My Own Child

I have my own little boy. So why the hell would I want to watch another child, another FEW children, particularly when they're all goddamn little brats?

My boy isn't an angel, though he looks like one, and I'll be the first to admit that. But he's no brat either. He's been given proper discipline (though may the wrath of a thousand pissed-off gods befall me again -- and MINE were only negligent --- if I ever raise a hand to him, though that isn't to say that one or two well-placed and well-timed smacks off the rear-end don't happen now and then) and proper structure in his life. I don't need maladjusted whiny snots in my life -- that's why I'm not raising my son that way.

So, Astrid decided bonding time would be to visit other Olympic-acquaintances with children around our darling's age. Well, that meant "we" were considered baby-sitters. And by then, Astrid was so wrapped up in whatever she was doing (I think it's the Mt.Olympus paging system, though I haven't quite gotten the hang of it) that *I* was the one solely responsible for four children, my own, and the other goddamn whining screaming three. So much for fucking bonding time. Not to mention the fact that by the time Astrid's asshole relations decided to return and take "responsibility" for THEIR children (meaning that they deemed it acceptable to be in the same room), they criticised me for the way I watch them, and then scolded ME for disciplining them.

We can all figure out how that shit went down with me.

For bloody-hell's sake --- if you're not going to goddamn watch your miserable clodpole children, do the world a favour and don't have them which would otherwise give the world more neglected spoiled brats and continue to ensure that your Gene of Idiocy gets passed down along the rotting family tree.

Oh, and did I mention that they kept saying "do this" and "do that" any time ANY of them decided to speak to me? Why didn't they just snap their fingers at me, carry a whip and nail my hand to the door when I didn't open it for them quickly enough?!?!?!?! So sorry, bastards. I don't wear your fucking chains anymore and I don't take your fucking orders. And if my sweet boy hadn't been there, I would have told you where to go and what to do once you got there.

I like children. There's something so innocent about them that is impossible to replicate with an adult. We've seen too much, felt too much, hate and fear too much. But these nasty little worms ruined it for me.

Or perhaps it's the parents. They really are the ones to blame: negligent, permissive and enabling. They don't watch their children, don't discipline them, don't care enough to do it, though I would hope that they love them. It's a bad world out there -- always has been harsh and punishing, in every age I've seen. Why don't people do what's best for their kids? Selfishness? They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

On a lighter note, my dreams have gone from reliving the past to complete and utter oddity. Either way, it's a kind of horror.

What a couple of days this has been....

Alive

I don't know what the hell you've all been up to. In fact, I don't want to know, so don't go and comment on this thread saying "Oh Z, I've been sooooooo like, you know, um, busy! Doing this and this and this and that and..."

The above will only earn you a permanent ignore and if I cared enough, I'd see that your sorry ass was kicked to hell.

But I don't care enough.

Now that we've got that settled....


I'm keeping my life together. Astrid doesn't quite have her head on straight, and I suppose she never really did, but she's just going to have to pull things together for herself. I've tried. But I can't play nursemaid to her. I've got a child who needs ONE of us to be there for him. Just because he's got two screwed up parents doesn't mean he needs to suffer for it.

We've patched things up sort-of. It's working out. We're not throwing the wall decorations at each other.

I take the child to the studio often. He's painting -- with his hands. He gets great joy putting little orange and green hand prints on everything. And he plays with my little carvings which I do mostly for his enjoyment. But he's forbidden from clay. He eats most of it. To see it, you'd think we starve him.

He's taken to calling me "Fyothe" which, according to him, means "Daddy" in some language that I don't know. He keeps me going even when I don't want to.

On a light note, I took Astrid and Child to Central Park for a hansom ride. I think they enjoyed it. Little One was more enamoured with the horse than anything the Park had to show him. And when it was done, he sat on my shoulders and spoke the to driver and pet the horse, switching in and out of his languages, though he kept remembering it was English for most people now and when he'd slip with the driver, he'd translate and continue in his intelligent babble.

When we were done with the Park, I asked him if he thought it was nice and he looked at me oddly and said, "You know. You were there" in Greek. He's too smart for me. How did I father this little thing?

Sometimes I wonder if I would have been anything like him had I had the advantages he does. Probably not. I was never so clever or so intelligent. I don't know what he gets from me except his dark hair. He should be grateful from my lack of contribution, I suppose.

Check In

Yeah, I've been gone. Go to hell.

In case you losers are wondering, that's where I've been for a while. Major shit has gone down and well, yeah, I'm one of the recruits. Just as well when there's nothing else to do. 

Time with Sundown

     I thought, since I've been gone for so long and particularly after a very unpleasant situation (understatement of the past century), it was time to post and give everyone a heads-up that I'm still kicking (and biting, and clawing and tearing people apart) because no one as of yet has been well-meaning enough to put me out of my misery after these long years.
I've been with Sundown. Never thought it would happen but, hell, I'm not a DH anymore so sure, why not? He invited, I went. The little one has been with his mother. I had no obligations and a very real need to get away.
J was a much needed cure and, unlike most of my other DH encounters, a positive bonding experience. He's always had some misguided faith in me and was never quick to believe the stories that circulated about me. It also helps that he's a bit crazy himself -- not in the insane way, well maybe, but more in a social impulsiveness that balks at the reserved withdrawn individuals (like me) and flies forth, heedless of what any other asshole thinks. So he got me drunk.
Well, I should preface this. DHs don't get drunk. You get drunk, you pass out, you're dead. That's the way it goes. You get tipsy, but nothing like drunk. I didn't quite realise this. I've never been drunk before. Of course, I've guzzled down hard liquor before like it was water but it didn't effect me too much. So at this bar he took me to I didn't even think that I could get drunk -- but then, I'm not a DH anymore, and I could. And I did. Drunk isn't the word. Shitfaced. He got me shitfaced. And then proceded to teach me LINE DANCING of all things.
I know you're all waiting for the answer, so I suppose I'll gratify you. Yes, I did it. And I was drunk for the first time in my whole fucking life. I think the chance to "ride that goddamn buckin' bronco like it's [my] last" was well deserved. But I did have enough sense to turn down the boots and the stetson.
It sort of reminded me of singing bawdy songs in Middle English while I was working on my farm once upon a time ago. I don't talk about it much -- but I enjoyed myself then. And drunken line-dancing was probably the most "fun" I've had since or before then. Thanks be to Sundown for that.
I won't be back home for a while. So with great hesitation, I continue to leave Valt in charge.

~Z

Sort-of-Squire Hijack: Real Concern

Valt again
Update on Z:

I have been Z's squire for a good while now. I know him. I understand him.

I didn't see him yesterday; naturally I assumed he was out with Astrid, doing something particularly romantic as it is his hidden-nature to do, perhaps reciting Shakespeare to her in some natural hotspring with floating rose petals as he had once tossed my way as an idea for the occasion. I didn't expect to see him.

I saw him today, only briefly. He did not look at all like the demi-god I know. Instead of radiant from the inevitable incessant love-making of the day before, he looked sleepless, haggard, red-eyed (I dread to say, like he had been rather emotionally upset for hours).

He behaved so distractedly, I questioned him. He made a mention of how sleeping in a cold bed had kept him awake, that he was going to take a little vacation somewhere -- alone. I asked him if everything went all right for V-Day. He practically withered right there. But that was the end of the conversation. He wanted to go talk to the baby.

Z doesn't get emotional over trifles and now I honestly fear for his happiness. Whatever happened yesterday was bad -- really bad. And Astrid won't talk to me either.

Sort-of-Squire Hijack: Pick Me Up

Hallo all!
It's Valt here, Z's sort-of-like-a-squire (only because the Council doesn't acknowledge me), bringing everyone a little change from the usual Z-ness.

Seriously, babyface, I'm not comandeering your journal. I promise! I just know you are having a bad spell and thought everyone needed a little pick-me-up! I promise that's all!

So let the fun begin!

Thanks to Canada for the idea, I decided I would offer a little practical advice to all of you aspiring squires out there, even for the non-aspiring squires. Heck, it's for everyone, and particularly for anyone who thinks they could do my job.



Ways to Deal with Your Hunter

1) Never offer your assistance: assume he doesn't want it, doesn't need it; he'll feel as if he really is self-sufficient and independent, and most of all, that you've finally learned your place. How could a low life worm like you be any use to him?

2) Never fix your mistakes: the more you try, the more you'll screw it up. Leave it for him. After all, *he* is the one who will do it right, like it should have been done, the first time.

3) Don't have a social life: what's that, you've got a girl/boy-friend? Oops, it looks like you're going to have to break it off! When you've got a child to watch that insists on speaking in tongues (that you don't know!), a nymph who can't keep track of her husband and his extended family who punishes you in his absense, there is no way you're getting sleep -- let alone having time to keep friends.

4) When he wants to know why in the gods' names he keeps you, reply "fatum est!" (it's fate!).

5) When in doubt, blame Ash. If you screw up big-time, don't worry! Ash screws up all the time and still looks like an angel.

6) If you can't blame it on Ash, blame it on Zarek. After all, Zarek gets blamed for everything he didn't do. Anyone would believe it!

6a) If your Hunter happens to be Zarek -- like me -- blame Valerius. There's no reason Valerius would have anything to do with you, but Zarek is more inclined to dislike him anyway.

7) Make bold (and definitely unprovable) assertions. One I find very useful: whenever he tells you to do something you don't want to, reply "Malim lingua mea cloacam maximam purgare" [I'd rather lick the Cloaca Maxima (ancient Rome's sewer) clean]. He can't make you back it up!

8) Know where Delos is and why it's (un)important.

9) Don't expect sympathy from your Hunter -- under any circumstance! If you do, you know you're just setting yourself up for some good quality whining-time. If you don't feel like listening to the whole "woe-is-me" ballad for the thousandth time in the past week, take it to a therapist. That or learn how to play the violin for accompaniment.

10) Never make fun of your hunter. Shit.



Cheer up all, even if it is Valentine's Day.

Peace, babyface.

Valt

Love on the Rocks -- No Ice

     I once told Astrid that I sometimes wanted to be mortal again. She didn't understand why. I told her that love doesn't last forever -- but I wanted it at least for a lifetime. She kissed me, told me not to think about those things; it would, in fact, last forever. And while I worried, I never doubted her. If she said it would last forever, then of course, it would.
So when I started feeling estranged, I thought "don't take it personally. It's not personal. She needs space." And I gave her space. I know what it's like to have to step back from everything and regroup, gather pieces of yourself and fit them back together -- nothing broken, just general repairs of the soul. But now, it seems to have surpassed the need for space.
For the past two weeks, she has not said one word to me. I know only what she does through the child. It seems she is always busy with others, never has time for me. Before these past two weeks, she would tell me herself. She'd be busy but we'd make a date for an intimate little restaurant in New York to spend time with each other while her sisters took the babe. And I'd get to the restaurant -- and she'd never come. She never apologised either for standing me up -- told me she was busy, lost track of time. I allowed it, knowing she would never truly or intentionally do that to me. We would start to have a conversation, and then she'd tell me she had to leave for something, hold that thought, and never come back. We had a period where neither of us said anything to the other for four days prior to this.
I would say it is as much my fault as hers -- after all, it takes two for a conversation -- but even when I have tried to talk to her, address her, if she doesn't find something else to do in the middle of it, she ignores me.
I suppose she woke up. That's all I can think of. She woke up and realised that whatever else I am, I'm not good enough for her -- that others deserve her time, her affection more than I do.
I can't say I didn't see it coming. I told her she'd get tired of me, no longer want me. She told me it was nonsense. I told her it was true.
Maybe she'll come out of this, and I can go on with my life, feeling like I haven't lost the (second --after all, the baby comes first) best thing that's ever happened to me. If she doesn't.... I don't want to think about what that would mean.