Reflection time
Once upon a time, I thought I was jaded. But then I watched as an entire tradition chantry house was destroyed, murdering all their resdient members. And all that emotional scar tissue didn’t matter. Nor does the fact I never trusted this particular tradition. It made me fear for my fellow Ecstatics, my cabal, my pack.
Frank asked me whether or not I trusted my pack. Because according to Garou, your pack is everything. And I’m trying to figure out when I stopped believing in Mobius. When we get together and set our minds to it, we do a lot of good and a shitload of damage. Its just when we’re apart, or acting on singular impulse, that I feel this tugging distrust. Not that I can speak, really. I’ve always gone off on my own and acted under my own motivations. Maybe that’s why it embarrasses me and gives me pause. I can trust my group as a group, but as individuals I am highly suspect.
I’ve never been much for the pack, though. That happened back in the Peaks when they all started dying off or doing stupid, stupid things. So maybe I stopped trusting my pack when I began to lose them. We move as one, but we die one at a time.
Unless we’re Hermetics, in which case we die explosively all at once.
I appreciated Al’s discretion in the warning. It was just such a surprise to be contacted at all. I guess I had written him off, especially after he declined the invitation to the engagement party. But I expected that. Not the neato reservations or the nice card, though. I’m not worried anymore about him running with a manticor. He obviously wasn’t trying to hide it, so he’s got it under control. But giving me leave to tell his mom he’s still alive … She is so going to kick his ass. And maybe mine, too.
I have a lot of Mage business to attend to today. Reporting to Coriolus about what happened at the Hermetic chantry, stopping by Kitner’s to see how preparation for the siege is coming, checking in on Simon and the Ecstatics and seeing about getting some of the Fae employed at the Dionysian, and then training with John Brandistock again. I’m a little leery of the Euthanatos, but not for his sake. It’s not that I want to jump traditions, but more like I want to be both. And it’s not like I want to jump his bones, either. Tempting thought it might be, I love everyone, and it tends to come out in mothering instead of sex.
Because opening my heart by opening my legs leads to a lot of badness. I’d rather force-feed everyone chicken-soup then participate in a group orgy. There is less ownership involved with soup.
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightening
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night.
-Audioslave "I am the Highway"
Such a loner song, for me.
Frank asked me whether or not I trusted my pack. Because according to Garou, your pack is everything. And I’m trying to figure out when I stopped believing in Mobius. When we get together and set our minds to it, we do a lot of good and a shitload of damage. Its just when we’re apart, or acting on singular impulse, that I feel this tugging distrust. Not that I can speak, really. I’ve always gone off on my own and acted under my own motivations. Maybe that’s why it embarrasses me and gives me pause. I can trust my group as a group, but as individuals I am highly suspect.
I’ve never been much for the pack, though. That happened back in the Peaks when they all started dying off or doing stupid, stupid things. So maybe I stopped trusting my pack when I began to lose them. We move as one, but we die one at a time.
Unless we’re Hermetics, in which case we die explosively all at once.
I appreciated Al’s discretion in the warning. It was just such a surprise to be contacted at all. I guess I had written him off, especially after he declined the invitation to the engagement party. But I expected that. Not the neato reservations or the nice card, though. I’m not worried anymore about him running with a manticor. He obviously wasn’t trying to hide it, so he’s got it under control. But giving me leave to tell his mom he’s still alive … She is so going to kick his ass. And maybe mine, too.
I have a lot of Mage business to attend to today. Reporting to Coriolus about what happened at the Hermetic chantry, stopping by Kitner’s to see how preparation for the siege is coming, checking in on Simon and the Ecstatics and seeing about getting some of the Fae employed at the Dionysian, and then training with John Brandistock again. I’m a little leery of the Euthanatos, but not for his sake. It’s not that I want to jump traditions, but more like I want to be both. And it’s not like I want to jump his bones, either. Tempting thought it might be, I love everyone, and it tends to come out in mothering instead of sex.
Because opening my heart by opening my legs leads to a lot of badness. I’d rather force-feed everyone chicken-soup then participate in a group orgy. There is less ownership involved with soup.
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightening
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night.
-Audioslave "I am the Highway"
Such a loner song, for me.