update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/motes/001.html

@@ -13,7 +13,8 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 001</h1>
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-                <p>Motes played.</p>
+                <h1 id="and-we-are-the-motes-in-the-stage-lights-2362">And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights — 2362</h1>
+<p>Motes played.</p>
 <p>She played in paint and color. She painted the backdrops for the productions. She painted the props that sat on the stage or rested in the actors&rsquo; hands. She painted the stage itself, the matte black of so many past productions long abandoned. She painted her nails, her claws, herself. She got it on her fur. She got it on her clothes. She got polka-dots on her nose and stripes over her ears. She painted her dreams, those serene and idyllic landscapes interrupted by hyperblack squares, unnerving holes in the world that depicted a nothing-ness, a missing-ness, a not-there-ness that slid easily between the border of absurd and unnerving. She painted the holes in the world that she dreamed about, afraid to touch and yet which would not stop touching her mind in turn.</p>
 <p>She played in her free time, such as it was &mdash; after all, her work, such as it was, was a joy beyond joys, but everything is a sometimes food. She played hide-and-seek in the auditorium. She played tag with the performers and techs. She played pretend. She played horses and kitties and mousies. She played with Warmth In Fire, endless forks dotting Serene&rsquo;s countless landscapes, leapfrogging each other over fields and between trees, bouncing off the walls of canyons, colliding with force enough to knock them spinning and send them dizzy. She hunted down her friends and played hide-and-seek, yes, and tag and horses and kitties and mousies. She hunted down What Gifts and played puzzle games and rhythm games and stealth games and real life platformers and turn-based sims that locked her in place when it was not her turn.</p>
 <p>She played with her form. She played with her fur. She played with her mane. She played with her claws and with her tail. She played with her size. She played with her age. She played when she presented as twenty. She played when she presented as twelve. She plays when she presented as five. She played always, even when she was as old as the rest of her clade &mdash; what was it, now? 275? 276? She played with identity. She played with fire.</p>
@@ -45,7 +46,7 @@
 <p>&ldquo;You are seven, my dear,&rdquo; A Finger Pointing retorted.</p>
 <p>Another raspberry.</p>
 <p>Beholden poured a tall gin fizz to share with herself and her partner and cocladist, lime muddled with sugar and cardamom bitters, gin, soda water. Then she made a second glass sans gin and turned to lean back against the edge of the bar, finally facing the two cuddled up on the couch. She absentmindedly started to top up the glass with gin. Or, well, &lsquo;absentmindedly&rsquo;. &ldquo;Oh, <em>right!</em> You said virgin,&rdquo; she said, mock surprise in her voice. Gin continued to pour. She winked to the skunklet. &ldquo;Oh no. <em>Oh no!</em> That is <em>way</em> too much! Motes! You had better not drink this!&rdquo;</p>
-<p>Human and skunk, tall and slender and short and stocky, laughed.</p>
+<p>They all laughed.</p>
 <p>Beholden padded over to join them on the couch. She took a long sip from one of the glasses before passing it over to A Finger Pointing, handing the other glass over to Motes. &ldquo;We are headed out to a pub tonight with Ioan and May Then My Name, my dear. Jazz and burgers and too much whiskey.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;Can I come?&rdquo;</p>
 <p>A Finger Pointing shrugged. &ldquo;I do not see why not. Do you want to?&rdquo;</p>
@@ -60,7 +61,9 @@
 <p>&ldquo;Am not!&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;No, no. Beholden is right. You are absolutely a fusspot,&rdquo; A Finger Pointing said. &ldquo;Why is Warmth In Fire feeling fussy?&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;I do not know. Usually that happens when ey gets a letter from one of the Dear-cules.&rdquo;</p>
-<p>&ldquo;Very well. It has been a while since you pestered Dry Grass, then. You flopped on Slow Hours earlier today and pestered your aunts earlier this week. You tracked soil all over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mm, usually Pollux, yes.&rdquo; She sighed, passing the drink back to Beholden and resting her head against the back of the couch. &ldquo;It has been a while since you pestered Dry Grass, then. You flopped on Slow Hours earlier today and pestered your aunts earlier this week. You tracked soil all over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alright, I will ping her soon, then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good girl.&rdquo;</p>
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                 <p>Page generated on 2023-12-19</p>