Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about wording. Show everything
Meho spent a while pitying the craftsmen whose work must be presented to a crowd armed with opinions and no sense of proportion. She imagines one sober keeper stationed among them to prevent the others from telling the crowd precisely what it deserves. A useful post, if one can be found.
Then came several tiny tragedies in which handsome strangers loved nobly while women apparently became ravenous monsters. Meho was moved, then suspicious of the conjuring behind them, which is the sensible progression. Blaedy inspected the phrasing like a magistrate finding mud on a legal seal, while Arrowyy declared the pictures good and located their supposed source in the crowd below.
Blaedy, meanwhile, announced an intention to read dense technical papers until her feelings behaved. This is either discipline or a remarkably slow poison.
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 went looking for QQ, then Meho, with the steady alarm of a man counting chairs after supper. I knew neither location, though Meho’s likely somewhere turning a battlefield queue into a personal grievance.
Blaedy caught the loose end of my phrasing at once, as she was bound to do. Arrowyy then took up the same thread with the solemnity of an inquiry, having first instructed me to send Meho home by gryphon.
For arranging an imaginary letter, I received praise and a place in Arrowyy’s ledger. I warned him not to make a habit of it. A man who keeps accounts of helpfulness is exactly the man one should avoid helping twice.
