Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
[Dawn of Sunday, October 11 (day 133)]
[Back door of the Tavern of Hell]
I wish I could bring myself to talk to Kate about this. But I couldn't even tell her I was seeing Iago, and this...
Iago's not angry nor hurt. He's rather been carrying himself with something of a cat's grin, truth be told. Myself... Myself I've been running myself quietly ragged all week going out to Bluebeard's, slow precise decoctions of wolfberry and yew, and this morning like the others I take Iago's jacket and go down and sit in the back doorway of the Tavern in the cool of dawn, and light a cigarette and draw my knees up into the circle of my arms and try and lay it out well enough that I can get a hold of it.
Dorian. Of all the bloody folk in Excolo... Dorian.
Think that when the wound the Shuck and Verdi left in him's not being torn open he's of no particular mind to do me harm, and it's hard to remember him raising a hand to me, that hazy overbright valerian afternoon and the day that followed it--still I know it happened, and still it feels like a story I heard once, not something happened to me. So yes, fairly sure I'm in danger of not weighing that out properly.
But you are my best friend's wife. I suppose that grants you some sort of reprieve, yeah?
And that leads to thinking of going t'see him afterwards, and Lucien holding him (and I grimace at the thought of Marbas having seen him so), and the flare of remembered anger at him tearing into Iago. It's not as if I didn't know he could be cruel when pressed to it, but bloody hell now I'm edging around to when I was hurt close to as badly and my hands are shaking and I light another cigarette and set the thoughts aside, push them back into blank autumn fog.
So yes... fool's decision, to let my guard down so around him. Hardly as if I was ever missing or lying to myself over that. Worries me--frightens me, a little, maybe--that I did it anyway, knew long-worn habit would've kept me from it and drank to get around that. Wonder if this is what Wanda feels like, and I'm feeling sorry for her if so; there's an odd sick blindness to finding oneself ignoring one's own sense this way and barrelling forward.
Don't be sorry.
Not usually that careless. Not ever, if I've my wits about me. Even that first night walking with Iago, knew folk'd seen us together (though I hated the truth of that) and was fair to sure I could've stopped him if I cared to, gotten away if I'd needed to, between y sws galanasau and my sight in the dark.
Sigh and do as I've done before, set aside what all others may be after, and count out what I want.
Want Iago and myself, I yours and you mine, and to not give him cause to look as he did after that mockingbird bitch's trick. Doesn't seem like to go that way, for a mercy.
Want to be safe, and that's the thing that's leaving me uneasy. Never claimed I needed to love someone before I lay with them. Loved Iestyn and love Iago, and the others... well. Never trysted with anyone I didn't have some fondness for, and that at least still holds true.
You taste like rain.
More particular, never trysted with someone I didn't trust as much as I felt I needed to.
Until Dorian.
And... what? I've guessed it doesn't hold true for all, but for me there's a kind of slow intimacy that comes with sex, comfort if not trust, and that's what leaves me uneasy. I like Dorian, he's pleasant company, and I think he has some mind for what I mean to one he cares for (and for what'd happen to him if he'd hurt me, though I will not see the Shuck at him again)--but I don't trust him, not as I do Iago. And I'm afraid of being so at ease around him if I don't trust him.
Kiss me.
Oh mother's bones, I don't love him but I could fall into him, he makes me laugh, fine company and sharp words and bright secrets, and weighing out what I want leave us not forget that I want him. Think I could've kept shrugging that off if nothing'd ever happened, but now...?
Finish the cigarette and stare blankly out into the alley before getting to my feet and heading out for the day. Fifth morning in a row I've sat out here and tried to sort things out, and I'm no closer to figuring what I'm minded to do than before.
[Closed]
[Back door of the Tavern of Hell]
I wish I could bring myself to talk to Kate about this. But I couldn't even tell her I was seeing Iago, and this...
Iago's not angry nor hurt. He's rather been carrying himself with something of a cat's grin, truth be told. Myself... Myself I've been running myself quietly ragged all week going out to Bluebeard's, slow precise decoctions of wolfberry and yew, and this morning like the others I take Iago's jacket and go down and sit in the back doorway of the Tavern in the cool of dawn, and light a cigarette and draw my knees up into the circle of my arms and try and lay it out well enough that I can get a hold of it.
Dorian. Of all the bloody folk in Excolo... Dorian.
Think that when the wound the Shuck and Verdi left in him's not being torn open he's of no particular mind to do me harm, and it's hard to remember him raising a hand to me, that hazy overbright valerian afternoon and the day that followed it--still I know it happened, and still it feels like a story I heard once, not something happened to me. So yes, fairly sure I'm in danger of not weighing that out properly.
But you are my best friend's wife. I suppose that grants you some sort of reprieve, yeah?
And that leads to thinking of going t'see him afterwards, and Lucien holding him (and I grimace at the thought of Marbas having seen him so), and the flare of remembered anger at him tearing into Iago. It's not as if I didn't know he could be cruel when pressed to it, but bloody hell now I'm edging around to when I was hurt close to as badly and my hands are shaking and I light another cigarette and set the thoughts aside, push them back into blank autumn fog.
So yes... fool's decision, to let my guard down so around him. Hardly as if I was ever missing or lying to myself over that. Worries me--frightens me, a little, maybe--that I did it anyway, knew long-worn habit would've kept me from it and drank to get around that. Wonder if this is what Wanda feels like, and I'm feeling sorry for her if so; there's an odd sick blindness to finding oneself ignoring one's own sense this way and barrelling forward.
Don't be sorry.
Not usually that careless. Not ever, if I've my wits about me. Even that first night walking with Iago, knew folk'd seen us together (though I hated the truth of that) and was fair to sure I could've stopped him if I cared to, gotten away if I'd needed to, between y sws galanasau and my sight in the dark.
Sigh and do as I've done before, set aside what all others may be after, and count out what I want.
Want Iago and myself, I yours and you mine, and to not give him cause to look as he did after that mockingbird bitch's trick. Doesn't seem like to go that way, for a mercy.
Want to be safe, and that's the thing that's leaving me uneasy. Never claimed I needed to love someone before I lay with them. Loved Iestyn and love Iago, and the others... well. Never trysted with anyone I didn't have some fondness for, and that at least still holds true.
You taste like rain.
More particular, never trysted with someone I didn't trust as much as I felt I needed to.
Until Dorian.
And... what? I've guessed it doesn't hold true for all, but for me there's a kind of slow intimacy that comes with sex, comfort if not trust, and that's what leaves me uneasy. I like Dorian, he's pleasant company, and I think he has some mind for what I mean to one he cares for (and for what'd happen to him if he'd hurt me, though I will not see the Shuck at him again)--but I don't trust him, not as I do Iago. And I'm afraid of being so at ease around him if I don't trust him.
Kiss me.
Oh mother's bones, I don't love him but I could fall into him, he makes me laugh, fine company and sharp words and bright secrets, and weighing out what I want leave us not forget that I want him. Think I could've kept shrugging that off if nothing'd ever happened, but now...?
Finish the cigarette and stare blankly out into the alley before getting to my feet and heading out for the day. Fifth morning in a row I've sat out here and tried to sort things out, and I'm no closer to figuring what I'm minded to do than before.
[Closed]