#i think a lot of embassies make life difficult out of spite than any good reason tbh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewholekeg · 8 years ago

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I guess now that I’m well and truly working on Birthright, I may as well post this, huh?

I had decided I wanted to write something this year a few months before the idea for Birthright came to me. I mulled over what to write a lot, and for a long time this was the main candidate: The Chains you Wear. It was a sequel to my first major story, The Colour You Bleed.

The Colour You Bleed was a story about redemption and who deserves it, and also what it meant to be better. It followed Prince Blueblood as he was kidnapped and taken to the foreign nation of Aloa. The Chain you Wear was going to follow on those themes, taking Blueblood to the nation of El’Bia and dealing with choice, the things we have to do, and the things we only tell ourselves we have to do.

Though I ultimately set it aside in favour of Birthright, The Chains You Wear is still an idea I’m fond of, and I would like to go back to it in some capacity, some day. But probably not any time soon.

If you don’t mind starting something that isn’t going to be finished, the first trial chapter of The Chains You Wear can be found below the break.

Chapter 1: In Which Suspicions Arise

Steel clashed with steel, ringing out through the wide, open hall.

Two stallions danced to and fro, lunging, parrying and parting in a vicious waltz. It took them deeper and deeper into the hall, past row upon row of broad, alabaster pillars, hung with curtains of gold and aqua.

The stallion on the backfoot was a broad, heavy-set figure. Though his face and body were obscured by heavily padded armour, even a casual onlooker could see the strength with which he held himself. There was a calm confidence behind him, in spite of his struggle.

His opponent was smaller, more lithe, faster. He moved like falling sand, ever shifting, ever flowing. His blade was less a weapon, and more an extension of himself. With each blow the larger stallion deflected, the smaller foe took the momentum and turned it into yet another thrust.

Slowly, steadily, the smaller dancer drove the larger back, deftly turning away any attempt at a counter-attack. Both stallions’ chests heaved with the effort. They clashes once more, then parted. The tips of their blades wobbled through the air, held by shaking hooves. The stallions eyed one another. The next pass would be the last.

The larger stallion lunged, dipping the tip of his blade beneath his foe’s. The smaller stallion skipped back, swinging for a parry, but the tip of his blade only found air.

At the last moment the larger stallion angled his blade up, letting the momentum of his thrust pull him up and inside of his opponent’s guard. He stood straight up, looming over his foe, and drove his sword down.

The smaller stallion drove the pommel of his sword up, knocking the sword from his opponent’s hoof. In the blink of an eye, the edge of his blade rested against the larger stallion’s neck.

Blueblood laughed, stepping away and pulling off his helmet. A shock of wheat-gold hair fell out, splaying itself across his face. “Damn!” he said. “I almost had you there.”

The smaller stallion tucked his sword under his arm and removed his own helmet. He was Blueblood’s elder, though not by much. His features were still fresh, the face of somepony who spent much of their time very politely refusing to emote. That, combined with his pale orange coat, gave him a dry appearance entirely unbefitting of the name Morning Light.

“Close doesn’t count, I’m afraid,” he replied. “But yes, you came very close. That was good at the end, getting in my personal space and using your height advantage. But you should be using it to stay away from me. I’m faster than you, so you need the extra room to work with.”

Blueblood retrieved his fallen sword and inspected it for damage. “That’s exactly what you’re expecting me to do,” he pointed out, “and exactly what you’re trying to keep me from doing. I have to do something unexpected now and again, or more experienced opponents are going to lead me around by the nose.”

“That just means you need more practice,” Morning Light said. He trotted up to Blueblood and offered to take his sword. “But you’re improving very quickly. In a few months, you might find yourself actually winning, now and then.”

“An encouraging thought,” Blueblood said as he handed the sword to Morning Light. “And how long until I can hold up to your knives?”

“Baby steps, Your Highness,” Morning Light said. Blueblood laughed.

They left the dueling hall and entered the courtyard that separated it from the main Embassy building. Like all such buildings, the Equestrian Embassy in Ys was actually a collection of small buildings with a variety of purposes. The main Embassy was the largest, and the first building that a visitor saw when they entered the gates. It had been repurposed from one of Ys’ original structures; building space was at a premium in the off-shore city and the ponies had learned to recycle whatever they could. Blueblood had spent many an hour trying to suss out what it had been, and eventually decided it must have been some manner of apartment. It was a stout, utilitarian-looking building, and there was clear evidence of walls having been knocked down and erected after the original construction was complete.

Though many other Ysians might have considered the building an insult, Blueblood was fond of it. The simplicity reminded him of his months in the Aloan countryside, and the winding, labyrinthian passages meant that anypony who came to see him was confused and flustered by the time they reached his office.

Behind the embassy was, of course, the Dueling Hall. He had discovered the Aloan Noble penchant for dueling a few scant weeks after first arriving, when he had been more concerned with making sure everything was running properly and sleeping in the humble servant quarters than trolling his noble neighbours and asking for their beds until the embassy was properly established. It seemed that even here, the life of a Noblepony was a boring one, and they looked for ways to entertain themselves. At the very least, their duels were not as lethal as the ones he had learned about in his history lessons.

Along the west border of the embassy was the servant’s quarter. The embassy’s staff were live-in. Many were Equestrians themselves, with nowhere to go aside from the embassy's employment. There had, at one point, been a small collection of slave shacks as well, though Blueblood had insisted that, if there must be slaves in his embassy, they would at least be properly housed and fed.

To the east was a small collection of buildings, largely for storage, but also for the magical devices that supported the courtyard. It was filled entirely with native Equestrians flora, and indeed landscaped into a picturesque imitation of the valley country. Many of those plants would never survive in Aloa’s more tropical climate and light soil, and so the entire courtyard had been magically modified to support their health. It was a difficult job--Blueblood had hardly understood the engineer and botanists’ explanations for how it all worked--but the result was a beautiful piece of his homeland.

Blueblood breathed deeply as they trotted through it. The warm sea air felt wonderful against his muscles, but the climate of Equestria was always a welcome change. He and Morning Light walked in silence, enjoying the slow cool-down. Business had finally slowed of late, and there was very little on their plate. He considered suggesting they take some time to rest. Of course, the nature of the universe is to dissuade such relaxed thoughts, and it imposed itself in the form of a small ‘ahem’.

Blueblood blinked and looked down. The interruption had come from a small mare clutching a clipboard.

“I beg your pardon, highness,” she said, “A visitor has arrived, and seeks an audience. She has been guided to your office.”

“Ah,” Blueblood said. “Yes, thank you, Miss Cane.”

Cane bowed her head. Blueblood realized that she was trembling faintly. “Will his Highness require my assistance during his meeting?”

“No, thank you,” Blueblood said, returning her nod. “But if you could go to the kitchen and have some refreshments sent to my office, it would be much appreciated. Get some for yourself as well.”

The mare dipped into what she probably imagined was an Equestrian curtsy. “Your highness is very kind,” she said. There was a clear hint of relief in her voice. She turned on her heel and disappeared into the foliage.

Blueblood sighed deeply. His shoulders had begun to ache. He could think of a dozen ponies who might inspire that sort of reaction in a secretary, and he was interested in meeting with exactly none of them. “Well,” he said, taking one last moment to breathe in the fresh air, “We’d best not keep our guest waiting.”

“As you say, Your Highness,” Morning Light said. He fell into his usual position at Blueblood’s flank, impassive and all but unnoticeable, and followed him into the embassy.

The halls were strangely empty, with the exception of the usual servants and scribes. Most ponies who visited Blueblood directly came in with an entourage of servants of their own. Bodyguards, tailors and makeup artists, and sway-and-fainters. Typically they found themselves discarded in the halls at some point, ostensibly on business, but such ponies were mysteriously absent. The reason for this was clear as soon as Blueblood entered his office.

“Auntie!” He declared happily. Princess Luna was perched on the edge of his desk, lounging as though she had all the time in the world. As an immortal goddess, the look came naturally to her.

Luna looked up at Blueblood and smiled. “Hello, Nephew,” she said. “Ys seems to be treating you poorly. You look underfed.”

“I’m fed perfectly well, thank you,” Blueblood said with a laugh. “It’s just moved around, is all. Morning Light is teaching me the Sword, which does rather different things to a stallion than farm work.” He embraced her and laughed as she brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “To what do I owe the honour? I take it this is a social visit, since you’ve come alone?”

Luna’s smile faded. Morning Light leaned close to Blueblood and murmured, “Meadowlark has been following us since we entered the Embassy.”

“Since the Dueling Hall, actually,” an unseen voice replied.

Blueblood frowned. “Oh dear,” he said. “And you’re travelling light, as well.” He circled his desk and took a seat in the plush, high-backed chair. He folded his hooves. “Family?”

“Politics,” Luna said, shaking her head.

“Trouble in the homeland?”

“Not quite.” Luna shuffled her wings. “Hold a moment: we’ll have company shortly and I’d like this to be private.”

Sure enough, a few moments later there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Blueblood called.

Cane backed into the room, a tray with drink and food floating in the grip of her magic. “R-refreshments, your highness’,” she said. Blueblood could not help but noticed that she very carefully avoided looking at Luna.

“Thank you, Miss Cane,” Blueblood said. He cleared a few volumes of some legal minutiae off a nearby table for her.

Cane approached slowly, giving Luna as wide a berth as she could while remaining polite. The closer she moved to Luna, the more she trembled.

Slowly, so subtly as to be invisible, Luna leaned in close to her. “Boo,” she whispered.

Cane yelped, dropping the tray onto the table with a jolt and jumping back. Thankfully the tray had been low enough that nothing had spilled.

“Auntie,” Blueblood chastised, although he couldn’t help but smile. He hid it with a hoof as he turned to cane. “Thank you, Miss Cane,” he said. “It’s getting fairly late, and I’m certain I’ll be with Auntie Luna for a while. If you would be so good as to let reception know I won’t be accepting any more guests today, you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Cane bowed to Blueblood, then to Luna, and backed out of the room so quickly she hardly had time to utter, “Thank you, Your highness.”

“That wasn’t kind,” Blueblood said as he turned back to Luna.

“Wasn’t it?” she asked. “We live strange lives, apart from mortal ponies. They take us too seriously, and it can make us… intimidating. It’s good to remind ponies once and awhile that we’re not absolute.” She took one of the glasses and sipped from it. “It helps them remember whose chains they wear.”

Blueblood frowned. He sampled the tray of refreshments as well. Swordplay was hungry work. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t completely understand,” he said.

“Always,” Luna said. She finished her drink and set the glass down. “I’d rather you save the effort of trying to suss it out anyways. What do you know about the nation of El’Bia?”

Blueblood leaned forward in his seat, folding his hooves over the desktop. “Off the top of my head? Very little. I missed out on a fairly major opportunity to learn more about them during the summit… I know they’re a primarily Earth Pony nation. We have a trading agreement with them now, for fruits, cotton… plants.” He frowned. “Which is odd, now that I think of it. Just a moment.”

He breathed deep, and let his mind relax. After a moment he felt his consciousness begin to drift, as though he had fallen asleep but were still aware. His mind drifted out through the room, spreading, diffusing, rolling over its contents. He met the desk, first: felt the grain of the wood, smelled the pungence of the shelaq. He willed himself outward to the shelves, where he allowed himself to drift over the books.

A hundred thousand images struck him. He saw the forest that had been harvested for the pages of a book of history. He saw the fire pit where the charcoal for the ink of a poem had been made. He felt the pain of an author, hunched over, crippled and cold.

He set his mind, twisting and refining his view the words on the pages. A treatise on wild magic. A book of fables from a faraway land. Then, finally, he found it: The single book on El’Bia he owned. He drew back his mind, returning to himself, and drawing all of his newfound knowledge through the spot on his forehead where a horn had once been. The spot glimmered gold, and the book lifted itself off the shelf. It was all over in a matter of moments.

“You’ve improved,” Luna said as the book drifted past her into Blueblood’s hooves. “That was a very fast scry.”

“Thank you,” Blueblood said. He rubbed the stump that had once been a horn. It was flush with his forehead, invisible to the naked eye. Some small part of him had hoped that, after almost two years, it would have begun to grow back, but no such luck. Drawing magic without it took immense focus. “I never imagined I’d find opportunities to practice, but Aloans do love their shows of force.”

“Has White Brook been instructing you?” Luna asked.

Blueblood sighed and shook his head. “He offers advice through letters, but he still refuses to visit. He claims his old bones don’t agree with travel anymore.”

“Luna snorted. “He’s lying through his teeth,” she said.

“Of course,” Blueblood said. He laughed gently. “But I’m not inclined to call him out on it just yet.”

He flipped open the book and began scanning the pages. “Now, let’s see,” he said. “Yes, I thought so: El’Bia is desert from end to end. The only river forms a border with Aloa. How on earth…” His frown deepened as he looked up at his aunt. “Even for a mostly Earth Pony nation, that’s impressive.”

Luna laughed. “Entirely Earth Pony,” she corrected. “Even in my day they were a famously insular community. Earth Ponies are the only ones who can live there. They’ve developed a number of methods to help their own natural magic keep their cities verdant. Which they ardently refuse to share with anypony, Equestria included.”

“Hmm,” Blueblood said. “So If they’re the ones sending us plants, we offer them...”

“Peace of mind, mostly,” Luna said. “They’re a small nation, without much of a military to speak of.”

“Ah,” Blueblood said. “And sitting right next to a country with famous anti-Earth Pony leanings…”

The words hung in the air. Blueblood shifted his jaw from side to side. “But, Equestria and Aloa are allied, an arrangement I intend to make last as long as possible. They’re not suffering from famine, and they’re not worried about war, so what seems to be the issue?”

A faint smile played across Luna’s lips. “What makes you think there’s an issue?” she asked.

“Because you’re here in an official capacity,” Blueblood said. He began to tap the desk as he counted out his reasons. “Yet you’ve chosen to arrive without any fanfare, or indeed any warning whatsoever. The first thing you ask me about is a--if I may be blunt--politically pointless nation tucked into a corner between a mountain, an ocean and a military giant. And finally, your factotum is hidden, which means that he’s watching, which means that there’s something you don’t want anypony else to overhear.” He folded his hooves and stared at Luna.

Luna, for her part, smiled wider. “Well done,” she said. Her smile quickly faded, however, and she leaned in. “Yes,” she said, “I have very little time for duties outside of my… business. What time I do have, I have made a point of learning what has changed since my time. I recently attempted to visit El’Bia.”

“Attempted,” Blueblood said. “You were turned away?”

Luna shook her head. “I turned back at the river. I have… concerns. The desert has grown.”

Blueblood’s brow furrowed. Was it his imagination, or had the room become colder? Or perhaps it was Luna. Certainly her expression was dark enough to blot out the sun. “Deserts do grow,” he said, although even he was unconvinced by his words.

Luna shook her head. “No,” she said. “El’Bia is able to persist because it’s ponies can affect the land. The Sultan keep the desert contained. At least, he did when I was young.”

Now Blueblood was certain he felt a chill. “What could have changed his mind?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Luna admitted. “Perhaps he grew ill. Or complacent, or someone grew clever…” She shook her head and regained her composure. “I am concerned. But I cannot arrive in a nation with which we have only a tenuous alliance and demand the status of their ruler.”

Blueblood nodded. “It would be a distinct insult at best,” he agreed. “And if there is something going on, you want to keep any knowledge we have of it subtle.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Alright,” he said. “So what can I do? If I approach the king with news of a possible plot then there will be a war, whether or not there’s anything going on.”

“Indeed,” Luna agreed. “Which is why we require more information. Which is why I came to you. Meadowlark?”

“Not yet,” Meadowlark said. His voice was low, and there was a hint of irritation in it. “There’s somepony here. They’re… waiting.”

Blueblood blinked, and straightened up. “Chainlink?” he said aloud.

A filly appeared at the side of the room. Blueblood had not seen her arrive, nor could he see where she had come from. He was vaguely aware of servant passages in the wall panels, but as far as he had seen she had simply been there, as though she had always been there.

She was small, too small for her age. She was old enough to have gotten her cutie mark a year or two ago, but she was still all knees and elbows. She wore no wrappings, and her exposed coat was the colour of pale sand. She may as well have been a ghost in the embassy.

Her most striking feature, however, the feature that nopony could miss, were her eyes. They were dark, intense, and cold. Looking into her eyes was like looking into the heart of winter. Even now, Blueblood felt a familiar pang of shame when he looked into those eyes.

“You called, your Lordship?” she asked. Her tone was almost sweet. She took one look at Luna, and cast her eyes to the floor.

Blueblood rubbed his eyes. “Chainlink, why were you waiting outside?”

“I apologize, Lordship,” she said, in a tone that Blueblood had learned to mean that she did not. “I was waiting until Your Lordship was ready to be relieved of refreshments.”

“That--I see,” Blueblood said. He sighed. “I believe we’re finished, thank you.”

Chainlink nodded, and levitated the tray in the grip of her magic. “Will His Lordship or Guest require anything else?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Blueblood said. “That will be all. You’re dismissed. Actually--you may take the rest of the day to rest. Or to play. Whichever you please.”

“Your Lordship is uncommonly kind and generous,” Chainlink said. She curtsied to him, and to Luna, and to Morning Light, and vanished through the doors.

Luna stared at the door for a while, then turned to peer at Blueblood. “So,” she said.

Blueblood sighed. “Is she gone, Meadowlark?” he asked.

“Yes,” Meadowlark replied. “...I’m fairly certain.”

Luna hummed softly, but took the hint. “Good,” she said. “As I was saying, we need more information to proceed.”

“We’re in agreement there,” Blueblood said. “But I’m not sure what I can do to help.” He gestured around the room. “Certainly I’m nowhere as good at not being seen as Meadowlark or Nightingale. Unless you want to borrow Morning Light?”

“The best information isn’t gathered by not being seen,” Luna said, “but by being where you’re supposed to be. Perhaps Morning Light could sneak into the palace, yes, but it would be much simpler if you were admitted.”

Blueblood leaned forward. “And you expect they’ll be willing to admit me,” he said. “But why me? Why not a delegate or an ambassador for El’Bia? Surely the Aloan Ambassador marching up to their door would raise suspicions?”

Luna laughed. “Humility becomes you, nephew,” she said. “Or have you genuinely forgotten that you are still the Prince of Equestria? There’s nopony better to open full relations with El’Bia than the future leader of our nation.”

Her horn lit up, and the book slid across the table to her. “In truth, hidden inside all of this is a kernel of opportunity. At the moment the trade agreement with El’Bia is all we have. Celestia always intended to encourage a more open relationship, but it’s proven difficult. The situation surrounding the summit, and the second Aloan War--which they’re calling the Bloodless War now, by the way--has made it difficult to give them time.” She sighed. “And they’re uncomfortable dealing with…” She gestured to her horn.

“Ah,” Blueblood said. He tapped the place where his horn had once been. “An additional benefit, then. Surely they’ll know the prince is a Unicorn, though?”

“Some will, certainly,” Luna said. “But the lack of horn--and apparent lack of magic--will make them more comfortable. And there will be those who do not know, and do not need to.”

Blueblood nodded. “That seems reasonable. So.” He rubbed his chin. “Officially, you’re here to ask me to attend a Diplomatic event in El’Bia in order to open a closer relationship?”

“That’s correct,” Luna said. “If you are willing, we can organize a suitable event within a week. Give or take mail time.”

Try as he might, Blueblood couldn’t bring himself to be surprised by that. He imagined that Luna had formed this plan long before she knew she would need it. “I can’t decide if I never want to Casualty with you, or if I do so that I can learn.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Luna said. A faint smirk played across her lips. “If I want to play, then one way or another, we’ll play.” She folder her hooves across the desk. Her smiled quickly faded, and she said, “This, however, is your choice. The potential risks are great enough that it must be.”

Blueblood nodded. From the moment the conversation had begun it had been on his mind. If the deception was revealed at any point they would be surrounded by guards, in what would very quickly become enemy territory. The mere thought of those faceless, armoured figures bearing down on him once again made his hooves tremble. He folded them tightly, suppressing the shaking.

“You’re right, of course,” Blueblood said. “But, we may have an opportunity to stop a conflict before it begins. And if there’s no problem, then there’s no danger.” He sighed and adjusted his wrappings. The thin fabric suddenly felt stifling. “Light?” he asked. “What do you make of all this?”

Morning Light, who had been listening to the conversation as still and silent as a statue, cleared his voice. “May I speak freely?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I think you’ll ignore whatever I have to say and do what you’ve already decided. But… while I think it’s foolish to put the Crown Prince of Equestria in the middle of all this, I’m confident I can keep you safe as long as I’m with you. So long as I am the one to take any risks that happen to arise.”

Blueblood nodded. “I see. Thank you, Light. I’ll take that under advisement.” He paused, and added, “Really.”

“Your decision is made, then?” Luna asked.

Blueblood folded his hooves tightly once again, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I will do it. There are some things I need to arrange, and ponies I need to inform, but an absence of a month or so will not be too difficult to manage.”

He distracted himself by finding an inkwell and gathering several scraps of blank parchment from around his desk. “I’ll need to write to Master and Azure, let them know where I’ll be away. I doubt Master will be visiting, but it will be good to let him know.”

“Indeed,” Luna said. “In fact, there’s a conversation that you and I still need to have before you leave.”

Blueblood finished sorting out his letter-writing materials. “Oh?” He asked, brandishing a quill. “There’s more?”

“Not initially, but something has come up,” Luna said. “That filly.”

Blueblood froze, his quill hovering over the inkwell.

“You’re the last stallion I would expect to own a slave,” Luna said.

Blueblood sighed deeply. “It’s… complicated,” he said.

“Many would disagree.”

“Many are not aware of the nuances of international diplomacy and culture.” Blueblood’s quill and wrappings suddenly felt unbearably heavy. He set the quill down and rubbed his eyes. “Aloans own slaves. It’s a cultural institution. It’s part of their criminal justice system.”

“I would think it would be an opportunity to inject some new ideas into the populace,” Luna said. She didn’t move an inch, save for a cocked eyebrow.

“Believe me, I considered that,” Blueblood replied. “But if I didn’t have at least a personal servant to book meetings and take solicitations, I would never be able to speak to enough ponies to make the general populace aware that Equestria is no longer afraid of the dark. He paused, and added, “Ah, my apologies.”

“Not at all,” Luna said. “So it’s a matter of… convenience, then?”

“I would call it necessity,” Blueblood replied. But also opportunity.” He gestured to the room around them. “The heroic efforts of our decorators aside, you’ll notice our embassy is uncommonly humble. A great deal of the budget is set aside for the purchase of slaves. To be purchased one at a time, ideally once every few months.”

“Ah,” Luna said. “Emancipation, then?”

“And a free ticket to Equestria, if they so desire,” Blueblood said.

“No takers, evidently,” Luna said. “I’ve heard no news of Aloan immigrants, and this must be what, number three? Number four?”

Blueblood sighed. “Number one,” he said. He didn’t need to see Luna’s expression to know what it would be. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to rehabilitate somepony who doesn’t know they can be rehabilitated? Chainlink was born into slavery, she has no conception of a world without it. I’ve tried giving her freedoms, and she responds with…” he gestured weakly to the door. “She’s begun to insult me, which I think is a good sign.”

“Or a sign her life has grown so unbearable she no longer cares about it,” Luna said. It was clear that she was forcing her voice to remain level. “How can she be expected to understand a life without servitude if she is never allowed to experience it?”

“And what shall I do?” Blueblood demanded, slamming his hoof down on the desk. Luna and Morning Light both started at the noise. In truth, Blueblood had surprised even himself, but he carried on. “Brook didn’t exactly free me the moment he took me in, and I notice I haven’t heard these complaints about him.”

For just a moment, almost too brief to see, Luna looked ashamed. Then she looked thoughtful. “I knew Brook. I trust that he was doing what he thought was best.”

“Then trust me, auntie,” Blueblood said. He sighed, and sagged back into his chair. He rubbed his forehead, running his hoof across the place where his horn had once been. “I have been a slave. I understand the hopelessness, the… loss.” He shuddered at the memory of being stolen off the backstreets of Aloa, of being herded and displayed and sold like chattel. “I know what it’s like to be less than a pony. I needed help to come back. If it hadn’t been for Brook…” he shook his head. “I know this all seems awful… but I promise. I promise, I’m doing what’s right for her.”

He looked up, meeting Luna’s gaze. She seemed almost to look past him, a thousand miles into the distance.

Eventually, she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “You’re right. I apologize, Blueblood. Given your… it was unfair of me, but I had concerns.”

Blueblood sighed. But he smiled. “Was it?” he asked. “I have concerns myself, some days. I just… don’t know how to make her understand what I’m trying to do for her.” He threw up his hooves weakly. “But what else can I do? Toss her out onto the streets, with no idea of how to live her life? Of how to be a real pony, and not just… serve? Even if she doesn’t wind up back in slavery, she’ll be terrified and confused.”

Luna stared into the distance, nodding slowly. “Perhaps,” she said, “You could take her to El’Bia?”

Blueblood blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked. “Surely you don’t mean while we’re investigating?”

“I do,” Luna said. “El’Bia outlawed slavery before my banishment, but they do practice indentured servitude. Seeing ponies working toward their emancipation may help her to understand that freedom is possible.”

Blueblood considered this. “Perhaps,” he said. “But even so… I couldn’t bring her somewhere so dangerous.”

Luna nodded. Even through her usual cool expression, it was clear that she shared Blueblood’s concern. “Yes,” she said. “It will be dangerous. But her presence may make it less so. An entourage is to be expected, in such a situation. If you travel too light, they may suspect that you are guarding something. In contrast, having a retainer would only help to cement the illusion.”

Even with all that said, the idea still made Blueblood nervous. True, if there was anypony who could wiggle her way out of a dangerous situation it was Chainlink. Even so, a unicorn would stick out like a sore thumb in El’Bia. For all he knew, she could raise the ire of everypony simply by being there.

But in the few years he had known her, Blueblood had always known Luna to be wise, and to be cautious. Would she suggest it, if it were truly so dangerous? Although his stomach tied itself in knots, Blueblood nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll admit, it could help. And I don’t have many other ideas… so if you believe it’s wise, Auntie, then I’ll do it.”

Luna closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can only advise,” she said. “Time will tell if it is wisdom.” She opened her eyes once more and fixed her gaze squarely with Blueblood’s. For a moment, Blueblood thought he could see millennia in those eyes. “I have made mistakes of my own, Blueblood. Never forget whose chains you wear.”

***

It had been a month ago, but Blueblood still found himself rolling Luna’s words over and over again in his mind. He leaned against the railing of the Whispered Order, a vessel that, he had been told, had been built and named in his honour. And he was honoured, he supposed.

In the distance, three mountains rose out of the horizon. He gestured to them. “Do you see those, Chainlink?” he asked. He hadn’t seen her since they had boarded, but he had come to assume she was shadowing him most times.

He was right. Chainlink appeared at his side, humming sourly through the railings. “Yeah,” she said.

“Do you know what they are?” he asked.

Chainlink rolled her jaw back and forth, and peered up at him. “You do have mountains in Equestria, don’t you?” she asked.

In spite of himself, Blueblood couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes,” he said. “But not those ones. Those are The Gates.”

Chainlink grunted. “Fancy name,” she said.

“It’s well earned,” Blueblood said. “They’re the only port in all of El’Bia.”

She smirked. “I know that,” she said. “I overheard some twerp’s tutor once. They built the rest of their cities inland, ‘cause they’re afraid of our navy.”

“...Yes,” Blueblood said. “The Gates make it too difficult to get a fleet close enough to attack. But I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Chainlink squinted up at Blueblood as he continued, “We’re visiting El’Bia as guests. We’ve been invited by the Sultan. They’re allies of Equestria. Do you know what that means?”

“That you don’t want me to embarrass you in front of all the fancy-pants ponies,” Chainlink said. “Whatever. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t worry, I get it.”

Blueblood sighed and shook his head. “It means they’re your allies,” he explained. “Now that Aloa and Equestrian are trying to mend their relationship, that means that Aloa and El’Bia can start to fix theirs, as well.”

He stepped away from the railing and knelt down. “I have a very important favour to ask of you, Chainlink. You’re going to see a lot of Earth Ponies in El’Bia. Earth Ponies who aren’t used to seeing Unicorns. Some of them are going to be uncomfortable seeing you.”

Chainlink readied a retort, but paused. “Me?” she asked. “Why me?”

“Because you’re a unicorn,” he said. “And it’s as simple as that. That isn’t fair to you… but I want to ask you to talk to them, and to be respectful. You’re the first Aloan a lot of them will meet.” He put a hoof on her shoulder smiled. “You could help them feel much more comfortable about Aloa.”

Chainlink’s brow furrowed, and her nostrils flared. “I don’t think anypony will care about what a slave thinks,” she said. “But if you order it, then fine.” She turned to leave, but Blueblood caught her shoulder.

“It’s a request, Chainlink,” he said. “Not an order. And… El’Bians don’t keep slaves. So while we’re there… you’re just a little filly, who happens to be my retainer.” He made his smile as warm as he could manage. “Do you think you can be that?”

Chainlink looked at his smile, then met his eyes. Her gaze became even colder. “As you order,” she said. She broke his grip, then vanished below decks.

Blueblood sighed and straightened up just in time to see Morning Light approaching.

“Captain says we’ll be making port before nightfall,” Morning Light said. “He’ll make the call for All Hooves soon, and we’ll have to go below-decks to make room.”

Blueblood nodded. “Alright,” he said. He tapped his hoof on the railing and sighed. “Light, do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Morning Light leaned against the railing and looked out to see. “Political espionage has never been my field of expertise,” he said. “But it strikes me that making a Prince a Spy is handing the enemy a bargaining chip and expecting them not to use it. If they know what we’re doing then they know we’re on to them, and they have a hostage to leverage against us. It’s like throwing a sword. If you don’t kill them, then they have a sword. I trust the Princess’s sense, but… I won’t claim to understand it.”

Blueblood couldn’t bring himself to disagree with that, and said so. “But,” he added, “I meant about Chainlink.”

Morning Light was silent for a while. Eventually he said, “That, I definitely can’t say. I’ve never met a slave, before her. The entire concept of it is…” He shook his head. “I spent my first years in Zohannon, you know, and I went back to visit family all the time when I was a colt. Culture exists, I understand that, but to take away another Pony’s freedom… I just can’t imagine what that could do to a pony. Especially a child. I see her every day, and she doesn’t seem to get any better. Just angrier.”

Blueblood leaned against the railing as well. He sighed, and nodded.

Morning Light put a hoof on his shoulder. “But you got better,” he said. “You came back from that life. Gods know you didn’t come back the same, but you did come back. So I trust that a pony can come back. For now… I have to trust that you know best.”

Blueblood smiled, but in his heart of hearts he wasn’t sure that made him feel any better.

A loud, shrill bell began to clang. “All Hooves!” the captain bellowed. “All Hooves, prepare for landing! Passengers, get below decks, or get overboard!”

Morning Light shoved himself away from the banister and headed for the stairwell. “Maybe a game of Catch-the-queen will help the filly, while we’re waiting to pull in,” he said. “Better than twiddling our hooves, at any rate.”

Blueblood smiled wider, and more genuine. He rose to join Morning Light, taking one last glance to the sea.

He was shocked to realize that he had been mistaken before. As they sailed closer, he realized that there were not three mountains at all, but two. The center spire was not a mountain at all, but an enormous, looming Ziggurat.

“All Hooves!” The captain roared, “Ready to make port at Zerzura!”

#writing #fanfiction #The Chains You Wear

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camorrsthorn · 8 years ago

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Hi, I'm kinda new here, and so I mostly have just seen the art of your OCs? (Which is awesome, btw.) But I was wondering if you could give, like, a basic outline of who they are and maybe their universe? (Bc worldbuilding is ALWAYS cool.) Thanks! (And again, love your art

aaa thank you!! i have. a lot bear with me lmao but. i’m gonna put this under a cut because Oh Dang That’s Too Many

video game ocs: holy moley that’s a lot

tarris, relic, kharza gra-durza, serindil, riandil, vhesryn, saaji and zhakka are all from elder scrolls!!

tarris is a bosmer thief/assassin who’s actually real bad at fighting and is probably half magpie, don’t wear jewelery near her she will Have It

relic is a bosmer vampire who is an asshole. he’s awful. he knows magic but mostly likes to Stab. he exists in the same world-state as tarris and kharza and probably a few others

kharza is an orc warrior who’s like the only lawful good character i have, whoops. she sometimes turns into a werewolf and mauls people but that’s a minor character flaw. she’s a big gay

serindil is an altmer mage!! very very much a glass cannon. they were with the thalmor embassy in skyrim until they... sort of defected?? they’re still an ass tho

riandil is a bosmer scout!! he’s from eso so i’m not sure exactly how he fits into the world state, but he’s a big ball of sunshine. he likes very very bad puns and responding to altmer supremacy by acting real stupid until THEY look stupid. he’s great

vhesryn is a dunmer assassin but he’s also a big ol’ dick. he’s a vampire too but mostly a dick. his hobbies include being an asshole and stabbing people, also dancing

saaji is a khajiit thief and very pure good person. she;s good. she’ll steal your things but she’s good she’ll prolly give em back. really just wants a warm spot in the sun, very very tired of almer

zhakka is a redguard warrior and former pirate!! i love her. she scowls a lot and looks grumpy but she’s grinning inside just all the time. you know those people who say the most ridiculous funny shit with a totally stoic face?? that’s zhakka

spring and bishop are from fallout

spring washington is Soft. she’s a soft soft person. she likes plants and photography, but also she was her school’s boxing champion pre-war and won trophies for shooting, and likes to keep a switchblade on her at all times. met her husband when he had to drag her off some creep. she just wants to make the world a bit brighter!!

bishop is. bishop. he’s my courier and he’s??? the worst. he’s obnoxiously lucky and knows it, and very charming despite the amount of times he puts his foot directly in his mouth. he’s good at heart but also does what seems good/fun/cool at the time??? “hey bishop when is the last time you washed” “i dunno when did it last rain” “i don’t want to travel with you any more”

i have a whole lot of dragon age ocs bear with me

rasha tabris is Angry. i once described her as a wildfire in a very pretentious thing i didn’t post but it’s apt!! she stayed with the wardens because duncan was the reason she could kill vaughn, and the reason she wasn’t killed for it. she died fighting the archdemon because there was no way she was trusting some human, and died spitting and cursing

katia brosca’s main personality trait is Spite. people told her she could only be this this and this because casteless, so she did absolutely everything she could to prove them wrong. a lot of her loudness and bravado is a front to protect herself, but not all of it

hildr aeuducan’s middle name is duty. she does the job she’s got to do, and does it well. she doesn’t really Do sentiment?? and she’s never once but her own opinions over what’s best. she left behlen on the throne despite. everything

cian mahariel is Ridiculous. they spend half their time in trees despite having broken at least one bone on every part of their body falling out of them, and are Always Smiling

niketas surana lives on his nerves. his skills include flinching, stammering, going beet red if anybody looks at him for too long, and falling a little bit in love with anybody who’s nice to him. he’ll very very gladly swallow all his fear to protect people though, and repeatedly put himself between templars and scared younger mages while still in the tower. would die for jowan, frankly

vinnora lavellan is a sweetheart!! she just wants to be nice to everyone, and frankly deserves better than she got. she never wanted to be inquisitor, but figured she could at least use the position to help people who needed it, and tried to

noah shepard is my only real mass effect character worth talking about!! she’s a Delight and i love her. she’s paragon to her core, and goes out of her way to help people or offer a shoulder, but she’s absolutely not afraid to speak her mind or tell assholes to get fucked. she’s very very tired and full of guilt and regret. please let her sleep

d&d ocs!! are they ocs technically. i’m counting them i love them

dáithí lathlaeril is a half elven wild magic sorcerer and the only one i have actually played!! they’re half of a set of twins born to a high elven noblewoman and her human husband. they accidentally burned down their family library after overhearing their mother agree to essentially disinherit them, and have been an adventurer ever since. they have Lots of emotions always, and swing between “i’m inherently superior to all of you and also have cool magic” and “oh god i’m the worst i’m pathetic is my magic even good” and it’s terrible. please give them a hug. their name is pronounced DAH-hee

dáimhín lathlaeril is the other twin!! she left home to go be a bard but attracted an archfey with her singing, and wound up a warlock. still pretends to be a bard tho. she’s obnoxiously charming and knows it, and is WAY more relaxed and happy go lucky than their twin. she’s still pretty prissy tho. her name is pronounced like DAH-veen. also she’s not a girl, she’s nb!! like her twin. “finch that wouldn’t happen” haha what i can’t hear you

zeerith is a drow rogue!! he had just the worst life but is So Good at pretending he didn’t. what do you mean he’s almost certainly traumatised and emotionally messed up, he’s smiling, see?? trust him. he really really hates killing and would much rather talk his way out of trouble, but isn’t at all above hurting people to defend people?? also he’s very handsome and charming, focus on that. no don’t ask him if he’s ok. very very prone to talking someone to death if given half a chance

most of my actually original characters are from the same world!! it’s tag is “untitled a” because i don’t have a name for it yet lmao. there’s also a bunch of gods to go with these guys but i don’t even have names for them yet so lmao

fionn is prolly currently my most developed character from it. he’s an elf, which is fairly rare, and a magic user, which is rarer. he doesn’t care tho. he’s an ex-soldier who deserted after some very bad stuff happened, and he’s just trying to keep his head down. the god of luck and fate took a shine to him tho, so that’s not going too well. he uses his magic to make people think he’s much better at playing music than he is, but he could do Very cool things. he won’t tho

sabre is also an elf, but she’s a thief and very happy about it. she’s tiny and literally always ready to fight. she’ll fight anyone. she’ll Win against anyone. don’t fight sabre she jut doesn’t stop. she’s got a pretty strict Code tho, and won’t steal from anyone who can’t afford it, or fight anyone who can’t fight back. technically steals to give to the poor but also keeps a lot. she worked for that ill gotten gold!! she’s one of the two people who got “chosen” by the twin gods of the hunt, which she’s pretty stoked about. she’s got a tattoo honoring one of the twins

zarifa is the captain of an as-yet unnamed ship, and a totally legitimate merchant sailor. no pirates here absolutely not haha what’s that officer nope no illegitimate goods either, trust her. she’s got a good heart but also she’s pretty practical, and ensuring her own survival and the survival of her crew trumps morals every time. she’s the “chosen” of the god of the sea, which is an incredibly mixed bag

sylvie pike is zarifa’s first mate, but not nearly as professional. she likes to have fun, and insists on dragging zarifa with her. she’s got a much thicker accent than any other member of the crew, and makes it impenetrably thicker when she wants to be difficult. she’s not as good at overcoming her conscience as zarifa is

billie shaw is possibly my oldest current oc, holy shit. they’re kind of the odd job person aboard the ship, and also sing shanties and (badly) play the accordion. has a big big soft spot for kids. also hates shoes. what the fuck billie. put some boots on you ridiculous human being

sara tillman is possibly the only ordinary person on board the ship. she’s the ship’s doctor, despite being easily the youngest person aboard, and despite having only ever operated on her family’s farm prior to being hired. she’s got like ten siblings and loves all of them very very much

there’s also a handful of others from this universe who aren’t nearly as fleshed out yet, other than the gods, but they aren’t fleshed out!! “finch neither are any of the people you’ve talked about” [sweats]

#I AM ALMOST DEFINITELY MISSING SOMEBODY #MULTIPLE SOMEBODIES!!#oc tag #oc masterpost #heck yeah #Anonymous #ask tag

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sherpadoo · 12 years ago

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bediquette

“A lovely hostel. 8 dinar/night. Secure, and centrally located. Checkout is at noon but sometimes the owner will barge into your room at 9am, take your mattress, put a new crappier one in its place, and assure you that you can go back to sleep.” This is the review that Donna Wheeler failed to write for my hostel in Nabeul.

And let me give you a piece of advice for dealing with me: if you want to stay on my good side, do not wake me up with a loud knock on the door, shove your way into my room with two other people, assure me that 'this will only take 30 seconds,” take my mattress, explain it's necessary because there's a truck outside, and then appear very confused as to why I'm pissed. (“But the truck is outside!”) It will not help your case if you are an idiot that talks too slow and fails to pronounce your words in any meaningful way.

Upon relating this story in the office of a friend of mine while she was supposed to be working for the Embassy of a country that will remain unnamed, I pointed out that taking one's mattress while they are sleeping is simply bad 'bediquette,' at once expounding a truism and coining a term[*] in a single dialogue.

We were both pretty pleased with the word, and immediately decided that it should somehow result in our becoming very wealthy. The more astute among you will say, “Wait a minute -- it's your term, why should she get rich off of it?”

This of course did not escape me, but I was also at a loss as to how to turn a clever word into lots and lots of money and I wasn't exactly going to get into an argument over intellectual property rights before she explained it to me.

As it turns out, she wasn't sure either, so I guess the word can just belong to everyone -- the way I can still say “You're fired” without having to pay Donald Trump[1] a single penny.

Other examples of bad bediquette include hogging the covers; kicking the covers that you aren't even using off of the other person and bunching them down to the foot of the bed where nobody has them; 'creeping'[2] someone out of bed; pushing someone off the bed by kicking them repeatedly; leaning in very closely and then making loud I'm-possessed-by-a-demon-but-still-asleep vocalizations right into someone's ear while they're sleeping; and bringing someone breakfast in bed including orange juice and hot coffee, quietly setting the tray on them, and then waking them up with a loud bang or “Oh my God! Poisonous gas!”

Calling someone's species into question following coitus is bad bediquette. Throwing up on someone and going back to sleep is bad bediquette. Going to sleep first and snoring loudly is bad bediquette. But plugging a snorer's nose so that he or she possibly has a nightmare about drowning before waking up is acceptable.

Some people are born knowing these things, and some people are not.

When I was a little kid, I once threw up on myself and my friend and went back to sleep.

I'd had a lot of pepsi and pizza that night, and we'd stayed up late watching normally unobtainable television programs. I was tired enough that I decided that my whole throwing up was just a dream. My friend didn't wake up, and I put my head back down into my (puke-covered) pillow.

It was soon apparent to me that it was not in fact a dream, and I wondered if I could actually spend the night with my ear plugged in such a manner or if I would really have to wake up and deal with the situation. Maybe one of those minor deities like the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny would clean it up for me if I could just sleep through it.

Maybe it could still be a dream.

Not so. I woke up the friend whose birthday we were celebrating and broke the news to him, and we did a cleanup job about as good as you'd expect from a couple of 12-year-olds. We were unable to wake my other friend (I do not remember how hard we tried. . .), so he spent the rest of the night in my pepsi-soaked half-digested pizza.

Back to the hostel -- I might have simply begun my day after being awakened so rudely, but went back to sleep on general principle (if not spite). And then shaved in the sink before checking out. I gave back the key and stood expectantly until he asked me what I wanted. . .

Some people say that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. People also say that the best revenge is living well. I do not abide by either. One of them is not good enough. The other I will not allow to be true.

My good friends, Brad and Heavy, were once jumped outside a hockey game for wearing the wrong jerseys. When I met them, Brad was pretty excited about getting punched in the face for the first time ever, and was very proud of how he open-hand slapped his various assailants. As an incredibly athletic 6 foot tall 200lbs man, his poor technique was not particularly relevant.

Heavy, who has instigated physical conflicts with individuals for infractions as minor as wearing white pants, was in considerably lower spirits. He had spent the majority of the struggle pinned between a wall and a bike rack getting kicked by yuppies while Brad experimented with different swatting techniques. And no sooner had Heavy finally got to his feet in all readiness to dole out fiery vengeance than the cops showed up and ended the conflict.

Heavy wanted to go find the pudgy little pirate that had started the whole thing, but Brad, after being shut down by the waitress assured him that “those guys were losers, and being losers is punishment enough!” Brad then proceeded to brag about how his jaw didn't even hurt. Heavy assured him that it would tighten up by morning, and within the hour Brad couldn't shut up about how much it hurt, which didn't make him any more inclined to go find the pirate (indeed the prospect of getting punched in the face a second time seemed to have lost much of its original appeal by that point).

Now to me, any group of individuals exhibiting undesireable behaviour should experience a cost comparable to the benefit which that behaviour affords them.

A group of four attacked a group of two, and suffered no ill consequence for the infraction. It's bad practice to let a monkey get away violence; it's bad practice to let human children get away with violence, and it's bad practice to let human adults get away with violence.

For me there is no real difference between dealing with dogs, monkeys, or humans -- you might say that you can talk to humans, but for the most part they don't really listen, and they're responding to little more than tone, gesture and context, just like the monkeys do.

What they understand is cost and benefit, prospect and consequence. A monkey bites someone and gets a piece of meat, he's going to bite the next person carrying a hunk of meat, too. But if a monkey bites someone and gets throttled, loses a friend or two, and gets nothing -- well, he is seriously re-evaluating the profitability of the whole biting and stealing thing.

And here we have these yuppy thugs beating up two guys with no consequence other than a dirty look from a cop and maybe half of them got slapped by a really cheerful badminton player. Why not cause problems for the next guy wearing the wrong jersey?

One reason would be because there's that crazy red-headed guy that has the uncanny ability to make his shirt disappear at the utterance of a moderately hostile word who won't leave them alone, keeps beating them up, and keeps asking why they're not wearing white pants.

If you have one of those guys in your life, you probably don't want two (unless you think that crazy red-haired guys are like those homicide-inducing worms in that episode of X-files[3], where being infected by one will result in death, but when infected with a second the worms kill each other, causing the patient to be cured).

So while a selfish unspiteful guy like Brad is living well and allowing a bunch of thugs to run rampant so that they can be someone else's problem; a spiteful, angry guy like Heavy is doing his part for society, instilling fear and thoughtfulness into those very same people. Living well. The best revenge need only be carried out once.

And so we come to permission and forgiveness. Let it be known that whilever[4] I am in the room, it will indeed be much much much more difficult and painful to ask forgiveness than it will be to ask permission. I will make the slogan inaccurate if I have to do it single-handedly, one inconsiderate douche-bag at a time.

So I'm standing there, looking at this guy, and I tell him that I paid for a night of undisturbed sleep. And he disturbed me.

He highlighted the fact that he'd apologized, and what more could be done? I replied that I wanted 2 dinars back.

Now, one of the things that made me so incredibly mad about this situation is that this guy could have a) told the dude with the truck to come back some other time, b) told me in advance that he would need my mattress, c) put me in a room where the mattress did not need to be taken away at 9am or d) offered me some kind of compensation for my trouble.

He displayed no intention to do any of these things. He did apologize, but it is almost certain that his actions were carried out with the intent of an apology at their conclusion. 'Regret' carries no weight in matters of action.

It's funny how you can make someone do something just by not going away. He only gave me one dinar, instead of two (which amounts to about 67¢ instead of $1.33), but the psychological effect of being compelled to reach into his pocket to give me money because of his own poor behaviour was my desired outcome.

What I wanted, really, was for him to know that I existed, and that people like me existed. People that wouldn't let a slight go unsatisfied.

In Yellowstone National Park they found that the very idea of a wolf in the mind of an elk affected its browsing habits and thus the growth pattern of the forest, resulting in an altered community structure [5]. Elk who have never encountered a wolf before browse anywhere without fear, which prevented new trees from growing and inhibited the populations of various other species.

The reintroduction of wolves had almost immediate effects: the elk stepped into line, new trees began to grow, and shit got done. Maybe this guy had never seen a Sherpa before, but now he knows that people like me exist. The next time there's a truck waiting for a mattress, he won't be sure if the person sleeping on that mattress is a Sherpa or a Brad (Heavies you can see from a pretty long way off. . .), and he is more likely to be inclined to behave differently -- perhaps more considerately or fairly.

One might suppose that the existence of a diligent press can have the same effect on the behaviour of politicians; indeed we might all be well served by a healthy wolf reintroduction into that arena more than any other.

It should be noted that, not surprisingly, upon giving me the dinar, he told me not to bother ever coming back. I had of course anticipated this, and had considered the likelihood that I would ever return to that town, and the corresponding probability that he would remember me if I did.

In instances where there is some question as to the most reasonable course of action, one can often allow a trusted rule or principle to guide you. In Chess, you may often hear “When in doubt, push a pawn.” It is generally true, but I will spare you the analysis and justification.

In this case, there was indeed a guiding principle that lay my path before me: Never Let Someone Cross You for Free. Neither Rome, Genghis Kahn, Braveheart, Cachito, or the Sahara Desert would allow themselves to be crossed without consequence, and what rational creature would haphazardly throw down the gauntlet before any one of them?

You might think that this policy only has tangible effect (in game theory, for example) when players interact with each other repeatedly or when the results of interactions are communicated to broader populations.

Since I will probably never see this guy again and the interaction was not televised, you may argue that it was a waste of energy.

To this I say: 1) I got a dinar 2) I take heart in knowing I gave cause for him to modify his behaviour in future interactions with others (a version of my kindness to strangers. . .) 3) If everybody did what I did, there wouldn't be so much crap to put up with in the first place 4) there is something to be said for the air of a person who doesn't let shit slide. Be it an imprint on the universe, or the attitude that results when you are pleased with yourself, or even the pheremonal change resulting from not being dominated. It could perhaps be delivered more palatably by suggesting that we communicate our habits. A related question is how well do we mask our habits, and how selective are we between the two? Another discussion, certainly.

But once we have chosen to be true to ourselves, one might argue that all other decisions follow, and there are no other decisions to be made: your course of action is set before you.

When you are made aware that this is the choice being faced -- the choice of whether you will look in the mirror with satisfaction or disappointment -- is there any question as to what you will choose?

Don't despair if you've known yourself to fail this test, because as long as you live you will ever be put before this same fork in the road. And it will be a difficult decision until you finally realize that you can not appease disappointment in the mirror with anything but gumption (Not including the context in which you are a suspect in an interrogation room behind two-way glass and the detective looking on is disappointed that you're not guilty, especially because you are making the case for your innocence with great gumption and his disappointment is more arising from the fact that he will be late for dinner again because he still has no real lead on the case. That kind of disappointment 'in' the mirror won't be appeased by gumption at all. But I'm not talking about that) .

Until the next coalescence of prime numbers in our somewhat arbitrary dating system,

Sherpa

Don't Tread on Me

* I'm sure many of you will point out that a simple internet search (via google or duckduckgo, whichever you prefer) reveals that the term 'bediquette' is already in ciculation. I am now sure that I will not be widely credited with coining the term, but I wonder if any of those other people managed to somehow turn a profit from their vocabularic innovations. . .

1. what a douche bag

2. a gradual process in which you continuously crowd and lean on the person you're sleeping with, so that over the course of the night they are inched towards the very edge of the bed and are forced to either get out of bed and go to the other side, or else fall right over the edge

3. X-Files Season 1 Episode 8, “Ice”

4. one more brand new word from sherpa -- pronounced: 'WHILE-EVER'

5. Ripple and Beschta, 2004. “Wolves and the Ecology of Fear: Can Predation Risk Structure Ecosystems?” Bioscience 54(8):755-766 http://www.cof.orst.edu/leopold/papers/04_August_Article_Ripple.pdf

#Travel #Tunisia #Sherpadoo #Forgiveness #Permission #Ecology of Fear #Nabeul #Donna Wheeler #Bediquette

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