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a bit crazy himself -- not in the insane way, well maybe, but more in a social impulsiveness that balks at the reserved withdrawn individuals (like me) and flies forth, heedless of what any other asshole thinks.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
Monday, March 12, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
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
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
Friday, February 9, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sort-of-Squire Education
I've been having fun tormenting the poor little sort-of squire. I am having him brush up on his ancient civilisation geography. He is pretty okay with the Roman geography from Republic to Empirial times. Deep in his core, he's Roman. It's almost revolting. He speaks Latin pretty well for a contemporary mortal.
It's the Greek he's having a little problem with. I gave him until tomorrow to know it. The only places he knew were Mt. Olympus and Athens. That would not cut it. After all, he should know where Sparta and Mycenae are at the very least. And I thought places like Delos, Dodona and Eleusis would be beneficial for him to know as well. It is my chosen culture -- he should know something about it.
Seriously, he should just be grateful that I have not enrolled him in a Ancient Greek language course. I've tried to at least to get him to use the letters and start trying proper pronunciation. He makes it up fairly well -- his actor's training coming in. The little one helps him too -- poor Valt, so humiliated by being instructed by a babe. But hey, if he knew it before he came to me, he wouldn't have had to start learning it now. No sympathy.
A regular slave-driver,
Z
It's the Greek he's having a little problem with. I gave him until tomorrow to know it. The only places he knew were Mt. Olympus and Athens. That would not cut it. After all, he should know where Sparta and Mycenae are at the very least. And I thought places like Delos, Dodona and Eleusis would be beneficial for him to know as well. It is my chosen culture -- he should know something about it.
Seriously, he should just be grateful that I have not enrolled him in a Ancient Greek language course. I've tried to at least to get him to use the letters and start trying proper pronunciation. He makes it up fairly well -- his actor's training coming in. The little one helps him too -- poor Valt, so humiliated by being instructed by a babe. But hey, if he knew it before he came to me, he wouldn't have had to start learning it now. No sympathy.
A regular slave-driver,
Z
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Too Bloody Perfect
I know "they" say that life has a habit of taking over. And like many other things "they" say, I thought it was complete bullshit. I mean, after all, 900 years of nothing to do pretty much cures you of saying "well, things just got in the way, and I was too busy" because, face it, there's nothing to do in Alaska. But even we fossils can be surprised sometimes -- and yes, life did get in the way. So I wasn't here, as I am sure you all noticed.
Now, just because I'm out there battling the "forces of evil" for all you spoiled little brats to continue living life as you know it, don't all fall apart at once with your overwhelming gratitude and concern.
So, what was the fearless Z doing? Good question. I ask that myself now and then. Making an ass out of myself probably, or at the very least, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place -- particularly if my astounding (bad) luck continues to live up to its reputation. So what was I doing? That's right, voluntary active service for the undead army of the Virgin (read in: slut) Goddess, brought to you by Hell's one and only Acheron (the brand where you can shit on everyone and come out smelling like roses!)
As if fighting along side those dead-beats isn't enough, there was no internet, so I had to endure their company as well. I don't know about any of you, but being in Ash's company for anything more than a few hours makes me look for the vomitorium. Was there anyone ever alive who appeared more disgustingly perfect? He doesn't let you know that his words of wisdom are plagarised from some of us (like me) who had more sense than he did when they (I) met him. He doesn't let you know about how many minds he's screwed up with fictitious thoughts (like blaming a certain person for the destruction of an entire town left to that certain person's care). The way he likes to drop melodramatic little hints about his life to arouse sympathy and then act as if he never meant to say it. He doesn't even tell you that he has made mistakes. Ash? Make mistakes? Oh, neeeeeeeeeveeeeeeer. Ugh... It was a terrible terrible time.
Ash, dude, just like, look in a toilet after you've gone and see that your turds are brown and stink like the rest of ours. Sorry to break it to you, but they are not diamonds. FYI.
But! It wasn't all Ash talking about himself. The others talked about themselves too. Okay, you know what? If any of you bastards are reading this: if I wanted a friggin biography, I would have asked you for it. Likely, if I can't find it in a textbook, then your life really wasn't all that interesting anyway. Why would I want to know about them two thousand years later? Yeah, that's right. Point.
I did get a little free time in the midst of this boyscout one-up-ya camp-fire story-telling time however. And I made good use of it. I found myself a studio. I like Mt. Olympus and all that. Really, it's amazing to be living there, among the Gods and Goddess I worshipped in my lifetime -- underdog success story, slave turned demi-god. But.... Yeah, don't I sound ungrateful? But, it's not a good place for me to work -- and when I say work, I mean sculpt. I like the glass enclosure, I like the sun coming in at every angle. I don't like when one of the muses (I can't tell them apart) comes tapping on the glass and then tries to use sign language to tell me something that I could have lived without knowing. Or when Astrid's sisters come into our apartments and stand there watching me as if I'm some sort of exhibit. I can imagine them thinking "I never get over how much those humans look like us. It always looks like an ant farm from up here." Not for me. So, hopefully, I will be able to outfit the new studio with everything -- maybe even start branching out into metals. That would be very interesting.
Worn out Z, signing off.
Now, just because I'm out there battling the "forces of evil" for all you spoiled little brats to continue living life as you know it, don't all fall apart at once with your overwhelming gratitude and concern.
So, what was the fearless Z doing? Good question. I ask that myself now and then. Making an ass out of myself probably, or at the very least, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place -- particularly if my astounding (bad) luck continues to live up to its reputation. So what was I doing? That's right, voluntary active service for the undead army of the Virgin (read in: slut) Goddess, brought to you by Hell's one and only Acheron (the brand where you can shit on everyone and come out smelling like roses!)
As if fighting along side those dead-beats isn't enough, there was no internet, so I had to endure their company as well. I don't know about any of you, but being in Ash's company for anything more than a few hours makes me look for the vomitorium. Was there anyone ever alive who appeared more disgustingly perfect? He doesn't let you know that his words of wisdom are plagarised from some of us (like me) who had more sense than he did when they (I) met him. He doesn't let you know about how many minds he's screwed up with fictitious thoughts (like blaming a certain person for the destruction of an entire town left to that certain person's care). The way he likes to drop melodramatic little hints about his life to arouse sympathy and then act as if he never meant to say it. He doesn't even tell you that he has made mistakes. Ash? Make mistakes? Oh, neeeeeeeeeveeeeeeer. Ugh... It was a terrible terrible time.
Ash, dude, just like, look in a toilet after you've gone and see that your turds are brown and stink like the rest of ours. Sorry to break it to you, but they are not diamonds. FYI.
But! It wasn't all Ash talking about himself. The others talked about themselves too. Okay, you know what? If any of you bastards are reading this: if I wanted a friggin biography, I would have asked you for it. Likely, if I can't find it in a textbook, then your life really wasn't all that interesting anyway. Why would I want to know about them two thousand years later? Yeah, that's right. Point.
I did get a little free time in the midst of this boyscout one-up-ya camp-fire story-telling time however. And I made good use of it. I found myself a studio. I like Mt. Olympus and all that. Really, it's amazing to be living there, among the Gods and Goddess I worshipped in my lifetime -- underdog success story, slave turned demi-god. But.... Yeah, don't I sound ungrateful? But, it's not a good place for me to work -- and when I say work, I mean sculpt. I like the glass enclosure, I like the sun coming in at every angle. I don't like when one of the muses (I can't tell them apart) comes tapping on the glass and then tries to use sign language to tell me something that I could have lived without knowing. Or when Astrid's sisters come into our apartments and stand there watching me as if I'm some sort of exhibit. I can imagine them thinking "I never get over how much those humans look like us. It always looks like an ant farm from up here." Not for me. So, hopefully, I will be able to outfit the new studio with everything -- maybe even start branching out into metals. That would be very interesting.
Worn out Z, signing off.
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