beyond
I’ve lost a month. I have no time.
The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Frank was selected for the Silver Pack and is being sent out to save the world at the end of the week. They spend a fucking MONTH deciding who is going to comprise this pack and then give them a WEEK to put their affairs in order. Dumb-fuck werewolves.
I’m still in shock, and so is he. I understood everything the minute he said it, but my rational mind and the rest of me are not on speaking terms. It took a while. A long while. And it’s still not fully there, yet. He’ll be long gone before I accept it. But even then …
He promised me he would come back. He promised to not die on me. And I believe him. But whether or not he makes it into the next age with me is something I can’t even see. I know that’s where I’m headed. It’s upsetting as hell to know I’ve made the choice to survive into the next age, and that I always had the choice. But despite all the higher understanding bullshit, I don’t want to go alone. It’s the age of fucking destruction! Who wants to go stag for that?
So yeah, the wedding got moved way up. I put Debra on wedding-planner duty. She’s really tearing it up. I had to get creative (read: paradox) to get my dress here and all the invitations out. And I’ve been bossing the garou around. Not that I should be able to, but I think somewhere along the way my being a mage and Frank being selected for the Silver Pack netted us some serious clout. That and no one wants to upset the neurotic willworker after her sweetie told her he’s shipping out.
I think I’ve figured out what I’m going to give him. It’ll take time we barely have, but I think I can make it work. He needs all the luck he can get. And what better way to do that then by him getting lucky. Still, a werewolf and tantric sex seems like a bad combination. I guess we’ll find out.
The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Frank was selected for the Silver Pack and is being sent out to save the world at the end of the week. They spend a fucking MONTH deciding who is going to comprise this pack and then give them a WEEK to put their affairs in order. Dumb-fuck werewolves.
I’m still in shock, and so is he. I understood everything the minute he said it, but my rational mind and the rest of me are not on speaking terms. It took a while. A long while. And it’s still not fully there, yet. He’ll be long gone before I accept it. But even then …
He promised me he would come back. He promised to not die on me. And I believe him. But whether or not he makes it into the next age with me is something I can’t even see. I know that’s where I’m headed. It’s upsetting as hell to know I’ve made the choice to survive into the next age, and that I always had the choice. But despite all the higher understanding bullshit, I don’t want to go alone. It’s the age of fucking destruction! Who wants to go stag for that?
So yeah, the wedding got moved way up. I put Debra on wedding-planner duty. She’s really tearing it up. I had to get creative (read: paradox) to get my dress here and all the invitations out. And I’ve been bossing the garou around. Not that I should be able to, but I think somewhere along the way my being a mage and Frank being selected for the Silver Pack netted us some serious clout. That and no one wants to upset the neurotic willworker after her sweetie told her he’s shipping out.
I think I’ve figured out what I’m going to give him. It’ll take time we barely have, but I think I can make it work. He needs all the luck he can get. And what better way to do that then by him getting lucky. Still, a werewolf and tantric sex seems like a bad combination. I guess we’ll find out.