Word of the Day
Dictionary.com Word of the Day:
Polymorphous: Having, assuming, or passing through many or various forms, stages, or the like.
The riddle goes like this - What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?
It's not a hard riddle, when you think about it. Oedipus barely paused when he answered, and anyone who marries their mother can't be all that bright. Why did the sphinx cling to it so, why did Oedipus succeed when so many had failed before him?
Maybe it's something to do with seasons, with spring and summer, fall and winter. Maybe it's to do with water, with rain and ice and dew. Maybe it's prophecy and fate and that the eternal sphinx could not grapple with mortality in the same way a man who knew his end could stare Death and Life in the face, like an old familiar enemy, the best kind.
Or maybe, Gambit thought as he watched Rogue out of the corner of his eye, it's to do with the curve of a girl's smile and the way you could measure how she was warming up to you by increments and angles. Like when the corner of her mouth curls up by thirty degrees, you know that she's in a good enough mood to talk first, and it's a good thing too because the last time they'd been on a picnic they'd been interrupted by the apocalypse in the form of his wife, and hadn't he had to work his ass off to regain even this much trust, but it was worth it because of the way she was almost arching her neck into him now, and maybe this time--
"Whatcha thinkin' about?"
He cuts his gaze directly to her, as if he hadn't been drinking her in this whole time and smiles that knowing smile he knows drives her mad. "Butterflies, cherie. Y'know they come from nothin' more than ugly little crawlies?"
Her tone of voice is extremely dry, in that 'You're trying to make me hit you right now, aren't you' way she has. "Caterpillars."
"Oui. Dem. An' then they go into a cocoon--"
"You are one strange Cajun, did you know that? What are you tryin' ta do, give me a biology lesson?"
Gambit smirks.
Rogue groans, because he doesn't even need to say it, and she shoves the basket at him, "Shut-up an' eat somethin'."
He moves slowly, like a drawl, and gives the basket his full attention. "I believe dat would be ecology--"
She shoves his shoulder hard, and he lets out a quiet 'Ooph' and goes down, but not before he sees that the corners of her mouth's turned up a full forty-five degrees, and he thinks he can maybe enjoy this phase again - but it'll be even better when he gets her to let out that laugh.
- fin -
I know, I haven't done these in forever - and this turned into something weird. But I just wanted to write again. And 'polymorphous' wanted to be all 'butterflies' and 'water' and 'stages of life' and deep deep thoughts... and somehow whenever I try to be deep but am not really feeling deep it strikes me as ponderous. So it turned into Remy scheming. Because there's nothing ponderous about that. >.>
Polymorphous: Having, assuming, or passing through many or various forms, stages, or the like.
The riddle goes like this - What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?
It's not a hard riddle, when you think about it. Oedipus barely paused when he answered, and anyone who marries their mother can't be all that bright. Why did the sphinx cling to it so, why did Oedipus succeed when so many had failed before him?
Maybe it's something to do with seasons, with spring and summer, fall and winter. Maybe it's to do with water, with rain and ice and dew. Maybe it's prophecy and fate and that the eternal sphinx could not grapple with mortality in the same way a man who knew his end could stare Death and Life in the face, like an old familiar enemy, the best kind.
Or maybe, Gambit thought as he watched Rogue out of the corner of his eye, it's to do with the curve of a girl's smile and the way you could measure how she was warming up to you by increments and angles. Like when the corner of her mouth curls up by thirty degrees, you know that she's in a good enough mood to talk first, and it's a good thing too because the last time they'd been on a picnic they'd been interrupted by the apocalypse in the form of his wife, and hadn't he had to work his ass off to regain even this much trust, but it was worth it because of the way she was almost arching her neck into him now, and maybe this time--
"Whatcha thinkin' about?"
He cuts his gaze directly to her, as if he hadn't been drinking her in this whole time and smiles that knowing smile he knows drives her mad. "Butterflies, cherie. Y'know they come from nothin' more than ugly little crawlies?"
Her tone of voice is extremely dry, in that 'You're trying to make me hit you right now, aren't you' way she has. "Caterpillars."
"Oui. Dem. An' then they go into a cocoon--"
"You are one strange Cajun, did you know that? What are you tryin' ta do, give me a biology lesson?"
Gambit smirks.
Rogue groans, because he doesn't even need to say it, and she shoves the basket at him, "Shut-up an' eat somethin'."
He moves slowly, like a drawl, and gives the basket his full attention. "I believe dat would be ecology--"
She shoves his shoulder hard, and he lets out a quiet 'Ooph' and goes down, but not before he sees that the corners of her mouth's turned up a full forty-five degrees, and he thinks he can maybe enjoy this phase again - but it'll be even better when he gets her to let out that laugh.
- fin -
I know, I haven't done these in forever - and this turned into something weird. But I just wanted to write again. And 'polymorphous' wanted to be all 'butterflies' and 'water' and 'stages of life' and deep deep thoughts... and somehow whenever I try to be deep but am not really feeling deep it strikes me as ponderous. So it turned into Remy scheming. Because there's nothing ponderous about that. >.>