Ravings of a Textual Deviant

Selene’s power waxes, our blood heats.  When she is in her full glory, she fills us with her power. No language has words for the pure joy that comes of running through a chiaroscuro forest on the First Night, be it cloudy or clear. She beckons us forth, pulling us from home and hearth to join our true family. We’re only fully alive and ourselves in her light. We give her all she asks and more, ‘til she wanes, releasing us to the ordinary world while she rests.

Even a blind lycanthrope knows when it’s “that time of the month.”

For millennia, these lands were ours. When the strangers appeared—and strange you were—you barely knew we existed; we were the stuff of your myths.

You made yourselves at home in our forests and prairies. When we returned from the dreamlands, we found the landscape crawling with you. We tried to live with you, but you killed prey and burned down forage for your fields. After long debate, we retaliated in kind, heavy-hearted at the senseless waste.

It didn’t stop you.

We chose retreat, then, moving fully into the dreamlands, and there we’ll stay, returning only in your imagination.

After far too long on hiatus, there’s a new obnoxious shirt in the Bad Attitude T-Shirt Gallery.

Spring decided to hit Central Indiana with a big hello and morning-rush-hour snowstorm today. I actually turned on the television and managed to get some weather and traffic news between commercials. After about ten minutes, Minx decided that his housemonkey wasn’t going out in that today. Neither is my boss, nor are about a quarter of my people, and that’s just the ones I know about so far.

I’m working from home, and after a mentally exhausting day yesterday, I’m happy to do so. It’s been a while since I got to tech-write in my pajamas.

Today, I demo’d my Thing for the Chief Technology Officer of the company I work for. He liked it. It’s going to be piloted.

As far back as he could remember, all he’d wanted was to be around celebrities. His first job out of college was as a newspaper photographer, but his subjects ignored him at best. He moved on to party planning, longing for a closer orbit. He found himself dismissed as mere staff, but at least they spoke with him, and he picked up tidbits that admitted him to more rarefied air.

Eventually, he was known at every exclusive club, and appeared in the backgrounds of magazine photos. He saved every picture, evidence that he’d arrived.

They never knew he was there.

Sir Horace gazed upon the dragon’s still form and asked his would-be squire, “Now what?”

“Take the head as a trophy,” the lad ventured.

“No.”

“Search for its treasure?”

“No.”

“Rescue a princess!”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“We call a hazmat team for cleanup, alert the wildlife authorities, write an environmental-impact report, and hope it  wasn’t an endangered species.”

The would-be squire made a rude noise and left.

“That’s the third one this week,” said the dragon, opening her eyes and stretching langorously on the sward.

“Better to find out now than later,” Sir Horace intoned.

“I agree,” replied his partner.

Last night was the second time I’ve seen Gaelic Storm live, and both times, they’ve delivered a fun, high-energy show. There were a couple of new songs, and some of the same old jokes, including GS’s very own variations on “Johnny Tarr.” I didn’t get to hear a couple of songs I was hoping for, but I certainly didn’t go away wanting for a good time. They had a good mix of traditional and original pieces, and while Patrick Murphy did most of the singing, Steve Twigger was very strong when his turn came around. I’m looking forward to some more new material when they come back to Indy in September, but lack of it won’t keep me away. Hope to see you there.

In which Our Heroes leave behind one source of annoyance and create another.

Other than a brief, late-night stop at some anonymous Chilean seaport, the remainder of Our Heroes’ latest sea voyage was uneventful. They disembarked at Arica, Chile, as planned, along with Prince Lvov and Yevgeny, and the inimitable Lord Percy. His Lordship immediately commandeered all the available porters to unload the immense quantity of baggage necessary for an extended Andean expedition with all the comforts of home, leaving Team TransAmerica very grateful for the (now-uncursed) stone porters they’d hauled most of the way ‘round South America.

Mrs. Anderson was kind enough to assist Lord Percy with his rail travel arrangements, ensuring that the her party would have at least a week’s head start and therefore would be less likely to encounter him in the future. He repaid her with an intentional slur on her virtue (“She’s wearing trousers, after all!”) and an unintentional three-figure translator’s fee. Team TransAmerica found itself with just enough time for a meal and a trip to the newsstand before their train departed for the Bolivian border. Miss Kingston employed her charm to secure first-class accommodations at bargain rates, and Our Heroes were soon on their way, reading newspaper articles about the arrival of a certain exiled Alaskan prince’s alleged arrival in Arica (On that very same day!), and a very disturbing mystery involving mutilation of livestock.

It didn’t take long for Team TransAmerica to discover that one of their fellow-travelers was a Bolivian reporter, one Miss Garcia y Navarro. She readily admitted that her presence was no accident; after all, if one wishes to report, one goes where the story is. She allowed as how she had previously interviewed the members of the Turtle Island team, Republique, and part of Brasilia Imperial. In a disturbing turn of events, Princess Imperial Isabelle has decided that death is no excuse for failure, and brought her afflicted team members back to something resembling their previous existence, and sent them across the whole of eastern Brazil to La Paz to await their less metabolically-challenged companheiros. It was not, the reporter asserted, a good interview. Fortunately, Prince Lvov is prepared for any eventuality and drew upon his ingenuity to both distract and divert the lovely young journalist—he assigned the task to Yevgeny.

With Miss Garcia y Navarro presumably out of the way, Team TransAmerica turned its attention to business, speculating about various ways to delay the other teams. His Highness’s suggestion of a very temporary disabling of a small section of rail quickly escalated into an indiscreet discussion, led by Mr. Laughton, of causing landslides or blowing up sections of the track. The discussion was temporarily interrupted by an exchange of loud booms, during which the train accelerated to tooth-rattling speed in an effort to escape the area.

Upon their train’s arrival at the Bolivian border, Team TransAmerica found itself detained, and no way to contact His Highness and Yevgeny, with Mr. Laughton and Dr. Hu led off separately for questioning. Both gentlemen engaged in extended discussions with various individuals, and as we close this episode, we leave them contemplating the wisdom of discussing sabotage in public.

Quote of the Game
Dr. Hu: (upon being asked to blow up a section of the railroad) No!
Mr. Laughton: Why?
Dr. Hu: Crime!

“Rapunzel, let down your hair,” cried the prince.

She complied, and he used her tawny locks to scale the tower.

He spoke to her of his noble lineage, his brave deeds, his eternal love for, and looked at her in that way that highborn men have. Finally, he vowed to return upon the morrow and spirit her away.

True to his word, he returned to find a sturdy rope of braids already dangling from the window. He clambered up, but instead of a maiden, found only a note.

“Great idea—thanks!”