Charles Baudelaire, “The Alchemy of Sadness”

how are you? vespin pauses at that question. how is he? it has been years since they stood atop of the netherbrain, overlooking the burning cityscape of baldur's gate. the horizon line dyed red in the distance. it's been years since they chose this: the grand escape and master plan; years since they chose him over the safety and will of tens of thousands of people terrorized by the far realm threat; years since he put the circlet atop of her already golden crown ––

“ i'm ... well. ” he answers after a moment of silence, still with that hint of incredulity and tentativeness in his voice. as though he couldn't, fully, believe it. as though there is some risk in even vocalizing the fact, that the universe might overhear and conspire to take it away. the paranoia is broken up by a hand reaching over to the lanceboard. compared to her performance of careful calculation and planning, his responses are quick and snappy. his eyes jump around the board, making decisive judgement and reacting accordingly. (he plays offensively, in all areas except around the queen; always quick to mobilizing all of his resources to protect her.)

“ it's nice to live in the city, between neverwinter and waterdeep, i find myself becoming a true urbanite again. ” he chuckles, stroking his chin in his hand. “ i met a few people. some i might even venture to call friends, new faces that stick around and all that. ... and some old faces. they tend to sneak up on you –– ... an envoy from emerald grove visited waterdeep. they still wear the same emblem. ”

time ... what a strange concept is time, now that she walks in the rivers of all that has been and will be. when she folds herself into this shape for him, she recalls how to live linearly: it is a somewhat violent practice, cutting down the excess, bleeding consciousness, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding until she is small again. celestial essence forms into fingers that can handle a board, eyes that see in droll, muted colour rather than the geometry of the universe. she has a heart today, and it clenches when he quotes to her exactly how imprecise she still is, as avatar.

she advances her cyric, after all. " that is good to hear. of course, our mutual acquaintance does rather have his teeth in the place, doesn't he; we might look to cooler climes in ... the future. "

only the bare arch of her brow betrays the jest for what it is: clearly, his report satisfies her. the situation in neverwinter is volatile, but then, when isn't it? the coast is replete with precarious cities, all of them one strong wind away from a coup. she knew this always, but it is far more immediate now that interested parties sometimes see fit to engage her in prayer.

" good as it is, however ... that is not quite what i asked. how are you, vespin? " how holds this patchwork solution of ours?

Ada Limón, from "To the Busted Among Us", Sharks in the Rivers

Theodore Roethke, from "What Can I Tell My Bones", The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke [ID'd]

George Seferis, translated by Rex Warner, from Poems translated from the Greek; "Last Stop,"

feel myself getting old is when i let myself play the game into daybreak as reward for finishing my (admittedly overdue) project and that wiped me out for the rest of the day

the ache of nostalgia

I know that hope is the hardest love we carry.

— Jane Hirshfield, from “Hope and Love”

continuing the grand tradition of me wanting to write the most when i have like ten other things on my adult to-do list... i used to write these combat one-shots of vespin fighting alongside a partner's character, using actual dice rolls. and i'm itching to do that again...

Abaddon by JasonEngle

“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said?” The boy asks. The horse replies, “Help”.

k.b. // the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse - short movie

"if you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around" (will rogers) is the kind of asmodeus "joke" he will drop before siccing vespin on someone

Denise Levertov, from O Taste and See: New Poems; "The Old Adam,"

— Robert Lowell, from “The Collected Poems of Robert Lowell.”

accidentally discovered nimblewrights and im in love

from “The Plot,” by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Elaine Kerrigan

Fernando Pessoa from The Book of Disquiet (1982)