Ayshela

or "just a bit too high above sincerity" there's a lot to appreciate in this. amazing how sometimes getting the conscious controls out of the way leaves you able to cut to the core.

at least i wasn't too far off on that one, though i had the G sound also. I would never have come to JEERfalcon, when Gearfalcon seemed so much more sensible.

could be as simple a fix as "should anyone find out, they'd gasp and stare"

i agree, Canid. i thought it was very discouraging as well. i don't tend to keep The Pen open in two different windows, yet without doing so trying to keep the thread you want to respond to before you while setting up and appropriate thread elsewhere AND remembering what you wanted to say in the first place - most days i have too many distracting factors around me to manage it.

*nod* very well done! i could actually write something like that about my siblings, for a couple different reasons, sometimes. so could the people i made promise not to kill them, come to think of it. hmm. anyway.. this line very true, but for form it seems to be missing half a foot, or a beat, however you wish to phrase it. They rhythm is just slightly off - easily compensated for, but noticeable where the rest of it flows so well.

Ayshela watches the woman leave the room, nods slightly to herself, and walks back into the hallway. Turning toward the front of the hostel she walks quietly, looking about for the "gentleman" who had so upset the staff. Reaching the front of the hostel she sees a woman turn to speak to.. someone.. standing in the depths of shadows. Peculiar, and probably what she was looking for. Moving close enough to be noticed, but not so close that she would interrupt or be suspected of eavesdropping, Ayshela stands and waits. ooc: edited for stupid dyslexic spelling error

The day will come, of that i have no doubt when you will stand and simply say goodbye and i will watch the door as you walk out with nothing left to say but one last sigh we may not care to say what it's about just know that things have changed, now you and i will try to find words to apologize as tears flow endlessly from hazel eyes

Wandering behind Matteo, Ayshela surreptitiously drops a small pouch containing a few geld under the edge of his chair. Picking it up she gently taps Matteo's shoulder and says "Excuse me, you seem to have dropped this. I regret that time does not allow me to join you, but will look for you on a future occassion."

Dear Diary, Thank the gods for you, perhaps all in my life which not only hears but understands. How did i ever get here? i wasn't supposed to have lived this long. i should have been dead so many years ago, i don't understand how things could ever have gotten to this year, much less this point. May the gods lend their strength to the parents of preteens, if strength is to be had. Having both teenagers and a preteen, i firmly prefer the teenagers as they can be reasoned with! This morning began, as many do, with my middle child off at her dad's so i woke up to see my oldest off for school and wake the youngest and get her moving toward her school day. As an added bit of complexity, we have my step-grandson for a couple of days, so the morning rush needed to be gotten through without waking the sleeping two year old in my room. What in particular was the spark to my youngest's temperamental tinder this morning, i'm still not sure, but she spent the entire morning stalling, shouting at me, throwing a temper tantrum far more fitting to my grandson, shrieking "i hate you"s across the house, and finally stomping off in a threatened attempt to run away. Seeing me standing on the porch talking on the phone she came back long enough to realize that i was talking with her dad, bringing another round of "i hate you"s and her stomping INside, this time. i suddenly realized what a part of the problem was, came back in and asked her when the last time was she'd taken her meds (which she insisted on being in sole control of). She collapsed in tears and said she didn't know, they'd been put away at her dad's where she couldn't see or reach them. *sigh* i had to spend the before-school part of the morning wrestling with her about getting ready to go, going to her dad's to get her meds, trying to get her to school somewhere close to on time, come home and check on stuff here, go BACK to the school for the volunteer appreciation assembly, come home and take care of stuff (and drink a gallon of coffee, a very necessary thing) and now have to go pick her up for dance class in a short while. My son has blossomed out into a wonderful, warm hearted human being with the full social schedule of a normal teenager and a grade point average i would have killed for when i was in school. My older daughter has her difficulties, but is mostly a reasonable being with guts enough to buck the tide and defy even school authorities when she believes they're wrong. Neither of them were easy at this age, but i don't remember them being *quite* this volatile or vicious. Will the youngest come to a point of being reasonable and reasonably responsible as well? Preferably before one of us gives up and dies, believing in the depths of depression that that is what the other truly wants? Kids.. gods help them... gods help us... i wouldn't send them back for anything, but some days i'd give them away for a while. :-\ i'm sure the feeling is mutual. i know this isn't any fun for her either. i've never met an eleven year old who truly liked herself, myself included. But gods, diary, why does she have to share the misery?? It's a good thing i have so much hair, and that it's as long as it is. It makes the evidence of tearing it out less noticeable. *sigh* Between that and your shoulder to cry on, i may survive these last of preteen years. Thank you for letting me vent in the only space there is understanding to be found. i'll write again next time the kids turn loose and i have a few moments to collect coherent thoughts.

i think it speaks of subtle differences in motivation, which is one of the ways words can be used to manipulate impressions of people and things. something which translates as "peace loving" will give the impression of someone motivated to do or abstain based on an active motivation toward peace. something which translates as "tired of war" will give the impression of someone who's been-there-done-that sick and tired of it, motivated less from desire specifically for peace and more from desire to avoid what their recent reality has been. it's subtle, but then, manipulation is a subtle thing.

intriguing.

Let's see, so that's Happy Birthday to AshtonBlades, and Belated Happy Birthday to Annael.. i wonder how we'd combine that into one song? hmm... (wanders off mumbling to herself about sleepless nights and mind-bending questions)

*laugh* me too.. me too... and i'm not even a male, much less a certain male

Happy Birthday to You!!!!!

my sympathies. days like that are bad enough. weeks can be unbearable. *hugs*

words of wisdom, indeed.

oh, i LOVE it! Don't you hate it when shopping carts have a mind of their own? Those rattle-rattle-rattling loose wheels are enough to drive a person to homicidal aisle-rage, never mind getting back onto the road. Thank you for a much needed smile.

hello! (Ayshela waves cheerfully and wanders on to the next topic)

among others, yes i did. and to truly frighten you... i clearly remember 25 years of Rock. i still like the new stuff.

wow.. very cool!

well written. very vivid. and a very good question. is it better to die for something you believe in or to live on knowing you were cautious, you were prudent, and you never even tried? good question.

Very interesting. i like this.

Ayshela sat at her desk reading and re-reading the letter which had been forwarded many times, finally reaching her by nearly untraceable means. “It is with deepest regret that we write to inform you of the death of your grandmother, Margarete Misthail. In accordance with her last wishes, we convey to you her love, her best wishes, and her firmest belief in your innocence. May the mighty Goddess guard your steps, as Margarete has blessed you.” The tears which Ayshela had long denied herself filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. Grandma Mar, gone. The aching emptiness was unbearable. “Gran, oh Gran, how could you leave me to face this alone?” Though she knew it was unreasonable, she felt abandoned, alone, and terribly frightened. As stifling her tears became harder, Ayshela realized that there was only one way left to ease her pain and send her love to her grandmother. Folding the letter back into its envelope and sliding it into a drawer, she rose smoothly to her feet. Unbuckling her belt and sheaths, she laid them on the desk and began to sway. “This, Gran, is for you.” Swaying slowly to a music only she could hear, Ayshela began to hum softly, and then to dance. Stretching, turning, reaching and whirling, she seemed to draw the forest into her arms and gently set it free again. Anyone watching could see her spinning with fairies, leaping with deer, her love of nature and all the Goddesses creatures as clear in her dance as in any spoken word. Twirling round and round each graceful movement it's own work of art, she danced until the pain washed away leaving each fluid movement as the only thoughts of her mind. As her dance wound down she sank gracefully to the floor whispering “Gran, I love you. Goodbye.” A rustling noise from at the door startled her into full awareness of her surroundings again. Terror at being found again filled her heart as she saw Harvail watching and realized he’d been there some time. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded. Harvail looked up from his crouched position with an insane look in his eye, coolly replying, "You will not win." “So you say” she retorted. “I have the proof, and even if you kill me you cannot prevent my innocence being proven.” With a mocking laugh, Harvail spun and dashed down the hall. Racing after him, Ayshela cursed the impulse which had led her to disarm. With Harvail on the loose, she would need her wits since she did not have her blades. Flying down the stairs after Harvail, she saw to her horror that he was heading into another personal hallway. Calling frantically for him to stop, she was contemplating a diving tackle when Salinye appeared in her doorway. Ordinarily, Salinye’s appearance to determine the nature of the disturbance would not be cause for concern. Unfortunately, she had just stepped out of the shower and was quite tastefully attired in a lovely blue… towel. Harvail’s attention was caught by the lovely towel-clad figure, and after bouncing off the wall a time or two he managed to veer in Salinye’s direction. Ayshela looked about hurriedly for something to throw, while Salinye mumbled, waved, and did something just out of Ayshela’s line of sight – and a portion of the ceiling collapsed, burying Harvail in the rubble. Unfortunately, the destruction of what was a portion of the floor in the hallway above did not go unnoticed. Wyvern popped his head through the hole to survey the damage and calculate the cost of repairs. His attention was distracted when he noticed that in the process of her flamboyant wave, Salinye had dropped her towel. For perhaps the first time in his career at The Pen, all thought of money was driven from Wyvern’s head as he stared, overbalanced, and fell through the hole onto the pile of rubble (incidentally ensuring Harvail’s immobility). Ayshela looked at Salinya, eyebrows raised, and asked “don’t you think…??” Salinye looked down, blushed and wrapped herself in her towel again, and said “I supposed we’ll have to fix that.” Turning to look at the ceiling, Ayshela nodded and said “it’s probably best. And I suppose I’ll have to arrange for the quiet return of that lump of rubbish to his home, as well. Not that, in his current condition, anyone will believe him.” And she smiled at the thought. Salinye turned to look down the hall at the gathering crowd of Pen inhabitants. “Perhaps not” she said, “but will they believe us?” Peredhil hurried up to ask “Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?” Salinye and Ayshela looked at each other, then at Wyvern, and assured Peredhil that “everyone is fine, just a few bumps and bruises.” “I… see.” Peredhil commented, looking at Salinye, then he turned to help Wyvern to his room. And thus a new proclamation was posted in the Cabaret the next day stating in bold black letters: ALL Pen initiates, members and especially Elders, MUST remember that failure to remain fully clothed when outside your personal quarters CAN be detrimental to your health. Ayshela and Salinye looked over the notice and giggled as Ayshela mumbled “and detrimental to the health of others, as well!”

wow. there's a definite bleeding "ouch" here. *hugs* the first couple of lines have a definite rhythm to them that the rest does not follow with. did you *want* a flowing rhythm to this? you could, if you wanted to emphasize the broken off feel of it, set your rhythm for most of the verse and cut the last line short. or was the rhythm of the first two lines coincidental? "you choose"?? i couldn't begin to. There's a lot of content here. i don't envy you the revision any more than i do the situation. *hugs*