drink up, sweet decadence, I can't say no to you

First off: Not yet, you fools! A very precise analysis of why voice is BAD on the grid--any grid--any virtual world.

Now, onward.



It was my first Rez Day party yesterday. I decided I'd make something a little less than standard on the invitation--I mocked up the image you see, painted it onto a whitewashed board, nailed two support boards top and bottom to the main signboard post with three copper square nails, and stuck the entire thing into a moss-overgrown round of cemented river rocks. Fun.



But before the party, I still had set-up to do. Over the past two days, I have:

* bought three more slow dances from Bits and Bobs, for the dance alcove at Taiyou
* bought three 'cuddle' sets from Bits and Bobs, to set out in various places (two are in place on the upper balcony, one has yet to be placed, I ran out of time)
* bought two hot tubs (one a la Nipponaise, pale wood slats, I still have to work on tweaking the position of it, and one Egyptianesque, quite ornate, with its own fireplace and flowing orange silks around the pillars)
* built the above-mentioned invitation, tossed a give script into it, along with the notecard of impromptu party notice
* commissioned a cake, had it made, had it scripted (fell in love all over again, hee--it's a LOVELY, lovely cake)
* hired two DJs (Hunter lost his connection last night, but we survived, and he says he owes me a night now)
* bought a dress for the party (sachi's lovely handkerchief-dagged gown, in dark purple)
* set out a bed, an intimate rug, a hot tub, a hummingbird lantern, and a set of shelves for the lantern to sit upon in the Asian skybox
* set out a bed, an intimate rug, a large stone bath, and two hanging lanterns in the Arabian skybox
* realized I'd given the wrong landmark for the party, so went to Kokopelli (where everyone was beaming in, who didn't come in on their own landmarks for Steelhead), made up a second signboard apologizing and telling people to follow the arrows, then dropped several gleaming, bright red arrows hovering in midair at set positions, guiding folks from the dance square to Taiyou

The decoration of the two skyboxen was most difficult in all of it. Why? Well, due to family obligations, Lunar--who'd built Taiyou, who'd built the skyboxen--couldn't quite script up the teleport system before he had to go. So I had to fly up--this is me hovering next to the Asian skybox, you see, with scripter and anime chibi Winter Ventura (and drat, wish I had better pictures of her, she was CUTE) hovering behind me--and sneak in to decorate both skyboxen.



Here's a shot of me hovering over the Arabian skybox, Winter behind me. Hee.

But finally, finally, everything was done. And I started setting out tables, and nibbles, and the cake, and goblets of blood for any vampires, and chocolate for everyone else--realized just as things started happening that I really wanted something of a 'visual progression' on the walls. So I dragged a quick frame out, set about eight of them along the back of the tea area, and started with a pic that very very few people have seen--the first day I was in world, little cyberbot me, pale skin, dead black confused eyes, close-cropped red-tipped black hair. The next shot is of cyberfae me--cyberbot skin, purple corset, purple-tipped black hair caught up in two huge ponytails, and glimmering blue wings.

And on we went--one shot of me in the original dance skin, at the original Club Enigma, with tousled blonde hair; one shot of me in the then-new X2 skin, with platinum hair; the shot taken the first day I ever wore my Arctic fox, in the little goth Lolita minidress I'd found for her, which is still predominantly what my fox wears, when my fox doesn't wear native buckskins; a shot of the pale kitten, in black, with the mourning band, sitting in the crypt of the vampire princeling; the first modeling shot with new Kin hair (Sora, in vibrant gleaming red) and black leather head to foot; and finally, a shot of me in the Boneflower skin I received (along with net-sleeved Asian silk top and Asian silk skirt, and retro cat-eye glasses, all compensation for modeling for a series of promotional ads for Boneflower), all arch look, pleased expression, in sachi's Emilly hair (in volcano, how apropos, being as how it's black-tipped red).



I didn't get many shots of the actual party, or much leading up to and leading from. I was very much too busy. But this is a fun shot, so from left to right, the usual suspects (click for larger image):

Fawkes Allen, designer of the cake; Hank Rucker, haloed land baron and friend; his lady wife Alexandra Rucker; DJ Sir Edward Pearse, in gleaming uniform (which he made, by the way, available for sale at any branch of Pearse'd & Cut near you); Lumina Elvejhem in lovely salmon-gold sari silks; Lady Christine McAllister-Pearse, in her glorious green silk wedding gown; a very saucily dressed Duchess Gabrielle Riel; the tall Lauren, girlfriend and possession of Miss Roku; Winter Ventura, the small chibi wonder in purple hair; Miss Roku2 Hallard, new Taiyou Companion; Mr. americanpsyco98 Book, spinning next to Lady Amber Palowakski (sadly out of frame); and Miss Qlippothic Projects, spinning in monochrome kimono.

We had grand fun.



Another shot of the dancing crowd. You can clearly see the end picture of the 'how far I've come' wall, just above the cake. Hee.

Finally, this is something I've meant to post for a bit--how the Bumblebee avatar, puir wee creature of cogs and design--can be somewhat perverted by someone with wicked intent.

I present to you--Bumblebee, poledancing.

::giggles insanely and scampers off::

sometimes it's hard to recognize, love comes as a surprise

Happy Rez Day to me!

More later, but I had to sneak on and sneak in pics of my Rez Day cake:



Full frontal screaming cake. Comprised of layers of ground bone, graveyard dust and dark chocolate ganache, surmounted with a slice of sod, into which were pressed eight hollow chocolate caskets covered in highly ornate, airbrushed fondant. In the center, a full human half-arm, tibia and fibula, plus the full hand, carefully wired in place, holding a plate. The plate bore a shockingly realistic eye, and the plate dripped with spun sugar blood.

To the right of the cake, a tray of simple chocolate bars, dark and milk; to the left, a tray of blood goblets.



The cake from the side, showing the delicate little details. Above it--since the cake will remain up until I return from traveling, on Friday--can be seen (at Taiyou) part of a little picture show I put up--me, from first rez to now. It still amuses.

The cake was made by Fawkes Allen, by the way. Start to finish, building, baking and scripting. Yes, he does custom work. Call on him.

gimme gimme fuel for my fire just a little spark of desire

A week of preparation, a little more. Women telling their friends, announcing to Caledon at large, word spread through the aether from woman to woman. Long talks into the night, deciding whom would be wearing what, what would go best with whom, hair and eyes and skins and shoes and lovely, lovely gowns with ornate details.

Wednesday, some panic. Thursday, rapid-fire shuttling of folders and information back and forth. Friday, last-minute notecards, confirming with all and sundry, setting up the scene of the thing. Saturday, my first time to try on every outfit, from the skin out, and see how things went together.

Sunday. An hour before the Rose Corridor tea. The three of us chosen to model walk the path. Me being me, I fall into the bay. Of course--it wouldn't be a public Em appearance without some form of personal humiliation or quirky disaster. Just wouldn't do.

But we get everything done, we're in our first outfits, we're preparing to walk out to meet the gathered crowd, do our turns on the improvised runway....and suddenly, my heart is in my throat.

Honestly, if Miss Darkling and Lady Kira hadn't been just as nervous as I was? If Lord Zealot hadn't been the calming ironic presence he was? I doubt I would have survived. Honestly, I never thought I'd rely on a man in the changing room before...

And, oh, I wish I had pictures, but I did hear busy clicking of cameras going off, so it's to be hoped pictures were recorded. I'll look for them.

In the meantime...different hobbies of an evening.



All this week as well, I've been going in now and again for photoshoots with my artist. Normally, it's some incredibly lethal bit of fetishware, a drained-of-all-life appearance, the kinky little retro touches I'm growing to love. This time was just a tad different--oh, the beginning of the week, don't mistake me, we had leather and retro nylon in spades. But Saturday...

Well, Saturday was a different story.



After all, it's not every day you walk in on your artist and she tells you to streak yourself with slowly cooling blood and think sexy thoughts. Muahah.

This was part of her "Sin" show, which opened today, and will run for at least one week, if not two. And yes, there's a preponderance of leather and latex, pleasure droids and buckled straps, insanely high shoes and gleaming PVC...and in the midst of it, my chosen sin, blood-daubed as I was.

Today, I found a pose entitled "Back Shank". I may have to go get it and have my landlord finally build that knife for me...just so I can have the blood-daubed outfit snapped for posterity while I have a knife in my hand. MUAHAHAhahaha...



In the meantime, someone living in a bomb shelter contacted my statue and said, please, can you build me furniture that goes with the destruction of civilization? And he did. Had a grand time doing so, for all that I can evaluate such things.

My only problem? Was when he removed the plutonium cores to retrofit the nuclear bomb for lamp light. We were sitting on his friend's beach, bathed in gloriously green radiation, for rather an unnervingly long time.

If I pop up with any new mutations...that'll be why.



But overall...barring the known issues...it was a good week. I am pleased. Relatively content, even, and how often does that happen? My once (and perhaps future, who knows?) employer paid me, not the full amount but enough to get on with designing what I need to have done to open Taiyou and have my rez day party, I do believe. Now I just need to get on the ground and tell people.

Oh, and one RP note...

A certain bearer of a certain demon has approached me, wanting to know if I'll blood-bond to him. Considering the last love of my life in Lumindor, the half-Drow Captain, hasn't seen fit to talk to me of late...I'm considering--strongly considering--saying yes.

Addiction to his blood and all.

Oh, but my half-Drow? Will desire his head on a platter, and may just have the strength enough to get it. And then it will be yet another addiction to cold-rip out of my system.

Still. Strongly tempted. Yes, it's partially because I'm irked at the ex-Raven, for making me beg to see him, and still hearing him say no. I am Unseelie, I am shifter true, I do not beg. And he of all, with his fierce pride, should remember that.

But also...there's something very soothing in an equal playing field. I would have to work hard indeed to drain him, succubus to incubus, and so would he, because our ability sets do seem to reinforce, each to each. The more power drained, the more power expended, the more power raised...it's lovely when it works that way.

Plus, he...or the outer shell of the demon within, at least...is very sweet, in his own way.

And one thing I would never call the Captain of the Unseelie Court...is sweet.

So let him make peace with his choices, and his stray neko harem. I've been long and long away, perhaps he's forgotten certain of my traits...

but the road is long, and the song is gone

Kelly Mountain Road
saw a heavy load
with a sagging heart
and a break apart...

I spoke to him words of reassurance and comfort, and not a little enticement, and sent him on his way to sleep. My sweet neko, moving farther away from me, and I don't want it to be over. It's far too easy for me to be melancholy on nights like these, it's a constant struggle not to fall.

voices in me
stood as thick as thieves
with no sympathy
for the beggars art

And the lone wanderer wanders away as well, to wander back when he will. It's ever been our way, to come close through distance. Oddity, but it seems to work, as well as anything does.

But another notch on the belt, and on I go.

but the road is long
and the song is gone
I blow empty
in my cicada shell

And he says, family comes, and he may not appear, and I smile, life's irony galling at times, heavy on the tongue. But of course--I make my choices, I make them plain, I make sure the universe hears them--and the universe ups the ante, subtracting them from me. Now what will you do? my universe asks me.

if I saw my choice
I might find my voice
but I don't know when
and I just can't tell

Wait, I think. It's the only answer I have. Learn patience anew. Perhaps put off the harlequin outfit that's so frustrating me, and work on another outfit entirely, something I can wear to the Dark Victorian ball later this evening...

Perhaps.

you tell me it's temporary
it's a matter of time
by God
don't you think I know it's in my mind?

I don't do alone well, but really, who does? And I'm better at it now than I used to be. I'm better at many things than I used to be, and isn't that an improvement? Reward comes after long trial...maybe my trial isn't over.

It's a thought.

deep behind my face
is a safer place
but old gears are hitched tight
to the gate

But change, oh, I change so slowly. And yes, another irony-rich slice...I can be practically anything--cold or hot, alive or not, furred or feathered or finned, I can sprout leaves or drift as smoke through trees or be the bustle in the hedgerow...but I'm the student in the Life Lessons class who has to have the assignment explained to her again, and who doesn't always turn in her homework when it's due.

it's a daily grind
waiting to unwind
till I hear that click
that unlocks my fate

So I'll see a change is necessary, and two months later, I'll begin to act on it, and two months past that may see the merest ripple on the surface of the tidal pulls happening underneath...I change slowly. I change glacially.

Yet another thing I must find time to work on...

it's right over left
and healing the then
I'll soon be to nothing
but I don't know when

And my rez day is coming up in three days, I have no invites to send out, no idea when or even if I'll be able to celebrate with friends, and I am very, very upset with the man who owes me, because he said the first of this month, I would be paid, and I was counting on those funds to have certain things built...like the cake that screams...and mayhap said invitations.

I have told him this--if he makes me miss my rez day party--and Taiyou's opening--on the tenth? I will be quite wroth with him. It may not, it likely won't, kill the friendship, but it may quite effectively hobble it...

(Song is most of "Soon Be to Nothing", from the Indigo Girls)

if you need me, me and Neil'll be hanging out with the Dream King

I don't know what they're talking about
I'm making my own decisions
This thing that I found
Ain't gonna bring me down
I'm like a junkie without an addiction

A long time ago, I posted a bit on Drow culture and Drow structure. While I still think that's valid...

...a friend has given me a head start on a better Drow.



Mama don't cry
I just wanna stay high
Like playing with danger or fear
Everybody's walking but nobody's talking
It looks a lot better from here

I still need to work on the ears. I'm thinking I may go to the designer of the skin--Faedra Allen, by the way, in case anyone wants to look up Fantasies by Faedra, her little island store; she's starting to develop quite the line of 'fantasy' skins--and ask for a capture of the texture she used on this skin. So I can make and texture Drow ears, and then hey, I can offer them back to her to sell with the skin, or separate from the skin, maybe give me a cut of the profits, depending.



All my life I've been over the top
I don't know what I'm doing,
All I know is I don't wanna stop
All fired up, I'm gonna go till I drop
You're either in or in the way, don't make me
I don't wanna stop

The Drow, I admit, is difficult. All a shapeshifter does--past the original shape, which in my case, is a pale, red-eyed or violet-eyed neko--and whatever the main alternate turns out to be--which, because of my dancing time in Rivula, turned out to be a violet-eyed human, generally blonde--is imitate other life. I admit this. I imitate, I mimic, I recreate--by and large, I do not spawn original forms. Most shapeshifters don't. They watch the world and learn from it.



Why don't they ever listen to me?
Is this a one-way conversation?
Nothing they say is gonna set me free
Don't need no mental masturbations.

So off and on I'm trying to learn the Drow. And in between trying to learn the Drow, I'm trying to learn other forms. I'm still trying to learn the bat--all I have is a dark, dire-bat-sized form, I don't use often. I'm trying to learn a different bunny--to date, I just have the curved soft angora lop-eared. I'm wondering if I can learn another fox--beyond my small Arctic fox. I'm really intrigued by the thought of an ophidian form--not my Naga, imitation of mythology, but an actual humanoid scaled form. I haven't seen anything like that on the grid. It will be interesting if I can discover it in me, without seeing it.



Too many religions for only one god
I don't need another savior
Don't try to change my mind
You know I'm one of a kind
Ain't gonna change my bad behavior

In the meantime, I have the animal forms, I have my doll forms, unusual as they are...I have humans and vampires and zombies...I'm fine, not having new original forms, just imitating the life I see.

But in conversations with some of the Caledonians of my acquaintance, I'm yet again amazed at the difference, between me and those I know, between me and those who don't change. It's a perpetual realization for a shapeshifter--not everyone can change forms at will, nor wishes to, and that's also fine. I accept non-shapeshifters--after all, there are few who can, who wish to, do what I do. I think the grid would be very hard to recognize if there were.



All my life I've been over the top
I don't know what I'm doing,
All I know is I don't wanna stop
All fired up, I'm gonna go till I drop
You're either in or in the way, don't make me
I don't wanna stop

Consistency. It's about consistency and outrageousness, I think. And maybe malleability, but that's my side again. I mean, I don't think I'm that changeable--inside, where it matters, where I live--it's just the form I take. By and large, though each form does have its quirks--the Naga will not stay still, the bunny's a bit more nervous, my succubus is definitely more aggressive--I'm the same, inside. It's still me.



All my life I've been over the top
I don't know what I'm doing,
All I know is I don't wanna stop
All fired up, I'm gonna go till I drop
You're either in or in the way, don't make me
I don't wanna stop

But others may not see it this way. Consistency, it's been spoken of, consistency and affability, and the affability I have...consistence and respect, I have that too. Willingness to help, desire to learn. I've done those since my earliest days on the grid.

But consistency...I don't, precisely, have that. Though it does make me smile, thinking of Professor Sputnik--he doesn't precisely have consistency as one of his guiding traits, and has confused many people with his shift in form. And Miss Terry, one of his companions--she has horns, she has wings, but she doesn't always wear them. Her skin shifts from pale to dark and back again, and that also has confused certain folks.



I don't wanna stop
I don't wanna stop
I don't wanna stop
I don't wanna stop

But even my kittens aren't consistent--sure, I was born pale with stripes, but I've been practicing all sorts of other striped forms--black, brown, golden, auburn, deep red, lavender, green, blue, even pink--and now, I have a calico form, I have three different shades of spotted, I'm working on a tiger-striped and considering a cheetah. It's all in what I can imitate. What draws my eye enough to work on, to test out, to see if I can have that form within.

I've been seeing mice of late...though that's irony in spades, the neko shifter getting a mouse form...



All my life I've been over the top
I don't know what I'm doing,
All I know is I don't wanna stop
All fired up, I'm gonna go till I drop
You're either in or in the way, don't make me
I don't wanna stop...

So maybe consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds. I said it once on the profile to these writings--if you see the name, you're seeing me, regardless of which face you're actually seeing. Maybe that's enough. Maybe it's enough that the people I care for see me for me, regardless of attire, fur or lack of fur, tall or short or in between.



I'm still me. Maybe that's enough. Because I don't want to stop being that...

(Lyrics from Ozzy Osbourne and the new album Black Rain--this song in specific, "I Don't Wanna Stop". Of course.)

I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll

((RP Mode))

It startled me when the pounding jarred the doors of my home. It was raining, water sheeting down glass made ink-black by the night outside, and I ran down the spiral center ramp in my new home, knowing the mental touch of the one outside, but such chaos in his thoughts...I threw the door open and the towering figure staggered inside, water pouring from his clothes.

He stared at me wildly, and then said softly, "Boo."

I blinked. I said hello to the massive vampire before me, and he growled.

"KILLLL!" he screamed, the echoes taking some time to die down as I winced. His arms bled from claw marks...curved suspiciously like his talons.

"Sorry," he said. "I meant...hey."

"Er, hi," I said again. "And...kill whom?"

He looked plaintively at me, pinprick blue eyes glowing like stars in the shadows. "Me?" he whispered.

Oh, gods.

His hands flew to his ears as he staggered, as if to block out some horrific sound, but I heard nothing, my neko ears swiveling to catch any noise that might mean danger at this point.

"I hate them," he muttered. "I feel her thoughts, her feelings..."

And the penny dropped. He'd been gone from his Clan's lands for quite some time, victim of a spell that went awry that tossed him slightly beyond the reach of this world. It had been weeks, mayhap even months, between contacts. I wasn't in his Clan; but I was protected by his House, so I was connected, in some wise.

I reached out to him, succeeding as always in only reaching his waist, laying my small hands just above his belt buckle, looking up and up.

"I know, I know," I told him. "She treated you shabbily, and she didn't even break the bond between you. But how can I help you? I don't....I don't think I can kill someone else I care for..."

He fell to his knees, then, this mighty vampire, my protector for months, my shield...his head pressed to the floor, his wings hanging limp on the cold stones.

"Why?" he whispered. "What did I do to deserve such torment?"

As if I would magically have this answer...I knelt, sighing, stroking his hair.

"Women can be fickle. Even those who should know better, who have such hearts in their care."

He began banging his head against the stones. "Not enough that she left, no," he moaned between strikes. "But I have to be tormented over it, it is wrong...She says she still loves me, she wishes to take her words back..." He looked up, eyes wild. "I don't want her!"

I tried to stop him, but he was strong, so strong. He was always so strong...I knelt beside him, sighing.

"Women," I said softly, "rarely appreciate the harm we do until we've done it..."

He lunged at me, sudden and unexpected, pinning me to the floor, his body heavy, pressing against mine. "You'd think," he growled, "someone that is over a thousand years old would know better, wouldn't you?"

I shrugged, a movement made more complicated by being pinned between an angry vampire and the cold stones. "Love is love. You don't always choose who you love, you don't always make wise choices."

I watched his eyes; the blue was slowly leaching away in favor of whirling pinprick red. For the first time I felt fear. He growled again, his face contorted in rage and anguish, and my eyes slowly went wide. I didn't exactly want nearly a half-ton of very large vampire going crazy on me...and currently, I did mean that literally.

I said his name softly, hoping to snap him out of it. I was beginning to have difficulty breathing.

With a gasp, he seemed to come to, comprehension flooding his features again, and threw himself off of me, wings flapping with a leathery sound, pressing into a rounded corner, rocking himself. Watery moonlight patterned his face in odd wavering stripes. "Sorry...so sorry..." he mumbled, over and over.

I rose, stretching, rubbing the back of my neck, and sighed again as I crawled into the corner. I said his name again. He didn't seem to hear me.

"Please," I said, more than a touch worried now. "Tell me what to do. I'll...I'll do it. Please..."

"I don't know, I don't know," he mumbled. "Cage me!" Then he shook his head. "No, that won't work..." He sat there, legs drawn up, rocking back and forth like an injured child. It hurt to see.

I shook my head. "I can't cage you anyway..." I looked down, knowing even the cages I'd bought 'just in case' I'd gotten rid of, because my cheetah feared all cages so. I looked down, looked around, shrugging.

"Should I...call someone? Is there...?"

He shook his head, mumbling something about bunnies and colors I didn't quite catch. I put a hand out, worried, and stopped it dead in midair as he whispered he had no one, no one to call, no one to come, no one to care. I watched, panic rising now, as his taloned hands curved around his upper arms, the claws digging in deeply, runnels of warm blood curling over his pale flesh, spattering on the dark stone floor.

"I have no one, I know nothing, I question, now, what I do think..."

I couldn't stop now, reaching out, touching his hands.

"You are in pain. It is natural. It will pass."

He quickly glanced my way, his expression dark. "Will it? I know breaking up hurt; I have done that. But this?...This is driving me mad!"

I nodded slowly, staring into his eyes. "If you cannot break the bond with her, you will go mad. Why have you not broken the bond? You've left your clan, you've left their lands. Why not sever your connection to her?"

His face grew sad, his voice and eyes grew soft, with sorrow, or perhaps regret.

"I can't," he nearly whispered. "She sired me..."

I blinked. I was stunned. His Sire left him for someone else. His Sire. By all that was holy...

I couldn't help it, I was worried, and I was angry. I watched the reflection of my eyes in his as they flashed silver, actinic glow in the shadows, as I answered. "Ah, gods...she'll drag you down...."

He nodded, slowly, eyes seeing...whatever it was, it wasn't in my home, and it scared him, it looked like. "To undo this bond to her..." He raised haunted eyes to mine. "It would mean my own death. I will go mad and nothing short of killing me will stop that, or save anyone. I can't be shackled or caged. I am too strong, and I have magic."

Gad, I'd forgotten. And he was alone with me.

"I fear I must leave and never return," he said. He dropped his head. I bowed my head, shaking.

"I hear the abyss is nice this time of year..." He snarled after he said it, though, and his eyes flashed nearly solid red as he punched the wall, crumbling some of the carved stone support. I heard the crunch of bone and flinched, eyes flaring wide, whiskers splayed out.

He signed, hanging his head again. "Sorry about your wall..."

I shook my head. "I can repair it. Or, i was thinking of changing houses, anyway....going back to a certain tree..."

I watched as he curled up on his side, mumbling, his wings wrapped around him. Something about time and clocks winding down, nothing to stop then, nothing to tend...I stroked his wings, the other hand carding through his hair, and worried as I watched him.

"Wish I was a human," he said. "Easy to kill...easy to heal..."

I shook my head slowly. "No spell I know can do that." I sighed, stroking his hair gently. "Even shifter blood wouldn't help you, or I'd offer...you know I would."

"Bad idea to have been turned," he mumbles. "Turn back time, slap the bitch, fix the world."

I shrugged. "Can't go back, just forward, and sideways."

He rolled back into a sitting rocking position, movement fluid, even now in extreme distress graceful, which one never expects to see on a man, a vampire, of his size. He turned to face me, eyes earnest.

"Shove me off, then, like a disobedient pet," he said.

I looked sternly at him. "You were never a pet."

He laughed, a sound devoid of all humor. "I may as well be one..."

I raised an eyebrow. "How would that help?"

He sighed. "I am useless now. I have no desires that don't involve killing. I am to seem a pet, a toy merely, for the Clan's...use."

I felt my eyes narrowing, my own anger rising. "No," I said. "NO. They will NOT treat you so!"

My vampiric friend, my protector, let his head fall back against the columned wall with a loud thud. He slowly turned his gaze to mine.

"It matters not to me, anymore. I am empty. She was all I had, and I gave her my soul, my all, my heart and breath. I am empty..."

I nodded, expression sober. "Then what do you will of me?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know!" he yelled, his fists clenching, the claws digging into his palms. "If I knew, I would do it!"

I looked up, power in the room palpable, pricking across my fur. Thunder briefly clapped, and I looked down. My voice was a whisper, a thread, when I finally spoke.

"I know your anger. I know your fear. I know this feeling of emptiness. I know it gets better, but for me, I live, I breathe, each day that goes by is a day farther away from it. You..." I sighed. "I've noticed vampires tend to hold on to....everything."

He turned, whirling, up on his knees, his right hand raising. I reared back but his talons traced a line of heat across my neck, and I knew I'd been cut. Before I could find out how badly, his hands tightened around my throat and he growled.

"I will go mad before I get better...The fact she turned from me guarantees that. If I kill her, I kill myself. I wish to live, I wish to get over her but I don't have that option..."

He gasped, then, and slowly released my neck, his hands shaking. Fear of what he nearly did? Fear of hurting me? Fear of the distant echoes of voices not his through the bond with his Sire?

I had no idea. I shuddered, a bit, but leaned in, swallowing, tilting my neck back, blood vivid against my fur. He groaned, not watching me, sinking his claws deep into his upper arms again.

I closed my eyes. I had a worse idea. I slowed my breathing, raising one hand to my throat, wetting my fingertips along the claw marks. Eyes still closed, I reached out, and placed my fingertips on his lips, blooding them.

He rocked back and forth, unknowing, uncaring.

I turned my hand, cupping his cheek. My eyes were still closed, but I could hear him, feel the power from him, unstable and unnerving. "You kill her, you die," I whispered. I opened my eyes in time to see him lower his head to his knees, sobbing as if his heart had broken anew.

I pulled him awkwardly into my lap, watching as he fell asleep, the stress and fatigue of carrying this finally overwhelming him. I stared down, petting his hair, stroking down his spine, and sighed.

Now what the hell do I do? Other than the strong temptation to track down and really hurt his mate, in ways she might actually not heal well from...I have no clue how to solve his problem. I truly fear he'll go mad...or find a way to undo his hundreds of years of unlife.

Neither seems a good idea, frankly. But I have no idea what to tell him.

and you wanted to dance, so I asked you to dance, but fear is in your soul

Yesterday was so very busy...It started with a doll/toy show in Lummerland, where many of the best and brightest talents exhibited their creations to the rest of us interested in clockwork life, dolls and playthings, in all venues. The innocent and the arcane, the seductive and the dangerous, all gathered under one banner, that of love of toys.

My camera was insufficient to the task, I'll post pictures if I find them, or links to them...but I can tell you it was astounding, and Miss Doll Box and Miss Subversive Vavoom had a very ingenious way to get information out to the wandering masses--by clicking the "price tags" attached to each display case, one would receive a notecard with a bit of history on the doll's character, and links or at least shop names for hair, shoes, outfits, skins...I now have so many new doll shops to see!

I'd newly--and briefly!--enchanted the Temporal Matrix I'd been given, with the unknowing aid of Mssrs. Nux Chaplin and Klink Epsilon, and my back-turning Key attracted quite a bit of comment over the course of the day. I was more enchanted, frankly, with the concept of boxed toys, which is catching on to an amazing degree in the community. Though she was on vacation, with the rest of the Bloodwing Foundation, Miss Qli was there at least in spirit--or, at least, her "Firefightress" action-figure box.

After that, I changed from the dark Victorian Lolita frock I'd worn for the doll show, to something closer in tone to Harajuku Aristocrat, and went from precise dark doll locks to cascading cyberhair. It was, after all, Sysperia Poppy's gallery.



Group shot of attendees to the King has Fallen's gallery showing of Valley of the Dolls--most of whom I'd seen not one hour previous, at the doll show.



DJ Nova Sakigake spun tunes for us, and I now have a whole list of bands I must track down, that I'd never heard of before and adored tremendously. She's very, very good. The show is also wonderful, oddly vintage in feel, with all faces seen those of dolls.

I ended up spontaneously hosting, for which Sysperia felt she needed to pay me, so I immediately turned around and bought the one piece of mine she had in the show. It's not ego; it's that I wandered around, looking at everything, and didn't realize I was looking at me until the little plaque reminded me that was Muse Emilly. Just breathtaking, and Miss Zoe Hartnell's skills as a photographer are astounding as well.

Just for fun, I put together another slideshow. Aheh. Those who don't favor pink do look away now...

Miss Helyanwe Vindaloo of Deviant Kitties made the hair. It color-changes--the base tone remains the same, but the bobbles holding the ponies together, and the solid tube inserts, plus the striped tube inserts, change color on command. I now have it in the candyfloss pink and a white/black. I may get it in pure black, or in a tipped blonde, as well. At $L175, it can't be beat.

(If you look closely? You can see the eye-crossing glitch that so many of us are complaining about. Why the powers that Linden felt they needed to break my eyes, I can't say...and I'm still more than irked about. Makes photography trickier than building with micro-prims!)

After that, I was due to host in Steelhead, a replacement for the far-traveling host, and it seemed to be looking like a very small event. We very nearly canceled, but I was already dressed in my vibrant best, still with my turning key--an entire day spent as a doll, it was very odd!--so we gathered in the grand ballroom, and I danced with many gentles in turn, my full red skirts sweeping the marble floors. I do love the new hotel, it's impressively elegant.

We ended the evening with a trivia contest, and I think for small events, we may well truck the concept out again, because it was grand, grand fun.

I danced for a bit after the event was over, until my brain could no longer be denied, made my apologies, and nipped off to a sandbox, to wrestle with the current project. There has to be an easier way to do what I want, which is to create a sandbox with the optimal amount of surfaces to hang all the art I now own, but how? I like my basic design--vaguely Middle Eastern, sketch mockup as follows--



--but my problem is each of the small insert 'room' prims is just about the maximum height and width of a standard cube prim. This skybox is HUGE. Linking it? Has to be done in stages, and with a floor and ceiling, I keep missing pieces in link.

Plus, to use mega-prims, to drop the floor/ceiling down to one single prim, or even four, as opposed to sixteen each...I have to have something evenly divisible by ten. Right now? Because of the angling, it clocks in just slightly off the base...

It's my current nightmare. I'll work it out.

Also, a note to self I must remember:



The energy of the zombie in the doll's skin results in some aberrant behavior.



Fun as it was to lurch around and fall over. Hee.

I hear the drums echoing tonight

The job of a naturalist and observer of tribal cultures is not always easy. I would point your attention, gentles, towards my current exploration of the native cultures of exotic...Steelhead City.



I arrive and the ritual is already in progress. I observe for some moments before I feel I properly understand the meaning beyond their strange and unusual movements.



I watch them carefully, making no sudden moves, matching their dances to the best of my ability.



Success! They seem to accept me! Perhaps I will be invited deeper into the heart of the tribe, to experience their exotic wonders, before returning to my homeland.



My attention is briefly drawn by one of the village maids, who has apparently decided to wear strips of patterned cloth wound around her shapely form, in lieu of more understandable attire.

She has a firearm strapped to her thigh. I am vaguely disturbed by this. I wonder to myself where she acquired such weaponry.



I believe then the priestess appeared, spinning in the center of the circle as we bowed and swayed, her servants in dance. Of course, I am not entirely sure of this, but it seems a most logical conclusion.



My attention again wanders, to the side of the dancing floor, where a large stewpot is bubbling away over a blazing fire. My curiosity gets the better of me--I must investigate more closely.



To my shock and horror, a pair of fellow naturalists have been captured and are being stewed alive! Savages!



True Victorians born, they accept their fate with aplomb and utmost grace indeed, holding each other as the flesh boils from their bones.



I do believe I shall depart before dinner is served...in case they had plans to have neko anthropologist for dessert!

as your worries crawl around inside your clothes

And your hands are really shakin’ somethin’ awful
As you light your twenty-seventh cigarette
Oh, how long have you been sittin’ in the darkness
You forget...

Patience. It's not one of my virtues. I saw an ex-lover tonight, ex-demon, now small and semi-helpless neko--the form chosen deliberately, to distance himself from the six feet of crimson he used to be--and I happened to mention the vacations, current and upcoming, of my loves. He told me he'd always be willing to play...and then said he had to leave.

Such is the way of the life, right now. Yes, I'm understanding the point, O my gods, you don't need to drum it in by mallet.

Oh, you know you’re gettin’ really hard to be with
And you’re cryin’ every time you turn around
And you wonder why you cannot pick your head up
Off the ground...

No tears, not now at least, not yet, but melancholy, we have in abundance...went dancing with a casual acquaintance in a new club this afternoon, as a break from building, as a way to connect with people...half an hour into dancing, he said we should probably move from slow dancing to something more active, like a salsa, or a tango...because otherwise people might think we were in love.

We weren't in love, he knew that, I knew that, but it still felt like a slap in the face. Yes, gods forbid, you should fall in love with me...even though you were talking about "Embracing" me the day previous, the "highest honor" an "ancient Vampyr" could bestow...

...on the other hand, I turned him down on that offer, because my shifter blood has enough problems...Maybe I deserved a slightly curt, 'we're only friends' answer...and be fair, we were...sort of...as friendly as I can be with someone I barely know...

Oh, my crazy baby
Try to hold on tight
Oh, my crazy baby
Don’t put out the light...
The light, the light, the light

Yesterday I carefully laid out twenty-eight prims, intricately turned, intricately patterned, whorls upon swirls upon twists, adding rotation scripts and light scripts and watching the structure, finished, as it cast light over my face in turning patterns.

Then I deleted the whole thing and went home to curl up in the laundry basket, watching the world go by until I fell asleep. Even now I don't feel any great pain of loss. I'll recreate it or I won't; I'll redo it or I won't; it's just a thing. I can remake it. If it crosses my mind.

And they look at you like they don’t speak your language
And you’re living at the bottom of a well
And you’ve swallowed all the awful bloody secrets
But you can’t tell...

He says he's there for me. I know he is, but...I fear asking. I fear hurting him again. So I talk to him across the miles, tentative conversation, learning to smile in his presence again, even if distantly. The heart may be healing, but the head still worries. It's always my way.

I don't even want someone to make my breath catch, pull me from slumbering senses into gasping, each inch of skin alive and aching, everything in me yearning for the other that brings me to such heights...not even that. I have this wistful little want of being held, because I think something in me feels it's all I deserve, and even that I do not, cannot, have, right now.

Oh, you know you ought to get yourself together
But you cannot bear to walk outside your door
No, you cannot bear to look into the mirror
Anymore...

And the leash for my pet trails on the ground, unhooked, because my pet is flipping in and out of limbo more than I do on high-limbo days. I am alone...again. As I apparently am meant to be.

I'll wait for him here, in this place where I am the only living thing until the waterline, but I don't hold out great hope.

Oh, my crazy baby
Try to hold on tight
Oh, my crazy baby
Don’t put out the light...
The light, the light, the light

And I am uninspired to finish the fifteen-piece outfit; I'll make an attempt again tomorrow. I'm uninspired to finish the skybox revision I'm currently working on; I'm pressing through because I feel if I don't, I'll have this hapless feeling of uselessness that will set in, and damn it, I'm not useless.

I'm just...getting towards depressed, and far past turning the corner on resigned, and...I may sleep in tomorrow. For hours.

And your hands are really shakin’ somethin’ awful
As your worries climb around inside your clothes
Oh, how long will you be sittin’ in the darkness
Heaven knows...

Maybe tomorrow I'll work on the new house more. All I have inside are cushions, and all of them on the upper level, though I did put out the well-armed welcome mat, so to speak...big gold pentacle with all the guns in the universe, tucked inside. It still makes me smile.

And I have the autumn trees, and the sapphire ball of glowing light, and maybe I'll set out some tombstones, depending. Don't know.

It's very odd, this mood. It's depressive, but it doesn't feel half so dark; it's contemplative, but I don't necessarily care about the outcome.

The Hanged Man
Card Number: XII
Key Number: 23
Rulership: Water
Hebrew Letter: Mem
Translation: Water
Numerical Value: 3

"The devotion to worthwhile causes, the life in suspension, the willingness to wait and listen. Sacrifice in the present for benefit in future. The period of waiting. Necessary cessation. Rebirth, transformation, change in circumstance.

Sacrifice of one thing to gain another.

To stop resisting, to make oneself vulnerable, to exist at the whim of the higher mind and trust the universe will respond. A time of trial, meditation, selflessness, sacrifice, to gain enlightenment, intuitive understanding, and prophecy.

Answers that eluded comprehension will become clear in time. Solutions to problems will be found. All things in time, all things to those who wait, suspended, existing on breath and lack of desire.

Timelessless. Suspension. The feel of the frozen spaces and the lack of change."

That's where I am.

Oh, my crazy baby
Try to hold on tight
Oh, my crazy baby
Don’t put out the light...
The light, the light, the light
The light...

Frozen between the human face and the pale kitten and never another form explored. Frozen between wanting and not wanting. Frozen between reaching out and pulling back. Frozen between waiting and giving up. Frozen between creation and stagnation.

That's where I am. How long it lasts...is up to the universe.

(Song is Joan Osborne's "Crazy Baby".)

in this dangerous world, there's an art to growing old

At least I got to hold him once, before he drifted farther away...

It's an odd thing. The universe rarely has clear-cut signals for me, but I can't think but that this one's unequivocal: I need to be alone for a bit. The statue's gone far from my shores; the wandering satellite has found his orbit again, and is far out on the elliptic; and tonight, the neko lad I had left told me he was leaving.

He will return...they will all return...but not now. It won't be now.

I guess we've hit that point. Because the other thing I know? Is I don't do alone well...



Welcome to Valruna.



I wonder where the half-Drow is living these days...

and don't you know, it's a beautiful new day

*chhhz!* "This is the conductor of the Orr Express, please brace yourselves for hairpin curves ahead..." *chhhz!*

When I started the day, this afternoon (and far too late besides), I was here:



Oh, not literally--literally, I was wandering around some tropical area behind a screen of silver mist, wondering where the industrial grime and metal of Goth1c0 had gotten to...

...but metaphorically, so to speak. I was braced for disaster. Tragedy was on the horizon, I knew it to my bones.

*chhzzrt!* "Conductor! There is no fire in the crew compartment! I repeat, there is NO FIRE! What do we do?"

*chhhz!* "Relax."

*chhzz!* "...what? Uh, repeat, sir, we don't know how to do that--"

*chhzzrt!* "Then you'll LEARN, won't you?"

And that one spoke up. And we talked. And I made a deal with myself--good or bad, over or not, you will not shade the truth today. You will not angle, you will not slide away, you will not misdirect, you will not treat conversation as a series of glancing blows and painful interchanges. You will stand there, and you will speak truth, and you will LISTEN, damn it, and you will stop mucking about.

And I didn't hold back. I told him that yes, that lad in the corset was something akin to a drug, and I had yet to figure out if it was an addiction I needed to break, or more, as I'm beginning to suspect, a necessary replacement for something my heart sorely lacked...and that yes, I'd shown preference, and yes, I'd neglected my loves, and no, I didn't know how to fix it...

...but that yes, I still loved him, and no, I hadn't turned away, and yes, I'd understand if he had, and yes, in the long run, I think we're bad for each other, and yes, I can see this happening again, even if I'm careful. And I apologized.

Around every conversational turn, it felt like.

And we kept talking. Staggering a bit, here and there, in the midst of a skin designer flinging demo skins at me to wear and decide over, in the midst of picking and choosing which of her drop-dead gorgeous gowns I thought would go with her skins and her hair (I'm telling you now: sachi Vixen's Venetia gown at Adam & Eve. Save up for it. Buy it. Adore it. It is. The prettiest. Gown. EVER)...we kept talking. Long past the point that limbo, by design, should have swallowed me.

And he told me a thing, which also is bound into the silence of the rest of it, but...I felt such a weight lift, it was astounding the freedom I felt in that single moment. I could breathe again. I could move again. My heart burned like a silver lamp in my chest. We'd be fine.

And more, even more incredible...I know now we'll be fine even if he leaves me. How often has that happened? Let me say that again, because it sounds vaguely important.

I know, I know, to the soul of me, to the center of my bones, with every fiber of my being...that if he says goodbye, or if I do, it will not ruin us. We will be friends, we will still care, I'll still love him.

That's happened...twice. Twice. In all my years. I can be acquaintances after, I can be friends, once or twice, as said, close friends...but it's far from the usual pattern. Far from what my brain typically understands.

Now I fling off into limbo to spend the rest of the night, and part of tomorrow, and I'm here:



Such a vast difference. Such a relief. Such a balm forgiveness is.

It's good to be here.