Owls and Crankiness
Excerpt from Susan’s diary, written in Old Oggham
7/8/07
I am annoyed.
Some perverse part of me was enjoying the back-and-forth on the secrets board--here at least I will freely admit that I enjoy the occasional opportunity to be horribly vicious. I know damn well I’m not a nice person by nature, at least in spots, and angry though I was at Sylar and his godsdamn arrogance, it was on some level possessed of a weird kind of fun. It’s not often I run up against someone who can actually be a challenge, and though I know full well getting into any kind of running battle is a stupid idea, up until then I was fully willing. It might have been stupid, but it would have been my own stupidity, and I’m fairly sure I would have enjoyed it immensely. I haven’t had anyone to be really nasty to in quite a while--not since Teatime tried to eviscerate me--and, though I’m aware this makes me something of a bastard, part of me liked the idea.
I would have gotten away with it, too, if that little one-eyed bastard hadn’t gone and written my name. More than once. I doubt many people would have been following that exchange--there’s a good chance Lily wasn’t, at least--but Stephen posted to the board too, and if he didn’t see that, I’ll eat my left shoe. The last thing I wanted was for him to know about it; now he’s probably either worried, or irritated, or both. Can’t I have my own private foolishness without being ratted out before half the school? Apparently not. At least back home the only person to remark on my choices was Grandfather, and he very rarely said anything, since the motives of humans are often a mystery to him.
As for what to do now that my secret quasi-war is no longer secret, I don’t know. I don’t want to have to try to abort it entirely--in the first place, Sylar likely wouldn’t back out just because someone had blown the whistle on the whole idea, and in any case I resent the hells out of the idea that I ought to have to change my plans just because they are no longer known only to me. Call it selfishness--it likely is--but I don’t take well to other people ruining my plans.
Unfortunately, the entire campaign was based on the idea of secrecy, and now that it’s gone, I can’t very well pretend that it can go ahead as planned. My life and my decisions are mine--I’ve never answered to anyone in my life, and in a certain sense I still don’t. Stephen, I know, would never dream of telling me what or what not to do, but it will disappoint him, and that’s almost worse. It’s an odd thing, actually caring about someone else’s opinion--the fact that it makes you want to modify your actions is an alien concept indeed, and rather an unpleasant one. And after I’d promised him I’d try to work on my temper, too--I say such a thing, and then turn right around and start a verbal (well, written) war. And, possibly worst of all, I only regret it because I got caught, but I do regret it. If this is what loving someone does to you, it’s no wonder people so often fight with their nearest and dearest.
(Yes, I said love. This is my diary, and I can say whatever I damn well please.) In any event, I could choke both Teatime and Sylar, and given sufficient opportunity I just might do so. I can hardly compartmentalize my life if the idiots in one half go blabbing, even obliquely and inadvertently, to the people on the other side. I’ve divided the disparate areas of my life for so long that I can hardly stop now, and in any case I don’t want to--in a certain sense it’s necessary, for were I to let them mix, I’d lose my mind. The Death of Rats once told me that Albert said that you can’t be mortal and immortal at the same time, or it would tear you in half, and he’s right.
In any case, to return to the point, I’m annoyed. Possibly even aggrieved. I’d like nothing better than to go hit something (or someone), but knowing my luck someone would find me and blab about that, too. Perhaps I’ll take a trip to the Forbidden Forest; there would be little enough chance of being noticed there, no matter what I do.
Sometimes I could damn this entire castle to hells, myself included.
Stephen,
I said I hoped I would never disappoint you--I’m certain I’ve done so now, and for that I must say I’m sorry.
-Susan