Panion Present

.:goes shopping for present for panion lucian:.
*and sends present to lucian's house in ar*
*has mommy's permission*

hoKay luciAn,
is present fOr being pAniOn
And fOr cOlOring with cAstA
jOurnAl hAs heArt On it
i pick it Out All by self
lOve cAstA Anne

PS hAve mOmmy permissiOn to get present.
mOmmy help sO is h'OkAy

Villainy

The role of the villain is one I have played for most of my life. It's comfortable, and there is something sure about knowing people will automatically think the worst of you. There is even a certain satisfaction to be found in outdoing oneself, to go above and beyond even the expectations of those same people, and being well and truly vile on a level they can't foresee.

For some people, I put aside the villain. I take care of them, do what I can do make their lives better. Not suprisingly, I think some of them fail to notice it when it happens or mistake my motives as something ulterior.

My nephew was concerned about being untried, about becoming too connected to a certain slave that is not his own. We had discussed days before how her owner might never draw certain things from her with the methods he uses, and how our own efforts might enable an easier transition. At the time, my nephew had wanted to know if I ever thought said owner would sell this slave. No. I didn't leave room for further interpretation. He would not. Nash knew it, but I think only wanted it confirmed by someone older. The night he was concerned about growing too attached, I encouraged him to branch out, to explore. He is only fourteen, and while he is tall and handsome, intelligent, and often mistaken for someone older, he is still not advanced enough for all the world has to throw at him.

I don't know why he sent the slave, Mare, back to Ar from the fair. It was a question I never asked, and the reason was never given. I gathered it must have been due to something severe enough in terms of infraction that he had to handle it, and something that involved others possibly, because he did not draw his parents into the act. Still, he sent her back to the inn here in Ar, and continued interaction. He seldom visited the inn before, as far as I am aware, and now the visits have lessened. New friends, school beginning, etc. It is not surprising to me at least.

She thinks I am the villain. I am not.

I told my Madeline last night-all of it. The trip to Cos, the way both women of brown took care of my son. The plans and ideas, that only Nash knew before last night, and was only told a few days ago. The fact I had changed my mind. I don't want to risk an attachment to any one person right now, not enough to have one as the mother of future children. There is more to do, and I don't believe either of them would have benefited.

Yesterday, I went to the park, and Idgie was there. Leader of the Jit Army, and the one who convinced me to see my son. My first son. Tavian. I did not think it would benefit him either, but despite the fact he has his mother's eyes, she tells me that he is just like me. They are supposed to visit today, but so far there has been no sign.

Fate and Julian, the latter of whom has been ill until today, baked cookies. I have kept Madeline separate from Julian. Not all men do keep their slaves away from their children: Lucien, Nathan, etc. Bridging the gap between who I am as Master, and who I am as father. Not something I've had to do in the past.

I told her I would not be reading her journal anymore, would not be writing more letters. After this last sojourn that direction, I realized she would not talk. She did not write. Chance given, she once more turned to Skirt. Now, it's for her to tell me what I need to know. To figure it out. To work.

This entry rambles.

Prophecy

Not so long ago, I had a plan. Well, two possible plans really. I had no way of knowing if they would work out, and I had searched for cards. I did not find the cards, but the bearer of the original deck, found me. Long enough to let me know happiness was within reach.

Matilda, the hith that belongs to Therise. It is said by reliable sources, that she is capable of telling the future. I had never had a reading by her until recently, had been going based on my own wants and the cards. What she said, has thrown things off course.

Sometimes you are unsure which is worse, the rage itself or the helplessness that you wade in. Her. Then him. Your thoughts bounce back and forth from her and him, then to them. Series of disappointments, you have that bitter taste in your mouth again and you want, instead to taste something different. Usually, you cling and hang in there for the small one. But even you know that is not enough. It won't feel like this, forever. But. There is a woman with a beautiful body, in the city of Ar. She has even skin that is flawless, and eyes like a beautiful jungle cat. Her voice is appealing and she will appeal to you on some level. She is the one you need to avoid. There is something in her that is manipulative and vapid. She is not the one. And she will help to topple the little haven you have created, if you let her in.

At the time, only part of my plan had been implemented, successfully. The second part was pending, and now I have to figure out who this other is. If it is the one I believe it to be, my second part will never happen. If it is the one that has been suggested to me, likewise. But the one suggested, has been told she would have a son in two years.

Golden

"But all of my passion went with her golden hair." Louis, Interview with the Vampire.

My affinity for blondes, is not a secret. Anyone that is at all close to me, or has heard me speak of my personal preferences, knows I like blondes. The reason, I couldn't tell you. Part of me thinks that it is simply because the variations in shades, even on one individual, can be so broad. The same cannot be said of redheads or brunettes. Another part of me surmises, and this has only recently become the case, that it is a means of turning away from what I knew growing up. Away from my mother, from Zamalan, from Ostia, all those black-haired tormentors that were always too much like myself in many ways.

Sage. My brother, my blonde twin, died this hand. We did not share the same name, but we shared the same tastes in a great many things that really matter. He is the only person I have ever met, whose sentences I could finish, and find that the reverse was also true. I was going to open a second shop on Cos, because he wanted to run it. I was going to open a club beneath the shop I have now, because I thought it would be another way for us to share our appreciation for beautiful women, pain, and pleasure. I have not mourned him, but it does not mean I don't grieve his loss. There will never be another like him.

Madeline. My slave, my blonde possession, is alive this hand. When I met her, and learned of her name, I wondered if it might not be a sign of some sort. I didn't once believe in those, but the cards and events at the ruins have taught me there are many things that happen, for which we have no logical explanation beyond some force unseen that drives them. She shares my mother's name, the spelling different, which once earned her the nickname-Madeline with an 'e'. I spoke to her of it, the fact I have seen her smile more this hand, than ever I have seen her do before. I think she must enjoy Cos, and being among the people here.

I'm not sure if she realized it, but I took comfort in her presence when I found out my friend was dead. Men of this society are not victim of keeping their feelings in, as they are where she is from, but I've never been good at expressing mine. At first, I wasn't even sure I had any on the matter. I was struck by it, but more so the fact of how he went, than by the death itself. I think it has taken days to really sink in, and I am glad I sit here alone writing this now, because I am not sure I still have a handle on it.

Then, finally, last night, something strange happened. I had her where I had imagined her being many times before. Chained to the couch, fear in her body causing every muscle and sinew to tighten, that scent which only comes with the onset of fear rising off her skin, and at last she collapsed on the mat. It was never my intention to leave her there, but I know she thought that was my plan. My cloak was in my hands, presumably ready to be thrown over my shoulders, so I could go write letters in a room that has the desk that my suite lacks. Instead, I put the cloak around her shoulders, and then unlocked the cuffs. I stood, I put the key down, and I waited. She did not draw out of them, and in fact offered her wrists back up to me with the cuffs in partial hang about them. And that was when it really sank in, though some of it slipped in through the cracks of my conscious before. I had waited to see if my feeling would change, but even after cuffed wrists were offered, I knew I didn't want them in the restraints. My zeal for the devices, and what they can inflict or bring about, was not there. I wanted her there, just not like that. She slept next to me, the cloak still covering her body, and it was all that I wanted.

What does this mean? I don't know.

Brown

If you live long enough, it is bound to happen. And I don't mean on a minor level either. I mean that it leaves you wondering sometimes for months on end, and perhaps more than anything, you wonder when something will change it all so that you can go wondering about something else.

Conflict.

I have two middle names. Neither of them is this word, and yet, they might as well be. Named after two men, with whom I actually only had tenuous familial relationships, though they were unaware of it. Conflict has been my associate for most of my life, or what I remember of my life anyway.

Between what you want, and what you need.

I knew what I wanted. Have wanted. Want still to some degree.
But I didn't make the move. I didn't take that leap.

Why?

Because I knew what I wanted, wasn't what I needed.

Now this one, is somewhat new to me. But the cards knew. I didn't find a set. The owner of the old set found me. I was sitting at the Arian campfire, and she walked up with her brown robes. The last time we'd spoken she was trying to find the solution, the amulet. Then, she disappeared. I've almost grown used to people coming into my life, and then disappearing just as quickly. But I suppose Fate, and I don't mean Astraea in this case, thought I might need some assistance this time around.

The cards knew.

Familiarity. Three. Arrogance that has caused past misery. I knew who these three were. We are all so interconnected, that after the last one disappeared from my life, I found I was lacking a large section of myself. Where it had gone? I didn't know. I thought for while that it was just living outside of my body, in Julian. But no, it's gone. Frustration. Restlessness. Failure to focus personal energy so it is scattered. This has been the way of it for over a year now. Going from one thing to the next, without ever leaving any of it undone once a project began. I know it must have confused quite a few people, but if I could get order around me, the inside skewing wasn't as noticeable. It is time to take what I want. Strong chance of achievement for making that leap. Future. Happiness. I've had this card before. I don't like this card. I don't trust this card. Ace.

Brown. A few days ago, I bought beads and earrings in browns and greens, for a slave I don't even own. I have never been fond of brown, although not because it reminds me of anything necessarily. Then again, maybe that was the problem. I tend to prefer things with which I have made some sort of association to something else, something I do like.

Brown helped take care of my son with quiet softness I don't possess.
Brown is the color of a chocolate cake made in appreciation.
Brown, in a different shade, will take care of my son now.

I like brown.

Ending Before It Began

Twice now, plans had been made to meet, and to explore. First the museum, and this time the fair. Twice now, the plans had been set aside or forgotten. It ended before it even began. I think it's a sign. I looked for a set of those cards that Fate used to use, in order to tell me what was to come. I scoured every section of the Merchants' tent, but did not find any. I plan to search now that I am back on Cos, and failing that, will search again when I return home to Ar.

Therise is reopening her shop, and naming truffles after some of us. Maybe. At least, that was the way she put it. She's also having a party for the occasion, which I agreed to attend. No date has been set, nor for the hunt or the eventual trip back to the ruins. I was also told that Nathan, Sage, and Lucien were hoping I would open a second shop on Cos. I am considering it, even though the original was set up just to keep me amused. The new semester will be starting in a hand or so at the school. I have a great deal on my plate, but I can feel the restlessness starting.

Critical Error

I am a quiet person by nature, and while I am able to occasionally unwind among those I know well, there are many more thoughts that go through my head that are never spoken aloud. It is not that I don't want to say them, I simply lack the capacity to trust people to any extent, and thus keep almost everything close to the chest. Perhaps too, because I am a Scribe, I am not gifted with a talent for conversation beyond topics that are often trivial, and have trouble when it comes to conveying my feelings on matters of real import. It is a trait that my real mother tried to change, through her various means of manipulation, both mental and physical. I think many people misundertand it, and though in some instances I have managed to overcome it, this propensity is still oftentimes the root of my greatest dilemmas.

I may have made a most critical error tonight, and when I would have like to have discussed it, the presence of others prevented it. I had written a letter, and inserted it into the front of the journal, but because the new instructions had already begun being given out, no real conversation was possible. I don't know if she found the letter, and I left the shop with this large blank space in my brain. Why am I going to such trouble for a slave I don't even own, one that spends most of her time angry with me, even if she does feel something for me that isn't platonic? I can only say it's because I've watched her from the beginning, I've seen what they have done to her, and what they haven't trained her to do. I know she feels betrayed by what I dictated in the instructions, I saw it in her eyes, and watched her trying to serve the Slaver and the Physician while battling tears. When I left, the Slaver was asking her what was wrong, and no doubt she had many things going through her mind that were sealed off behind the behavior she thinks she is supposed to exhibit.

I am not looking for perfection. I'm looking for the desire to try and attain perfection, the eagerness that only comes into the eyes of a slave that truly wants to please men. So in the end, am I sorry for what I did? No. If anything, I am sorry I didn't do it sooner.

Nocturnal Omissions

Treason

1 : the betrayal of a trust : treachery

2 : the offense of attempting by overt acts to overthrow the government of the state to which the offender owes allegiance or to kill or personally injure the sovereign or the sovereign's family



To Goreans, it is probably the most disgusting word. And yet, I find myself very close to being charged of it on two counts.

After starting the letter last night, I burned it in the stove at the shop. The first was sent, but with a sensible gift that could only be considered helpful under current circumstances. It was accepted gracefully, as was the invitation, and that was that. It was the appointment that never happened, which may be for the best. And yet, my mind still goes in that direction from time to time, before I come to my senses and shut it off.

The mark, it has not been on my wrist for long, at least not in comparison to the number of years of effort behind it. But recent events have splintered the group it signifies, and treason is back on the lips of many. I formally ended my association with the thin Merchant, but still regularly practice the skills that gained me the place I am in now.

Man going against his own conscience, it is a form of treason all its own. Of following desires, I am less certain. I have too often gone that route, with bad result.