want, we can make him dead again... but if you want them at odds with the Red Blades, set us against Varna Blackhand. We can take him, I promise you."

Melia, their wizard -- a not-unattractive human -- nodded agreement, and the halfling cleric Byron shrugged.  

Livethirn considered that for a long moment. "As you wish," he said. "They'll think it an attack and respond in kind. That will serve nicely."

"I'm glad you agree," Werril said, holding back his sarcasm by an act of will. 

"Then make Varna your next target," said Livethirn, and rose from his seat.  

Music: Simple Gifts (and various other titles)

Played by Lee Leavenworth:

Music: Burn Down This Town

Roseanne Cash:

It comes and goes...

I'm finally starting to dig my way out from the huge load of work that fell on my head with the big upgrade at the end of December, and we're bringing in some additional resources to deal with a Big Important Project that seemed to have run aground on some fairly intractable issues, so my stress levels have suddenly gone down...

...Which is weird. Like, on the one hand that's a good thing. Less stress! Hooray! I can function better! And then on the other hand, my whole system is like, Wait? What happened? How does this 'relaxing' business work, again? Overall, it's good. I'm just glad it didn't take any longer. 

Burnout is a real thing, y'all. 

Writing Projects: Currently working on the portal fantasy, which means that the Weird West and Horny Superteens projects have been somewhat neglected. (There are only so many hours in the day, and my energy has been going into, well, being stressed out.) But, I'm still making progress... and I wrote a completely random short piece the other morning that I'm going to try to get published, if I can find the right venue for it. 

Also, with February doing its best impression of late April, my allergies have been acting up. At this point, I'd honestly prefer another ice storm. Some kind of winter weather, anyway. This time of year used to be pretty safe for my seasonal allergies...

I'm not going to talk about news or current events right now, because it's all so bleak and I will wear myself out with relentless rage. I'm limiting my exposure in an attempt to be informed without doom-spiraling, though part of me suspects that doom-spiraling may actually reflect an accurate evaluation of the current situation. 

Anyway, I have good friends and a good family, and a kitten who is determined to eviscerate the mechanical toy bird he got for Christmas. Good to keep those moments in mind, too. 

Music: I Know What Boys Like

The Waitresses:

Valthor's New Sword

The Fairy was more helpful than he would have expected, but she wouldn't tell him much about the rapier he'd taken from his sister's corpse, only that his sister had been desperate to get his blood on it. She wouldn't tell him why, or what his blood might have done; she just told him that it was his sword now... with the distinct implication that it was also his problem now. 

Which would be fine, he thought, if I wasn't so tempted to use it. 

He left the locker closed, and forced himself to move away. He had an attempted murder to investigate, and plenty of other things to do. The nature of the blade could wait...

...But it still tempted him. 

DoT: Lochlain Has More Troubles

There were things to expose, and things to keep hidden, and various elements within the clans who would disagree about which were which. Lochlain was fairly well fed up with it; his instinct was to share what he could with his new friends, and let them decide how much to share with the island at large. If he were going to trust any surfacers with the deepest of Clan secrets, he would trust these. He might ask Darvas first, but he would trust them. 

"It's me," he called, after pounding on the door. "Don't stab me."

Ilana and Tara had been practicing, and their tunics showed it in broad slices. Lochlain turned his head away, and said: "Let's get you both some armor, or at least leather coats, while you're still halfway decent."

Tara flushed; Ilana just grinned. "Maybe get us some practice weapons, too."

Lochlain said, "Shoo. Back to your room. Get fresh shirts, and I'll see about practice knives at least, maybe shortswords." Neither of them were actually exposed, thank the gods, but this was more than he was ready to deal with, especially after talking to Kalla.

"Your meeting went well?" asked Ilana.

"Well enough," he told her. "I'll be back."

He went back out the door, looking for Davvan. Hell below, he thought. I never signed up to be anyone's father...