update from sparkleup
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@ -25,8 +25,8 @@ So I will love you as she loved her;
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I will remember for all of us.</div>
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<h2 id="other-memories-from-wolfery">Other memories from Wolfery</h2>
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<ul>
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<li>
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<p>8/21/2023, 10:57:41 AM: Pointillist of the Ode clade chuckles. “Perhaps we can get Heat And Warmth to dream us up a sample for you before we go to all the trouble. But I am more interested in ornamental horticulture anyhow.” She vaguely twirls her hand, smirking. “Sim design is a little more fun with a bit of hand-trimmed splash of color, is it not? Makes up for all the time I was <em>not</em> spending doing my job.”</p>
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<li>8/21/2023, 10:57:41 AM: Pointillist of the Ode clade chuckles. “Perhaps we can get Heat And Warmth to dream us up a sample for you before we go to all the trouble. But I am more interested in ornamental horticulture anyhow.” She vaguely twirls her hand, smirking. “Sim design is a little more fun with a bit of hand-trimmed splash of color, is it not? Makes up for all the time I was <em>not</em> spending doing my job.”</li>
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</ul>
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<p>The cladist sighs, then pinches on one of Beholden’s ears. “A Finger Curled delved much deeper than I did. It was actually one of <em>her</em> sims that I always walked you through back sys-side. You remember that sprawling little labyrinth of gardenboxes and such, yes? Sometimes one of her instances would be working just a path over or so. She sent me a letter once musing that it had become a bit of a game for her to stalk us as closely as she could without being caught!”
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* 8/21/2023, 10:59:37 AM: Talonstrike Broadwing shuffles in, and arrives in the middle of… such a discussion. “Wait, there’s a ‘A Finger Curled’? That was a joke I was going to make one time.
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* 8/21/2023, 11:01:23 AM: Beholden of the Ode clade chirrups and tilts her head toward her cocladist at the pinch to her ear, eyes half-lidding at the little tingle of sensation that comes with it. “Did she now!” she says, laughing. “How delightful. I am pleased to see that she leaned as much into that playfulness as we have, over the years.”</p>
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@ -43,14 +43,12 @@ I will remember for all of us.</div>
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<p>She perks, waves to What Lives. “Speaking of skunks, though!”
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* 8/21/2023, 11:33:27 AM: Pointillist of the Ode clade perks up, waving a hand at What Lives. “Ah! You must be…one of Praiseworthy’s, surely…” She lifts her tinted glasses up, smiling. “Welcome to the Rift! It is not so miserable, but also, yes, we all appear to be stuck in Limbo.”
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* 8/21/2023, 11:35:03 AM: Talonstrike Broadwing chuckles. ((Belatedly. Attending to tasks while Mirrdae takes a turn doing the driving.)) “Cottagecore skunks. Awww. That’s cuuute. Way cuter than my unsaid jokes.” ((Also Cadmium would draw them well.))</p>
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</li>
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</ul>
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<hr />
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<ul>
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<li>9/12/2023, 9:07:15 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade softly smiles, resting her hand on Beholden’s shoulder. “The firepit,” she blurts, grinning. “I remember A Finger Curled’s pyromaniac phase. I also remember how it <em>really</em> worked for Muse. They danced, you know? In the way lovers do under the moonlight deep in the mountains. We had such a lovely fright once when your dress caught fire. That frumpy old thing was so ragged the coarse fibers made for wonderful kindling.”</li>
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<li>
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<p>9/12/2023, 9:10:30 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade giggles and claps her paws delightedly. “Yes! I got several messages in a row about roasting marshmallows, roasting sausages, smoking food. And then suddenly they all stopped, and I always wondered why.” She giggles helplessly. “I suppose now I know, yes? Poor Beholden! I cannot imagine how much of a fright that must have given.” She adds, poking her partner (quite gently) with the tip of a claw, “Please endeavor not to catch me on fire, boss.”
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** 9/12/2023, 9:15:38 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade squirms a little, grinning. “Oh, if ever I do it will be a fork, I promise. I have no intention of burning what is left of my muse. We <em>did</em> learn from that experience how tender you are to <em>pain</em>, however. That really shook her up. That is a soreness I did not— <em>she</em> did not ever address. They just stopped sharing their nights over the fire for a long while.”</p>
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<li>9/12/2023, 9:10:30 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade giggles and claps her paws delightedly. “Yes! I got several messages in a row about roasting marshmallows, roasting sausages, smoking food. And then suddenly they all stopped, and I always wondered why.” She giggles helplessly. “I suppose now I know, yes? Poor Beholden! I cannot imagine how much of a fright that must have given.” She adds, poking her partner (quite gently) with the tip of a claw, “Please endeavor not to catch me on fire, boss.”
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** 9/12/2023, 9:15:38 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade squirms a little, grinning. “Oh, if ever I do it will be a fork, I promise. I have no intention of burning what is left of my muse. We <em>did</em> learn from that experience how tender you are to <em>pain</em>, however. That really shook her up. That is a soreness I did not— <em>she</em> did not ever address. They just stopped sharing their nights over the fire for a long while.”</li>
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</ul>
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<p>A Finger Pointing knits her brow. “Perhaps you and I will try again with more care, as you are not burdened with the trauma of that panic coupled with unwithering memory.”
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* 9/12/2023, 9:25:52 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade splays her ears, somewhat abashed. “I do not particularly like it, no. Or, rather, I do not mind the ache of dancing for far too long, or the little sting of an affectionate pinch or tug, but I think that flames licking against my calf or the like would leave me quite shaken.” She shrugs a little, settling for just petting rather than brushing her tail. “But for me, a joyous dance around a campfire still sounds quite fun. Twirling and chanting and lifting tankards high to the moon. How delightful would that be?”</p>
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<p>The skunk laughs, tilting her cheek to brush it fondly against A Finger Pointing. “I do hope that they are still doing well on Lagrange.”
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@ -66,12 +64,10 @@ I will remember for all of us.</div>
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<p>“We are coupled on the Adirondack lounging chair on the porch while the Sun is low, its plastic bowing, threatening to snap in half under our weight. I am giving her that meteor shower of kisses down her neck, paw steadying her hips, when she bucks and the thing gives out right then. We both shout in surprise, then laugh at the absurdity of what had just transpired, and groan as we lick our shard-bitten wounds.”
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* 9/12/2023, 10:42:06 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade grins and nods to Pointillist. “At least for most of it, yes. Those last few years, we danced pretty openly, did we not? We were the talk of the town — several towns, even — for just how visibly sweet we were on each other.” She grins, sititng up primly. “Or so I hope to think. “Look at those two!” they would say. “They must be new lovers!” Or perhaps they would say, “They bicker like an old married couple.”“</p>
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<p>Those happy words turn into a giggle at the story, the skunk clapping her paws happily. “Oh! That would have been an absolute <em>mess.</em> I can only imagine how often they told that story to each other and friend,” she says once she can talk. “See? Not all of our story-baubles are sad or bitter. My up-tree sent a letter at one point talking about the joys of wood-carving. Did A Finger Curled have anything to say about that?”</p>
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</li>
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</ul>
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<hr />
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<p>10/14/2023, 5:54:19 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade’s shoulders sag a little at the touch. Another sigh comes from the Odist, her expression serene. “I see motes of memory all scattered about, significance imbued in pregnant silence and insignificant moments. I see fragments of a bigger picture all blown apart for me to collect and catalogue later, presuming I remember their details at all. That is why I have written in my journal most of all about what I sense, what I feel, what I know, and less the precession of events.”</p>
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<li>10/14/2023, 5:54:19 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade’s shoulders sag a little at the touch. Another sigh comes from the Odist, her expression serene. “I see motes of memory all scattered about, significance imbued in pregnant silence and insignificant moments. I see fragments of a bigger picture all blown apart for me to collect and catalogue later, presuming I remember their details at all. That is why I have written in my journal most of all about what I sense, what I feel, what I know, and less the precession of events.”</li>
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</ul>
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<p>“I see the courtyard of an abandoned schoolyard overgrown with frosted branches and cast in a blanket of blinding white. I hear the stillness of the air, the chill of that heavy silence that comes when a pressure front has rolled in and your voice carries twice as far. I feel the warmth of a paw on my back through fur, under a coat far too thick for my liking. I smell the breath of Beholden sharing the air under my jaw. I know she has just nudged me in that <em>deadly</em> way of yours by the buzzing up and down my neck, by the way my arms subtly curl in against my chest as if to embrace her despite the weight of her head on my shoulder.”
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* 10/14/2023, 6:05:43 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade listens, rapt. There are a few more gentle touches along Pointillist’s cheek before the skunk once more gets both arms around her, the better to focus on these fragments of dreams. It is all very Odist, this piecing together a whole rather than a linear plot, There is a metaphor to be made about putting together the seeds of a dandelion to see the puffball again, but it slips from her mind before she can make it.</p>
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<p>“I remain very pleased to hear that A Finger Curled still enjoys that little touch, and that my up-tree still does it. For the little cutesy maneuver that it began as, it has turned rather meaningful to us, has it not?” she says, sighing happily. “Winter, though, and abandoned school yards. That is curious. It still feels so prosaic, to me. Far less rushing about, far fewer wild nights. They had a very different kind of peace.”
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@ -79,8 +75,6 @@ I will remember for all of us.</div>
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* 10/14/2023, 6:28:59 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade flits that ear at the kiss and buries her face against A Finger Pointing — yes, with her snout tucked up under her chin. “Lividpurple! That sounds <em>very</em> like me. I suppose she is nothing if not myself.” The skunk giggles quietly, sounding more content than anything. “She did offer merging down a few times, you know, Beholden To The Music Of The Spheres. We talked it through over sensorium messages over the years. She had about convinced me a few times, but I always held back. I liked what we have, even when what we have started to be colored by A Finger Curled’s memories in you. It was touching to me that we live separate lives, that I lean more into electronic instruments and her the analog ones, that I lean more into partying and her the caipirinhas on the porch. It was even important to me that you and I approach that differently. A part of me doubts that decision, but here I am in the Rift and still yours, so I am content in that, at least.”
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* 10/14/2023, 6:32:48 PM: Pointillist of the Ode clade nods along, petting gently over Beholden’s mane. “Yours as a neighborhood, my muse. And I, your very own.” She smiles, kisses the top of the skunk’s head, and coaxes her up so she can stand. “I am feeling rather tired, of a sudden. Walk me home, please?”
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* 10/14/2023, 6:35:59 PM: Beholden of the Ode clade gives a little nuzzle up against A Finger Pointing before nodding. “Alright, love.” She pushes herself to her feet and waits for her partner to stand before offering her elbow to loop an arm through. “Come, we can flop on the couch and pick out patterns in the textures of the ceiling.”</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-04-09</p>
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