http://magicgirlmouthtoast.tumblr.com/
family found my old tumblr and freaked
I'm there now but sometimes I'll put something here
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
When I wake the next morning, I find myself on the floor,
blankets tangled about my feet. I must have rolled out of the small cot. I sit
up and groan, massaging the flesh of my neck to ease the pain left by hours
resting on metal. Metal is unforgiving. I spread my fingers on the ship’s floor
and listen. Creaks, groans, but beneath it all a heavy thread of stability.
Kiyohime’s metal is the metal of a mother many times over, toughened through
care. All metal whispers to me, boasts to me. Unlike excitable Wood and calm
Earth, Metal is arrogant. Most metal sings to me that it is strongest when it
kills. But Kiyohime says she’s strongest when looking after her passengers.
When protecting them.
I light incense and recite my morning prayers to Unending
Brave Sorrow. Though my prayers begin different every day, they end in the same
words.
“Soul of blade’s edge and shelter’s shield, metal of will
and heart, let my strength be grand so the universe might be mended.”
Outside my tiny rectangular window, space is a midnight
blanket laced with bright blue jetsam - plasma exhaust from the ship’s vents.
The runoff lags behind the ship like a wispy azure banner before dispersing in
the vacuum of space. We’re on our way to Guidance. Naihel is getting closer
with every second Kiyohime cuts through the stars.
I pull on my same autumn kimono from yesterday and tame
my hair into two buns. I secure them with jade hairpins. Since I’m technically
on a contract, I must don a Snow Veil – full white face makeup. I fish the jar
of Snow out and work the white over my face, eyebrows, and lips until it’s
smooth. When an Acolyte is on a contract, they are past their debut. Instead of
the red spots they paint Blood Moons, two red upside-down crescents on the
cheeks, one on the Adam’s apple, and bright red lips. I feel like I’m cheating,
but I have to maintain appearances, and follow the Acolyte code. I will soon be
debuted, regardless. I clip Blood-on-Wind and White Feather to my obi, scabbards
of lacquered bamboo shining even in the dim ship lights.
This is now the only outfit I own.
The midnight kimono on the wall is special - it’ll be the
one I wear to visit the three clients interested in my debut. Speaking of my
debut, will Matron be able to forward us the client information correctly? Presumably,
Redhawk gave her his ship signature when they made their deal. Matron. My heart
squeezes out a small tear. I miss her kind face and words already. I miss the
warmth of the Cloister rooms already. But I have Unending Brave Sorrow, and she
will guide and comfort me in these lonely black expanses.
I look to the cot. “We must do something about you,
friend. I require larger sleeping pastures.”
I rub my hands together and make a pulling motion, as
though I were hauling rope. The edge of the cot gives a metallic groan and stretches
to its limits. A few inches of extra width. I put my hands on the floor and
push up, mashing extra metal to support the new lip of the bed. I pinch the two
together and create a sturdy seam.
“That is more acceptable.” I give a satisfied nod.
Breakfast is a quieter affair than dinner. Alto swings
his legs and sips coffee. Tai sits opposite him, parts of a disassembled gun littering
the table. She polishes each piece with a rag and re-assembles it slowly, with
great care. I sit beside Alto and watch her work.
“It is an admirable weapon,” I try. Tai’s pitch eyes
narrow.
“No shit. Valkyrie’s the best.”
“The metal is singing soft,” I press. Tai stops
polishing.
“Don’t you need to practice kissing ass, or something?”
“You can hear metal?” Alto perks up, a ring of black
coffee on his lips. “Does it talk?”
“Not with words as we do.” I smile. “You should not drink
coffee at your age, it’s quite unhealthy. Let me make you something better.”
“What age?” Alto frowns. “I’m twenty, you know!”
“Twenty what, baby pacifiers?” Tai snorts. I tinker with the
small water boiler in the kitchen and pull out the packet of genmaicha from the
tea bag tied on my obi.
“You always carry packets of grass around, whore?” Tai quips.
“Keeping herbs on our persons helps promote energy flow. Tea
is also used in many of our rituals.” I drop the packet of genmaicha into the
steaming water. “Would you like a cup, Tai?”
“Choke on it,” She considerately declines. I place a cup
in front of her anyway and hand Alto his. I sip softly, the brown grains of
rice in the bottom of the green tea adding a refreshing bitter flavor. Alto makes
a face at his but murmurs ‘thanks’. Tai pushes the cup out of the way to reach
for a gun part.
“So if metal can’t use words, how do you know what it’s
saying?” Alto squirms in his seat.
“Get real. It’s all bogus,” Tai grunts and snaps two
pieces together. “Just another one of their stupid parlor tricks.”
I stare at the dissembled barrel of Tai’s gun. I’m unsurprised
to find the metal’s voice hushed and demure, the complete opposite of Tai. Metal
is independent – unlike Water or Wood it does not attempt to emulate the human presences
around it. The gun sings of when it is strongest - just before it fires to kill an enemy. I ask the gun about its past. Valkyrie shows me dead bodies, the
smell of rot and wet jungle, a little blonde girl crying. Tai. I recoil and Valkyrie feels it and apologizes, a gentle pat.
“There was a battle,” I say. “Many bodies. You picked
Valkyrie off the body of one of the soldiers.”
Tai’s hand freezes. Valkyrie presses against my mind,
eager to talk to someone. Lonely. Metal is always lonely. It shows me another
ship, blurred faces of men and women in leather and dirt-smears with just as
many guns on their person as Tai. Mercenaries teaching little Tai to shoot, to
strangle, to drink, to fight –
“You were raised by them. Mercenaries. On a ship.”
I feel the knife with my metal senses before I see it. A
flick of my head and it stops spinning and drops, blade-first, into the wood
table. It would’ve pinned my kimono collar to the wall behind me.
“Acolyte dress code forbids holes.” I smile at Tai.
“If you ever say
another word to me,” Tai stares into me. “It’ll be your last.”
With a screech of her chair and a hasty gathering of Valkyrie’s
parts, she leaves, combat boots clunking down the hall. Alto clears his throat.
“Tai doesn’t like talking about her past.”
“So I see,” I drain my tea cup.
“When Redhawk tried to ask her, she punched him. He was
out for a whole day.”
“We all have Pools of Flame.”
“Wassat?” Alto cocks his head.
“Tender spots. Memories we want no one to intrude upon. I
was foolish for prying into Tai’s.”
“Then why did you?”
“Honesty,” I smile. “The price of listening to Metal is
to share what we find. Always.”
“What about your
metal? Your swords.”
“White Feather is strongest when deflecting
attacks. Blood-on-Wind is strongest when striking out against an enemy who struck first. Metal is a yin element – defensive and contracting - unlike Fire,
which is yang, and very aggressive. I speak to them constantly, and they sing
to me always.”
“So you, you can do that talking with all metal? What
about engines? The reactor’s been acting weird, even though we just bought a
brand new one. Maybe you could…” Alto trails off.
“Not all metal sings readily. But if you need help, I’m
happy to try.” He gives a little whoop. “Not before you finish the tea, though.”
Alto grimaces and downs it in one gulp. He leads me to
the engine room – a mass of wires and blinking lights. Wrenches, screwdrivers,
and all sorts of tools hang from the ceiling, suspended by wire hooks. Toolboxes
and mechanical parts cluster around a cylindrical behemoth. Outer discs rotate
on its bottom, acting as a cooling system for the orange plasma core that shines
through the space glass plate allowing us to see inside. Like a snow monkey,
Alto climbs onto a pipe and shimmies up another, hooking his knees and hanging
upside down.
“Pass me that oscillating wrench! Can you reach?”
“There’s no need.” I touch the wrench. With a lift of my
hand, it floats upwards and hovers in front of Alto’s shining face.
“This is so awesome. I won’t have to hang tools from the
roof ever again! Redhawk’ll be psyched. Whenever he comes in one of the wrenches
always falls right on his head.”
“I’m the sure impacts only improve his intellect.”
“They do, thanks.” Redhawk’s disembodied voice resonates
from a loudspeaker in the ceiling.
“Greetings, Captain. I trust you are finding your morning
full of eavesdropping pleasant?” I smile.
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my career is literally fucking around on the internet and maybe fucking around in a word document
NOBODY PINCH ME OKAY
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
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