Almost back on track!

Past couple of days I've been lax of my posting schedule.

I am all out of my sleep schedule, so I am about ready to pass out right now. Imagine. A body tired at 2 am. UNTHINKABLE!

So quick synopsis of my week in Pittsburgh.

Day one: DRIVE FOREVER
Day two: Arrive and walk 4 miles around Pittsburgh by myself. Get back to the room and SLEEP FOREVER. Also sleep through the 4th of July fireworks until thunder woke me up and I was confused by everything.
Day 3: Get to hang out with my friends, Laken, TJ, and Eddie. I adore Laken and this was the first year I got to meet her husband, TJ. They are both wonderful down to earth people and I cannot wait to see them again.
Day 4: Run around and do all the errands. Also meet up with more people I miraculously know. Then, oh then, I got to meet one of my idols. Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon were two of the guests of honor at the convention I attended with friends. Not only did I get to meet Ms Lackey, I also purchased her newest book and GOT IT SIGNED FOR NO CHARGE. Can't even begin to describe how much that event made my entire trip.
Day 5: Drive forever again. Stop in West Virginia for the night.
Day 6:Drive forever. End up in Jacksonville and stay for the night. Got Bento Cafe though. And Thai Tea. Twice.
Day 7: Finally arrive home and attempt to make candy with my sister. That was a horrid failure. Not to be attempted again.

And that is the quickest snippet of my week away from Florida. Tons of humidity jokes, mountain driving, terrified driving, and a smattering of sweet tea comments.

Lets introduce a character.


The reason I chose this character is mostly due to the fact I explained his story to my roommate, H. She patiently sat and listened to me  blather on about this character and his universe. So in order to organize my thoughts, I thought I might focus on him this week. Ladies and Gennulmun, I present to you, Travis Journ.

Name: Travis Journ
Age: Late 20s to early 30s
Nationality: American

Travis was born in Boston, in the mid 1800's. His father was a local banker and accountant for small businesses in the city and his mother was a mail order bride from Australia. Travis grew to adulthood in Boston, attending college for a degree in History, then taking a position as a junior curator in the Boston Museum of Anthropological History.

In his studies and observations, Travis began to note similarities in the oldest records of peoples in the western territories and Mexico. For years he documented and collected his findings into a case that showed compelling evidence of highly advanced linguistics and technology very out of place for the time. After years of searching for information, Travis decided that no more information could be gleaned from where he was and set out West to find his answers.

He finds work as a jack of all trades in towns where he stops. Occasionally, he is asked to find a person or people who are missing in the desert or wilderness. He becomes known for his uncanny ability to find people. Part of this is due to the contacts he develops across the cities and territories.

With every find, Travis comes closer and closer to finding out just what is linking all these civilizations together. This borders on obsessive at times for him, as he will forgo contact with other people for months at a time, if he is on the trail of an artifact or clue.

Travis keeps a battered red notebook with him at all times, with a winding carving etched into the front. This symbol on the front of the notebook was found carved on the headstone of a ornate burial site hidden deep in the mountains. There Travis found the strongest proof of his theories to date.

In the way of companions, Travis has one person he calls friend without hesitation. Mira is the sole owner of a brothel/Boarding house in a mining town turned train depot. Every time Travis comes through town, Mira reserves a room for him and arranges for his stay. Whenever he stops there, he does simple maintenance around the building, repairing shutters, doors, re shingling the roof, and making sure the irrigation lines are clear to the garden plot. Travis doesn't partake of any of the other services provided though. Through Mira, Travis can extend his web of information well beyond his range and can keep tabs on what is happening in various corners of the territories.

~~~

I have a large soft spot for Travis in my heart. In my mind, there can only be one way to tell his story, as a comic book. For years, I have visualized his story if bursts of images, from simple panel construcion, to full page spreads for particularly expressive images. Unfortunately, I cannot draw for the life of me, neither do I know any artists who would take time out of their busy days to goof off with me on a stupid project.

On a side note, this story in my mind is actually another Anthropomorphic character set, with Travis being a mutt, half Australian Shepherd, half Catahoula Curr, aka the Louisiana  Leopard Dog. Mira is a canary in my original ideas.

On another note, today, in a small way, I celebrated what would have been my father's 60th birthday. Its very hard to believe he's been gone almost a year. I miss you, Dad.

Well, lovelies, I skipped on posting this on the right night, so I am actually cranking out a double post for you tonight. Because I love you this much. Do me a favor though. Find someone near you. I don't care if its your cat or your significant. Give them a hug. It hurts when you can't anymore.

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams.

I'm baaaaaack! Continue your day as originally planned.

Its not a real post though, lovelies. I'm a bit tired still from the traveling, so I'll beg your forgiveness. I'll get back to my regular schedule tomorrow, with new content for the discerning Saturday readers.


Sleep well and Sweet dreams

Normally there'd be no post.

But today I have a PSA to make.

I am heading out of town for a week to go to a convention.

I'll have good signal, so I'm likely to post while away, and bonus, it will likely be all poems or short snippets.

I know its not much of a bonus. Sorry.

I'll be back to regular posts with new material on the 10th.

Laters lovelies!

For the next week, remember I always wish you

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams.

<3<3<3<3

Also, 20 minute cat video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kdgt1ZHkvnM

My hair's getting long.

It's longer now than the last time I cut it off majorly. 

I used to mark the passage of time by how many times I got my hair cut. From the time I was 9, Mom let me choose my hair length. I kept it boyishly short. I'd go to the salon every 6 months or so, get it all wacked off to about three or four inches long, and go about my life. This continued the year after I graduated high school and finally got the money together for college.

Then I made this stupid little promise to myself. I said that until I graduated college, I wouldn't get my hair cut. A year passed, then two, and I had to cut back on my course load. Another year passed and I moved out of my parents house. I stopped attending college after half a year on my own. I have yet to return. I have no degree.

But I did get my hair cut.

I guess it doesn't mean much to anyone who might be reading this, but the first time I got my hair cut in 4 years, a friend did it for me. Holly came by to see me. Holly is my old friend from high school. We met in 10th grade, where she watched my attempts to be useful in drivers ed. She has helped me weather so many of my little breakdowns from that time. For a while, we worked at the same job and got to see each other constantly. She's my twiplet, and I am her twinchilla. There are so many little in jokes and silly things we shared. We hadn't seen each other for a little while, and I finally had a day off from work.

She came over and one of the first things she said to me after we got inside my apartment was "You've got so many split ends, girl. Find me some scissors, you need a trim." It's so fitting now, because Holly just finished getting her license as a hair dresser.  

By this time, I had to start keeping my apartment all by myself, due to a roommate who moved back with her parents. I dropped out of college and worked 50 hours a week to make ends meet. Even then, I had a lot of help from so many wonderful people.

She sat me down in a chair and brushed out my hair to get all the snarls out. I can't remember if I took a quick shower to get all my hair wet before she started or not. All I remember is someone taking time out of their day to do something for me that I couldn't do for myself. I remember crying. It meant a lot to me.

During that time in my life, I had problems paying my rent and feeding myself at the same time. I only made 8.00 an hour and worked massive overtime to make rent. Don't think this is all about me whining about how hard I have it in life. Far from it, I am thanking the universe for every single friend I have who reached out a hand to help. For some reason, I had so many people who wanted to help me.

Whenever I had the anime club over, more than one person would purposely buy too much, or cook too much food and leave it there for me. On several occasions, Danny and Katie, a wonderful couple I sorely miss, filled my pantry while I was at work, without telling me. I came home one night to see my pantry full of simple things I could eat and not worry about, like canned ravioli, fruit and cereals. When I couldn't afford food for my dog, they bought a massive bag and dropped it off. They never would take no for an answer.

Honestly, I'm tearing up right now thinking about it.

I didn't intend for this to become another mush session like yesterday. I refuse to let it get past me without putting a thank you out there that can be read again and again. If ever I get to affect many lives with my writing, I would want them to know who I can never repay.

I've been in a reflective mood lately. I don't know why really. But to match this mood, I thought I'd post  bit of a memoir piece I wrote for my CRW2032 class.

I'll post the part about my father now, for if I wait too long and post it on his birthday, I'll be rather depressed after. Insert whatever emoticon you'd like there. If you choose a funny one, I'll laugh.

A Snapshot of my father

When I think of my father, my mind shows me a snapshot compiled from 20 years of memory. His curly hair, so dark brown as to be black, is just a touch too long to look nice. Shot with silver, but never receding, it is defying age as best it can. The face is worn, showing hardships and disappointments in every line; his eyes make me want to cry from sorrow and scream from rage at the same moment. His mouth is open, probably yelling again; whether from happiness or anger is debatable. He did both quite a lot.

His not-too-tall frame is slumped, the weight from fifty years of refusal to forgive his own sins dragging at his soul. The heart of this man is broken, you can see it in the slope of his shoulders, yet the fragments are still too large for his own good. One day it will break again, for he gives too much, too easily, and then all the king’s horses and all the king’s will not bring the pieces together again. His heart is visible in his hands as well, in every scar, knobby knuckle, callus, and age spot. He fought his battle for his daughters with those hands, wielding a wrench and welding torch for almost two decades.

He stands with his feet shoulder width apart, ready for the world to shove him again. He does his best to weather through, but the strain begins to show as the years go roughly on. His knees are bent, not from the desire to flee, but the need to support his own mistakes. Infidelity caused his marriage to crumble before his eyes and started a downhill spiral still ongoing. While my mother went on to find happiness, he remained moored in his solitary life. He called my sister and myself his rocks, the reason he still tries. Were it not for us, he often said, he would not find the strength to continue.

His hobbies have covered a range as wide as his years are long. From toy trains, trying to teach himself guitar, even on to growing his own spices, his interests are varied and short lived. Two constants remain firm through the years though, cooking and classic movies. From my first memories, I have been shown some of the golden oldies, Gone With The Wind, Wizard of Oz, White Christmas, innumerable John Wayne, James Stewart, and Rat Pack movies. Interwoven with these pictures are the scents of garlic, rosemary, thyme, old books, and the sweet smoke of cherry cigars.

 His job caused him to work nights for most of my childhood. He jealously guarded his time with Amber and me, reading to us whenever there was time. He would buy Great Illustrated Classics for us, so we could get an early taste for writers Charles Dickens, Louisa May Alcott, and Mark Twain. He hasn't read to me since the divorce; he didn't have time and I was too cool, but I can still hear his voice flowing and dipping with the cadence of Walt Whitman’s poem, "Oh Captain, my Captain."

 The man in this portrait is a mystery to me. He is an infuriatingly complex mixture of old man and young child, a whirling storm of anger, happiness, inspiration, and depression. He has always confused me. In all he does, he gives and gives, but hates to take or ask. He sees himself as an artist and encouraged his children to be people who change to world in the way we can. The man who used to touch the sky and pull down the lazy clouds to weave us a dream, is not so tall anymore. He has become the foundation for me to spring from as I rush past the sun to the places he knows I can go.

~~~~

A bit altruistic at the end, considering my statement earlier. Oh well.

I'll be going now lovelies. Sleep times.

Sleep well and Sweet dreams.

In this, I shall wax poetic!

Maybe not poetic. But I do feel a rather touching post coming on.

I've been having a rather hectic time lately, for various reasons that have no place being mentioned on here. I don't handle stress well at all, to be honest. If its an upcoming event or possibility, I tend to gravitate immediately to the worst case and fret. I am a master at fretting and worrying.

If its a sudden thing, I get all flustered and freak out, flying around in circles, trying to do whatever I can to make it right, without the benefit of concentration to focus me. Then, if I haven't fixed it, I start to cry. My face gets all crumpled, snot and tears make their torrential way down my increasingly red face. My eyes turn bright pink, which is only enhanced by my grey eyes. All in all folks, I blubber like a baby.

There is one thing that can help me settle down; my friends. If ever I need a good solid comfort, it's my close friends. By good comfort, I don't mean molly coddling or cosseting. No, they listen to my whining, tell me what I could do change it, and encourage me to do better. Nine times out of ten, I fail to follow good advice given to me. When the "I told you so" is plated up hot and fresh for them to throw at me, thankfully they are better people than me.

I just want to take a second to say I love you to all my friends. All of you have helped me so much in the past, in so many ways. I can never repay or thank you all enough for being willing to put up with my bull puckey and horse manure for so long and so patiently.

Thank you.


Mush mush mush. Sorry everyone who doesn't give a good grape crush about this. Its Monday, its super early in the morning, and I have some errands to run tomorrow. So lets get this poetry on!

This one was inspired by my mother, who worked as a RNA at a nursing home. Now she works as a home healthcare aide.

Nurse's Aide

Under the fluorescent light's insomniac glare,
steadfastly she cares for all in her morning still hall.
Dripping IVs counterpoint humming TVs.
Silently she fills cups of ice, passing from
room to dim room, silent angel of ordinary needs.
She moves quickly, yet not forgets a single soul.

~~~~

This next poem is very long. It was an exercise in creating a poem along similar lines. This one was multiple short poems that followed a certain theme. As my portfolio at the time was Doorways and memories, I chose to do poems on doors. I did 14 in all.

I.

The carpenter's hand scraped
a few last strips of wood from
the plank. His drill bored a hold
and a knob put in. And the door
wept for the forest gone.

II.
A gust of wind blows
past the chill door, bringing
in the warm sweet breath
of new spring.
 
III.
A closed door longs
to be opened and locked
doors beg for the key.
 
IV.
She stared at the door
yet would not pass
the graven threshold.
 
V.
A rattle on the other side
of his door, his breath caught
and he clawed his way from
beneath his own racking fear.
 
VI.
Best oiled hinges cannot deafen
the broken echoes
of the closed door's sobs.
 
VII.
An open door sings the authority
to choose one's own path
and grants your eyes the
chance to see.
 
VIII.
The door swept open
to a pitch black room
un-illuminated by
the outer light behind.
 
IX.
The monster lurked without
switching its scaly tail, watching
for the gilded knob to turn
and the shielding door to give forth
the unknowing prey.
 
X.
The song danced beyond
the propped open door to tickle
the ear of a fair maid.
 
XI.
On the windowsill lay
the closed door's key.

XII.
Proud was the door who sheltered
the angels of Lot and protected
from the fists of Sodom.

XIII.
A river of words pooled
into an ocean of life. The door
dammed the flow, reducing it
to the thinnest trickle of truth.

XIV.
A lily lay clutched in her hands
as the door between life and eternity
lowered with a deep glistening
mahogany sheen.

~~~

Well, that was long. I have my favorite verses from it. Give me a shout telling me what you liked about it. Comment, please! I want to hear from you! Give me your opinions!

And also, everyone, please don't read too much into verse XII. It's not a commentary on what I believe about same sex marriage, religious beliefs or anything of the sort. It is simply a verse.

Politics has no place in my poetry. Always remember that, lovelies.

Sleep well and sweet dreams.
 

A day off is glorious.

I am not exaggerating when I say I slept at least 75% of the day. It was amazing, I needed it and I enjoyed it immensely.

Unless I go through a good warm up write, I tend to hit my creative stride around midnight to one am. Its when I am most active and get the most work done. Mostly due to two years of mostly closing at my job.

If you know who is reading this, your mother was Loki and your father was Sherlock. That is all.

Its another Character Bio Sunday. I think I'll go a bit longer on this one and do a short bio on each of the major characters in a story I goof off with in my head sometimes.

This story doesn't have a name yet but it tends towards a slightly parody like look at character alignment in roleplaying games and good vs evil ideas in general.

Duncan- Second son of a minor noble, he stood to inherit little to nothing of his father's lands or money. He then went out into the world to find his true alignment, eventually settling on Lawful Evil. After taking over a small castle and conquering a respectable territory, Duncan set himself up for his favorite creature comforts, such as cigars, fine wines, and horse breeding. Most of his wealth and income comes from his vassals' tributes and taxes. While he does follow the ruling of the alignment of Lawful Evil, he isn't an unpleasant liege lord to his serfs or vassals. Loves his two stepchildren as much as his own blood child. Respects his wife without question and values her opinion.

Therian- Duncan's Lawful Good brother. Therian grew up to be the glorious Knight in Shining Armor, Class A. When he learned his brother chose to follow the path of Lawful Evil, he swore to destroy his brother in one on one combat. He was engaged to and married a young princess named Viviane. After a marital dispute, his wife left him and he began to hang around Duncan's lands, much to Duncan's wife's annoyance. He becomes unsure of what his alignment means in the grand scheme.

Hettie- Wife of Duncan. She is the daughter of a great evil warlord, Fell WindHammer. Raised mostly by her mother and Sorceress grandmother, Hettie didn't inherit much magical ability. She mostly functions as a hedgewitch for the locals who live around Duncan's castle. She is a couple years older than her husband and married once before to a young up and coming warlord. He was killed by a hero who got lucky. From her first marriage, she has two children, Minerva and Brent. By Duncan, she has one child, Seth. Hettie never took to choosing her alignment and lives happily without wasting time on that. Her marriage to Duncan was more established as a contract; he needed a wife to seem respectable at times, and she needed a home to live in. What was at first a business agreement between equals has deepened into a trust and deep affection, if not love. Practical and responsible to the extreme. Dislikes Therian's "fussy little snippet of a wife".

Vivian- Therian's wife. Born and raised as a princess, she is used to a glamorous lifestyle of parties and social functions. Soon after she is wed to Therian, she realized that her role as a belle of society was over. She came to resent Therian over this and before a year had passed in their marriage, she claimed to have questions about her true alignment and left her husband. Soon after, she began to attend parties and social function again. She was raised with the idea "if you're pretty, you're Good." Has genuine questions about her alignment, no matter the way they are presented. In small ways, she begins to see Hettie as a role model to follow but that relationship has yet to develop. While not bright, she has the capability for true compassion.

Minerva- Hettie's oldest child and only daughter. Minerva inherited her great grandmother's magical abilities. She is a gifted sorceress, but with a tendency towards chaotic magic. She cannot control every aspect of her spells if she does not fully concentrate. This has left her with a bit of a controlling nature and she feels she needs to take responsibility for every thing. She first met  her stepfather when she was 7 years old. Around 11, she was sent to a boarding school for young mages and taught to control her powers. After graduating, she apprenticed herself to a great mage. He took many apprentices at the time, with the stipulation only one would be given the lands and title when he passed. Minerva was selected to maintain the lands and home, which operated under a spell where casting would do the chores and maintain the grounds. Minerva takes after her father, with long dark hair and purple eyes. Her closest companion is a gryphon named Grymmwing. Her alignment is more Neutral than Evil or Good.

Brent- the second child from Hettie's first marriage. At 2, Brent was too young to remember his father before he died, so the only father figure Brent knew was Duncan. he follows much the same path as Duncan, choosing his alignment to be Lawful Evil. He attends a prestigious academy for young warlods and aspires to conquer the kingdom one day. His prized possession is his stallion, Ironstrike, nicknamed Barley. He enjoys playing chess with his father's personal butler. Brent has an aptitude for memorizing battles and battle plans, but has a slight problem implementing them sometimes.

Seth- The youngest. He is Duncan and Hettie's only child. He was a quiet happy baby who loved to hear his mother sing. As he grew up, he showed great skill for musical instruments and was encouraged to pursue this. His alignment is Chaotic Good and he chose to become a Bard. His father gave him a beautiful roan mare that Brent named Epiphany. His brother and sister tease him a little about his alignment choice but his family respects the right of choice in alignment. Seth loves to play the lute and fife the most out of his instruments. He plays the cello for his mother when she requests it.

~~~~

So that's a brief synopsis of the characters for that story. There is a lot more than just what was featured but I particularly like the relationship between Hettie and Duncan. In my mind, Hettie tends to be the main character, as she is the one piece that hold a lot of it together. She does have it out a lot with Therian too.

Yammer yammer.

I have pages of stuff about characters to share, whether you want to read it or not. I hope you do though, lovelies.

Sleep well, and Sweet dreams.

Every day, overcoming my fear, letter by letter.

I continuously think of how afraid I am that someone might misread something here and assume I am an awful person. I know I'm not, and many people would agree vigorously on that. But fears are never rational nor do they go away when you hide them behind a smile.

Regardless of the fact you are reading this and I may not know you, I am trusting the reader of this blog. Before I continue, know I am terrified of clicking publish on this post, but I feel compelled to type this.

I am trying to draw back those curtains I pull in front of my personal demons. More often than not, I push more and more behind that curtain, refusing to confront any of it until one day it forces itself out. In a blaze of paralyzing fears and doubts come to take their due, I crumple and fail in the most maddening ways. Sometimes, I go too far with my self depreciating humor, and hurt my friends by hurting myself. Other times, I just turn into a gibbering wreck hiding in the dark of my room, simultaneously praying that no one hears me, but also that someone would look in and tell me it'll be ok. I cannot fight these demons in the darkness they breed in my heart, so I will bring them to light, to force myself to see that these doubts, fears, hatreds, and self loathing are nothing to fear and CAN be defeated if I let myself be strong.

We all fight our personal demons in different ways. I know my ways previously have been less than effective. I justify my lapses with terms like "good days" or "bad days", pretending that my excuses are anything but. I want to say I refuse to continue in that manner, that I will improve myself undeniably but its not something I can promise. I can only try.

Well, not that I didn't love baring my soul here, I did promise to post new material here today. So here it is, Dreamhart. Another partial of a much longer story I keep in my mind.

Dreamhart

A dark shadow slipped past the alley door as an old woman tottered out. With a grunt, Orna heaved the contents of a sturdy metal pot into the street. A clatter at the end of the alley made her jump and she clutched the pot like a shield.

            "Hoy!" She rasped out. "Who's there? Come out, or I'll belt ye with me pot!" She squinted into the night.

A soft voice came from her left. Orna whirled and held the pot in front of her. "I mean no harm, ma'am. I would like to ask you a few questions."

The old woman looked all around her. She could not see the speaker. "Well, go on. Ask yer questions."

            "Have you heard about any, hmmm, strange children as of late?" The voice drawled, soft and low, dangerously feminine. When Orna shook her head, the person continued. "Do you have a midwife in this town?"

Orna snorted. "Sure we do. She lives on the edge of town. Why?" She peered deeper into the darkness. "Have ye a need for a birthin' woman?"

Orna felt something brush past her in the narrow alley. She caught the briefest glimpse of a four legged form, and golden fur as it rushed past her to the street. She dropped her impromptu shield and bolted inside; she was really too old to be talking to strangers in the alley after dark.

_______

Cassiopeia kept to the shadows as she sprinted through the small seaside village. Bright oil lamps inside roadside taverns created pools of light, making her weave her way across the road. When she reached the slid into the shadow of the last building on the street, she spread her wings and leapt into the air.

Her sharp eyes watched the land far below as she flew over the sleeping villiage. Small plots rolled out and onward beneath her as she scanned for the midwife's home. As the sun peeked over the horizon, her bright brown eyes lighted on a battered old building close to the edge of town. Nestled in a small grove of trees, the walls looked like they were held up more with the memory of a building than nails. With a whispered wish, she banked left and swooped in to land as silently as possible.

Cassiopeia landed with a soft thump around the back of the small building. Her claws dug small furrows in the thin soil as she considered her next action. She cautiously approached the window and peered inside. Lying all over the floor were children of all ages, from small to large. Cassiopeia jumped as the door opened with a loud protest and older children began to file out.

 As soon as they were out of sight, she flew towards a large tree with thick foliage. She selected a large branch and lay down to observe the children. As the day wore on, she watched the children playing in and around the small hut. There were many children living there but none were the child she was searching for. She watched until the sun went down and the children were herded back into the home by a rough old woman. The woman cautiously scanned the area before closing the door. Cassiopeia heard a small bolt latch and the lamp inside extinguished.

When the sound died down in the hut and all seemed silent, Cassiopeia slid down the trunk of the tree. She came to the window where the woman slept. She lay down outside the window and listened for the woman's breathing. Slowly, Cassiopeia matched her breathing to the woman's rhythm and started a low chant. The way into the woman's dreams opened like a misty chasm.

 Cassiopeia snorted in disgust as she inhaled the putrid air of the woman’s mind. She pressed further into the gloom until she heard a loud raucous voice singing an old tavern song. A large glassy sphere hung like a bloated bubble in the murky smoke.

 
“And don’t forget to bring me ‘nother beer!” A gnarled old man cackled from within. Cassiopeia skirted the edge of the dream sphere, staying well clear of the domed sides.

As she came around the curve of the sphere, Cassiopeia saw the old woman sitting in a chair, watching the dream intently. The woman would caw with laughter every time the man would reach out to grab one of the serving girls and get slapped. Cassiopeia padded up softly.

 

            “Good day, ma’am.” She purred into the woman’s ear.

 

The woman remained intent on the dream even as she answered. “Tisn’t day yet.” She swatted at Cassiopeia.

 

            “Not truly, wise one. Would you be able to answer some questions for me?” Cassiopeia asked softly. “It would do a great service and a greater reward for it.”

 

            "Reward?" The woman’s blank gaze turned in Cassiopeia. “What be the question?”

 

            "Just a simple one, really. Have you cared for any children who seem be a little" Cassiopeia chose her words with great care." - different?”

 

The woman scratched her head. “Not too different. Not if ya mean mooncalves. I haven’t had one o’ those for a while now.”

 

Cassiopeia’s human face darkened. “My thanks to you.” She whispered into to the woman’s mind and began to circle the sphere again.

 

That same cracked voice caught her mid stride. “We did have that one girl, now that you mention it. But she weren't no mooncalf. She was too smart.”

 

Cassiopeia spun around and stared at the woman. When the woman did not continue, she growled low in her ear. “Well, where is she?”

 

The woman was unfazed by the enraged sphinx. She spoke slowly, staring at the dream still unfolding in the sphere. “She was a little thing. Other kids picked on her something fierce, but I paid it no mind. Makes a kid grow up strong, that it does. She couldn’t tough it, I guess, so she ran off. Haven’t seen her for at least a moon cycle. We’re better off, I think. She talked about strange things.”

 

Cassiopeia dug her claws into the substance beneath her. “What things, woman?”

 

            “Monsters.” The woman replied.

 

With a rough growl, Cassiopeia whirled and bounded out of the dream world.
~~~~~

I hope I didn't freak anyone out with my sudden and uncalled for foray into very personal battles with the self.

In other news, I am looking to start collecting Sailor Moon TCG cards again. I would love to know if anyone has any out there! Let me know!

Its almost 5 am again, I need to start sleeping at reasonable times.

Goodnight, lovelies

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams