onsdag 30. august 2017

VtM:B – a story. A princely gift.

I didn’t receive an invitation of my own for the next new vampire introduction. Might as well be for the best, as I was out of town, doing the Prince’s bidding. Kira was with me, so it wasn’t as if I was lonely. Still, I’d have liked to see Pälvi and meet her sire, Anges the Huntress. My Sire speaks highly of her and her skills as a werewolf hunter. An Archon, and a powerful Elder. One to watch, and learn from.

But, that comes later. So does why and where I was, as well as what I was doing. Part clan business, part by order of the Prince. It was a night hard to forget…

My sire, Kira and I were the first to arrive: having spent the night before fussing over what to wear, as this was supposed to be a “casual” affair (believe me, nothing is casual to a Toreador – I learned that the hard way). Just a few of the clan, coming together, enjoying a meal, as well as bring your ghoul(s) to the feast, too.

Turns out, it wasn’t ironic.

So, we arrive to a large apartment block - in the fancy part of town - by our personal driver (my Sire's personal driver: Kira doesn't hold a Danish license at present and therefore can't perform that task just yet).

Prince Jean-Baptiste, whom I only knew from the last Elysium, lives on the three top floors, and has his heard and ghouls reside in the rest of the building. Apparently, large gatherings are commonplace; but smaller clan meetings such as this wasn’t.

The building, being quite old, didn’t have an elevator. Not that physical labor taxes me, it is simply just vexing having to walk up a set of seven staircases while wearing high heels and a tight dress. Kira was making a great show of not appearing flustered at all, and my Sire simply enjoyed himself – perhaps a little too much, on my behalf. After knocking on the door, and finding it opened by a beautiful young woman, I had to keep my hunger in check. “Come hungry”, the Prince had instructed, so no unsanctioned drinking before the allotted time. And the greeter girl was not part of that deal.

She guides us into a kitchen. A rather clean and white washed kind of thing, more or less sterile, to my eyes. Kira seems impressed, though: it still might be the passing living room with a Rembrandt, a bust of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia (the last Russian Tsar, if you didn’t know), and a hand written declaration, signed by Napoleon: I'm not sure what strikes her fancy the most.

Now, I’m not sure why a French vampire would idolize one Russian Tsar; actually, make that two – there’s a painting of Peter the Great (again an original, I suspect) behind a glass cover, at the far side of the kitchen. Actually, “kitchen” might be too poor a word to describe the room: it’s more like a combined dining room and a large restaurant kitchen, separated only by a small kitchen isle, perfectly fitting to keep plates on.

While the furniture seems practical, it is wood: I’m not sure what kind, but it looks sturdy.

Jean-Baptiste doesn’t greet us: he’s busy at the stove, whipping up a cream of some kind, and humming loudly to a track of classical music. (Is that Chopin, or Debussy, or maybe Bach – I can’t tell – being played on a gramophone?) The greeting lady offer us chairs: well, she offers the ghouls chairs, and Kira accepts a place next to a rather peculiar looking man in his fifties. As she does, a tall vampire throws me a long, hard look: I’m guessing the ghoul belongs to him.

Not wanting any foul memories to sour the evening, I trot up to him, smiling, offering a hand and a smile. He doesn’t accept either. Puzzled, I introduce myself, as if this isn’t phasing me a bit. It does, however: as this is a Toreador only event, I’m not sure what he might have against me.

Rising an eyebrow, he accepts my hand, kissing it in a gentleman manner, his eyes burning at me. Maybe he’s just hungry? I know I am.

I leave him be, for now, and move over to the group of people I can only assume is other vampires.

Another man, dressed all in Prada, pulls me close and kisses my cheek. I’m not entirely displeased by his acceptance, but find his behavior mildly disturbing: he tells me that he is Andrea Grimaldi, an Italian noble from Genoa. Having no idea how that translates into Kindred society, I tell him that I am honored to meet him, and that I don’t know the proper reply in his language. Unfortunately, he takes this as an opportunity to educate me.

Then Prince Jena-Baptiste bangs a soup casserole rather loudly, and all fall silent. We move to the table, or, us vampires moves to stand behind our ghouls: the tall, less spoken vampire stands beside me: I was right in assuming the man besides Kira being his ghoul.

As we await, Jean-Baptiste demands our attention. Nobody is foolish enough to deny him.

He welcomes us to his haven, and talks – at length – about the dishes he’s prepared. I can barely not roll my eyes – cooking is one skill I find to my dislike (meaning I’m terrible at it), and as vampires can’t eat Kine food, this seems a waste. However, he is the Prince, and the performance itself is well done (I do so appreciate acting skills).

The lady who greeted us begins serving the first dish: a small aperitif, neatly placed on a far too large a plate.

We watch as our ghouls eat, all hungry and eager, but not for Kine food.

Then the main course is served: a red fish (Salmon?) of some fancy French wording; it looks like part soup, part sushi to me. A lovely wine comes with it. Kira drains the glass almost too soon for my taste, and I place a hand on her shoulder, caressing it, half absent minded, half menacing: I get no enjoyment out of watching her eating – well, maybe some, if I hadn’t been wanting to half drain her myself.

My Sire, having brought no ghoul, stands behind one of what I assume is one belonging to our host – I know he keeps several around, both for blood dolls, as well as retainers. I suddenly understand why he owns the entire building.

The dessert arrives, and small talk continues. The vampire beside me keeps silent, only glaring at me from time to time. I try to meet the eyes of my Sire, but he’s too enraptured in a conversation with two other vampires: a woman I only know as Maud and from the sound of it, a Russian noble, whom I can’t place in the Kindred hierarchy.

Then Kira taps her wrist.

It is a preset signal, becoming my attention like a hawk spotting a mouse a thousand meters below.

I lean in close, putting my lips at her left shoulder, touching them to her exposed skin, but without teeth. The trick is to make it seem like I’m having a bite without actually doing it: she whispers that the vampire next to me is Pieter Zederzoon; a voice actor, Dutch, and that his ghoul is his younger brother. Satisfied, I let my tongue roam Kira’s naked shoulder, giving it two quick tabs before I withdraw – that means I’m grateful for the information.

You can see why I adore this girl: dutiful to a fault, and oh so eager to serve me in every way possible (thoughts for later).

But this really doesn’t explain my mission, does it?

It’s only after the feast (of the ghouls) that the Prince takes me aside to a different room, as well as my Sire and Pieter (our ghouls are waiting outside – I hope Kira is okay after the meal). Prince Jean-Baptiste outlines a situation in Russia, and he wants me to take point. My Sire seems hard to agree, but he doesn’t argue. Pieter will be our outside line – ever since the Baba Yaga incident (don’t ask)*, it’s imperative to keep a contact with the outside world.

Pieter is going to be that tech savvy outsider. He doesn’t appear too pleased about the prospect.

I have a fortnight to pick and assemble my team before we'll depart Denmark.

Sadly, Pälvi can’t come along with me – it is my first question – but Kira is vital to the mission (as I don’t know any Russian besides what little she's taught me - she's much more interested in learning Norwegian).

I meet the eyes of my Sire across the table. He nods. I am ready for this. And I hate to disappoint. This will be my moment to prove myself.

I rise, offering to do my best and complete the mission. Pieter snorts. It ruins the seriousness of the moment. I silently vow to have my revenge.

*Picture the most hideous hag imaginable, and you might be able to imagine Baba Yaga. She is an eight-foot-tall monstrosity with four-inch iron (yes, iron) claws, sharklike iron fangs, stringy hair, grey, scarred flesh covered in pustules, rheumy eyes thick with cataracts and a long, crooked nose marred by numerous hairy warts and moles.

tirsdag 29. august 2017

VtM:B – a story. The following night.

When we awake, it is evening. With the villa adjusted to Kindred, we can stride through the entire inside of it without fear of any lingering sunlight. My Sire tells me it once belonged to the Prince, before he became the Prince.

Hunger makes me unable to keep the focus.

My Sire sighs, and walks over to a minibar, but instead of snacks, there are blood packs inside. Taking one out, he tosses one to me. Taking one for himself, he then shows me how to drink from it without making a mess or spilling the blood. I lick my lips in delight once the blood pack is empty, for the blood is strong, and of high quality. It reminds me of the boy.

We exit the room together, and move to a more secluded part of the villa. This is where the introduction will take place: after last night, those in power observed us, and now we’ll be judged based on our actions.

It sounds far too more terrifying than it actually is, my Sire says, as no fledgling yet been granted Final Death because of something done in one of these events, and then starts to list a few examples: draining a blood doll, stealing a car and crashing it, insulting an Elder, and starting a fight. Severe punishment, however, is an entirely different thing. However, he hastily adds when seeing my face, I have nothing to fear after how I behaved.

The introduction is a ritual. We are all to come and stand before the Prince, in a line, while our sires and Elders watch from the back of the room. With all the spectacular robes, dresses and tuxedos being worn, the Prince doesn’t seem to be going for the too lavishly luxurious look: a simple silk shirt with French lilies on them, trousers with press, and leather shoes. All black. All handcrafted and tailored to fit him like a glove. The Prince starts by telling us that he is Jean-Baptiste, a Frenchman and a Toreador (Another Toreador!), and that as long as we are in his city, there are certain rules that we must follow. Asking the fledglings at random, he have us explain the Traditions. When it comes to the fourth, he points at me.

I reply, in a steady voice (while trembling on the inside), that the fourth Tradition is the Tradition of Accounting: and that whenever one creates a new vampire, the sire, held accountable for all actions of the childer, must not only teach the childer, but watch them come into their own in due time. Then I quote the actual Tradition, as if I know it by heart: Those thou create are thine own children. Until thy Progeny shall be released, thou shall command them in all things. Their sins are thine to endure.

I can tell that the Prince is impressed, and that my Sire is making an effort not to outright grin. Olaf just seems confused.

I still don’t understand is how this applies to Gangrels.

Once the ceremony is over, sires and their childer depart. I sit in the back of the car, pondering. My Sire lets me think in silence. At long last, when we approach his haven – our haven, sort of – I speak:

“Why did you choose me?”

My Sire turns to look at me.

“Many reasons. But mostly because I fell in love with your words. I wanted to preserve your talent for the ages.”

He sounds so serious.

When we go inside, passing the locks, the security, the alarms – all measures to keeping and be kept safe – my Sire goes to the large bookshelf he has in the living room. Pulling out a copy, he turns it over, handing it over to me. It is a first addition of my novel.

My Sire ask me if I would sign it. Flattered, honored, and smiling with satisfaction, I find a pen, and dip it in red ink. Then, with a frown, I change my mind, pick another pen, and dip it in purple ink. I write; To he who made my world richer / From a loving child / Silence is gratitude shaped and made flesh.

I can tell that my words affect him deeply.

mandag 28. august 2017

VtM:B – a story. Initiation to society.

The first time I’m introduced to the Kindred society in an Elysim gathering, I wear black velvet. My Sire insists. I find it a bit too traditional, and harbor and unnatural strong fear of not fitting in. My Sire tells me this is natural. I do not believe him. How can I, when so much of my former life was lived in fear and unease?

We travel outside the city limits to a grand, old looking castle, or a villa. It is, I understand, rented by the Prince, and will serve as tonight’s accommodations. There are a lot of private security around; mortals, mostly. I ask my Sire why. At first, he laughs and think I jest. Then he tells me to look beyond mortal eyes and use Auspex. I do, and gasps. What I had thought ample security turns out to be overkill. My Sire says that one can never be too careful.

I find myself wishing for Pälvi, but she hasn’t yet completed her own initiation. Oh, how I long to see her again! Then the car turns a bend I forget about Pälvi.

The villa lies well lit in the darkness. There is a cocktail party with men and women, dressed elegantly in the latest fashion, drinking, laughing and making merry. I later understood that this is just a front, a clever trick, to keep the Masquerade. We stop at a private car park, indoors, underground, and take the elevator up to the elevator itself. The second floor, reserved for the elite. Even without my Sire winking, I understand that means us. I am not entirely wrong.

We present our lavish invitation; Jürgen Adelmann, plus one – until I am properly presented, I will remain my Sire’s plus one – but I intend to secure my own invitation for the next event, based on tonight. We are offered a drink in the form of a young boy, maybe ten or twelve, before we enter. It’s considered rude to show up at an Elysium without having fed. My Sire declines. I do not, and lull the boy in a motherly embrace – quite the sensation – before whispering softly to him that I am a nice lady that won’t harm him. He nods, understanding. I Kiss him gently, drawing enough blood to satisfy my taste, but mindful of the vessel’s small size. I stop myself before I drain him. Too soon, it turns out; I have barely had a sip. But I have never tasted young blood before, and I am roused by it. It is potent, and the boy is of noble stock. I feel lightheaded when we step inside the ballroom; my Sire remarks that I have spoiled my appetite.

I see Tremere, Ventrue, Toreador, Gionvanni, mortals; but also what I suspect is Malkavian, before I step back in light shock: Three Nosferatu lingering in a corner. Despite being warned in advance, I shudder. My Sire takes my arm in his, and draws me near: I realize if I where to stumble, it would reflect poorly on him. So I toss my neck, and put on my confidence: This is where I belong, at the seat of power, along the rest, the heart of the party. The evening has just began, and there is a new player in town.

The party lasts to daybreak; I quickly lose count over whom is who, what titles and positions they hold: but it seems not that important as this is an evening for the fledglings. My Sire explained that to me in advance: every year, the Prince hosts a gathering for the newly made vampires – to meet, to be introduced, and to behave. I sense a tug in my heart as I would not share my presentation to Kindred society with her, before I dream of presenting someone else the next year: there is no rule that says you have to be a sire and a childer. My Sire sees me smiling and asks what I find amusing. I comment on the sight of two beautiful beings, one drinking from the other. He smiles and says that the Prince keeps blood dolls around, to see how the fledglings treat them. He then acquires a specimen himself: a large man with grey eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in a tuxedo. My Sire introduces us: it is the father of the boy, and he is pleased that I did drink of his child when I mention it. He then offers his own neck, and my Sire shows me how to share him at the same time – a trick I will perform myself with others, later. The vitality and virility of the moment makes me dizzy.

Later, my Sire leaves me to mingle on my own, striking up conversation as I see fit. I know this is a test, so I do it dutiful and proud. I meet the nervous Gangrel Olaf and his mentor – not sire – Louise. I learn that Gangrel tradition doesn’t permit the same kind of sire-childer bond that most other clans share. I don’t comment on the situation further north in Scandinavia.

I also meet Alexandra of clan Tremere – she doesn’t mention a last name. She’s dressed all in red, and wears gold jewelry. She invites me to the High Saturday: a gathering of those interested in Necromancy. Obviously, my fascination of the topic has betrayed me, but to a pleasant surprise. I thank her and move on.

Deciding to prove myself, I seek out the Nosferatu, but find only one of them, deep in conversation with a queer looking girl of barely sixteen, clearly underdressed for the occasion. They stop when I advance, and we share polite words and names: the Nosferatu is Vlad (again, no last name mentioned – this seems to be the norm), a former merchant from the 1700-century, and one with strong ties to the Prince. Erika doesn’t say anything, but keeps on staring at me the for the entire conversation. I tell them about my book, about how I plan to have another one published (under another name, this time – I am, both officially and literally, dead) and that I would be delighted to ask Vlad for firsthand knowledge of the time from when he was alive. He seems surprised, but not entirely unwilling. However, nothing is free in this world, and favors are high currency in Kindred society. I ask him what he would consider a fair price, and find Erika shaking her head viciously. Somehow, this amuses Vlad, and he says he’ll be in touch. Taking his remark on the word, I offer mine. The queer looking girl giggles. Slowly, Vlad takes my hand and we shake on it. He then excuses himself and Erika, and I continue my evening, dressed to impress.

Noticing the time, I went to find my Sire, and secure a place to rest for the day. He take me through a long hallway and to a Spartan looking room with just a bed and a coffin. The drapes are lovely, heavy, and covered the thick and tinted glass. My Sire claims the bed, and I the coffin. As I slide the lid on, I smile of gratefulness: he remembered to ask about one in advance.

søndag 20. august 2017

VtM:B - a story. A memory.

I remember an evening when I brought home a meal, a girl with great looks, mesmerizingly following my steps within a haze of bliss, having already expected Pälvi to be within the apartment. I unlocked the door, opened it wide, and asked the mortal to enter willingly – and she stepped inside as easy as if she was unaware of what awaited her; which, to be fair, she was.

I asked her to make herself comfortable, planting her in the living room, wandering from item to item, admiring my wealth and taste, while I went upstairs to collect Pälvi.
Finding her at the computer, probably writing a report for one of the Elders, I was able to convince her that she looked paler than usual, that she hadn’t fed enough, and that I had found something pretty for her. It took almost no persuasion at all.

As Pälvi and I reentered the living room, the young woman was standing in front of a painting. I can’t recall exactly what had sparked the interest, but I glided over to her, only letting the clicking sound of my heels be heard for mortal ears above the music (I’ve practiced with Kira many times, so I have a fair certainty in how the sound ranges of mortal ears fall – not that I don’t recall it with utter accuracy myself from my own living years), coming closer with assured steps, the one walking with knowledge and want. She turned and smiled towards me, and I in turn gave her a smile that only an angel could present.
Placing my hand at her hip and one at her lower back, looking on in delight as she widened her eyes with an unexpected need, I silenced all her questions with a kiss.

Pälvi moved up next to us, observing, but keeping somewhat distant. I didn’t want her to be distant, I wanted her to share this mortal with me, the mortal I had brought her, brought here, for her, to drink from.
I reached out with a hand, and tried to take Pälvi’s hand, guiding her to the waist of our feast.

The girl didn’t quite seem to be catching on, so I whispered soft reassurances to her, that she would soon experience pleasure above anything she’d ever felt (not really a lie, based on what Kira tells me), drawing a little bit more on my Presence, trying to lull both her and Pälvi into the moment, this beautiful moment.
At what seemed to be forever, Pälvi finally started kissing the girl’s slender neck. Smiling, I joined in on the other side, wanting to taste mortal blood first. Of course, it wasn’t a competition, but I sometimes make one out of nothing – it makes me feel better.

Biting into that soft, succulent flesh, I heard the mortal gasp as I secured my hold on her, waiting only for Pälvi to feast upon her at the same time.
I didn’t want to drain her; I wanted this to draw out, to linger, so I pulled my fangs back from her, licking the puncture wounds, causing her to shiver.


Lifting my head to mentally roll my eyes at my dear partner, whom I loved in life and forever will in undeath, despite her flaws and my own faults and failings, being so stubborn to refuse what I offered her. Taking the hint – she reads me so well – she held my eyes as she put her mouth to the white skin, fangs bared, and bit. The mortal moaned, now not only expecting and experiencing the sensation anew, but also the memories of my teeth, making the delight stronger.
Then the moment changed in the snap of the fraction of a second.

Pälvi pulled back, disgust on her face. Perplexed, I looked at her, not knowing what was wrong.
“This female isn’t fitting.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”

Pälvi wiped the trace of spilled blood from her mouth, making a face. I was at a complete loss: here I, knowing that she’d not want to go hungry upon coming back home, had presented her with the finest of beverages, the most exclusive of the evening, and she not only refused, but found it revolting?
“Get rid of her.”

Pälvi turned and marched away, actually MARCHED! She only does that when she’s all business and no fun. Clearly, this was my mistake, and I had to set things right.

I was furious. Or, not actually furious, but scorned, and far more than mildly miffed.

Having lost the moment, the enjoyment, I grabbed the girl’s hair and pulled it back, not too much – I didn’t want to snap her neck, and bit down into her again, drinking deeply from her. Her surprised and feeble efforts of resisting soon stopped, her heart slowed down, dangerously so.

Carrying her in my arms, I carried her down, setting her on her feet, and played the part of two girls who had simply been out on the town and had far too much to drink.
Dumping her in a safe enough distance to a nearby hospital, but far enough away from my place, I melted into the night as she fell over, face first, not getting up. She was someone else’s problem now; I had Pälvi to worry about.

lørdag 19. august 2017

VtM:B - a story. Introductions.

It was late. I was sitting on the couch, a glass of blood – tall, crystal, stemmed – in the grasp of my slender fingers, while my ghoul was licking my naked feet. Normally not a setting or situation you’d consider a vampire in power to be in. Though, I knew that my partner was watching and that she’d be either be enticed about the vista, or experiencing cold fury of not doing the deed herself.

I could even see her, feel her, standing on the balcony, overlooking the living room from the next floor, keeping to the semi-shadows, hands gripping the banister, just not hard enough to leave any marks on it. I do adore my formal partnership and her ways of not damaging anything without a proper reason given, and the railing hadn’t been bad to her. I, however, was.

Allow me to introduce myself.

I’m a vampire.

More specific, I’m of clan Toreador, 32 years of age – human years – and barely out of the butterfly transformation when I was bitten. My Sire said that I had been on his list for some time. Why, I’m not sure, but to keep in touch with the humanity is part of what my clan does – that, and we’re artists. My book had triggered the urge of my Sire. He said it was too much of a coincidence not to make me his.

Of course, becoming a vampire means leaving behind your normal life, the one from before.

Being in two loving relationships already, I begged my Sire for having any other of his vampire friends bestow the same honor upon them. Unfortunately, only one of them was picked – and by another clan.

While she was undergoing her own transformation and became acquainted to life as a vampire – not to mention her own clan’s special rituals and what not – I went to Russia to pick up my other beloved one – a girl with long, golden hair, a pale skin and a willingness to serve me that transcendent her own life.

And so, there we were. A Norwegian male-to-female Toreador, a Finnish female Ventrue, and the Russian female ghoul of the first one. We all spoke English to one another, of course – only learning our mothers tongues over time.

We’re currently in a Danish apartment, top floor, large and sophisticated. One of my selections, actually, on the advice from my Sire. Never having liked either Denmark or Copenhagen, it made for a perfect place to create a lair, complete with coffins and everything.

Normally, vampires could just rest in a bed, as long as the sunlight was out of the equation. Me? I preferred a coffin. For traditional and dramatic reasons.

Vampires slept in coffins. It was really that simple.

Pälvi was back from Sweden, doing something there for her clan, having only returned the night before. Although we lived together, shared a home, the difference in clan set us somewhat apart. Somewhat, but that just made our relationship even stronger.

I didn’t have to call out to her. I knew she was there, and I’d felt her presence. She knew that I knew, but didn’t want to disturb either me or my ghoul.

Kira, my ghoul, was at the floor – well, carpet, I didn’t want her to be cold – licking my feet. I felt Pälvi’s eyes staring at me from above and in the shadow, observing and enjoying. I don’t think Kira knew she was there. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind. The cute ghoul, MY cute ghoul, so focused on her task of pleasing me. So dutiful. I smiled at her.

It may of course just be the blood binding us together, but I hoped that it was love on some other level, too.

fredag 18. august 2017

Funny, that.

I require someone, anyone, actually - to be awake in order to tell said being that I love you. Because I'm selfish, and somebody, anybody, probably deserves to hear it.

torsdag 17. august 2017

tirsdag 15. august 2017

How was your day?

I woke up at two o’clock, or 14:00, if that makes more sense, after going to bed around five in the morning. Then I took a shower, checked my communication devices for updates, got dressed and went to work.

Had less than four hours at work, bought a pizza that I heated for dinner on the way home, then spent the rest of the day/evening online in RP, and watched two-three episodes of DS9 before heading to bed around two hours past midnight.


How was your day?

mandag 14. august 2017

Droid penis = vibrator.

Better not think too much about that.

I read some powerful words tonight. The person in question, perhaps because of the position, makes them even more powerful. Taken out of context, they appear beautiful and lovely. Unfortunately, they are not.

“I don't want any pity, I just want to be cuddled and loved.”

Powerful words.

Words hiding darkness and pain. Suffering. Sweet sickness.

My own thoughts on the matter, as my own history has taught me, makes my position differently. Although, I can reflect, with great regret, on the respite it brings.

I don't want any pity, I just want to be cuddled and loved.

Pity, much as loyalty, is a fickle thing.

Do you remain loyal to a person, or to an organization? What happens when the person in change no longer follows the same creed as the organization once did? Do you come for Womble and stay for Cyanide?

The inability to help, to cause betterment, but instead plan the wrongdoings that ultimately go far different than you expect is very much like brainstorming the idea of a book tuning video game with a friend of yours. What am I saying; of course, they’re nothing alike.

A Life is Strange inspired game with the Christian seven deadly sins in bodily form, a complex character creation and multiple twists and turns along the way to discover what is actually going on.

They say of the Acropolis where the Parthenon is…

I don't want any pity, I just want to be cuddled and loved.

fredag 11. august 2017

Starlight x 2

So, I’ve just spent 2500 on a jacket that I thought cost 250. Not that I couldn’t afford it – and it was a very nice jacket – it’s just a bit consumerist of me. The entire day has been like that, to be honest. Well, since I woke up again, that is, and met whom I shall call Miss Wolff in the Friends and Castle universe. Before that I had snot and tears running at 05:30 local time for no apparent reason.

I’d say today was a treat in many ways.

Ice coffee in the summer is enjoyable.


Three brave people came to the iceberg: the engineer, the monster slayer, the healer. They came here ready to disarm explosives, to fight monsters, to tend to the wounded.


There’s a vote coming up in a month’s time, too. While I hold no political career at present, it is enough for me to stay true to my ideals and go green. But not Soylent.

Remember, dear reader, that I love you, and that love is strong in this world.

torsdag 10. august 2017

Being Starfleet.

Being a member of Starfleet is never easy. Upholding the conduct, following the rules, being the best possible being and/or version of yourself at any given time? I don’t think I’m Starfleet material.

While trying, even with the best of intentions, can even have fatal consequences – and not just for yourself.
Writing something for someone else and you find yourself losing the smile, the joy in your eyes, and sighing with resigning resentment.

But you are strong. Even if you’re maybe not Starfleet, you’re strong. And that matters.

onsdag 9. august 2017

Subtle meaning.

It’s fine.
It really couldn’t possible get any worse, but no doubt it will.


That’s certainly one way of looking at it.
That’s certainly the wrong way of looking at it.


With all due respect:
You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.


No, no: honestly, my fault.
It was exceedingly your fault and we both know it.

 
No harm done.

You have caused complete and utter chaos.


I’m sure it’ll be fine.
I fully expect the situation to deteriorate rapidly.

tirsdag 8. august 2017

I didn’t feel pretty in a dress yesterday.

Which is an entirely new sensation, and one I would, to be honest, prefer to be without. Though, this comes from the same person who wishes to be on the receiving end of an armed robbery – because then she’d know what it was feeling like and could relate to the experience.

Seeking help is admitting there’s a problem you can’t deal with on your own.

søndag 6. august 2017

Polyamory

(Everything is taken from the wikipedia page concerning this subject, but it's worth reading, none the less.)

Separate from polyamory as a philosophical basis for relationship, are the practical ways in which people who live polyamorously arrange their lives and handle certain issues, as compared to those of a generally more socially acceptable monogamous arrangement.
Values
·         Fidelity and loyalty: Many polyamorists define fidelity not as sexual exclusivity, but as faithfulness to the promises and agreements made about a relationship. As a relational practice, polyamory sustains a vast variety of open relationship or multi-partner constellations, which can differ in definition and grades of intensity, closeness and commitment. For some, polyamory functions as an umbrella term for the multiple approaches of ‘responsible non-monogamy.’ A secret sexual relationship that violates those accords would be seen as a breach of fidelity. Polyamorists generally base definitions of commitment on considerations other than sexual exclusivity, e.g. "trust and honesty" or "growing old together".
·         Communication and negotiation: Because there is no "standard model" for polyamorous relationships, and reliance upon common expectations may not be realistic, polyamorists often advocate explicitly negotiating with all involved to establish the terms of their relationships, and often emphasize that this should be an ongoing process of honest communication and respect. Polyamorists will usually take a pragmatic approach to their relationships; many accept that sometimes they and their partners will make mistakes and fail to live up to these ideals, and that communication is important for repairing any breaches.
·         Trust, honesty, dignity, and respect: Most polyamorists emphasize respect, trust, and honesty for all partners. Ideally, a partner's partners are accepted as part of that person's life rather than merely tolerated, and usually a relationship that requires deception or a "don't ask don't tell" policy is seen as a less than ideal model.
·         Boundaries and agreements: Poly relationships often involve negotiating agreements, and establishing specific boundaries, or "ground rules"; such agreements vary widely and may change over time, but could include, for example: consultation about new relationships; devising schedules that work for everyone; limits on physical displays of affection in public or among mixed company; and budgeting the amount of money a partner can spend on additional partners.
·         Gender equality: Some polyamorists do not believe in different relationship "rules" based on gender (this is arguably in contrast to some forms of religious non-monogamy, which are often patriarchically based). Sometimes, couples first expanding an existing monogamous relationship into a polyamorous one, may adhere to gender-specific boundaries, such as when a wife agrees not to engage sexually with another male at her husband's request, but may be allowed to have romantic and sexual relationships with women. Such terms and boundaries are negotiable, and such asymmetric degrees of freedom among the partners (who need not be of different genders) are often due to individual differences and needs, and may be understood to be temporary within a negotiated time frame, until further opening up of the relationship becomes practicable or easier for the parties to handle emotionally.
·         Non-possessiveness: Many polyamorists view excessive restrictions on other deep relationships as less than desirable, as such restrictions can be used to replace trust with a framework of ownership and control. It is usually preferred or encouraged that a polyamorist strive to view their partners' other significant others (often referred to as OSOs) in terms of the gain to their partners' lives rather than a threat to their own (see compersion). Therefore, jealousy and possessiveness are generally viewed not so much as something to avoid or structure the relationships around, but as responses that should be explored, understood, and resolved within each individual, with compersion as a goal.

Effects upon domesticity
Benefits of a polyamorous relationship might include:
·         The ability of individuals to discuss issues with multiple partners, potentially mediating and thus stabilizing a relationship, and reducing polarization of viewpoints.
·         Emotional support and structure from other committed adults within the familial unit.
·         A wider range of adult experience, skills, resources, and perspective.
·         Support for companionate marriages, which can be satisfying even if no longer sexually vital, since romantic needs are met elsewhere. This acts to preserve existing relationships.
·         More emotional, intellectual and sexual needs met as part of the understanding that one person cannot be expected provide all. Conversely, polyamory offers release from the monogamist expectation that one person must meet all of an individual's needs (sex, emotional support, primary friendship, intellectual stimulation, companionship, social presentation).

Specific issues affecting relationships

The skills and attitudes needed to manage polyamorous relationships add challenges that are not often found in the traditional "dating-and-marriage" model of long-term relationships. Polyamory may require a more fluid and flexible approach to love relationship, and yet operate on a complex system of boundaries or rules. Additionally, participants in a polyamorous relationship may not have, nor expect their partners to have, preconceptions as to the duration of the relationship, in contrast to monogamous marriages where a lifelong union is generally the goal. However, polyamorous relationships can and do last many years.
Polyamorists cite the human tendency towards jealousy and possessiveness as major hurdles in polyamory, and also as personal limitations to overcome:
Posessiveness can be a major stumbling block, and often it prevents what could be a successful polyamourous relationship from forming. When people are viewed, even inadvertently, as posessions, they become a commodity, a valuable one at that. Just as most people are reluctant to let go of what little money that they have, people are also reluctant to "share" their beloved. After all, what if zie finds someone else who is more attractive/intelligent/well-liked/successful/etc.. than zie, and decides to abandon the relationship in favor of the new lover? These sorts of inferiority complexes must be resolved, completely, before a polyamourous relationship can be truly successful.

Compersion

Compersion (or, in Britain, frubble) is an empathetic state of happiness and joy experienced when another individual experiences happiness and joy, and the term is regularly used by members of the polyamory community in the context of polyamorous relationships. It is used to describe when a person experiences positive feelings when a lover is enjoying another relationship.

Polyamorous views on jealousy and compersion

The concept of compersive behavior is commonly known within the so-called polyamorous community, and was originally coined by the Kerista Commune in San Francisco, who also coined polyfidelity to describe their relational ideal.
In romantic relationships, thoughts and feelings of insecurity, fear, and anxiety over the anticipated loss of a partner or of that partner's attention, affection, or time elicit both compersion and jealousy as natural reactions to perceived complexities of non-monogamy and are quite extensively covered in polyamorous literature.
Some polyamorous people state belief that jealousy will inherently occur in open romantic relationships. Compersion has often been referred to as "the opposite of jealousy".

Formal definitions of compersion

·         PolyOz — "the positive feelings one gets when a lover is enjoying another relationship. Sometimes called the opposite or flip side of jealousy." They comment that compersion can coexist with jealous feelings.
·         The Polyamory society — "the feeling of taking joy in the joy that others you love share among themselves, especially taking joy in the knowledge that your beloveds are expressing their love for one another".
·         The InnKeeper — "A feeling of joy when a loved one invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship. ... Compersion does not specifically refer to joy regarding the sexual activity of one's partner, but refers instead to joy at the relationship with another romantic or sexual partner. It's analogous to the joy parents feel when their children get married, or to the happiness felt between best friends when they find a partner."
·         From Opening Up, Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio writes that compersion is, in part, "the ability to turn jealousy's negative feelings into acceptance of, and vicarious enjoyment for, a lover's joy". (p. 175)