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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2024-01-04 23:45:10 -08:00
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4
writing/post-self/motes/003.html
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<p>&ldquo;How do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, they cut off Dear, right?&rdquo; it said. &ldquo;And I am rather a lot of Dear. I am Dear and Rye and Praiseworthy! I am all of my down-trees. I <em>like</em> being all of my down-trees. I am proud of it!&rdquo; She grinned. &ldquo;I think of all of those, they might like Rye okay, but they hate Dear, and I cannot imagine them being too into Praiseworthy after the <em>History</em> named her as the propagandist during Secession.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Motes frowned. &ldquo;Wait, really?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I mean, I have not actually talked to them, but they cut off Dear for less.&rdquo; Ey laughed bitterly. &ldquo;But again, I am also a little one, right? We also have our family dynamic, yes? Hell, Rye and A Finger Pointing are <em>plenty</em> chummy, if you know what I mean.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I mean, I have not actually talked to them, but they cut off Dear for less.&rdquo; Ey laughed bitterly. &ldquo;But again, I am also a little one, right? We also have our family dynamic, yes? Hell, Rye and Pointillist are <em>plenty</em> chummy, if you know what I mean.&rdquo;</p>
<p>She laughed. &ldquo;They write each other letters!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yeah. Sexy letters.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, okay,&rdquo; Motes said, still giggling. &ldquo;Do you really think they have cut you off? Effectively if not actually, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
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<p>&ldquo;Mmhm. Now, come on. Let us lick a battery terminal and eat a passion fruit and see how it stacks up against <em>frahabrodåt,</em> and then get some <em>actual</em> food.&rdquo;</p>
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writing/post-self/motes/004.html
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<p>Motes nodded. <em>&ldquo;Hi Slow Hours. Yes please.&rdquo;</em></p>
<p>There was a quiet chime from the door and the letters on the nameplate faded from &lsquo;Slow Hours&rsquo; to &lsquo;Au Lieu Du Rêve Library&rsquo;. This done, there was a quiet click and the door swung lazily open.</p>
<p>Beyond, rather than the comfortable and comfortably her home that Slow Hours kept, there was a well-lit reading room, a solarium of sorts with glass that looked out over some far distant part of the selfsame prairie that the neighborhood abutted. A table, several chairs, and a small collection of far more comfortable recliners huddled in the middle, while beyond, room of shelving stretched into dimness.</p>
<p>And there, already levering herself out of her chair, was Slow Hours. Sis Hours, her big sister. Slowers. Slow, if she was feeling particularly cheeky. Behind her, scattered among the shelves, several more instances of her cocladist were at work, peeking over whenever they thought she was not looking.</p>
<p>And there, already levering herself out of her chair, was Where It Watches The Slow Hours Progress. Sis Hours, her big sister. Slowers. Slow, if she was feeling particularly cheeky. Behind her, scattered among the shelves, several more instances of her cocladist were at work, peeking over whenever they thought she was not looking.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hi Speck,&rdquo; she said, smiling. &ldquo;If you are calling me &lsquo;Slow Hours&rsquo; then something must be up.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Motes huffed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come, my dear.&rdquo; Slow Hours rested her hand atop the skunk&rsquo;s head. &ldquo;Do you want to go sit outside?&rdquo;</p>