Archives

Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse, a side note.

May20

[personal profile] clare_dragonfly asked: How/why did all of these gods end up returning at around the same time, anyway?

The exact thought process moving those that we call the Returned Gods cannot easily be divined, because those that were questioned often chose to die or lie rather than divulge too much.

However, what can be determined is as thus:

When the Gods Above All chose to lock themselves in Ellehem with many of their wayward children, they did so quite against the wishes of those children. The children liked Earth; they liked worship; they liked having all those humans to serve them.

And so they fought, in a long and bloody war that lasted nearly a thousand years. When they were done, they had killed several of the Gods Above – as enough humans can take down an Ellehemaei, if they know the right weapons, so can enough Ellehemaei take down one of their forbears. They had imprisoned several others. And they had lost many, many of their own, as well, in numbers equivalent to the loss of human life during the time of the departed gods’ return.

It took them time to lick their wounds, to restore their numbers, to fight to a holding point between themselves and the Gods Above All. It took centuries – millennia – all the time telling themselves and their children and grand-children how wonderful the world would be, when they could return.

It took all of that, and another battle, a battle not directly against the Gods Above All (although there was quite a distractionary battle going on at the time, between the recalcitrant children and the Gods Above All), but between those who would return and the wards themselves. But in mid-2011, on the day of solstice, which was a day of strong belief, they manage to burst the wards and, all over the world, old gates between the worlds opened up.

Losing track of terms? Check them all out here

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534926.html. You can comment here or there.

Next: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/11/30/the-children-of-the-gods/

Amends

May17

This may require more context than is available; it comes out of a couple different Addergoole-based RP’s .

Bracken is a former Addergoole student. not a good one, either, rebellious and difficult. She’s, at the point of this story, going through a heartbreak, trying to fix the damage in her heart and her psyche, and trying to make amends with people she’s harmed. Nick is her Kept. Alexi was, at one point, Bracken’s last year of school and Alexi’s first, Bracken’s Kept.

Sometime around Year 21 of the Addergoole school; 5 years after the world ended

There had been easy pieces of Bracken’s recovery journey.

Talking to the teachers at school had not been comfortable, but she’d been able to yell, to lay blame, to explain I wasn’t a bad kid, not really. I was terrified. And then you yelled at me.

Talking to the mind-healer had not been comfortable, but it had been productive. She felt her fear trickling away, even as the pain remained. She felt a sense of worth she’d never before known, and she could begin to allow herself the comfort of the man in her bed, the one who had told her he’d stay.

(The other one had said he’d stay too. But, at the moment, that wasn’t what she was trying to fix. He had his own road to walk).

This one was harder. This wasn’t someone who had wronged her; this wasn’t the ghosts in her own head, or someone who loved her as she was, scars and broken pieces and all. This was someone who clearly felt that she had wronged him, which was a whole new kettle of fish.

Nick, the teleporter who had stayed, brought her to Silas and Orlaith’s door, not for nearly the first time. And, again, poor timing or just bad luck, Alexi answered.

Bracken studied the skinny hermaphrodite and, for a moment, could not find the words to say. Nick’s gentle prod to her side reminded her that staring at someone could be considered intimidating.

She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He took a step backwards, as if the small space could protect him more than the threshold she wasn’t going to cross without an invitation.

Nick’s hand on her back calmed her before she could say something stupid. “I came to talk to you, if it’s okay…?” He was wearing a collar. It struck her that the only time she had seen him without had been just before she’d put hers on him, and just after she’d taken it off.

“To me?” Alexi squeaked it out. “Uh. Why?”

That was a very good question. Bracken took a moment to suss out a decent answer. “You’re scared of me.”

“Well, yeah.” He peered at her, seeming to be suggesting that wasn’t really an answer.

“That means I did something wrong.”

“Uh? I mean… I guess I mean uh?” Alexi took another little step backwards, hand hovering over what Bracken assumed was a panic button. She held up both her hands.

“I screwed up, Alexi. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I promise, it was never my intent to hurt you. And if I did, if you’re still scared of me now, it means I did something really wrong. And I’d like to make amends.”

The hermaphrodite blinked owlishly at her. “You want to… apologize?”

“Yeah.” She frowned, and found herself looking down at her toes, shoulders hunched. “I do. I want to make things better.”

“Why?” He was moving back towards the gate, at least.

She shrugged hard. This was hard. People were a lot harder to fix than cars, or clothes, or buildings. “Because I didn’t mean to make things bad in the first place. And…” Her shoulders jerked again. “It bugs me that I hurt you. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she knew it as soon as it was out of her mouth. “You can’t erase the past.” He’s stopped moving closer. “You can’t undo it.”

“No. No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. But maybe I can make amends?” She was running out of ways to say the same thing. “Maybe we can, I dunno, understand each other a little better?”

He thought about that for long enough that she was starting to squirm. Finally, he nodded. “Come on in, if you mean those who reside here no harm.”

“I mean you and yours no harm.” She was surprised to find his invitation worked. “I thought you were…”

“I’m a kept boy without being Kept.” He smiled for the first time she she’d arrived. “I never really had a problem with that part of it.”

“I noticed. Urm.” She followed him into the small gate-house, which was surprisingly large enough for the three of them and rather well-appointed inside. “That’s why I was surprised when I saw you, and you were…” Hanging out with Marius had not improved her vocabulary. She flapped a hand.

“Frightened,” Nick provided.

“Frightened. Yes.”

Alexi frowned. “That bothered you?”

“Yeah?” She swallowed and struggled not to yell. “Yeah, it bothered me. I’m not scary. I’m not the bad guy.” She shrugged roughly. “I rescue people. I help people. I’m not good with people, but I’m not one of the monsters.”

“I know.” Alexi’s voice was soft, barely audible. Bracken glanced at him, then looked again. He looked a little confused, and a little worried. “I know, Bracken. You were never one of the bad guys.”

He reached across the small space and, very carefully, as if afraid she’d bite, he patted her knee. “I know that.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be reassured or more worried, but she felt a little tension leaving her shoulders anyway. A glance at Nick told her that he was, if not smiling, at least frowning less. “You’re still scared of me, though.”

“You were so angry. All through my whole first year. And when you showed up here, you were angry again. You’re kind of scary when you’re angry.”

“I fix things.” She sounded like she was pleading, and she wasn’t sure she cared.

“If you’ve ever seen yourself waving a wrench around…” Alexi shrugged. “Sorry. I mean. I know you’re one of the good guys. But you’re just kind of scary. And when I was Kept by you – you were angry all the time. So you were kind of scary all the time.” Alexi shrugged again. “Sorry. I really am. I’m not trying to freak you out…”

Bracken sighed. She was beginning to understand what happened. “No, it’s all right. I think I get it.” She mirrored the hermaphrodite’s gesture, patting a bony knee. “You’re happy here?”

“I really am.” The smile that lit up that face was something Bracken didn’t remember seeing often, and it was short-lived, sliding quickly to something like worry. “Are you?”

She glanced over at Nick, then back to her former Kept. “Happy?” It was a question she’d never really been comfortable with. “I’m learning how to be.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534576.html. You can comment here or there.

Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse, Part II

May17

This follows after Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse, Part I

The returned gods had already started killing people, simply by direct deaths – smiting, experimentation, accident. However, they would up their death count by orders of magnitude when they began fighting amongst themselves.

When two gods fight, they often do so on a very large scale. Fireballs can miss their target. Ditto a cloud of ice. Ceilings can collapse – buildings can collapse. Ruin a big enough dam and a city can be lost in an instant. Set the wrong thing on fire and you end up with gruesome deaths.

The returned gods did all of this and more. They broke bridges, buildings, roads. They blew up gas stations. Any given ten minutes of the gods fighting looked like something out of an action movie (or it looked liked two people staring at each other and muttering. “Destroy Mind” leaves very little residue. But very few fights were conducted that way).

They fought over territory. Some unwisely claimed ancestral lands and then learned that the real meat was in other places, places that small, petty gods had claimed. Some found that three of four of them had claimed what had been different places, once upon a time, and were now one big city.

They fought over laws – how they would govern, how they would work in and around the human laws and power structures. They fought over perceived and real insults.

And then the Ellehemaei who had remained, tired of this show and indignant about the entire thing, got in on the act, and started fighting back.

How and why did the returned gods all return at once? Answer here: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534926.html / http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/668774.html / http://addergoole.livejournal.com/237411.html

Part III: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/540099.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534355.html. You can comment here or there.

Magic Mondays: Faerie Apocalype – Tlacatl

May13

[personal profile] rix_scaedu Asks:

Okay, if you have Meentik Panida, you can make a sheep, right?

If you have Meentik Tlactl and you’re strong enough, old enough, etc, can you make a person?

Sort of.

Panida covers all aspects of animals: their thoughts (such as they are), their emotions, their flesh.

However, Tlacatl only covers one portion of people (human or Ellehemaei*), the flesh. So, with Meentik Tlacatl at a high enough level (a student could not do this, certainly not a first- or second-year student), you could create a human body.

It would be a soul-less, mind-less zombie however, with no will, no heart and no thought. In order to create an actual person, you would need to use Tlactl in conjunction with Intinn (mind) and Hugr (emotion); this would be an immensely complicated Working.

* Technically, Tlacatl is “Flesh of Makers;” i.e., sentient tool-using beings. So, if you had Tlactl as a Word and encountered aliens, you would be able to Work them.

I am not entirely certain if Tlacatl works on dolphins…

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/532902.html. You can comment here or there.

I for Icarus Fallen

May12

Rion prompted “I is for Icarus fallen,” and ri has a character in Addergoole named Icarus. [profile] stryck prompted “Infamous,” and thus it had to be THAT Icarus, too. Thus… this.

Icarus goes to school in Year 44. See the other Luke/Myst stories for his parents’ romance

Why Akakios had chosen to name his son Icarus, Luke had never known, and probably would never try to ask. Talking to the alpaca-boy made Luke irritable on a good day; talking to him about his son made everything… so very Mara.

Icarus. The name was infamous, the story known even now, even twenty-five years after the world had ended. “Icarus?” a stranger would say, and then ask, every time, “has he fallen?”

Ha, ha.

Luke had considered Icarus his own since he’d built the boy’s mother Mystral a house, his in parenting if not in blood. And, as with every other son he’d raised he felt it in his bones when the boy fell. Tripped and fell when he was running. Slipped out of a tree and broke his arm. Playing Superman, fell from the barn roof.

He was a boy. Boys fell. Luke reminded himself of this every time the boy came home with a new scrape, cut, bruise. Doug had fallen. Aleron had fallen all the time. Sons fell, grandsons fell; centuries ago, Luke had done his own share of falling.

None of them had been named for that tragic, fucking infamous fall.

It made Luke hover, and he hating hovering. Every time Chavva came running, “Dad! Icarus fell again!” his heart stopped. Every time he ran out to check the boy over, to pat him and Idu Tlacatl him and reassure him that it was all right, branches broke sometimes, every time, he worried it would be the last time.

It wasn’t until the boy was ready to go to Addergoole that Luke wondered if Akakios, the fluff-for-brains, had been being metaphorical.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531946.html. You can comment here or there.

Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse, Part 1

May12

A discussion in several parts of the near-extinction of humanity in my Faerie Apocalypse Setting.

The casualties of the Faerie Apocalypse came in several stages.

The first few stages focused primarily on cities, especially the cities with the most dense populations, because the returned gods were drawn to those areas.

It is known from the readings of Addergoole that the Daeva and Daeva-bred half-bloods, called succubi as a whole, can feed off of emotion, using it as a combination of a drug and subsistence.

What was not covered in those books was the lesser but still strong effect that masses of emotion – in short, worship – have on all Ellehemaei. Although non-succubi fae cannot live off of the emotions of single people, all fae have a genetic weakness (akin to a propensity for addiction) to crowd/mob emotions.

So the returned gods, who had been exiled because they were trying to be gods, came back to earth and congregated in the most crowded ares they could find.

They, themselves, were the causes of the first casualties.

First, directly: smiting, tantrums, experiments.

Not all the returned gods treated humanity as their personal playground, but some certainly did. Some killed people to prove the point that they could. Some killed people in anger, when the worship was not exactly what they wanted.

Some were being extravagant in showing off their powers, and accidentally, for instance, electrocuted someone, or drowned them, or gave them a heart attack.

In northern Canada, a vengeful deity removed all of the clothing from a three-mile radius in late November.

Another god destroyed a dam holding back a mighty river – not on purpose, but because she wanted to show off her powers of water control.

And some wanted to know what made humanity tick, and took many of them apart in learning it.

This series of casualties, statistically speaking, was a small downturn in the human population. However, it was only the first step.

Part II – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534355.html / http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/668348.html / http://addergoole.livejournal.com/236978.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531566.html. You can comment here or there.

E for Emrys – Harder than Diamonds – a story of Addergoole for the Giraffe Call

May8

This is for, I believe, Friendly Anon’s “E” prompt, “Emrys.

It comes after/concurrent with –
Toy Soldiers
With Friends Like These…,
Cleaning Up and
this scrap (http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/398701.html)
Monsters
Mimosas.
S for Shahin

There had been any number of hard things in Emrys’ life with Shahin.

Many of them had been, in retrospect, a very soft level of “hard,” teenage drama, teenage angst and jealousy and anger.

Some of them, even some of the moments very early on… there were nights Emrys still woke with the memory of that cabin, the dragon, the monster’s knife sliding down Shahin’s pale skin. Those moments still counted as hard, diamond-hard. (“Our love is harder than diamond.” They still said that, moments when everything seemed harder than they could bear.)

Walking away from Shahin had been harder than most of those times. They had squeezed hands, kissed, and broken their vows of forty-seven years without a backwards glance. Neither of them had shed a tear. Neither’s voice had trembled. Their kids were grown and gone; their grandkids were grown and gone. Their great-grandkids would be leaving for Addergoole soon.

And neither of them were big on revealing their cards, in any case. So he walked away from his warrior wife, walked into the hands of another woman.

That had been a hard moment, sapphire-hard like the etchings in Shahin’s arms, blue-hard like the tears he wasn’t going to shed. That had been a difficult moment, but it had been what he had to do. They were warriors, and this fight was going to happen here, with these people, and not where Shahin’s path was headed.

They were warriors, and they had made their decision, hard as it had been, hard-like-sapphires and blue like misery as it had been.

That had not been the hardest moment in Emrys’ life, but this one was. Kneeling on the floor of their enemy’s camp, knowing that he had failed Shahin, that moment was harder even than diamonds. And he did not know if their love was stronger than that.

And this one is a bonus. It comes after Addergoole: TOS, at the beginning of Year 6 of the Addergoole School.

“How does it feel, not being the youngest anymore?”

Emrys rested his hand on the small of his wife’s back as they watched the new students trail in. She, in turn, leaned into the hand, so subtly that no-one but him could tell she was leaning at all.

“They look so young.” Her voice was pitched for his ears alone; she shifted to pose as a new student stared openly. Shorter even than them and ginger, he looked as if he’d never seen a goth before.

“So did we.” Emrys turned his sharpest smile on the ginger boy before he got any ideas. “Remember?”

Shahin smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her dress. “That was a century ago.”

“A year.”

“The same thing, in the fullness of things. It was forever ago, either way.”

Emrys found himself smirking, just a bit. His wife, love her as he may, was a bit of a drama queen. “And here we are, back at the beginning.”

“Back at the beginning,” she agreed. She licked her lips and turned her smile, now, on a tall blond in a cowboy hat.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528375.html. You can comment here or there.

I for the Interloper, a continuation for the April Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

May6

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of I for the Individual.

The hardest part of negotiating with the elves, Irene soon realized, would be keeping a straight face.

They were so young. Not as individuals (ha), but as a unit, as a culture. They had, it seemed, no memory at all, no records at all, of the time before the Disaster. Nothing but road signs, which they had taken as icons of their new world.

Irene’s people, the Arista, were not so young, nor was she herself so young, that the time before had faded. They had records, and, more than records, they had stories.

The elves had none of that. They had no oral history, no written word at all.

(Not quite accurate, she later learned. Many of them had developed their own alphabets, often working off of the shapes on signs. But their reach for complete individuality made any organized… well, anything… difficult if not impossible.)

“Haven’t you encountered outsiders before?”

“Our beliefs forbid it.” Iancu had ended up being the unfortunate spokes-elf for the group; it was his job to take to each individual the proposals that Irene put forth and attempt to reach some consensus. Today, Irene had felt bad for him and, instead of trying to move forward on the treaty, she was instead asking him questions. Those, she thought, he could handle without a committee.

“But your beliefs didn’t stop me from walking into your grove. They wouldn’t have stopped the Arista from making war on your forest.”

“Our beliefs forbid strangers.” Iancu got that peculiar shoulder-shrug that Irene was beginning to recognize as cognitive dissonance.

It took Irene a moment to process this. “You beliefs forbid strangers.” She thought, perhaps, that repeating it might make it make more sense. It only made it odder. “How do you… what do you do?“

Iancu seemed to understand her question, which was good, because Irene wasn’t entirely certain that she did. “There are caveats in our beliefs. An individual may choose to step outside of the rules and beliefs – because the individual is more than any of those things, of course-“

“Of course.”

“-and, in doing so, deal with situations which our current rules don’t handle. Normally, we find a new icon to deal with this situation.”

“So… how did you end up talking to me?”

“I was the one who met your eyes, and thus I had to put aside my belief that you did not exist, could not exist, and speak to you.”

“And the others?”

“We are working on a new icon, to handle the situation so that we can speak to…” Iancu’s hands twitched. “To people who should not exist. We should have it done, soon.”

Irene thought about all of the things that the elves had attempted to work on in tandem. “I believe that, as an outsider who does not exist, I may be able to provide a solution. Do you have supplies on which I could paint an icon?”

Iancu hesitated. Irene did not blame the poor elf; she had, after all, come her declaring war. “You could provide us an icon?”

“I could.”

“I will provide you paint. And a painting surface.”

When Irene left the grove, several weeks later, the elves were still discussing the icon she had made them: Three concentric circles, alternating red and white. In the center of the smallest circle, a tree.

Irene had a feeling the elves would prove very easy to negotiate with, in the future. It was just going to be keeping a straight face that tripped her up.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527456.html. You can comment here or there.

Magic Mondays: Faerie Apoc, Unutu

May6

In the Faerie Apocalypse ‘verse, there are 11* Domains and 11 Manifestations – Domains being Things You Can Affect and Manifestations being How You Affect Those Things.

Of the 11* Domains, Unutu is my favorite.

Unutu is the word that covers “Worked Objects” and can be anything from a stretch of cloth to a steel girder. At its purest, Unutu is plastic-like – if you are using the Manifestation Meentik (Create) and have none of the other object-like Domains, you are likely to end up Creating something that seems mostly plastic.

However, if you have, for instance, Huamu (plants), you can then more easily create, say, hemp or cotton cloth. Eperu (earth) and you can make those steel beams. Panida (Animals) and you can make a wool jumper or a leather collar.

Of all the Words, thus, Unutu is the one most often combined with another Word. And it can be, in today’s day and age, the most versatile.

Recent discussion on Twitter gives me another example: You can use Jasfe (repair) to repair a pitted, pot-holed road, or you can use it to repair your car once the road has done it damage. Or your tire, once it gets a flat.

With Meentik Unutu and a sufficient knowledge of how things need to work, you can make just about anything you might need.

Well, except food. You still need Huama and/or Panida for that.

And no, we’re not going into Tlacatl here.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527170.html. You can comment here or there.

Waking Early

May6

This is @Inventrix’s commissioned continuation words from the March Giraffe Call.

Addergoole East is the school run by Dean Kailani Storm; it opens in some form before the 2011 apocalypse and is a full-fledged school for fae and humans within a decade of that.

This story takes place at least a generation after that. So: 2011+10+20 (Yr 17+10+20) = 2041, Year 47 of the Addergoole School, Year 20 of Addergoole East.

Kiba woke with the sunrise, un-surprised to find her roommate already up and gone. Serenity was a work-study student; her parents hadn’t had the money to pay tuition (so very few people did anymore), so she did odd jobs around the place to cover the cost of her education.

So did Kiba, of course, although she was a legacy student. “It’ll keep you honest.” Her mother was a big proponent of keeping Kiba honest. As if, without constant supervision, Kiba was going to turn into a lying, cheating, philandering wanderer of some sort.

Of course, to hear her mother tell it, that’s what her father had been, so maybe there was some merit to the concern.

She dressed quickly – there was frost on the trees outside, and, although the school was well-insulated, it wasn’t all that warm, not when the fire had died down – and hurried downstairs for breakfast.

The dining hall was nearly empty, this early in the morning – most students would either come down in an hour, when the main breakfast was served, or had already eaten earlier, like Serenity. But Kiba liked it now, quiet, with the warmth of porridge to fill her up and the slow happy caffeine of a mug of tea for a bit of extra perk.

Her first class wasn’t until eight, but her Mentor was waiting for her out in the orchard. “You’re early.” It was clear Kavan Pensus approved. “Let’s go through the first seven Kata while we wait to see if the sleepyheads show up.”

“Yes, Professor.” Kiba bowed low, smiled, and began the exercises. There had been nothing like this back home, even with her parents having come out of Addergoole First. Of course, home had been a lot of trying to stay alive and trying to hold on to a culture that had been gone before Kiba had been born.

Professor Pensus had his own set of kata; the Seven were a set of stretches that slid seamlessly into calisthenics and from there into attack poses.

As she stepped into the calisthenics, Pensus, down on the floor in a split, began quizzing her. “How have you been sleeping?”

“My rest,” she caught her breath, and remembered to speak evenly, “has been pleasant. Serenity isn’t – is not having nightmares any more. She is sleeping more evenly, as well.”

“And Kaspar?”

“Professor.” She finished her last jumping jack and paused long enough to practice her disappointed-gaze at her Mentor. “Such things are private.”

“And I am your Mentor.”

“Yes, but you are not my lover nor my Keeper.” She fell into the next set of poses before she could be corrected.

“These things are true. And yet can I not be concerned about your life?”

“You can, of course, be concerned and curious. But it still remains my right to have a private life, so long as I do not give that right to another.”

“And you do not plan to give that right to Kaspar?”

“Am I late?” Jethro hurried into the courtyard and dropped into the first Kata.

“You are on time. What have I told you about being on time?” The professor was clearly enjoying this. Kiba hid her smile in another pose.

“Yes, Professor, I mean, no, Professor, I mean…” Jethro, who was never good at the mornings anyway, was saved by the rest of their cy’ree appearing.

“How do you get there so early?” Jethro and Clove shared most of Kiba’s classes, so they walked together from their morning training session most days. “I mean, there’s never a morning when you’re not there.”

“Come on, Jethro.” Clove clucked in amusement. “What does the professor tell you? Use the information you’re given.”

“The information I have is that Kiba shows up early every morning for training with Professor Pensus. I assume that she’s not a ridiculous kiss-up, because I’ve never seen her kissing up to other teachers. See, more observed information. And she doesn’t have morning chores.”

“But her roommate does.”

Kiba looked between the two of them, amused. “Excellent deduction, Clove. Actually, I’m just used to getting up early, and never got into the habit of sleeping in that some people get into when they come to school.”

“Farm family?” Jethro hazarded it a little more cautiously. Kiba wondered if he was afraid of offending her.

“Farm family.” Kiba nodded. They didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty stuff, at least not yet. “And, besides, I really like the morning session.”

“So maybe you are a kiss-up.” Jethro’s arm came around Kiba’s shoulder in a way that was somewhere between friendly and familiar. “Let’s see how you feel after the afternoon session.”

Kiba didn’t move his arm. She found she liked its warmth. “We’ll see.” Glancing over at his expression, and catching Clove’s in the process, she thought maybe there were quite a few things they’d be seeing.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/526938.html. You can comment here or there.