I wonder if you could be my therapy~?

So recently Knux has been doing stuff in my head. Good stuff.

It's...subtle, and complicated, and hard to describe. But it's about boosting self-esteem. It's about allowing myself to feel comfortable in my body, it's about not feeling guilty, not mortifying the flesh, not practising self-denial. It's about untying my hopelessly tangled shoelaces and letting myself walk barefoot over the grass and get dirt inbetween my toes.

It's about not feeling like I'm under a moral obligation to give away every bit of security I can get a hold of, not having to be the one who saves the world, being allowed to be one of those characters with sub-par stats that never gets used for the boss battles, being allowed to be the human equivalent of my Platinum-version Weavile, who has no surefire big-hitter moves and whose stats are only average, but who is pretty and has a lot of character and is named after a good friend of mine, and who keeps up with the other five members of the team, more or less. It's about not panicking, not rushing or hurrying, staying calm, keeping it together, living in stone time.

(Water-name notwithstanding, Tigris is fire in my head; hot and quick and impatient. In fire time, every second, every nanosecond counts. Tigris always has a sense of energy about him; always poised to jump up and do something. To roar and fight or laugh booming-deep-golden and romp like...well, like a cat chasing sunbeams. Do Something. Time's a-wasting. This is the time, now is the time, every moment is the most important moment, the decisive moment, the moment of the fight, so do it, get up, do something, make something, fight something, change something, whatever you do, don't stand still. If you're standing still, you shouldn't be.)

Stone time is geological ages and patience. The slow, slow movement of mountains rising and tectonic plates shifting. They'll get there. There's no rush. No need to get in a lather. There is world enough, and time. Everything in its time, and a time for every purpose, if you only wait. Stone time is the green soft glow of the Master Emerald. It's meditation in a cool still room, and walking a meandering path through the Marble Garden, smelling the flowers, picking fruit, playing in the dirt, doubling back on yourself, lying down to sleep under a shady tree. Granite calmness, basalt wisdom. Stone just is.

Acceptance.

That's stone time.

15 books in 15 minutes...or not.

Because I can't resist a meme. Not one like this anyways.

Instructions: Don’t take too long to think about it. List 15 books you’ve read that will always stick with you — the first 15 you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Copy the instructions into your own note, and be sure to tag the person who tagged you.

The Chronicles of Narnia

101 Dalmatians

Wee Free Men

...oh, bother.

No, that's not a book.

That's the noise of me trying to think of another book, coming up blank, and realising that for me, it's the video games that have stuck with me more than books. Though I love books too. But it's the game-stories that resonate in me.

Well, I never was one for doing things the way everyone else does. So let's do it Eagle's way.

Fifteen games in fifteen minutes, in no particular order.

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance

Final Fantasy IX

Final Fantasy XII

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

Fire Emblem(FE7, Blazing Sword, Rekka no Ken, etc.)

Final Fantasy VII

Final Fantasy VIII

Pokemon Blue Version

Final Fantasy(the original)

Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings

Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

Phoenix Wright: Justice For All

Kingdom Hearts II

...Okay, I managed fourteen. Still, that's better than three. Welp, now for explanations.

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance. This game I love to pieces, not only for the compelling gameplay and amazing storyline, but for one boy I met through it; one wicked, funny, troubled, wild, amazing boy, full of darkness and sparkle, who is now one of my best spirit friends in the 'verse and I hope will be for a long, long time. Soren of the Greil Mercenaries.

A lifetime being labelled as 'boring, grumpy introvert, who couldn't have fun if the world was a party, and has no sense of humour' by the placental mammals* can be pretty annoying, when you know that you're not like that, inside. Sure, you're cynical, but in this world that comes with having a brain, dear. And what, never heard of black humour? Apparently not. And who says that just 'cause you aren't a naive little kid-type, you can't get joy out of simple things? I'll have you know I can draw with chalk on pavements, blow bubbles and play hopscotch with the best of them! Only, when people see you do that, it's point-and-laugh time. So...you hide. But playing's not so much fun when you're on your own.

Soren and I have had fun together. We've sung along to The Killers, tag-team-taunted Shinon, and tag-team-snarked annoying placental mammals(even if they couldn't hear us, it was enjoyable anyway). We've jumped on my bed and chanted 'Five Little Monkeys' till we really did fall off, danced the Witchy Dance to the Fire Emblem theme and to 'Keep The Faith', terrified Stefan, thrown popcorn at Naesala, collaborated on complex and insane ninja plots, and just hung out together, each reading our own books or listening to music or whatever, comfortable in each other's company. He's been a true boon companion.

That would be a lot, on its own. But being friends with Soren's been good for me in another way too. It's forced me to seriously think about the ramifications of privilege, and to be more conscious of my own(and thus better at checking it). It's also made me think about the label of 'victim', and how harmful and limiting that label can be-whether it's other people labelling you, or you labelling yourself. It's helped me have the courage to look at the world without painting my glasses rose-pink, and not flinch. It's made me a wiser person.

Much love to ya...Lady Senerio.(No, I am never going to stop calling you that. Ever. :P)

Final Fantasy IX. This was the game that really got me into gaming. I picked it up on a whim in a little game store in my hometown that's closed now...and my life was changed forever.

I'm trying to put words around the idea, but...it's too much, too hard. I've been trying to put words round the idea, really, since I started writing fanfiction for it, and I know I've not managed to capture a hundredth part of what I saw and felt.

I'll just say that Zidane has been an inspiration to me. Trying to shine like a jewel is hard work, but it's worth it, I think.

Final Fantasy XII. This one was all about the scenery for me, really-the scale of it. The expanse of the Westersand or Tchita Uplands, the gloom and glory of the Sochen Cave Palace or the Stilshrine of Miriam.

On top of that, Fran is awesome. The runaway who made good. Or at least made fun bad! Her aching family situation struck a chord with me. It still hurts-I could see in her face, in Eruyt, when she first entered and talked to Jote-she looked like a little kid, hurt and confused, and that made my heart clench, because she was strong, she was capable and clever, she was respected and looked up to and yet here in front of the family who'd disowned her she was once more a sad little kid.

She's a sky pirate, but she's still a little girl, who misses her sisters and her home.

And she's that little girl, but she's also a sky pirate, who can fix an airship and fly a hoverbike and snatch a treasure out from under the noses of who-knows-how-many nobles and Imperials. Who travels the world, wild and free, and-I think-happy. On the whole.

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. What is it with me and individual, amazing characters?

This time, it was Midna. Because, really, Midna is awesome. And that is all.

Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. This one stays with me for its utter creepiness. Moon with a face that SCOWLS...and the masks, oh god the masks...poor Mikau...

I never actually finished this(got stuck somewhere after the sea temple)but I may never be able to get it out of my head.

However much I try.

Fire Emblem. Because of all the amazing people in Steel Bird Pack. Because of peerless warrior Lyndis and daft dear Hector and gentle, brave Eliwood, and all their legion, their horde, their elite. And, mostly, because of Legault. Because Legault is one in a million.

Thank goodness.

Final Fantasy VII. Because of the utterly confusing story, because of Aeris and how she was the one who came up with the utterly flawless idea of crossdressing Cloud, and because I met Caity there.

Final Fantasy VIII. Because of the Garden. I've spent more time as a student than anything else, and I feel I know my way around schools-for better or for worse-so writing fic for it is natural in ways that it isn't for other games. Also, because of the discussion that me and Athene got into about what videogames the cast play.(I gave her a new reason to hate Rinoa. As if she needed any more. :) )

Pokemon Blue Version. Because it was the first RPG that ever I played. Ever. So it was kind of like my introduction to the mechanics of RPGing. And the first computer game I was really into. And because I had a Ninetales. Fire breathing kitsune!

Final Fantasy. Because of Amano's gorgeous, eerie, evocative art. The 'Strange Land' picture will be with me till I die. I want a print of it.

Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings. Because due to some very nasty meds that I am thankfully no longer on, I've some idea what it's like to lose your anima. So I can really sympathise with the aegyl. Also, because of the Cu Sith, and because of that one Cu Sith that was friends with Tomaj. I don't know why.

Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney. Because this was so much darker and more twisted than the other Phoenix Wright games, because of hobo-Phoenix with his mild manner hiding a steel heart, and because it will always be my headcanon that Thalassa Gramarye was a BITCH.

Phoenix Wright: Justice For All. Because of Franziska. 'Nuff said. Because I've said it already.

Kingdom Hearts II. Because of how beautiful and awful the World That Never Was is, and because of the unfairness that made me fume. Also, because Xigbar has a surfer-dude accent and a ponytail and hangs upside-down in mid-air, and there is no possible way that that is not win.

EDIT: And a fifteenth! Can't believe I didn't remember this before, but, Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood. Because of my Echidna. And also because of the Timmy joke. ^_^

*Eagle's current code for Boring People, particularly People Who Like Boxes. A further explanation may or may not be forthcoming; watch this space.

This is totally my philosophy in life

EDIT: The size is playing havoc. Gah. Well, just click on it and you'll see the punchline!

Homeland

Recently I reread Wee Free Men.

I love that book, but it's always made my heart ache. Because Tiffany has things I've never had and never will...an ancestry, and an ancient homeland. Tiffany is pure calkin girl, she has the hills in her bones. Her face and her name. Her eyes and her hair. Tir-far-thoinn. One place out of all the world that is hers, Land Under Wave.

Me, I'm a mongrel, a muddle of different lineages, so many that they cancel each other out and it's like having none-I have no ancestry, only ancestors. And my ancestors came here, to this bit of the world, only very recently...

But I reread this book, and something struck me a different way, and I thought.

This land is not like the chalk downlands, it is not ancient, but like the chalk downlands it was made by men. Men moved the earth around, planted trees and raised buildings. They brought plants from every corner of the globe to grow in their gardens, and they laid down paths among their houses. Just as men, so long ago, cut down the trees of the old forest and brought in sheep that ate the seedlings in the grass...

This land is. It is real. Not some abstract, historical ideal, but real earth and stone and concrete. It is a real place, and there is life here. Humans, animals, the million small tough plants mixed in with the short grass in lawns and parks. Down to the clay and the chalk below(for all South England is built on chalk), this land is alive.

Men brought many things to this land. Plants grow here that have grown here since time immemorial-oak, ash, thorn-but also there are plants that men brought over the water. And plants that men made, breeding for shape or colour or taste. They grow here just as well. I can be one more transplanted thing, here, one more naturalised citizen of the earth. There is a place for such as me.

There is beauty in this land. There is the big sky, which is more beautiful here than anywhere in the country. Painters come here, just for sky. There are the trees. I climbed a hill, here, and saw the patchwork land laid out before me; I found a still small pool, surrounded all by trees, and light shimmered down onto it at sunset. When I was at Longsands, there was a courtyard there, and in that courtyard a cherry tree. In spring it blossomed, and then it was a tree of wonder, a tree of pink-white foam, a tree fit for samurai to write poems to. But it did not care that no samurai saw, that no-one respected it or wrote haiku in its honour. It just was. And maybe some people saw. I know that I did. Maybe there were others...

There is cruelty in this land. But I can accept that. There is cruelty in every land. This is one problem that Tiffany has no advantage over me on. She knows that the people of her land can be just as vicious and unthinking as people anywhere. There was the old lady...What was done to her made Tiffany angry and ashamed and resolved that it should not happen again, not while she drew breath. But it didn't make her feel that she didn't belong right where she was.

I have lived in this land all my life. I know it. They say that the landscape you live in for the first seven years of your life leaves a mark on you. I do not know how true that is, but it is true for me, I think.

The ancient lands have their witches and wizards, and all know. Tiffany tells the hills what they are, and they tell her what she is. But is there anyone to tell this land what it is? Not just the parts of it that are old, but the new? The suburbs lying quiet in the hot sun, the man-made gardens, the playgrounds in the parks? The boats on the river with puttering motor engines? This land is real, as real as any land. When I was jealous of Tiffany it was because I felt less real than her, that my land was less real, because it was not so old and pure. But that's all wrong. Time isn't everything.

This land has no name that I know. There are names for the counties and towns, but there is no name for the land.

I will look for one. I will tell the land what it is.

Maybe if I listen, it will tell me what I am.

I am not one of us

I don't know if it's just me, but I've never felt quite included.

Technically I am a member of many groups. Not groups like organisations, that's a whole 'nother post subject and one for later, but...demographics. English. Mixed race. Genderqueer. Fantasy geek. Etcetera. I don't deny this. It's obvious.

Yet whenever anyone says 'us', no matter how stirring their speech is, no matter whether I think their sentiments are right or wrong...a little voice inside me says, 'I'm not one of you.'

Not in any insulting way, you understand. Not 'I'm not one of you!' hurled like an insult, defiant and secretly terrified, but simply a statement of face. I'm not one of you. Full stop.

I don't really understand why. It's just been...well, a rock-solid certainty, for as far back as I can remember.

Maybe it's psychological. Something to do with my parents-my mother refusing to admit I was part African, my father refusing to admit I was part English, in the simplified version. Maybe it was because I hated baby dolls and action-men both as a kid, and played instead with plastic animals, narrating long complex stories with my lions and tigers and bears(oh my). I don't know.

All I know is that whatever you are, whatever I am, I am not one of you.

That does not mean I don't sympathise with your problems, or that I think you are Wrong and I am Right, or that I pig-headedly deny that we share a common enemy or friend. All it means is that I am not one of you.

I am not plural. I am me, singular, and that is all.

What that means...I don't know.

It was twenty years ago today...

So I've finally hit the big two-zero. Somehow I can't really believe it. Probably because I'm still a scrawny little kid who looks about sixteen.

Happy birthday to me. Thulcandra has now survived two decades of Aquila Chrysaetos.

Welp, I'm still with us after all these years, so...Bring on the next two.

You're such a lovely audience, we'd like to take you home with us, we'd like to take you home. ^_-

The universal opera; Aquila's internal dialogue

Most people have an internal monologue. I got an internal dialogue.

These guys aren’t figments(save Caity, who straddles the border). They are me; they are also complete entities unto themselves. I don’t know how this is possible but it clearly is, and the world was never under any obligation to make sense to me.

And you can call it crazy if you like, but having them around and personified has helped my mental health, as far as I can tell.

That said, here’s the roster.

Caity: Impossible to define with any accuracy, other than as himself. He goes by the name Devin these days when hanging with figment folk; on Sygnus years ago when he shifted skin and introduced himself to someone else’s figments he asked for a name to be called by, and was given that one by one of them.

He originally came into my head from outside, but you could say he’s a naturalised citizen by now. He’s kind of an ambassador or messenger between the figment folk(mine and other peoples’), the independent little spirits(story people or talking stones or anything else-whichever), and the rest of the internal dialogue.

Tigris: Shoulder angel. Inner angel. Holy Guardian Angel. I’ve mentioned him before. He’s a personification of strength and virtue-specifically my strength and virtue-the best self I have.

He’s been around for absolutely ages, but I only personified him, figured out his name and face, a couple years ago now(maybe just one year…I have a crappy memory for timeline stuff). Tigris is the Latin word for ‘tiger’, a spur-of-the-moment naming on my part for this huge, marmaladey-orangey-golden-tabby beast with his saber fangs and clear gold eyes and Professor of Literature voice. As Athene reminded me, though, the Tigris is also one of the rivers that flows through Eden. I’m sure he was thinking that, even if I wasn’t. Caity and Knux call him Tig or Tigger sometimes, which is another thing that’s Athene’s fault; Demyx usually refers to him as Big Tigger, when he isn’t doing his Organisation name thing.

I vaguely expected him to be more distant and humourless than he is; boy, was I wrong! Though he takes a hands-off approach a lot of the time, it’s all about practicality, not to mention integrity and respect; his job is to teach, not coddle. And he is not humourless by any stretch of the imagination! His sense of humour is actually a good deal more robust than mine, probably because he’s a stronger person.

And then he’ll go and totally knock me for a loop by responding in kind when Stefen makes innuendo(I didn’t even understand what he was doing at the time, because it didn’t occur to me that he would!)or declaring that Franziska is his daughter, or becoming very close friends with Knux…

Tigris, these days, lives on Angel Island with Knux, in a cave near the edge of Marble Garden Zone that strangely resembles Tumnus’s home in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.(That is, when they're not being their otherselves, which I'm still finding out about so watch this space...)They had a big row recently over Gold(see earlier posts for details on him)and it looked for awhile as though Tigris might move out, but by now they have made up.

Franziska: Shoulder demon. That nasty little voice saying how weak and stupid and pathetic you are…or else goading you into being a total bastard. She’s from inside, like Tigris, and like him she’s been around for ages and her shape and name are just qualia. Unlike him, they are pinched directly from a spirit woman called Franziska von Karma, of Phoenix Wright: Justice For All fame.

When Franziska first got personified I expected her to be more or less straightforward nasty, all the bits of me I could really do without and need to get rid of as soon as possible; not quite a boggart, more along the lines of Screwtape(‘he can’t really love-nobody can-it doesn’t make sense’ wailed that demon on one occasion). Life is rarely simple however, and Franziska turned out to be rather more complex.

Christianity has it that devils are fallen angels; that badness is goodness fouled and twisted, rather than something autonomous in itself. The worst demons are the ones that fell the furthest-Lucifer was an archangel once. Franziska, I discovered recently, was also not always what she is now. Once she was the rightful wielder of the sword that rests between my shoulderblades(all people have one there). She was a desire for justice, for fair play in all things.

She fell, though. Somehow or other, she fell. Now she’s all muddled up with anger and spite and self-flagellation and hollow pride that hides burgeoning, breeding inferiority complexes. Now, she can’t or won’t touch the sword, and she’s a thousand miles away from dispensing justice. Quite the opposite, actually.

When I described her to Athene, she said It sounds a bit like she set herself an impossible task - to prevent anyone getting away with evil - and is mad at herself for not succeeding at it. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but it seems pretty accurate.

Tigris says she’s his daughter. He refuses to elaborate on that. But he does seem to care for her, though he doesn’t stand for any of her demonic attitude.

Knux(Knuckles for long): My Knight of Swords, with shades of Strength and The Tower. He could be from inside, he could be from outside; I honestly do not know and cannot tell. He’s…well, if I say ‘ego’ that sounds wrong. He isn’t a selfish person, or a cruel one. But he knows what he likes and is prepared to get it, he knows what he is and is prepared to be it, and he doesn’t give a damn for anyone’s arbitrary categories, hence the t-shirt he sometimes flomps around in; on the back is a bunch of green ones and zeroes, on the front the words BINARY IS FOR BADNIKS, with a little picture of a seriously trashed robot underneath.

He can be kind, and wise, but is definitely not subtle; a good knock-down fight is always his first and preferred option. He picks fights, but never at random; it’s just that he won’t walk on by when he sees something he can’t accept. He’s smart about knowing when is the time to attack, though, and when is the time to wait and sharpen his spikes. He’d rescue princesses from towers, not for the glory or the romance of it(because he frankly hasn’t got a romantic bone in his body)but because they were there and they needed rescuing. He’d also rescue dragons from knights, for the same reason. He and Tigris bonded pretty much immediately; they share something of the same sense of humour. Quite often Knux can be found using Tigris as a sofa or pillow(which Tigris does not seem to mind in the slightest), or lying between the big cat’s front paws and being thoroughly washed(which Knux does not seem to mind in the slightest).

He lives on Angel Island, which floats about above the clouds on the power of the Master Emerald and goes just about wherever he wants it to go. I sometimes think he is Angel Island, somehow. I’ve heard before of people who are places, so it follows that some places might be people, and the impossible geography of the Floating Island sometimes looks to me like a depiction of his own mind and heart…

Demyx the Demon DJ(D3 or D-cubed for short): Probably the weirdest of the lot. Another one who uses qualia unashamedly-his form is ‘borrowed’ from one of the Nobodies of Organisation XIII.

The original Demyx is a musician, and my Demyx is the music in my head, the invisible orchestra that no-one can hear but me. It all comes out of his magic sitar-everything from classical to J-pop by way of rock and roll. When he isn’t singing along with it, he generally talks obliquely, in circles. He’s probably the most mysterious of the dialogue-nobody can ever get a straight answer from him on anything. He has a habit, too, of referring to people not by their own names but by those of members of Organisation XIII. Knux generally gets called ‘Lexaeus’; Tigris is ‘Xemnas’, or ‘Saix’. Caity is ‘Luxord’.

He is also in love with Franziska. He endlessly flirts with her, which she reacts to with alarm and confusion. I’ve a suspicion she actually likes it, though-even when he’s calling her ‘Larxene’.

He spends his time in his own version of the Castle That Never Was, the Castle That Always Is-a shimmering confection of crystal walkways and pearly towers, under a moon shaped like a heart and a million shining stars. That is, when he’s not following Franziska to her home, and singing under her window…

Pride(In The Name of...What?)

Question for the world! Is pride okay or not?

I read a LOT of Christian writings-despite not being Christian myself at any point, though I came close a few times-and in those Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, as you know.

Read Mere Christianity sometime for a good potted summary. Pride is defined there as enmity between humans and other humans, between humans and God. Pride takes no pleasure out of having something-only out of having more than someone else. Pride is what drives people to ride roughshod over people, just cause they can. Pride is when you don't care what people think of you, cause the only opinion you care about is your own...

And I believed this, y'know. Not cause I was spoonfed it-well, maybe a bit-but because I KNOW I can be an insufferable prig at times. A snob of major proportions.

Only...

Only I've been reading recently about some other ideas. Like 'constructive ego'. This idea threw me for a loop a bit-always has.

A voice-yeah, another one-turned up in my head. He's not so disassociated from 'me' as the other voices...sometimes it feels like he's a mask I wear, or I'm a mask he wears, and neither of us can tell which. I can't love or hate him because he's too close to really being me.

Let's call him Gold.

Gold is proud. He takes no crap from anyone. He likes to be acclaimed and praised-he doesn't suffer from the stagefright that I do-and he's not ashamed to admit it. He doesn't scuttle around with his head down.

Gold thinks he has a right to be who he is. He doesn't have to apologise for it, and he doesn't have to pay for the right to exist. In a 'discussion group' here with some other patients, one woman said unhappily that she felt she was useless, no good in the world, and didn't deserve to live because of it, that it'd be better for the world if she was dead. Everyone started saying things like no, I'm sure you've done good-did you ever see that movie Clarence, small things you've done might have big consequences-you must have done Good Things whether you think so or not.

And Gold spoke up through my mouth, and said that answers like that were well-meaning but they were wrong at a basic level. You have the right to exist, he said. You don't have to pay for your life by doing good works. It's good if you do, of course, it's good to be a good person. But you don't have to work at deserving your life. Me, I was born. The rest of the world just has to put up with it.

He got given some astonished looks, and then a round of applause.

I'd have expected Gold to be pure selfish bastard, but he isn't, which continually surprises me. He has this weird but genuine respect for other people that seems to come of viewing them as equals. You aren't above me, so don't get on your high horse and ride over me. You aren't below me either, so don't bow and scrape. We can look each other in the eyes.

He's free to be kind, too...Another thing that surprises me. But after that discussion group Debbie-the one friend I have here, though she's an outpatient now-was feeling depressed. It was Gold who went to cheer her up, hugged her and invited her out for a meal in town, took her mind off the bad stuff with friendly talk till she felt better.

Humane. That's the word. He's weirdly, unexpectedly humane.

He's not good, and I don't know about nice-he's too sarcastic for that! And I don't know if he's right, either...

...Despite all this, though, I want him to stay.

When I'm Gold, I feel strong.

But I worry that I'm...well...Sinning.

I just don't know.

Big post of thinky and fear and so forth

Been reading some stuff on Dw3t-Hthr’s blog about fear of motherhood, fear not of the ‘I don’t want this, don’t make me do this!’ sort, but fear that goes hand in hand with the wanting, fear and want twined round each other like a nest of garter snakes. She talks about fear of what she might do to her kids, what she might inflict on them-passing on the generational curse. I understand that, and I wish I didn’t.

Reading it makes me think about my own fears. I’m scared of what I’ll do to my children, what kind of parent I’ll be, because the first people we learn parenting from are our own parents and mine taught me so many bad things that I am still painfully unlearning. I don’t want to be my mother and snap and lash out and try to stuff my children into a just-like-me box made out of ticky-tacky. I don’t want to be my father and live in a world of my own, not paying attention to what my children actually think or say, meaning well but being totally unreachable because when they talk to me I don’t listen, don’t even register their voices. I want to teach and protect and not be a burden of spikes digging into their minds, hanging on them as they try to grow up. I don’t want to be a monster…

And as well as that, and even worse than that…I’m scared of what my children will be. Maybe that train of thought started with my fiercely hating my mother, wanting so badly for her to be out of my life, and having everyone tell me that this was Normal. Everyone hates their mother when they are Teenage. Everyone rebels when they are Teenage, purely out of spite, for the sake of rebelling. Because god knows, Teenagers don’t have any thoughts of their own, they don’t see their own paths and try to follow them, they just want to make their parents angry…

I heard that over and over, and somewhere in there I started doubting myself, and that added to the misery…

(These days I don’t have much hate left towards my mother. Just resignation and sadness. And a firm determination to cut all ties with her sharply, as soon as I can support myself. Not solely for my sake. I could cope, you know, if I just had to see her once a year at Christmas or whatever, and that could be managed if I only moved far enough away…But I don’t want her anywhere near my children. Ever. Not even for one day a year. I don’t want that poison in their lives.)

However it started, I’m scared. What if my children hate me? What if they rebel against me, and the way to do that will be to become Normal People, geek-hating, gay-bashing Mundanes like those that made my growing-up hell…

I want children so badly, but what if they turn out to be objects of fear?

It makes me want to cry and hide my head under the blankets. And meanwhile a small annoying voice in my head says I’m getting ahead of myself, worrying about stuff that won’t happen for years yet. But it’s my future that keeps me going, the thought of my future; if the Promised Land turns out to be another deathtrap, where will you live…?

And I don’t have any answers.

But then I start examining myself and think that what this all boils down to is that I don’t trust. I don’t trust myself to be a good or passable parent. I don’t trust my unborn kids to have the good sense to be decent people. I just realised that I also don’t trust my girl-my future wife, and thinking that lifts me out of my misery a little, gives me a happy little buzz-to help me, help catch my mistakes. I don’t trust in my own strength to cope if the Worst Case Scenario actually happens. I don’t trust my God and my little gods and spirits to help me and give me strength…

And then I remember what Athene said a long time ago about trust and trustworthiness, that Zidane didn’t find people trustworthy by never trusting them, never trying to trust.(And that means accepting the possibility of getting hurt, and not letting the hurt when it comes turn you bitter…)

And I wonder if maybe total inability to trust isn’t what makes Silvers, or some of them at least. If maybe closing yourself in and threatening the host of monsters outside with a knife isn’t what makes you a monster, too. There’s got to be a middle ground between naïveté and cynicism; between the idiot that can’t smell a trap a mile off, and the idiot whose mantra is ‘it’s not paranoia if they really ARE all out to get you’. The Golden Mean, and all that.

I’m working on it.

Utterances of the Menagerie of Doom(which is what they decided to call themselves now that FDB is no longer wholly appropriate...)

Because Athene did this with Pesky Stefen Rhymer. On the basis of 'why not?'

This will be updated erratically. Whenever they are particularly on form.

__________

“Fuck biology, we’ll just buy you a pair of kitty ears. On a headband, you know. No-one will notice the difference!”


“Puppy.”

“Puggle.”

“…you two are conspiring against me.”

“We’re conspiring for you, and don’t forget it.”


“You can’t see the Floating Island with those eyes.”


“I’m not going to tell you what I believe. You’ll only try to imitate it.”


“The Universe can always use another pair of helping hands, especially if they have spikes on and are not above dealing out a few punches.”


“There’s always something worth guarding.”


“What?! You’re my guardian angel not my libido! Are angels even meant to get-”

“Ahem…Geburah, dear.”


“Being different is one thing, being unique is another. Being unique sucks, so it’s a good thing no-one really is.”


(while dancing about at the bus-stop to a song they were looping in my head, and trying to get me to join in) “Dignity? I’m a cartoon animal! You can’t get much more undignified than that.”


“You can and should feel guilty for anything you did that made the situation worse. But feeling guilty for there being a situation at all is ridiculous. It’s just being masochistic. And not in the fun way.”


“You can’t ask a demon why it destroys stuff-well, you can, but you won’t get a straight answer and you probably won’t get a truthful one either.”


(I have a skin allergy that makes trouble if I don’t take medicine for it regularly. I’d missed a few doses, and I was sitting at the computer and scratching my belly.) “You’ll scratch off all your fur if you carry on like that.”

“I don’t have fur!”

“…Which proves my point!” (yeah, I walked into that one…)


(discussing Athene’s cohorts)“All [Vanyel’s] plans sooner or later come down to ‘blow stuff up’. Usually sooner.”


“Also, we killed binary. I think Knux stabbed it.” (Knux, I should mention, has taken to wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the message BINARY IS FOR BADNIKS. He doesn't need to wear t-shirts, so I assume he is only doing it for the lolz.)


"It never was, because it always is!"


(in response to the line ‘hanging upside-down like a bat and playing the ocarina’, in ‘out’)“Add that to the list of ‘things we haven’t done yet, but must do someday for the shock value’.”


(while talking with Athene about the fact that half the world freaks out if you Believe in anything, while the other half freaks out if you don't Believe exactly what they do)"So basically there's no room in the world for people like me. But I knew that already."

*headshake*"It means that if you want space you have to carve out your own."


"If packing is such a fucking depressing chore, what is unpacking?"


(when I got the idea that the Master Emerald must Never Be Touched In Any Circumstances)"That sounds like the sort of 'cosmic' bullshit Tigris would come up with."

Another lesson in never, ever, ever underestimating Guardians in red

As if getting one life's lesson out of him wasn't enough, another followed on its heels!

...I'll give a little background. For those that don't know him...There's this thing, okay, this relic. A Power item, strong Power. Legendary level. The Master Emerald. And he Guards it. With his life. It's that important, honestly. Important for his world and important to him.

Well...awhile ago I was seething at dinner 'cause Ian was making out like I was stupid. Retarded. It's his favourite insult. We were arguing, and I was furious angry...I wanted so bad to win. Just once, I'd like to! To make him stop saying that stuff about me!

I stayed angry for ages after that. I mean...it's different when some person in town just hurls an insult at you, and you can walk off. When it's your brother making snide snooty comments whenever you see him, and you can't walk away 'cause you're in the same house, and he goes on, and on, and your mother won't shut him up, can't shut him up...so you just have to listen, and you feel so miserable...

Then, in the bath-why is it always in the bath?-I calmed down enough to get partly into ambit again.

And he talked to me.

I can't remember the exact words, but it was something like this.

"Don't you see? You have won.

Look, I guard the Master Emerald. That's why I fight. It doesn't matter how bruised or bloody I am at the end of a fight. It doesn't matter if the other guy is laughing his head off at me. It doesn't matter if I've made myself look like a total idiot, as long as the Master Emerald is safe.

There's always something worth guarding, and you are guarding something. You fight like someone on the defensive. What's your Master Emerald? If it's your sanity, you've won. If it's your ability to talk to spirits, you've won. If it's your creativity, you've won. If it's your life, you've won. None of those are things he can harm or steal. He's lost every battle before he even begins. Nothing he does can make the slightest mark on the Master Emerald.

If your Master Emerald is your pride, it was a false jewel, and needed to be shattered anyway. But I think you're better than that.

I'll tell you what really could destroy your Master Emerald. Your OCD, if you don't get it under control. But you're spending all your energy fighting battles that don't really matter, instead...and trust me, you aren't the first to make that mistake, I know what thereof I speak. Remember how I was tricked into fighting Sonic and Tails, while Robotnik stole up behind me. That's what you're doing now. Fighting things that are really harmless, while the true threat makes a grab for the Emerald."

Of course, all of it is damn true. He's as sharp as his spikes, sometimes.

And knowing it helps. I still get angry and sad, but now I know I can hold on tight, clench my fists, and tell myself 'The Master Emerald is safe'. That helps me get through. It lets me refuse to argue without feeling that I'm losing the fight. It lets me ignore what Ian says. Or my mother. Or her boyfriend.

It helps a lot.

...Thanks, Knux.

Echidna

So Athene directed me to this post; http://takingsteps.blogspot.com/2007/01/seam-of-skin-and-scales.html

Which is something that I’ve read before, but never really understood.

Till now anyway.

It started with-well, you’ll laugh-it started with a game I picked up on a whim and a memory of a glowing review in ONM magazine because I was a bit hungry for the mechanics of turn-based RPG, because I wanted a new challenge, Something to Do.

Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood.

Never had anything to do with blue hedgehogs and the like before that. And certainly didn’t expect to find a, a character. That’s the only word for it. One of the side characters. Got totally hit from left field. Thwacked between the eyes by a blast of strong personality from this side character, this cartoon red echidna with spikes on his fists.

I was linking before I even knew it, and I didn’t expect that.

So I’m linking, and I’m confused, and I’m turning it over in my head, asking him…why? What’s a person like you doing in a game like this? You’re better than this. You deserve better than a near-sexless ageless anthropomorphic cartoon grotesquerie of a body and a silly frivolous game for a world. Wouldn’t you want a different body? Human and real. Strong and handsome and sexual. Don’t you want a story more serious, a world and a name and a history that better fits your mind?

Don’t you want that?

And I’m linked enough to hear his reply, and he says ‘No.’

Very firmly. And I’m more confused than ever so he elucidates. ‘This is my body, and this is my world. This is my story, mine to me. Do I puzzle you? I’m not under any obligation to change because you think the parts of me don’t match up. I’m happy how I am.’

But people see you as a joke!

‘A joke, a cartoon, let them laugh! Do you think I care? And can you really not see the attraction? Wouldn’t you like to throw the seriousness of humanity to the winds for awhile? I think you’re a tiny bit jealous.’

And he withdrew from the link, leaving me with a lot to think about.

In my head all that day I put two and two together, and I ended up with five-and-a-bit. I’ve come up with some ideas. I think I understand that post now.

After all, Echidna was a monster too.

I am Echidna and I revel in my grotesquerie. It’s about dichotomy; it’s about contradictions; human, animal, real and illustrated, skin and fur, a mammal that lays eggs. It’s about not fitting in any box, because any box would be too small. Don’t you dare cage me; I drip poison, I have spines. Touch me and you’ll hurt.

I am Echidna, and I have my weapons; I have bone spikes on my fists. I use them to carve myself out elbow room. I use them to climb up out of all the boxes. I can fight, and I will fight, to protect my own existence. It’s self defence. I’m not about to let anyone cut off my tail, mutilate me so that I can be better defined. I am defined by me and by God; anyone else can get the fuck away!

I am Echidna, and do I look ridiculous to you? A comic muddle of roles, genders, ages, species-I hear your uneasy laughter. I don’t care if you think I look funny. I have my own brand of dignity. I am King of the cloud islands, and in my kingdom I shall do as I damn well please.

I am Echidna, and yes, I can do sexy. Twilight-purple bedroom eyes, and does it come as a surprise that I can dance like I’ve got emeralds at the meeting of my thighs? And I can do sexless. Naked and unashamed, can you Adam and Eve it? Because love is sweet, and sex is good, but there’s more to life than kissing. I can put sexuality on the shelf; it does not become another trap to define me.

I am Echidna, and this is not feminism because it is not about being female it is not about being male it is about being it is about being whatever I can be it is about being myself having room to stretch myself out to be childish and parentlike and wise and gullible and suspicious and scared and scary and animal and spirit and modern and ancient and very near and oh so far and gregarious and a loner and reserved and loudmouthed and stone and water and fire and ice and male and female and both and neither. I do not have to pick just one.

I am Echidna, monstrous Echidna, and I never have to pick just one.

The Letter to Franziska

(This was originally posted on my now defunct Sygnus blog, which was originally a Discordian cabal headquarters until I got bored of the joke.)

The Cabal of Aeris (un)Risen petered out a long time ago, once people got bored of it. It is the end I expected of it-only fitting really. So this blog has lain vacant. I have decided to revive it as a more conventional blog, a space for me to ramble on. I do get Ideas sometimes, after all.

I decided this after receiving a revelation, In the bathtub, as it happens.

I felt I had to get my thoughts in order so as soon as I was out of the bath I went and wrote a letter to the person who was responsible for the sudden revelation. Unfortunately the Postal Service do not deliver to her address. But it helped me figure things out, to write it, at least.

And since it must be somewhere, it is here.

Franziska von Karma

Somewhere In Germany(Or Possibly Los Angeles)

Another Earth

Eight Years From Now

Dear Franziska

You will probably never read this letter and if you do you will not like its contents. I am from the world where you are part of a game and considered unreal. I do not agree with that assumption. That is not what I am writing about. I am writing about something else.

You get mad a lot. Everyone knows this. And when you get mad you hit people with your whip. Everyone knows that, too. You hit Phoenix Wright when you think he is being stupid in court, and you hit him when you think he is being smart in court and will make you lose the trial. You hit him over and over when he has won a trial and you have lost. You hit the judge when he doesn’t agree with you. You hit witnesses when you don’t like their testimony. You hit Detective Gumshoe when you think he is being stupid or talking about something you think is irrelevant. You hit a lot of people for talking about things you think are irrelevant. You hit people for talking about things you don’t want to hear. You hit people when something bad happens to you, even if they had nothing to do with it, because you are angry and want to take it out on someone. Maybe you even hit your brother. I heard him talking to Phoenix once and he called you a wild mare and grinned. I think he might’ve said something like that to your face before now, and you might’ve hit him for it. I think you really might.

But maybe you never have hit him. Maybe you are angry that I think you might’ve. After all, he is your brother. I know you love him. And he loves you. Maybe you are horrified at the idea you would hit him, like he was an ordinary annoying person. If you haven’t hit him yet, though, I think you will. Someday soon he will say something or do something that gets you so mad you hit him and then afterwards you will be sorry but you won’t be able to take it back once you’ve done it and you will feel guilty about it for the rest of for ever!

But if I wanted to talk about that sort of thing, then there are a lot of things I could write and they would take me ages to list. I could write and write about how you are not a good person. I could write how you will not be able to go on this way without tripping yourself up. I could write about karma. It is in your name, so you should be able to figure it out.

And at the end of it you would probably say, ‘So what? I don’t believe in karma. I am karma. I am punishment.’

(I could quote at you then, though. You don’t care if people are innocent or guilty, you just want to punish them anyway. C.S. Lewis said that to act like that is to volunteer for the post of Satan in the divine scheme and that if you do his work you must be prepared to take his wages. Which I assure you are not good. But you would probably not listen to that either.)

You would say, ‘I know I am not a good person. I don’t need to be or want to be. I am not a wishy-washy, bleeding-heart, goody-goody, foolish weakling like Mr. Phoenix Wright. I am a von Karma. I am fierce and strong. I am perfect. I take what I want and the rest of the world has to obey me.’

And there are so many things wrong with this way of thinking that I cannot even begin to list them, but if you really want to be evil I cannot stop you.

There is one thing, though. You aren’t a strong, fierce, perfect von Karma. Nobody thinks you are either. Absolutely nobody.

Everyone thinks you are the crazy girl with the whip.

They don’t respect you. A lot of people are scared of you. Phoenix and Dick Gumshoe and the Judge and practically every witness you ever called to the stand and lots more people too-they are all scared of you. But when you have gone they laugh at you. They don’t think you’re clever or strong. They think you’re out of control. You don’t come across to people like your dad did. Your dad scared people like anything and made them hate him but they didn’t think he was crazy. They thought he was evil, and they were right too, but they didn’t think he was crazy. That’s because your dad didn’t hit people like you do, in front of everyone, even though it doesn’t help a bit. When your dad got angry he controlled it. He thought about what would be the cleverest and best thing to do in the situation. And then he did that thing, even if it meant not getting instant revenge. The one time he didn’t think, the one time he did a revenge without thinking if it was sensible to do it, he had to spend ages and ages and lots of effort covering it up, and even so it eventually got found out and came back and bit him!

Your dad was evil and very stupid about a lot of things but he was right about controlling anger. If he had let anger rule his mind like you do he would not have gotten anywhere ever.

And hitting people like you do doesn’t just not make people respect you. It doesn’t help you feel any better either. It just makes you feel even angrier, and every time you think about what happened you get angry again, and it eats up your mind and you can’t think about anything except how angry you are.

If you are still reading this, then you are angrily thinking, ‘How do you know?’ The answer is, I know because I was like you.

People would pick on me at school. They did it a lot because I was different. I was maybe one of twenty non-white students in the school of fifteen hundred people. And I was a fantasy geek. So people picked on me. They called names and laughed. I hated it when they laughed. I hated being made fun of. So I hit them.

I didn’t have a whip. I hit people with my fists. Or I threw things at them. I scratched them with my nails. I kept the key to my locker on a longish piece of string, and it was metal and sharper and harder than my nails so I took to scratching people with that. Or I swung the string like a very small mace-and-chain. These were the best weapons I could find. If I had had a whip I would have used it. If I had had a sword or a gun I would have used them too. I wanted to hurt the people that picked on me. I wanted them to be scared of me.

They weren’t scared. They just laughed harder. So it carried on for ages.

My mum and the teachers and everyone kept saying what I have said to you. It makes people laugh at you, they said. It makes you look stupid. I didn’t believe them. I thought that the reason they laughed still was because they were bigger and stronger than me and I had never won a fight. I had never managed to really hurt them. I thought if I could really hurt them then they would be scared of me and respect me and never laugh at me again. I went on thinking that way for years.

Then this week, only a couple of days ago, some people who had picked on me at school found me in town and called names there. That happens every time I come back to my hometown. I don’t go to that school anymore but they remember.

I thought I was going to get mad and scream. Maybe not hit them. I didn’t have anything I could use as a weapon, and I was carrying some fragile stuff. But I thought I would be angry.

I wasn’t. Or, I was, but not hot and horrible angry. I was tired-angry. Tired and annoyed and sad that they should be so unfair. I told them to shut up. I didn’t yell it. And I asked them ‘Do you even know why you’re doing this?’ I didn’t yell that either. They didn’t shut up and they didn’t respond to my question. So I just left. I had been leaving the area anyway. They didn’t follow me.

It wasn’t a fluke, cause a bit later on the same day some different kids started picking on me. And I did the same thing. Told them to shut up, and walked away.

I have never been able to do that before. People have told me to ‘Ignore it’ lots of times but I have never been able to till now. I have always been so angry. Too angry to ignore it. Even when I tried a couple of times I was still so hot with anger and I’d start crying, I’d try not to let the tears show where they could see me but I’d start crying and crying as soon as I was someplace they couldn’t get me. Being angry like that spoiled my life. It spoiled the food I ate and the games I played and the books I read and the music I listened to. I couldn’t ever get away from it.

I wondered what had changed, that I could suddenly ignore things. My mum said I must have had a subconscious epiphany. Then I thought of something. I had been replaying your game. I had been watching the trial of Maya Fey. I had been thinking about Phoenix and Maya. About Pearl Fey. And Miles Edgeworth. And you.

The subconscious mind does a lot that we don’t get informed of. I had been watching you.

I think I decided I don’t want to be you.

You are strong with your whip like I never was with my pitiful makeshift weapons. And people are scared of you like they never were of me. But they still don’t respect you. And behind your back, they laugh at you.

What would happen if you weren’t strong and scary anymore? If you still got angry and tried to attack, but couldn’t do it effectively?

They’d laugh at you to your face. They’d call you names. Spaz, they’d yell at you. Franziska the spaz! Needs locking up! Wild cat!

You’d get angrier and angrier. You’d kick and scream…You’d end up being escorted away by the bailiffs.

And people would say; You have to control your temper, Franziska. No-one will take you seriously unless you learn to control your temper.

And people would say; You can’t appear in court unless you learn to keep a lid on your anger. Maybe you should think of some other career, because while you react like this when you get angry you’ll never be a prosecutor.

And people would say; You’re an intelligent girl, but when you act like this you shame yourself. You act like a little child. We thought you were mature enough to be trusted with an important job, but obviously…

And there would be new insults, too. People would try to press your buttons, so that they could laugh at how angry you got. They would have material.

Your hair is blue. On my Earth, that would be impossible; even in your world, that is uncommon. You wear it cut quite short, for a woman.

You wear unusual clothes.

You are German. When you speak English you have a slight accent.

You have a mole near the corner of your eye. It is not very big, but it is noticeable.

You are an aristocrat. You were born in a mansion. Your family are old-moneyed, with a name that goes back generations.

These are just the small things. There is a big thing too-your father was arrested and imprisoned for murder. And during his career there were rumours that he did not play by the rules. Maybe there are rumours about you too.

But even if your father was free, and still practising law to this day-even if there were no rumours about falsified evidence or the like-the small things would be enough for people to use to make fun of you.

I don’t think the small things are good reasons to pick on you. Not just because it’s unfair. But because they are such small things. They don’t really matter in any way. They are things I note about you that are simply brute facts. They don’t strike me as being in any way funny.

Only if-as I have postulated-your power of fear over people was gone from you, and they began to tease-these small things would be things they would make a meal of. They’d try each of them, and others, till they found something that made you angry, and then they’d keep on needling you with that.

I have a very clear mental image of this happening. I can imagine how it would be. I don’t need to imagine hard. I just have to exchange the classroom corridor for a court lobby. The English village street for a wide sunny Los Angeles boulevard. Their insults. Your screams. Your hopeless attempts at retaliation. Your defiant tears.

When I think of that, it makes me want to hug you, hold you tight. But I know in the same breath that you’d hate to be shown pity.

I know also that your reasons for getting angry-your first reasons-are not good ones, compared to mine. You get mad for no good reason at all. You are cruel, irritable and impatient. You are not actually evil, I think, though you have rather tried to be. You could go either way. Your brother, though, thinks that you will figure things out eventually, and he is both the person who knows you best and a person so pessimistic he outdoes even a friend of mine who I recently heard referred to as Worst Case Senerio.

But, again…Effectively evil people know to restrain their tempers. So do effectively good people. So do simply effective people who don’t care much for great charity or great depravity but get along well enough in the world-‘neutrally aligned people’, in D&D parlance.

So maybe this wild temper of yours is just a basic character flaw. Rather worse than mine. But not insurmountable, surely. It doesn’t mean you are a pitiful person, either. You have so much going for you! You are intelligent, smart enough to pass the bar exam at thirteen years old. You are wealthy and wealthy twice over, both from your aristocrat’s status and your own high-paid career. You are beautiful. You are most certainly not the small, impotent person you feel like when you are in the grip of your own anger.

Franziska, when I saw you I saw my own behaviour magnified. At first I was deceived by the fact that you succeeded in inspiring fear where I failed. Now, though, I see the truth. It doesn’t make the people that picked on me any less deserving of getting punished, because they do deserve it. And it doesn’t mean that what you did was okay, or justified, because it wasn’t. You have a lot of ground to make up. You have a lot of growing up to do.

But I empathise with you, for it is no fun living with rage bubbling in you constantly. And even though they only dare laugh behind your back, they still laugh. You have not gained anyone’s respect…and I think you know that. You’re not stupid. And I pray that you will be able to master that rage-to look at yourself, or at someone like yourself, and realise what you look like to other people. And I am grateful. I am grateful that your example allowed me to examine myself.

As I said at the start of this letter, in all probability you will never read this, or even know it was written in the first place. But maybe. Thus I commend this letter. From my hand-

-to the Fairy Fey(who sometimes walks this world, I know)
-and from the Fairy Fey to the Phoenix bird
-and from the Phoenix bird to the Questing Blade
-and from the Questing Blade to you.

With my love.
Aquila Chrysaetos.

The Tiger and the Prosecutor

Now seems as good a time as any to introduce the world to Tigris.

Tigris is not a figment, not one of the little-spirits. He is me. This is the most important bit, the bit you must understand. He is a part of me that has been around for as long as I have. I have only recently personified him, but he's no newcomer.

He is what is called a Holy Guardian Angel by some.(See Promethea for more info.)Personally I think that's a bit of a misnomer. He doesn't guard me in the sense of stopping bad things from happening to me, he just tries to make sure I'll be strong enough to stand up to bad things myself.

Tigris is always right. This can get annoying sometimes, but that's my problem. He's just and true, fair, and humourous to boot. He is, in short, the best part of me. The goodness on its own, undiluted. That's what his sort of thing is. I like the term 'inner angel', or better yet, 'shoulder angel'. Everyone has one. We don't hear them much. But that's because we don't listen, not because they don't speak.

I think of him as a big old marmaladey-golden saber-toothed tiger, with a very English voice.(The voice, in fact, of the fellow who was reading The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe on this old book-on-tape thing I had when I was tiny. I remember listening to it in bed, after lights-out...)But this is just a sort of shorthand, a quale. It helps me to personify Tigris like this, is all. It's the image that fits him, in my mind. It's easier to pay attention to him when I think of him as a being in his own right.

It's also easier to identify his opposite number when I personify her.

Her name is Franziska, and she is my shoulder demon. Again, not an actual demon, not an otherworldly being. Just me, in all the worst ways.

Unlike Tigris, her face and name are stolen directly from a character from a video game. Franziska von Karma. An unhappy and almost-unlovable little prosecutor-prodigy who I felt a sort of resonance with.

Franziska is weak and scared and angry about it. She is violent, out of control. Her self-esteem is in negative numbers, and she covers that by making like she's got a disgustingly large amount of pride, and lording it over everyone else. She is lonely and suspicious. She cannot bring herself to trust anyone. She's self-centred, too...can't see outside herself, and hates it. She is stuck in the hell of herself.

She is the voice in my head that is Tigris's opposite number.

She coalesced into an entity shortly after a revelation I had and a letter I wrote because of that revelation.(I shall post that here later; it used to be on my old blog at Sygnus before the site moved and everyone's blogs were axed.)And it's strange.

I don't seem to be able to hate her, now.

Oddly enough, neither does Tigris.

The Ambassador's Turnabout

I spent too much time with the spirits as a kid. I still do.

'Too much' not by my standards, never by my standards, but by the standards of The World At Large. For some reason introverts are frowned upon, particularly introverts that play video games and read fantasy.

These things are my life's blood. They are what makes the difference between living and just existing.(Of course, there's Ash. But she's not always there, through no fault of her own...And the spirits were first.)

Once I desired nothing so much as to leave this world for the world of spirits. Tuatha de Danaan, I called them; the everyoung, the lovely ones, Danu's children. A name borrowed from Celtic mythology.

These days I have things worth living for in this world, old muddy Thulcandra. But still...

...the silent planet doesn't do it for me, really. Too quiet. I want to hear the music of the heavens.

Back then I picked my penname; Ambassador Garnet Leona Alexander. Garnet and Leona from a boy with a gunblade and a girl without a horn, spirit people that I loved. Alexander from the eidolon mighty, defender of men. And Ambassador. Because I hoped to be an ambassador to that world.

Thing is, though, this girl wanted so much to be Tuatha, she got her wish. Yeah, my body's still Milesian...but I've spent too much time hobnobbing with spirits to be totally Milesian. And was I ever Milesian, down in my soul? I am as nervous and uncomfortable and halting with the people of my blood as I am expansive and cheerful and at ease with the little spirits with whom I speak.

(In the context of Thulcandra, within one little world, they used to call that sort of thing 'going native'. They sneered. Maybe some of 'em were jealous.)

Ambassador, I named myself, and ran away to Tir na n'Og, and oh how I hated Thulcandra's soil. Oh, how I hated her people. It was blood hot hate. It was the hate of the smart kid stuck with the mean jocks, taking refuge in pride.(That deadly sin.)It was the hate of a fox fleeing baying hounds. It was the hate of the panther with the collar chafing his neck. Ambassador, I said. But was I?

Ambassador brings part of England to France, part of France to Germany, Germany to America, and so on, you get the drift. Ambassador speaks for his country and brings it to the foreign place. Ambassador has a tiny, tiny bit of his native land to live in, a detached speck, and as soon as he steps out the front door he's Abroad again.

I didn't do that. I didn't want to bring any of Thulcandra into Tir na n'Og. I wanted to purge Thulcandra from myself. Let no speck of it taint the faerie world.

Which was really not fair to any of the parties involved. Thulcandra, Tir na n'Og, or myself.

Anyway. I was no Ambassador. Not then.

But now I look at that pen name, and I think. Maybe it's time I turned it about, flipped the situation on its head and did the (w)right thing by all parties.

Why shouldn't I become Tir na n'Og's Ambassador to Thulcandra?

It is right. I can tell. It is.

But it will be so hard. For an Ambassador is a diplomat. I must be fair and just and polite and understanding with Thulcandra, with the Milesians, with the world and the people who I still have to remind myself not to hate. I will have to make allowances for them when they don't understand me! I am not allowed the luxury of blind hate!

But then, no-one is, ultimately.

This is the right thing to do, and I must do it, and keep reminding myself to do it.

I am Ambassador of the fairy realms to Thulcandra.(Embassy still pending construction.)