The Journal of Geraldine Harrington, April 21st, 2005.
So this afternoon, during a reasonably routine pass of the graveyard, I ran into Evie. Evie, who is apparently still injured (1), was out on a patrol (2) to get herself out of the house, and is holding her wounds closed with duct tape (3) over gauze. I can't entirely blame her, the smell of six cats in an apartment (4) must be astonishing, even if all the boxes are done. I'll be amazed if Leo doesn't snap and start eating the blasted things. His sense of smell and that much cat? Not a good combination for the longevity of felines. They need a bloody house. Or an adoption agency.
I'm still trying to figure out how to say 'hey, Evie, I've made Council, I'm a Watcher now'. She needs to hear it from me, rather than from anyone else, or she'll think I've betrayed her, and I haven't. But she also needs to hear it in a way that she'll actually stand half a chance in Hell of actually LISTENING to. I adore her. She's very dear to me. And I need to say words and have them heard as I've said them, not as Lamont has trained her to hear them.
Bastard.
We got to talking about our families; she really misses her dad. I really miss my dad (5). Of course, my dad was arrogant and hidebound, while her dad was possibly entirely insane, so I feel rather more justified in missing mine; she really has a talent for finding the psycho father figures. We really do grow up to be what we're raised for, and keeping that in mind, I'm truly astonished that she -- and Emilia, but really, much more Evie -- is as sane as she very nearly is. I don't think she gets to do much that's normal, really; she nearly danced for glee when I asked if she felt like going to the mall to help me get a chain (6) to go with Sam's ring. Felt a bit guilty that I'd not asked sooner, truth be told.
We were looking for some St. Iggy's cheerleaders Sam had mentioned going missing, but got rather put off the scent when we stumbled over Elvin doing God-knows-what (7). Being Elvin, he got shirty. Being Evie, she got offended and left. Being me, I stayed behind, exchanged pleasantries, and eventually shoved off home.
It's...odd, really. Evie seems to care more about where I live than I do; the fact that our house is bigger is somehow of vast and unavoidable importance. Even if it's a terror to clean. Even though it's this big because we need space to store a dozen people and more on a moment's notice. What matters is that it looks impressive, and I suppose that she's expecting me to want her impressed. I don't, though. I just want her to be comfortable. And not attached to a sociopathic madman that I intend to eventually kill.
And while I'm at it, I'd like a pony.
_____
1) Since I can't believe she's more breakable than I am, she must have been hit WICKED hard. Vicious stupid hedgehog things.
2) We have been so horribly, horribly warped by our Calling. Horribly, horribly warped. I remember when my response to having a bad day involved beating on my younger brother and eating all mum's bon-bons. Now? Now I go out and decapitate things whilst whistling a jaunty tune. Something is horribly wrong with me.
3) Duct tape is brilliant for holding chairs together. Coffee tables. Concussive explosive devices. Guillotines. It is not, however, brilliant for holding flesh together. Flesh DISLIKES being held together with duct tape. Duct tape does not breathe. Duct tape does not bend properly. Most importantly of them all, duct tape does not like coming off. One adventure with a skin-facing duct tape bra was enough for me. I cannot IMAGINE putting it near an open wound, unless it's a choice between 'duct tape' and 'say farewell to happy Mister Spleen'. Ow.
4) I like cats, I really do, but six cats crosses a magical line betwixt 'that's Missus Madison, she's fond of cats' and 'that's Old Heddie, the cat lady, I hear she's a witch, don't let her meet your eye or you'll grow fur and a tail and howl at the moon'. Not a line I intend to get myself anyplace near.
5) And my mum. But don't tell Eddie. Ever.
6) Eddie knows something's up; I asked if he had mum's jewelry box, since I wanted to shark a chain. He didn't, so I couldn't, but still.
7) And God? God doesn't WANT to know.
I'm still trying to figure out how to say 'hey, Evie, I've made Council, I'm a Watcher now'. She needs to hear it from me, rather than from anyone else, or she'll think I've betrayed her, and I haven't. But she also needs to hear it in a way that she'll actually stand half a chance in Hell of actually LISTENING to. I adore her. She's very dear to me. And I need to say words and have them heard as I've said them, not as Lamont has trained her to hear them.
Bastard.
We got to talking about our families; she really misses her dad. I really miss my dad (5). Of course, my dad was arrogant and hidebound, while her dad was possibly entirely insane, so I feel rather more justified in missing mine; she really has a talent for finding the psycho father figures. We really do grow up to be what we're raised for, and keeping that in mind, I'm truly astonished that she -- and Emilia, but really, much more Evie -- is as sane as she very nearly is. I don't think she gets to do much that's normal, really; she nearly danced for glee when I asked if she felt like going to the mall to help me get a chain (6) to go with Sam's ring. Felt a bit guilty that I'd not asked sooner, truth be told.
We were looking for some St. Iggy's cheerleaders Sam had mentioned going missing, but got rather put off the scent when we stumbled over Elvin doing God-knows-what (7). Being Elvin, he got shirty. Being Evie, she got offended and left. Being me, I stayed behind, exchanged pleasantries, and eventually shoved off home.
It's...odd, really. Evie seems to care more about where I live than I do; the fact that our house is bigger is somehow of vast and unavoidable importance. Even if it's a terror to clean. Even though it's this big because we need space to store a dozen people and more on a moment's notice. What matters is that it looks impressive, and I suppose that she's expecting me to want her impressed. I don't, though. I just want her to be comfortable. And not attached to a sociopathic madman that I intend to eventually kill.
And while I'm at it, I'd like a pony.
_____
1) Since I can't believe she's more breakable than I am, she must have been hit WICKED hard. Vicious stupid hedgehog things.
2) We have been so horribly, horribly warped by our Calling. Horribly, horribly warped. I remember when my response to having a bad day involved beating on my younger brother and eating all mum's bon-bons. Now? Now I go out and decapitate things whilst whistling a jaunty tune. Something is horribly wrong with me.
3) Duct tape is brilliant for holding chairs together. Coffee tables. Concussive explosive devices. Guillotines. It is not, however, brilliant for holding flesh together. Flesh DISLIKES being held together with duct tape. Duct tape does not breathe. Duct tape does not bend properly. Most importantly of them all, duct tape does not like coming off. One adventure with a skin-facing duct tape bra was enough for me. I cannot IMAGINE putting it near an open wound, unless it's a choice between 'duct tape' and 'say farewell to happy Mister Spleen'. Ow.
4) I like cats, I really do, but six cats crosses a magical line betwixt 'that's Missus Madison, she's fond of cats' and 'that's Old Heddie, the cat lady, I hear she's a witch, don't let her meet your eye or you'll grow fur and a tail and howl at the moon'. Not a line I intend to get myself anyplace near.
5) And my mum. But don't tell Eddie. Ever.
6) Eddie knows something's up; I asked if he had mum's jewelry box, since I wanted to shark a chain. He didn't, so I couldn't, but still.
7) And God? God doesn't WANT to know.