His Journal is a Good Listener (Traejan, IC)
(( Cross-posted to tumblr here. ))
I received a note in the back pages this evening.
Well.
It's not really evening anymore. It's almost morning, technically.
But whatever. Time is relative and I can call whenever whatever I damn well please.
But anyway.
Pages. In the back.
Tha never happens. Or when it does, it's bad news. Very, very rarely is it ever anything good. No one ever sends me notes in the back pages like 'hello, how are you doing?' or 'i miss you!' or 'maybe you should come here for a private dinner sometime!'. No, no.. it's always something like 'if you don't stop what you're saying right now, we're going to hunt you down and murder/arrest/sternly reprimand you. Oh! Or even better, the new people in the tome that either have no capacity for subtlety or outright do not give a shit and go 'do you eat people? Do you really eat people? you won't eat ME, will you?'
One of these days I'm just going to say yes to see what happens.
It wouldn't be pretty. I think I can safely assume that much. The Magister would somehow be summoned from thin air, probably to write sternly at me. I can see it v i v i d l y. His pen shoved in his noble little claw, scratching along on the page. Angry, angry letters. Look at how he just wrote that 'T' with a flourish.
My name should always be written with a flourish.
But I digress. Again.
Tonight's pages were from my sister. And it's always joy to get messages from her. I'm not sure when she decided that our roles ought to be reversed, but she often tries to tell me what I should and should not be doing. It's adorable. And I don't use that word very often.
"What are you doing?"
Indeed, there could be no statement more vague. I don't know.. let's see. I'm sitting. I'm writing. I have tea and the tea has stuff in it! I am causing no danger nor fuss in my immediate vicinity. I am, for the time being, completely unarmed. I'm not even smiling at anyone, so the likelihood of my biting them is slim to none. All is well nd all is right with the world, as far as I'm concerned.
So naturally I wrote her none of this and instead asked her to elaborate.
Oh.
What am I doing in the tome and prattling on about ladies' undergarments (technically I wouldn't consider a nightgown an undergarment because you don't wear that under anything EXCEPT maybe a robe but generally you don't go in public in your robe and nightgown unless you are completely mad so that debunks that entire theory; someone please tell me how I know this basic fact of life and she does not) and making Thistle nervous (oh heavens no) and being disrespectful to the worgen because I did not properly acknowledge that she has breasts.
No, wait.
It wasn't that as much as I grouped her in with THINGS.
I know she is a she. It's not as if I accidentally thought she was a filing cabinet.
THAT FILING CABINET IS A WORGEN.
No.
I would bet gold that I wouldn't actually be willing to part with that come the morning Thistle would also remind me that she is not a filing cabinet.
I realize I'm being terribly rude and inconsiderate as Tarin is concerned. She worries. She worries mightily and as her brother I should be more considerate of her and her hair, because she's going to stress so badly she may eventually lose it. I don't really understand why she is always so concerned. If I ask, she won't tell me. I never get a straight answer. But such is family, of course. Provoking people enough for them to want to cause me harm is a good reason. Writing nonsense in the pages is not..
But then someone told me once that she thought I was slowly losing my mind.
I think I'll just end this on that note because it's too funny.
I think I'd know.