Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous 10

Nov. 12th, 2007

saoirse, downcast

Reeve (not Reeve)

I'll still support Mathias for reeve if the question comes up again -- and Aislin to deal with Baron Garvis, too, for that matter. But I'd rather have no reeve than have the position made a mockery (although we did a fine job of that this weekend, too, I wager)... and I'm not signing up for a revolution. If the time comes to fight, I'll fight... but Ruxby's words frightened me. She keeps on that track, she'll be more dangerous than the sidhe.

Oct. 27th, 2007


The man has excellent timing. By which I mean, not.

I meant to say something about his spectacular timing a week ago -- because really, everything else I'm dealing with, and then he asks me out on a date?!

But since I forgot, I'll just note that a good time was had by all, and I think we'd both do it again. That's all you sots need to know anyway.

Oct. 14th, 2007

saoirse, downcast

Too many emotions

All that time I spent talking with Baron Morgan -- the drinks we shared -- and he couldn't talk to me himself about the discovery at the balefire? All the stories he told me about his brother, and the best he could do for me was a "sorry for your loss" -- when my grandfather was in fact not lost but found again, and found in torment... and he didn't have the courage to talk to me about it himself. That's all I wanted, and it wasn't too much to ask. Just a goddamned word. But no, I don't warrant that. It's easy to thank me for jumping in front of a shotgun -- but treating me like the valuable member of the court I was told three days ago I was was too much trouble. Fuck that, and fuck him. To think I actually thought... nah. No, stupid. I'm stupid and he's stupid and it's stupid and I want to cry now. It... it just hurts, it flat hurts.

Meanwhile, there's a man who did do the right thing, and he's being punished for it -- punished because another man feels guilty for not doing the right thing first. It's wrong, and there's not a man with the ability to stop this madness stepping up to do so. It's cosmically wrong, and there's not a damned thing I could do about it. I'd punch something if it would help, but I'd probably just break my wrist.

I'm disappointed. No, I'm goddamned bloody heartbroken. I don't expect the sidhe to be fairy-tale rulers; I'm not that naive. They're not the saviors of kithain -- they're just men. They're just people, like the rest of us, with pointy ears and prettier faces and a mite more training and an astronomically better PR campaign. But I expect them to be at least decent people -- I don't think that's too much to ask either. And yet most of them aren't -- and although I know I shouldn't be surprised or disappointed by that anymore, I still am. I think I always will be.

And now... I'm scared. I know Lord Adam didn't want me beholden to him -- but now, whether he likes it or not, I am. And I want to help him, because I'm afraid of what will happen to him... but I hold back, because I'm afraid of what will happen to me. And I'm afraid of what I feel right now, because it makes no sense at all. Nothing is certain for me today -- except that this isn't where I want to be. And I wish I were braver, and there are many times when I think I could be, but this isn't one of them.


And then, on top of it all, is this: it should have been me. It could have been me. I should have given Granddad the goddamned tragoida when he bloody asked me. The one thing he ever directly asked of me, and I was too fucking self-centered to deliver. All he wanted anymore -- and then my granddad would have passed in peace, instead of bleeding out in a dirty alley; then it would have been me shot in the wee hours of that March morning -- and not being bloody seventy I would have turned around and kicked that Harbinger's arse. And if I hadn't kicked his arse -- well, then I would have been trapped in a hell of constant burning, not him. Not Granddad. And that's the way it should have been.

Aye -- the Plan C that I insisted to Lord Adam had to exist would have been to trade myself for my grandfather; take his place in the fire. And spare me the tripe about how Granddad wouldn't have wanted that; it's not the bloody point. The bloody point is that he raised me, he loved me, he taught me well, he did everything for me and I flat wasn't there for him when he needed me -- at any point where he needed me. And despite Aislin's pretty lies about Granddad being proud of me... I'll never forgive myself for that. Especially not now -- not ever.

Oct. 3rd, 2007

saoirse, downcast

Annabeth Kathleen Fitzpatrick Donnelly

My grandmother was born in Arcata, and moved to Bright Moon when she was a teenager. She and Granddad met in high school. She was dating his best friend at the time. The way Granddad told it, he fell in love at first sight -- and while it was really too bad for his friend, he never stood a chance, 'cause no woman could resist the ol' Jack Donnelly charm.

The way Grandma tells it, Granddad at sixteen was a total jackass. The ol' Jack Donnelly charm consisted of strutting around, bragging and cracking bad puns. He was infamous for getting into fights and drinking behind the gym. Grandma thought he was a complete loser.

Then one day Grandma and her boyfriend got into an argument and he blackened her eye. She covered it up with makeup and told her parents she'd been hit with a baseball... but when she got to homeroom the next morning Granddad took one look at her, turned red, and marched out of the room. After class, another friend ran up and told her that Jack Donnelly had marched into her homeroom and suckerpunched Grandma's boyfriend; a fight broke out, six boys got suspended from school, and both Granddad and the boyfriend got sent to the hospital.

When Grandma got to the hospital that afternoon, she went to see Jack Donnelly first so she could give him a piece of her mind. But when they started talking... Grandma admits that most likely, he was the same Jack Donnelly that day that he'd always been. But she started seeing him differently. They sat and talked, and she found out that the morning's excitement marked the first time he'd ever swung first in a fight — most of the time he got caught fighting, he'd been trying to break them up. He swaggered 'cause he wanted too look taller and made jokes trying to get Grandma's attention — and when she asked why, he blinked and said "Because I like you! And I just wanted you to like me. Hell, if I'd known it was going to take Colin McCullough breaking my nose to get your attention, I'd have done that ages ago." And she laughed at his bluntness... but she also agreed to go on a date with him. And the rest became history — my history, anyway.


Granddad tells me -- told me -- that though Grandma was as pretty as she'd ever been, her smile hasn't been the same since my mother died. I never really understood, 'cause it's always been beautiful to me... but I think I do now. It hasn't been the same since we lost Granddad. There's a sadness behind it -- a sadness that I know now I've seen before, but I didn't know what it was.

One of my last thoughts when I went down was for Grandma. She's buried her parents, her brother, her daughter and son-in-law, and this year her husband, and each loss took another bit of her heart away. And it's funny, but in that moment I wasn't praying to live so much as I was praying she wouldn't have to bury me too. I'll always do what I have to do -- I won't dishonor my granddad with less -- but I know losing her granddaughter could be the end for her. And she deserves better than that, she does.

Sep. 17th, 2007

saoirse, downcast

The Baron is dead, long live the Baron

I’ve been putting this off.

I didn’t know Baron Vors Vulhane ap Fiona very long… nor did I get to know him particularly well in that time. I know that he was generous and accommodating. I know that although he stood head and shoulders above most of the court, it was never in his nature to look down on the average fae under his rule. I came to like him in the brief time that I was in his service… and I find myself wishing that I had gotten to know him better, as I believe I would have come to like him even more.

Of Baron Jonah Morgan ap Gwydion, I know even less. Though known to be Lord Vulhane’s mortal brother, Baron Morgan never seemed to spend much time with him; rather, our new Summer Lord has always been quiet, solemn, and fond of his own company. He and his brother share striking good looks; one can only hope that they share a just and genial spirit as well.

And as regards that hope, one may fairly say “so far, so good”. Baron Morgan seems to be taking his brother’s death at least as well as one could expect, and I admired his commitment to duty in the face of his personal tragedy (or I did once I realized that it was discipline and not lack of emotion that kept his tears from showing). He is one capable of inspiring loyalty even in suspicious hearts. There are worse qualities in a leader.

And perhaps I shall meet Lord Vulhane again someday. I should be quite pleased.

We lost Mistress Lyris Stephanos that night as well. I did know her a little better, if only slightly. Lyris, I am not sorry I teased you. I do believe I am sorry that I was unable to introduce you to the wondrous things lurking behind the laughter. If either of them was truly “him”, I am sorry you weren’t able to pursue him in the time you had. And I am sorry that he wasn’t able to experience the beauty of you, as well. Rest peacefully.
saoirse, downcast

Moutains out of molehills

I really don't see the point in making such a fuss. T'was just a picture Lord Adam sketched, and not a very good picture at that. He made me look far too pretty.

Aug. 10th, 2007

saoirse, downcast


My dreams of recent have been filled with tall, strong, dark, handsome men. Of course by 'tall' I mean tree, by 'strong' I mean ox, by 'dark' I mean blue and by 'handsome' I mean rawr. Some of the gentlemen I even recognise — and no, I'm not sayin' which, not even here. Even if one of them only rightly has himself to blame.

'Tisn't a bad thing, mind. Not quite certain yet whether it's a good thing — but no, definitely not a bad thing.

Aug. 5th, 2007


Connections made and missed

Haven't seen Karl -- err, Heimdall lately. Hope I haven't scared him off. I know we didn't part on the best of terms... but y'know, I know years pass and people can change. Maybe his changes are more than superficial? I can hope, but there's only one way to find out -- and if he never comes around, I never will.

That Colin's a solid fellow. Gruff; I mighta blown him off at first if I wasn't so eager to keep track of potential happenin's with the Iron Bay Theatre. But since he's been hanging around and I've gotten to know him a bit better I've found myself starting to like him. Hopefully he'll decide to stick around.

If you ask me (and of course no one did, but that'll never stop me) Lady Lyra needs to get out more, needs to... ah, I don't know how to put it. Spend more time round normal folks? Learn how to be not such a prissy princess. She's fun when she remembers how to laugh. And teasin' her is way too much fun. (Note to self: either S.J.M. or S.D.F. are possibilities.)

Note to self #2: hot or not, remember that Sir Frost is trouble. Not direct sword-is-at-your-throat trouble, but red-faced-before-your-liege-lord trouble. And there's no gettin' out of the second kind of trouble with a quick hoof to the balls.

On a completely separate note, I find myself suddenly tempted to brushup my arm wrestling technique. And I find that kinda surprising.

And on another separate note -- Note to self #3: a two-foot-long prehensile tongues is all well and good until you find out the boy it belongs to ain't actually eighteen. Make certain you know what the fuck you're doing before you even think about doing it -- or him -- got it? Good.

Man, gatherings haven't been that interesting in a while. Hope it keeps up.

Jul. 6th, 2007


New beginnings

First court session in a long time tomorrow night. First with our new Baron -- and the first since I've been in charge of Bradigan's, as well. Hope I don't get my ass chewed. I mean, I think I'm doing a smash-up job, but who knows what the new lord is going to think. Thank god I'm off the crutches, s'all I can say; that would make a fine impression.

It's been quiet around here of late. Seems everyone's been laying low, lately, waiting to see what happens. Well, tomorrow night we find out.

May. 29th, 2007



At the age of eleven, I joined an intramural hockey team. I was one of the younger players, but I was good. My then-best friend Chanhseng and I had a pair of rivals on another team, named Shelley and Ericka. I don't remember why we didn't like each other -- if there ever was a reason, I mean. We were all eleven and twelve; girls that age don't usually need reasons to dislike each other.

After our first victory, Gramma and Grampa took me out to dinner... and that night, Grampa gave me a gift: his own uncle's hockey stick. Turns out my great-great-uncle competed on the 1908 Irish Olympic team, and swore by his lucky bat: Ailtíne Catharnaigh, the nimble fox. It's easily a hundred years old now, but it's made of good, solid wood, and with care I'll be able to pass it on to my children.

But I get ahead of myself. When I was eleven, I thought an antique hockey stick was probably the dorkiest thing in the world, but I was much too smart to actually say so to Grampa. Then Gramma made noise about it being too valuable for a kid to use, and that only made certain I used it in the next game and from then on.

The season marched on, and we made it to the playoffs. In the first game, we went up against Shelley's team. It was a great game -- the lead went back and forth like a hot potato -- it was close throughout the entire game, and we wound tied for most of the last quarter. We were still tied going into the last few seconds of the game when I raced for the ball at the same time as Chanhseng, Shelley and Ericka. Ericka got to it first, and I was so focused on her I didn't see Shelley swing.

Stars burst before my eyes and the world turned upside down. For a second, time slowed... and through blinding white light I saw grass speeding towards my face. I gripped the stick tight in my right hand as my left shot out to the grass; I caught myself, flipped, and landed on my toes. Again through the light I saw Ericka about to score -- well, mostly I saw the ball; Ericka was kind of a vague, slow-moving shadow -- and I bolted forward, stole the ball, and almost before I knew it I had raced back across the field and was aiming for my own goal.

I shot. I scored. Someone behind me -- probably Ericka -- said "What- where's the ball?"

The buzzer rang, and I heard my grandfather cheer as the rest of the players realized I'd scored. It was another second before the crowd caught up, and then the roar was deafening. Chanhseng was immediately all over me, shrieking with laughter and babbling about how did I do that flip, I should be a cheerleader, how did I move so fast, she'd hardly seen me, and on and on -- until the coach pulled her off and made me go sit down so he could look at my head. It wasn't until I was sitting down that I realized my legs looked strange, and although I'd been hit in the back of the head it was the front that tingled.

So that was my chrysalis, nice and dramatic, and mostly thanks to a cheating preteen and her savvy highsticking. Grampa -- who was also a satyr, as it turned out; my chrysalis helped reawake his fae self, and I was almost more shocked to see the change in him than in myself! -- Grampa gave most of the credit to Catharnaigh. But I give a lot of the credit to him.

Previous 10