a fool's musings
Fool, said my muse to me,
look in thy heart and write...
Warning: Adult Content
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09.11.02 - 12:47 a.m.
never forget
I have no words for today, so I'll let the words of others speak for me.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Abraham Lincoln, The Gettysburg Address
Make me an channel of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me bring your love;
where there is injury, your pardon, Lord
and where there's doubt, true faith in you
Make me a channel of your peace
where there's despair in life, let me bring hope;
where there is darkness, only light;
and where there is sadness, ever joy;
O Master, grant that I may never seek
so much to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love with all my soul.
Make me a channel of your peace
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
In giving of ourselves that we receive;
And in dying that we are born to eternal life
The Prayer of St. Francis*
~victoria
*This is slightly different from the "regular" version, as it's the lyrics to the hymn, rather than the spoken version, but it's the one I remember best.
[current mood: sad]
[current music: silence]
[random quote: ]
~*~
09.10.02 - 4:40 p.m.
bitter much?
Snippet from a fic that seems more suited to my mood than the watch fic.
It's a little bitter at the beginning, though I hope the ending will be sweet, whenever I get around to writing it.
The Fifth Wheel
Rogue knocked back the shot of bourbon, enjoying the acrid, smoky taste and the burn in her chest as she swallowed. She slammed the shot glass down on the bar and chased the liquor with a long pull of beer.
She could feel Jubilee's eyes on her, but she didn't care.
They'd come out to drown her sorrows, and she was going to forget if it killed her. Forget the way Remy had smiled sadly and told her he loved someone else, that she'd never even had a shot. Forget the way everyone pitied her, poor untouchable Rogue who wouldn't ever get laid, let alone have a boyfriend. Forget the way Jubilee had whispered in Bobby's ear and Kitty had kissed Piotr goodbye before they dragged her to Harry's for 'girl's night out'.
As if she had any other kind of night out.
"Another shot," she snarled at the bartender, who looked past her.
"I think you've had enough," Kitty said.
"You think wrong," Rogue replied.
"Chica, you're going to make yourself sick," Jubilee said. "You're gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow."
"I don't care. What does it matter? You don't understand. You can't understand."
"Rogue, please," Kitty began.
"Shut the fuck up and let me drink." She leaned over the bar and grabbed the bartender. "I *said* I wanted another shot. Are you deaf or something?"
She could see her friends exchanging worried glances and felt a pang of guilt that she quashed ruthlessly. They had a reason to go home; they each had someone waiting for them, someone who loved them. She had nothing, and it didn't look like that was changing any time soon.
"If I want to get stinking drunk, what's it to ya?" she said. "Logan does it all the time."
"Logan has a healing factor," Kitty said. "You don't."
"Oh, he'll share. Don't you worry, KitKat. I'm his responsibility, and he never lets me forget that."
Another worried look, and then Jubilee scurried to the ladies' room. Rogue forgot all about them at the appearance of another shot. She was well on her way to forgetting everything, and that was all she really wanted right now.
***
Logan was setting up his final shot, eight ball in the corner pocket, when his cell phone vibrated.
He sank the black ball, much to the chagrin of the man he was playing, and flipped open the small phone. A select few had the number, so he knew it had to be important. "Yeah?"
"Wolvie." Jubilee.
Rogue had been first, and she was still closest to his heart, but he cared about Jubes and Kitty, too, though not in the same way. His feelings for Rogue, and hers for him, were one of those things they never discussed. It was just easier that way.
Easier for whom, he wasn't sure, but whenever anyone came too close to the truth of their relationship, he got extremely uncomfortable. He was biding his time, though for what, again, he wasn't sure. He'd let her eighteenth birthday pass with a friendly hug, and on her twenty-first, she'd been so thrilled about going out drinking that he hadn't had the heart to cut the evening short. Though in retrospect, taking her home and getting her into bed might have been a lot more fun if she hadn't puked all over the side of the road and then passed out in the cab of the truck.
Time had slipped through his fingers after that, and he wasn't sure how that had happened, or if she even felt the same anymore. They'd spent the last three years in stasis, each afraid to do anything to disturb their friendship in hope of more.
He shook his head, called back to the present by Jubilee's voice on the other end of the line. "Wolvie, we've got a situation."
"What's wrong?" He knew that if it were the Brotherhood or Friends of Humanity, he'd have heard from Xavier, so this was probably personal. His mind raced with images of accidents and maulings, of strange men attacking his girls (though he knew, on an intellectual level, any asshole who got out of line with one of the X-Women was in for a beating, his protective instincts were not always rational), and his body tightened in anticipation.
"It's Rogue. She's drunk. And she's mean. She's had about six shots of Wild Turkey, and she refuses to leave."
"What happened?"
"Remy told her about his wife."
"Fuck. You're at Harry's?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be right there."
Only stopping long enough to collect his winnings, he hopped on his bike and headed back to Salem Center. At least they weren't far from home.
***
That's the coherent part. I've got other bits and pieces written, but nothing to hold them together.
At least Rogue's not in the bathroom, on the phone with her best friend, crying because the guy she's in love with has just picked up another woman while she was standing there.
And okay, that might be a little too personal. It was a long time ago, but some experiences stick with you.
Bitter much? Who me?
~victoria
link
[current mood: weird]
[current music: The Waiting - TP & the HBs]
[random quote: the waiting is the hardest part, every day you get one more card, you take it all on faith you take it to the heart, the waiting]
~*~
09.10.02 - 12:27 p.m.
Unite in Revolution, Brethren and Sistren!
Just spent a couple hours with various bosses, discussing our storage space needs.
We have a SuperSekrit room now, that belongs to us, but we haven't been using it, so now we are.
*nods*
It has all sorts of old stuff from like 1986 that can be gotten rid of. MW and DY are big on dumpsterizing, which is what we'll be doing Thursday morning.
MW and I both want to keep G unaware until the job is finished, 'cause he'll freak about it. He doesn't like throwing stuff out.
I'm like that too, sometimes, but anything over 5 years old (7 for tax purposes)? Get rid of it. It's unnecessary and is taking up way too much space.
And space is at a premium now, since all the spare cubes we'd used for storage are now filled with actual, you know, people.
So I've done no actual writing yet today, though I'm pondering.
I'm not sure what I'm pondering, but I know it's got nothing to do with lederhosen or rubber chickens.
My anti-smiley campaign has drawn a bit of attention. Peggy's already setting up a pro-smiley movement. (Will we be Smilistas and Anti-Smilistas? Emoticonistas? Anti-Emoticonites? Hmm... A catchy group name is key to winning a revolution, you know. "Minute Men" or Contras or something. Of course, I'm not sure which of us is actually the ragtag band of rebel forces and which is the oppressive old regime, but I'm gonna claim the revolutionary high ground.)
gah. my typing sucks.
I and a few others would occasionally try to be smiley-free on atbvs (and smilies were anathema on ath), but never lasted more than a week.
It's the random, useless smilies I'm trying to avoid, as well as the actively offensive ones used when someone's slamming you and trying to pass it off as being nice or funny with a ;).
That just adds insult to injury, in my opinion, and I'm not gonna do it anymore.
Also, if people can't tell when I'm joking and when I'm serious, hey, not my problem.
At least until I decide I can't take the overearnestness anymore and want everyone to realize just how not-seriously I expect to be taken most of the time.
~victoria
link
[current mood: rebellious]
[current music: New World Man - Rush]
[random quote: Up the revolution!]
~*~
09.09.02 - 11:43 p.m.
believing your own stories
I edited and posted Unrequited.
Unfit only.
There has to be *some* perks to being on that list, and the occasional "exclusive" fic is it, I guess.
I'll probably htmlize it tonight or tomorrow.
I kept the ending with Rogue realizing the truth of Logan's words.
I just *can't*, for the life of me, believe he doesn't love her. And how do you write something you totally don't believe?
Basically, you don't.
So, that's it. The story ends there. Make up your own sequel where Logan is actually in love with... Jean/Scott/Ro/Xavier/Magneto/Sabretooth/Mystique/himself.
I know what I believe, and nothing short of Logan saying, onscreen in the next movie, "Rogue, I don't love you. I've never loved you, and I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole" will get me to disbelieve it.
And even that can be fanwanked away.
'Cause he was being mind controlled. Or it was really Mystique. Or Scott dared him to say it. Or she was playing the Grinch.
See, 'cause I'm a shipper, I see the world through L/R-colored glasses. And since I'm a fic writer, I can make the world bend to my will.
Hey, I had a lot of practice at fanwanking with Buffy. This is nothing.
So yeah, on writing things you don't believe? It's a soulless way to do things, and I'm not gonna do it anymore.
I just wanted to see if I *could*.
Now we'll see if anyone buys the story or if it's entirely obvious that I didn't buy it myself.
*nods*
~victoria
[current mood: content]
[current music: the fan]
[random quote: I learned the truth at seventeen that love was meant for beauty queens...]
~*~
09.09.02 - 1:47 p.m.
Thirst v.1
Okay, first draft of the little Snape PCR*.
Thirst
He knows they hate and fear him. He's used to it. He feels the same way about himself sometimes.
He wonders if he's up to the task, up to guiding these children so they don't make the same mistakes he made.
The mark on his arm itches even when invisible; it separates him from them the way Potter's scar raises him above the crowd.
Potter.
He thinks sometimes of letting go of the petty hatred -- he knows it's petty, but it's fueled him for so long, and he can't run out of fire just yet. Not with so much depending on him.
Potter looks up, eyes wary behind his glasses, and Snape knows he will never give up the hatred. It's hard to see this child, this image of James Potter staring at him with Lily's eyes.
Lily.
She let him down gently. She never laughed at him, never made him feel the fool for loving her. And she was so easy to love -- her bright hair and laughing eyes drew him to her like a moth to a flame. She was everything he was not. Graceful and delicate as her name, Lily had a strength belied by her frail appearance, and he loved her all the more for it.
He'd known, somehow, deep down, that he'd never have her, though she was always nice to him. Even with her Muggle background, she was above his touch. But to have chosen Potter, of all people.
The only thing worse would have been had she chosen Black.
That was the only thing that made the sting bearable -- that Black, too, had lost out, had never held her heart.
And now he and Black and that damned untrustworthy Lupin were among the few protecting Lily's boy.
He knows the boy will do something great -- they all know it -- if they can keep him alive long enough. Just as he knows Malfoy will come to a bad end. It's bred into them. He doesn't generally believe in predestination, but he knows that in wizarding families, bloodlines are more important than they seem.
His own humble beginnings are proof of that. He was the tagalong, the weakling trying to overcome years of poverty and hatred, and he chose the wrong path when he allied himself with the Malfoys and their Dark Lord.
His eyes slide across the rows of students.
Granger.
Yes.
She's already a formidable witch. Under certain circumstances, he might have taken silent pride in her proficiency, been delighted by her thirst for knowledge.
But knowledge is power, and her thirst for it reminds him all too clearly of himself -- always striving to know, as if knowing the proper potion or spell could somehow fix everything that was wrong in his life. Somehow erase the stains attached to his family name. Somehow make Lily love him for more than a fleeting second under the influence of some Valentine's charm.
He used to believe that -- that power was the cure for all ills. He'd needed to believe it.
He wonders, fearfully, if Granger believes the same thing.
He has watched her, late in the evening, slip down to the library to study. She goes above and beyond what her classes call for; she always has. But now, as she gets older, she has moved into more dangerous territory. Territory that, for the uninitiated and the weak of will, may be dangerous for them all.
She's begun, in these tense times, to realize that she will be limited, that there will be those opposed to her advancement, based solely on the facts of her parentage.
Such restrictions had enraged him at her age, and he fears that she will be the same. She's brilliant, she's a hard worker, and she will always be in Potter's shadow. She will never have the opportunities open to Weasley, or even Longbottom, and that will chafe at her. He would think less of her if it didn't.
He just worries about what will happen when she reaches that limit, even as he pushes her to achieve everything she can.
Without guidance, she could fall so easily under the sway of anyone who would slake her thirst for knowledge without regard to her social status, or lack thereof.
A germ of an idea takes hold in the back of his mind, so wild and unprecedented that he wonders if Dumbledore slipped something in his morning coffee.
He turns away for a moment, wondering if he could pull it off; if he *wants* to pull it off.
Severus Snape has never backed down from a challenge, and he's not about to start now.
When class ends, he says, "Granger, stay a moment."
She looks up at him, startled, eyes wide with apprehension.
Potter and Weasley hover and he says, "I don't recall mentioning your names." He can feel his lips twist in disgust as he says the names. The boys -- still children, and asked to bear a burden no child should have to -- open their mouths simultaneously. "One word and it's fifteen points from Gryffindor. Each."
They snap their mouths shut and leave the dungeon. He hears them waiting outside, and knows they're eavesdropping. Lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he says, "Two scrolls on the interaction of saxifraga with vetiver and belladonna."
"That's--" she stops, and he knows she's already familiar with the potion he's describing. He knows she's checked out Most Potente Potions at least once, and Verstadrehen is the Holy Grail for anyone who studies potions. It's also highly dangerous, and highly illegal, for him to do this, but he will ensure that her thirst for knowledge is sated, while guiding her hand in support of his -- Dumbledore's -- goals.
He will always hate Potter, but he wouldn't wish Granger's enmity on anyone.
"By Monday," he tells her. "Speak of this to no one." She nods.
The girl rushes out, flushed and nervous. He sinks back into his chair, and hopes he's doing the right thing.
end
***
Originally, there was going to be a Hermione POV as well, but it got all tangled up in her musings about what it must be like to be beautiful and sought after, instead of smart and annoying Hermione, so I stopped, because, well... It's been done, you know?
Anyhow, if anyone out there wants to help me out and beta, email me, because I'm fairly certain my usual guys won't touch this with a ten foot pole.
Also, if anyone from HP fandom wants to correct any canon errors, I'd be most grateful and appreciative.
In case Haloscan is still wonky, you can leave comments here, as well.
Thanks!
~victoria
*PCR = Plotless Character Ramble
link
[current mood: creative. also, cold]
[current music: Two Hearts - U2]
[random quote: Now those memories come back to haunt me they haunt me like a curse Is a dream a lie if it don't come true Or is it somethi]
~*~
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The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.
The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.
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