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I have not not been sick for over *counts* 3 months now. xp First the laryngitis....STILL the laryngitis, and now I have another sinus infection to top it all off. gonk
If the miserableness wasn't bad enough......*sigh* sweatdrop And, of course, no one will let me drown myself, so that's out, too...... xp
(course, all I have to do to drown is try to swim....so....) stare
But everyone's probably sick of hearing me complain by now, so I'll keep the comments to a minimum. I can do that, I have three months of QUIET practice, now haven't I? wink
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"What exactly are you attempting?"
He swung around to look at me, still only half-visible in the dim light. One ear flicked out in irritation, but the rest of him detached from the vine trellis to stand in his usual slouch on the parapet. "Well, what does it look like I'm doing?" he asks me, rebellious to the last.
I bit the inside of my lip, tasted blood, and tried again. "Why. Are. You. Climbing. That. Wall." It didn't phrase well as a question after numerous attempts to get an answer out of him, but I didn't care. I probably still don't.
Then, with the most impish, annoying, sheer pig-headed smile he could come up with, he answered. "To get to the top." And allowed me a glimpse of his tongue.
I'm sure Mother disapproves the use of force on intelligent, or not so intelligent, creations. And I am quite sure that every single one of my sisters laugh every time more trouble hits, and I sit at the center. But, to be blunt, I didn't care.
Which is why the affair ended with his head ringing from a new bruise.
He whimpered and looked up at me. "Why'd you do that?" His look turned accusatory. "I'm telling!"
I gritted my teeth and held on to my temper this time. "Because you didn't answer my question." And you are very ill-mannered.
He stuck out his tongue again. "I don't have to answer to you," he said. "And that hurt, so I'm telling."
"You can probably explain why you were out climbing a wall at the same time," I remarked, drily.
His ears flattened, and he sulked at me.
I pushed my spectacles up to my nose, wondering why he'd suddenly developed such a childish nature, when it finally dawned on me. This wasn't Morri. In fact, I had not only caught a sketching out before Pre-Light, but I'd also caught one that looked almost exactly like him.
Damn.
While I was mentally berating myself for acting the fool, and kneeling down to help him up, I noticed something else. He did indeed look like the Junker (a trait for which I heartily cursed the Maker) but there were certain, subtle differences that, as he grew, would become more obvious. His ears were already much more ready to stand erect from his head; they would probably never lie flat against his skull unless he willed them to. His fur was of a darker color, and the eyes were more yellow than green.
I pulled him up, and he dusted himself off, still mumbling imprecations at me under his breath. I released him, then took a step away and nodded to myself. "You are Kildonas, aren't you?"
He scowled at me, as if that was a secret that wasn't supposed to be mentioned. "Yeah." The rebellious look. "And?"
Apparently, insight doesn't travel both ways in his case. "Where have you been?" I demanded.
He looked, if a cat-based specimen could look that way, rather sheepish at the question. "Around," he muttered.
"Around?" That was all he had to say?!! I paused. "Would you like to be more specific?" I asked politely.
"No."
"You have been missing for three months, you appear to have solidified, but not grown to your proper age, and all you can claim as an excuse is 'I've been around'."
Kildonas looked offended at the sarcasm in my tone. "What do you care?"
I have not had such an enjoyable experience since Gale was given a personality. "It is in my nature to care about such matters." I responded, trying for patience. "I am a Muse."
"Oh." He did not seem to have a response for that. He stood there and shuffled his feet again. "Can I go now?"
"Are you going to answer my question?"
"No."
I tried, and failed, to avoid rolling my eyes. "You may go."
He ran off without waiting for anything else.
I once asked the Essence why she would create such ideas, then scatter them to wind and wait to see where their whimsies carried them. She responded, "If they bother me after I let them go, then it's their turn."
I suppose 'letting them go' is a necessary thing. If we hold on to them and let jealousy guard each step they take - each point of progress they make - then ideas cannot flourish as they should. There is a certain necessary amount of 'growing' that an idea has to do on its own, before a creator can begin to build the story around it.
 Kira Dwenna · Tue Feb 01, 2005 @ 12:14am · 2 Comments |
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