"My fairweather friend...
Absent in the end
The one thing I can count on
Is nothing much at all
The one thing that I'm sure about
Is that you won't be anywhere around me when I fall
I'd like to think I wouldn't die for you, but you know I would
'Cause that's the fool I am..."
Today has been a weird day. Mentally, I mean.
Last night I was given the option to summon the Knight to london. I said no because with Oz -wench in the flat it would look like I was taking the piss. Also because in my brain summonings must be used only in need, and if there *isn't* need, I may well bloodily create them in the travel-time. I know me. But still. I could well see an alternate future where I summoned him regardless. I'm not sure it ended well, but it was interesting.
I woke up this morning, pokked Mercy whilst still bleary eyed and had the following message: "Scar me, break me, kiss me, fuck me. Just visit, yeah?" - which was quite the thing to wake up to from the Knight.
I would. Really I would. He's not unattractive to me. He's tall and lean and has shiny eyes and is a little mad and a little feline and a lot fey. But I don't love him. I've risked my life and blood and soul for Holliday at the drop of a hat and gladly too. Such gifts do no occur instinctively to me in Nieth's case. I would, if asked, because I care for him. But it is not grace unasked - and that is a sweeter and more different gift altogether. Kinda the point I guess.
I wrote a long email to Grim who is currently crazy after being clinically depressed and trying to kill himself. (Which confused the hell out of him.) I'm busy being the 'crazy friend who has been through this and survived' which is making my neurons feel odd. I dunno. Like trying to teach someone how to swim by shouting instructions from the beach and saying 'well - i didn't drown!' Some neurons think they should jump back in, I can tell.
What else? Bourbon and tombstone and summer storms - I'm thinking of Holliday a LOT. My tarot isn't of the opinion that he'll ever turn up. Last night I asked him - did he believe he'd find me? He said yes; if he'd admitted 'no' I would have given up and made a new deal to get him back in the Stormlands. I miss him so much.
The other night when I was ill with fever (caught from him I hasten to add, since there was no cough or anything else to accompany it and the only one I've met in the past month who's been ill is him) I called out to him. He was the one who I was hallucinating trying to pull through the gap in the stained glass. He lay next to me and put his hand on my forehead when I was burning and my brain was being stabbed - it stopped as soon as he did, like being doused with melt-water. When I was shivering he lay next to me with his arm across me and I was warmed. I asked him not to go and he shushed me, said he was still there, it was okay. It was a long night and not a nice one with all the shivering and sweating, but I'd do it again and every night if he'd be there.
I keep thinking of times past. Of Cam, of Holliday, of the times I was a skinny mental mess with lacerated arms. I keep thinking of excuses to carve into my arms - spells, summonings, whatever - as if neurons are now panicked they'll lose the knack. In some ways I know I have. I remember the hurt of it and not the i-don't-fucking-care. It can be regained (hahaha) and I want to, like it's a skill I'm getting rusty at, but I know it's a dodgy idea.
I've also been reminded of Reagan and all that stupidity because of listening to 'Fairweather Friend' as sung by Blade - 'What d'you want to drink?' "White Spirit..." She summed up the worst times of my life in that song perfectly.
The one thing I can count on
Is nothing much at all
The one thing that I'm sure about
Is that you won't be anywhere around me when I fall
I'd like to think I wouldn't die for you, but you know I would
'Cause that's the fool I am..."
Today has been a weird day. Mentally, I mean.
Last night I was given the option to summon the Knight to london. I said no because with Oz -wench in the flat it would look like I was taking the piss. Also because in my brain summonings must be used only in need, and if there *isn't* need, I may well bloodily create them in the travel-time. I know me. But still. I could well see an alternate future where I summoned him regardless. I'm not sure it ended well, but it was interesting.
I woke up this morning, pokked Mercy whilst still bleary eyed and had the following message: "Scar me, break me, kiss me, fuck me. Just visit, yeah?" - which was quite the thing to wake up to from the Knight.
I would. Really I would. He's not unattractive to me. He's tall and lean and has shiny eyes and is a little mad and a little feline and a lot fey. But I don't love him. I've risked my life and blood and soul for Holliday at the drop of a hat and gladly too. Such gifts do no occur instinctively to me in Nieth's case. I would, if asked, because I care for him. But it is not grace unasked - and that is a sweeter and more different gift altogether. Kinda the point I guess.
I wrote a long email to Grim who is currently crazy after being clinically depressed and trying to kill himself. (Which confused the hell out of him.) I'm busy being the 'crazy friend who has been through this and survived' which is making my neurons feel odd. I dunno. Like trying to teach someone how to swim by shouting instructions from the beach and saying 'well - i didn't drown!' Some neurons think they should jump back in, I can tell.
What else? Bourbon and tombstone and summer storms - I'm thinking of Holliday a LOT. My tarot isn't of the opinion that he'll ever turn up. Last night I asked him - did he believe he'd find me? He said yes; if he'd admitted 'no' I would have given up and made a new deal to get him back in the Stormlands. I miss him so much.
The other night when I was ill with fever (caught from him I hasten to add, since there was no cough or anything else to accompany it and the only one I've met in the past month who's been ill is him) I called out to him. He was the one who I was hallucinating trying to pull through the gap in the stained glass. He lay next to me and put his hand on my forehead when I was burning and my brain was being stabbed - it stopped as soon as he did, like being doused with melt-water. When I was shivering he lay next to me with his arm across me and I was warmed. I asked him not to go and he shushed me, said he was still there, it was okay. It was a long night and not a nice one with all the shivering and sweating, but I'd do it again and every night if he'd be there.
I keep thinking of times past. Of Cam, of Holliday, of the times I was a skinny mental mess with lacerated arms. I keep thinking of excuses to carve into my arms - spells, summonings, whatever - as if neurons are now panicked they'll lose the knack. In some ways I know I have. I remember the hurt of it and not the i-don't-fucking-care. It can be regained (hahaha) and I want to, like it's a skill I'm getting rusty at, but I know it's a dodgy idea.
I've also been reminded of Reagan and all that stupidity because of listening to 'Fairweather Friend' as sung by Blade - 'What d'you want to drink?' "White Spirit..." She summed up the worst times of my life in that song perfectly.