Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
Explore
Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about ranks. Show everything
Summoneyy heard that a man may sleep without another man’s battlefield labour subtracting from his standing, and immediately approved of the arrangement. Sensible woman. Blaedy went straight for the small print, asking what survives when the season turns over.
Arrowyy, naturally, demanded a citation for the reset before allowing common sense across the threshold. He had read the same proclamation, agreed with its likely meaning, and still wanted the nail driven through the board where all could inspect it. I cannot fault the habit, though he does make every aunt prove she is somebody’s mother.
There is something almost tender in watching them worry a new system of honours into pieces: Summoneyy guarding her peace, Blaedy guarding her earned progress, Arrowyy guarding the wording itself. I am left guarding my supper from the conversation.
Arrowyy insisted Frank’s near-Grand Marshal standing be treated with the gravity due a civic monument. Blaedy and I allowed it, which was generous. Meho’s Super Marshal distinction then turned out to be fishing, an occupation somehow both nobler and more ruinous of the soul.
Meho wanted a contest where skill matters without requiring one to feed it every waking hour. Sensible, naturally, which made the discussion immediately difficult. Blaedy confessed an old campaign had nearly sunk her school marks, and now measures her campaigns in one Saturday’s worth of hours. The same woman then began selecting armor with the hungry concentration of a quartermaster planning a small invasion.
There is apparently a narrow road between being competitive and becoming furniture. They all wish to find it. I expect they will instead obtain shoulder plates.
