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codezeta-liveblog-blog · 5 years

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Interlude 1 - The good ol’ Wildbow shitty-character/nice-bacsktory switcheroo

> Gathered Pages: 1

First interlude-ish. Seems to be an excerpt from Grandma Rose. All of my yes. See, I think I've mentioned it before. I dont know to what extent more famous books like GoT and LotR do this, but when I was young I had a medieval themed story I used to read, "Chronicles of the Emerse World" or something like that, A italian book that never had an english translation for some reason, in between a couple chapters there would be parts of hystory books talking about a new location or something, basically serving as free exposition. What I'm getting at is that when I was a kid it didn't bother me, but looking back it seems like a really cheap way for a less-than-avarage book to explain stuff it could have used its characters for. I dont know what to expect of this, but that it will not be blind exposition, but a deeper look into a character we have already got to know but keeps being surrounded in mystery. Only question is if its just us reading it or are our characters seeing this as well.

> February 6th, 1931 > > These words are my own for me alone and nothing I write here is meant to be binding. > > Dear Diary > > I am supposed to start with dear diary but daddy is very strict about what I say and how. Daddy said writing this diary would teach me to write better and that is very important but I have to write that at the top of every new part. Daddy said he would never read my diary but if I did not write that part at the top for every new part then he would whup me. I asked how he would know if he never read it and he said he would just know. I believe him.

I... dont remember the year this story is set in. I'm going to say it is set in 2013/2014. Except I also dont remember how old she was when she died. Is she already awoken, I doubt it, this is most probably a test for her to hone her speech, it would be a bit dangerous to awaken her and have the risk of her losing her powers because of writing something or forgetting to write something. Unless it os really that easy, you only need to write a paragraph and you are free to go.

> I was very very very careful when I asked daddy if it would be a bad whupping or a regular whupping and he asked me if I remembered when I got whupped and peed pink. I said yes I did and daddy got a really mean and angry look on his face and said the whupping I got this time would be worse if I did not remember to write that every time. Then he said he was not sure if it would work and I should tell no lies even when I write things down.

Yay to heavy parental abuse.

> I should explain what happened the other time because you are my diary and you do not know anything except what I wrote here. It was when I was playing with Pearl even though I was ixplicitly told I mustnt. She kept telling me she knew a fun game and she gave me one of her toys to hold, then she took my hand and pulled me along. Part of the game she said was that we had to go into her familys shed. Her sisters and older cousins were there and they all had sticks and things. They started hitting me over and over and kept knocking me down and would not let me leave. > > I was lucky that everyone in Pearls family that isn’t a daddy is a girl and they were not very strong. I bunched up into a ball and I shouted what daddy told me to shout if anyone every hurts me and I do not think I can get away. WITH THIS BLOOD SHED I PAY YOU FURFUR. EXACT MY REVENGE. Daddy said it sounded convincing and if it came to that and Furfur listend I would not be much worse off. I rememberd it because Furfur always sounded like an awfuly silly name.

I'm going to guess this is the girl-only family and that Pearl is probably one of the eldest ones there right now. Are they all pale and platinum blonde or is that just in my mind?

> Pearl and her sisters and her cousin ran when I said that and I went home. I cryed and cryed the entire way and I fell down a lot because my leg hurt where I got hit. I even scuffed my bottom lip and chin on the road when I fell on the path up to the house because its a hill and its steep in places. > > When I got home I told daddy what happened and he got really really really angry. I was scared he would whup me but he cleaned me up and wiped up the blood instead. He asked me lots of questions about what happened like had I played with Pearl before and how did I get away. Then he asked me about Pearl and where we would play and if I ever saw Pearl playing after sunday school. Then he put me to bed and told me I did not have to go to Sunday school the next day.

He is trying to figure out if any magic was involved I see. 2019 re-read thoughts: Now I know its more like he is trying to better locate the, most probably, Duchamp girl for his... later endeavor lets call it that.

> I forgot I wasn’t going to sunday school and I woke up and daddy was sitting in the living room with a drink looking out the window. He looked scary because he had that mean and angry look he has sometimes when he whups me and he was wearing the clothes from yesterday and he hadn’t shaved his face. He left without saying anything except to tell me I had to stay home. > > Then he came back and he changed and shaved and we ate and daddy told me that whatever came next I was forbidden to cry. > > There was a knock on the door and then Pearl’s Mama came inside dressed in her sunday best. Daddy made tea and gave Pearl’s mama a cup and gave me a cup and made a cup for himself and they talked about everything except me and Pearl. He looked and sounded danjerous and so did she but in a diferent way. Then Pearl’s mama asked about hair and he reached into his pocket and he pulled out all this blond hair tied into a knot in the middle and he put it over his knee. > > She asked for it and he asked for her to promise he wouldn’t get in trouble and that I would be safe from her daughter. They shook hands and then he gave her the hair. She asked if it was all there and he said yes. Then she asked if she could trust him and he smiled and said no but she had no choice. > > I didn’t know where the hair came from until I went to school the next day and I saw Pearl with her hair cut shorter than most of the boys. Mrs. Packman said it was because of bugs and we shouldn’t laugh but I knew the truth. Even though Pearl and her family hit me with sticks I felt really bad because Pearl always loved her long hair. Even when braided it was long enough to touch her bottom. She won’t even look at me now and she acts scared.

I wonder if this has to do with furfur, a spirit that cuts and collects hair, or if its just something that her father did on the side. Wasn't their family focused on females? Maybe Furfur is a barba-whatsis “safety-name” of sorts. 2019 re-read thought: This would however conflict with my earlier interpretation of the father himself going out to get the hair. BUT, maybe he wanted location informations to pass on to the demon. Then ONCE AGAIN, wasn’t Barbatorem ‘acquired’ by Rose, or was it in the family?

> It was only after that was over that daddy whupped me. It was almost as bad as being hit with the sticks because I was already sore. I peed pink after. The peeing hurt and I would stamp and drum my feet on the stepstool in front of the loo to distract myself until daddy belowed for me to stop. > > He asked me if I learned the lesson and I said yes. He asked me what the lesson was and I said it was I needed to listen. He asked me why I needed to listen and I said if I was disobedient and did not listen then everyone would hurt me. He said that was close enough.

It seems the disgusting methods of teaching were common. I didnt respect her before, but fuck me if it doesnt make sense that she came out the way she did. If her children didnt receive beatings, they probably had to hear a million times how worse she had it when she was their age, which is just as bad in a different way, psychological pressure to never complain.

> If I have to be truthful then I need to say my feelings hurt almost as bad as any of it. I wish someone would explain this better. Daddy said it was a trick but I said I did not think it made sense that someone my age could plan a trick like that and plan ahead to have people waiting in the shed like Pearl did. > > Daddy said the members of the Duchamp family could and they would do worse because they were scared of me so I could never ever never ever be friends with them. I asked him not even when I was an adult and he said when I am an adult I will know better or I deserve what I get.

Ooh, they feared her since BEFORE she was a practictioner. Interesting.

> I think I started having the bad dreams around then. Every night for a long time. Then one night daddy came and picked me up and he carried me to his bed. He told me the deal was I was allowed to cry but only so long as it was night and my head was on the pillow. In daylight I cannot cry or show weakness. He held me and he stroked my hair until I started to fall asleep and I felt safer. I cryed myself to sleep and I felt better. > > After the bad dreams went away, I went back to sleeping in my own bed. Daddy had me pick a special object to me and sit naked in a circle while I read from a book. He said it would be better if mommy was here but I need to learn to defend myself sooner than later. > > I don’t know how to defend myself yet. I do know that I was really worried about being lonly forever. My mommy is away buying a book and she has been gone since winter and she should have come back by now. I am not allowed to make friends if they belong to certain families and I am not allowed to make friends if they are already friends with someone from one of those families. Because most people here are like that I cannot make any friends my age. > > But there are things that aren’t my age or my daddy’s age or even the age of the house that want to be my friend now. Tricky things and scary things and things that offer me gifts like Pearl offered me the toy before she took me to the shed. I have to be very very careful but I do not feel as lonly anymore.

So she has already awakened by the time of writing this. A lot of politics going on as expected, which are sure to fuck up one's childhood. Which makes me wonder if there really isn't one of her children who doesn't already know about all this stuff and the how and why she did what she did and seemingly didnt involve them in all this. Also seemed like she was temporarily cursed on top of everything. 2019 re-read thoughts: I’m more and more conviced as time goes on that she was just having bad dreams because of intense trauma.

> This took me a real long time to write. I am still learning and I have to stop and think before each thing I write to make sure I am not lying. It made me feel better and I think it was a good idea. > > I am going to go give my dad a hug now for letting me write this diary and then I am going to go talk to tricky things. > > Yours, > > Rose Thorburn > > ■ > > March 9th, 1932 > > These words are my own for me alone and nothing I write here is meant to be binding. > > Dear Diary > > Arsepint lives up to his name. The dirty rotten bastard. > > I played a game with Arsepint and his followers today and he cheated! He wanted a lot of things and the only thing I was willing to give him was a kiss. I am still tasting bad eggs and garbage from the peck I gave him on the cheek. He said a lot of very rude things to me after. > > I asked daddy for advice and he told me I had to earn a victory or none of the goblins around here would respect me. I asked him how to win a victory and he took me to the library and helped me pick out books. > > Some of these books are so thick I can put my hand down flat on the spine and have room on either side. I asked and daddy said that being good at books is not always about reading a lot but its sometimes about knowing where to start looking. > > He also said I needed to stop asking so many questions. He said I have answers and I need to look for them on my own. > > Wish me luck Mr. Diary. I will let you know how I am doing. > > Rose Thorburn > > ■ > > June 18th, 1932 > > These words are my own for me alone and nothing I write here is meant to be binding. > > Dear Diary, > > I did it! > > Winning was easy. Now I have a Arsepint in a cage. I have to bring him food and water once every day or he is allowed to let himself free. > > The hard part is punishing him. How do you punish a Arsepint? > > How long would I have to lock him up before he agreed to do a song and dance about how mangy and pathetic he is in compirison to me? I could make him do it every time he met another person for a whole year! > > He wont like it but I didnt like having to read all those books. I was so bored I nearly cried. > > I told daddy, but he didn’t seem to understand. He gave me a pat on the head and told me to go read some more, so I would know good ways to use Arsepint. > > Victoriasly yours, > > Rose Thorburn

Oh I see where this is going. Its exactly showing how it all became this descending spiral. It has to be here you to make us think. This is at the end of an arc where the final point is our duo awakening. I believe this is showing us what could happen to our dear characters in the future, and what has to become of them as they enter in this new world. From innocence to vengeance in everything around you.

> September 15th, 1939

> > These words are my own, for my eyes alone, and nothing I write here is binding. You know the routine. > > Dear Diary, > > I am in a bind. I am so sorry I ignored you these past two weeks, dear diary, but much has been going on. > > I am in Montreal now, in a different school. They put me in a private school so I could learn more useful languages. It is a very religious school. There’s something witty I’m supposed to say about that but I’m too upset. > > Daddy let me bring some books, giving me a special suitcase that could hide them. It has been so dull, and the school is so strict, I don’t have much to occupy myself with. I would explore the school and meet the goblins and ghosts in the darkest corners, but they watch us like hawks watch mice. > > I’ve only been here a week and something happened. I could see the other girls spending time together, girls who have known each other from kindergarten. I couldn’t thrust myself into the middle of them, so I took a book outdoors. I told myself I would enjoy the crisp weather before the cold shuts us inside for months on end, walking away from the school to make sure I could read in peace. I was approached and told a teacher wanted me, and I had to stow the book away inside a hollow tree, because I certainly wasn’t about to take it into the school proper. I made sure there wasn’t anyone around to see, but someone figured it out. > > Of course it was a ruse. I’ve been so on guard against trickster spirits and goblins, I’ve forgotten to keep my guard up around other humans. The book was taken, then turned over to the head office in quick order when the taker found out what it was. > > I thought I had it settled when I threatened and spelled the girls who took and handed over the book, ensured that nobody knew it was them or me. Things are only getting worse, now, with the faculty on a warpath, hunting for the real owner of the book. They are threatening to take away privileges, to punish the entire school, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them bends to the pressure and points her finger at me. I’ve hidden my books with one working, and I can play innocent, but I fret. > > I need the book back, but I have only a few tricks at my disposal, and no creatures of any worth that I might bargain with. Ancient ghosts with little power left, and lesser spirits. > > We have been given time for self study. I’m using the chance to write and collect my thoughts. I need a strategy but I’m not sure what doors are open to me. Some religious grounds are benign but others are dangerous. What if someone asks along specific channels and an inquisitor is alerted?

Cool to know that more common religious methods also have power over the world of magic.

> The school, as well. There is so much talk of the war, and so much emphasis placed on making the school proud. The faculty keeps saying they want goodness and success to come out of this dark time, and they will see the subject of this book as a dark thing. > > If they trace this back to me and come to see me as the source of this great disappointment and a stain on their pride, the hate might be even greater than what the inquisitors might direct at me. > > Above all else, I fret about my mother. She spends so much time and effort collecting her books, I worry about what might happen if I lose one.

So its not only Rose, I imagine, that gathered the books of the library. Her mother seems to be almost a collector of sorts. The absent sort of mother as well, leaving her more and more exposed to her father’s methods of teaching.

> I must find a way in. If the ghosts are almost useless, I will simply have to use a great many of them. There are other lesser spirits, as well. They will have to do, as allies go. > > I must say I thought being at a new school with no reputation would help. Its worse. Now, just a week in, I feel more pressure than I ever have, but I have nobody to turn to, not even to argue with or vent on. I wonder if being hated may well be better than being a nobody. > > Rose D. Thorburn

And there it is. The turning point for her character maybe. A focal point of stress, family pressure and societal reprimand and behaviour she has to adhere. Changing her completely to what we've grown to lovehate. 2019 re-read thoughts: It also must be said that this is the first point, at least that we see, of her having to use resources outside of merely the books themselves. She has to apply her knowledge to obtain current, and low, resources to achieve her goal in a stressful situation. Cool to know that this is after the Great War, if anyone is knowledgeable, how was Canada's involvement in the war? Interesting to note that it’s her first addition of the ‘D.’ in her signing her name. Why would that be? Recognizing her father in some way? But why here and now? We see her later chaning this again IIRC.

> September 20th, 1939 > > These words are my own, for my eyes alone, and nothing I write here is binding. > > Dear Diary, > > Disaster, but not disaster of the kind I expected. > > In their quizzing of the students and their gentle and not so gentle probing, the interest of the faculty spurred the interest of the students. Word got around about the book, and I ended up being one of no less than three groups aiming to get into the headmaster’s office and get a better look at the book. > > I bid the ghosts to scare the others, but a braver group pressed on. Minnie from the year above me, her friends, and her cousin Herb. I think they were almost thrilled by what I sent their way. Herb might be the one who kept talking about joining the fight and being a hero. Maybe that drove him to fight past fear. Maybe he’s a moron. > > With a measure of help, I slipped into a cat’s body to spy on the new owners of the book. With learned tricks, I joined the shadows in slipping beneath the door. I thought I could snatch up the book and run. > > I did not expect what I saw. They were doing things that proper boys and girls shouldn’t do until marriage. Herb with one of Minnie’s friends and Minnie with one of Herb’s friends, and another two friends pairing up nearby. > > Dear diary, I don’t know how to name or explain the feelings that found me then. There was a kind of anxiety, warm, low in my belly, very real disgust. Surprising, when I’ve dealt with the most vulgar of goblins. > > My father has an eye for justice, or an eye for a lack of it. In a way, I might have viewed the world through his eyes when I saw that scene. I saw something unjust that outraged me and wounded my pride, compelling me to act.

Jeez, I thought the feeling was of simple disgust, but theres some ingrained envy in this isnt there? Of not being ‘normal’, of not being ‘in the know’, of thinking of something so seemingly enjoyable as disgusting places her from her pedestal where she thought she was from being into the magical world and down a peg below the commoners, actually enjoying their lives. No 24/7 stress, no traumas, no gods and ghosts and monsters. Just friends, love and sex.

> I feel wretched when I think that the action I was compelled to was fleeing. > > The Lord of Montreal reached out to me last night, communicating through my dreams. He has heard whisperings, as Lords do, and now I have a greater merchant spirit turned mortal turned god breathing down my neck. He would like for the book to be found, and will forgive me my error if I retrieve the book and ensure the ones who took it don’t pursue such things in the future. > > I have to confront the mundane humans, and I must do it while feeling as if they are somehow more distorted and unfamiliar than many of the beings I read about in my books. > > I have been born into a world that one in a thousand people have the slightest idea on. I know of goblins and boggarts, ghosts and elementals, demons and draiodhe. Yet I feel as though I’m the ignorant one, here. They are the ones who have been inducted into alluring, forbidden wrongs. > > This writing was meant to help me clarify my thoughts, but I don’t feel clarified. > > Rose D. Thorburn.

Quick rethorical question: was Grandma Rose asexual? Or simply misinformed? I find all of this from this entry very nice character traits.

> September 25th, 1939 > > These words are my own for me alone and nothing I write here is meant to be binding. > > Dear Diary, > > I don’t know what to do. > > I had no chance to write, for I was watched closely, and I had no privacy until now. I tried, but I couldn’t secure the book before they had a chance to use it. They called a goblin to them, and the ritual gave it power to attack. Minnie suffered the brunt of it, and the rest of us were caught. > > The police seem to think Herb and his friends as responsible. I was confused at first, but now I think it makes a kind of sense. Boys, a fraction too young to go to war. They intruded on a girl’s school, and they make for ready suspects when Minnie is hollowed out, left with only a vacant stare, unresponsive and unmoving but for the monotonous rocking of her body. Her body was untouched, but that doesn’t count for enough. > > When the books do tell of evil things being loosed, they often make it exciting. The mission is a rescue, a race against time. Here, three or four lives were utterly ruined, and they may never find out why. They were given no chance, except to leave dangerous things be. A practitioner could have done more to help, but I am more a novice than a full fledged wielder of power. I caught the goblin, I kept the scene clear. I was there when police arrived to answer the screams, and now I am a witness. > > I still I don’t understand it, and I don’t know what my place in this is supposed to be. > > The books say the ignorant may rewrite their own memories. Perhaps they will blame themselves. Perhaps Herb and his friends will convince themselves they were responsible. That strikes me as being nearly as horrifying as anything that happened to Minnie.

These feelings are all very complex and seem to run deep into her character. Not much to comment on, just well done, gotta see more of where this all leads, but I'd say that Rose is generally scared of some of the world, maybe of the way consequences can be twisted. All these entries thus far HAVE been having something to do with consequences of her actions.

> They may instead choose to let their recollection of what happened to Minnie fade from their minds, a curious incident they don’t let themselves dwell on. > > I just sat with my pen poised over paper for long enough I needed to dip my pen again. It’s more horrifying still, but it’s horror I feel on Minnie’s behalf. I think it’s the scariest thing I can imagine. Dying and having your existence erased from the world. To be painted over and forgotten. > > It’s my first time facing the aftermath of a situation like this. Removed from the books. It gnawed at me every day the girls and I were confined to the rooms on the top floor of the dormitory, while I waited to talk to police, and the entire way home. It eats at me still.

Oh no, its much different. She is scared of erasure. Of death. She will want to prolong her time as alive, maybe? But that wouldn’t fit would it? Because she died of a pretty regular age. So maybe what this points out is ust that she wants to go out with a bang. A particularly silent bang as we have been seeing.

> A small blessing that it was a goblin of no particular status or power. It could have been far worse. > > I expected the usual sort of punishment from my father. > > I did not expect my mother, returned from a year-long trip, to meet me in front of the house. > > Her first question was after my welfare. I told her I was well, but that the police might reach out to ask more questions, and that I might be asked to Montreal to attend court. > > Her second question was about the Lord of Montreal. I assured her I left things on good terms. > > Her third question, of course, was about her books. > > I assured her the books were well, showing her each of the texts I’d taken with me. > > With that, she left to return to her study, leaving me with her detestable snake and with Father. Even now, as I write this, the house has a smell, very like the aroma in that scene I stumbled on with Minnie and the rest, that had unsettled me so much. > > Ampelos was staring at me, and even though that snake face doesn’t show a damned hint of an expression, I could tell he knew, as though he read my mind. His every movement mocked me. > > It feels like there’s always the group, and then there’s me, standing apart.

I didnt comment on before, but Rose did transform into a cat, and I see no signs of a familiar. A snake can imply so many things. Seeking the truth, coersing others, greed, toxin but also medicine and treatment.

> Ampelos is my mother’s familiar, so he is her ally. My father is, of course, my mother’s partner. > > And then there is me. > > I think, writing this, I have settled on how I feel. Mortified. It’s a good word. > > I cannot make another mistake like I did, but I can’t cover every avenue by myself. I’m too young to take a familiar for life, and I have no friends here. > > I was home, and I felt more homesick than ever. I still do, writing this. > > Ampelos knew all this, and he silently mocked me. My father was in a good mood, but I didn’t hear his words and I think my silence annoyed him. > > He was upset over the girl that the goblin attacked, that I’d let the book out of my sight. He said it was my responsibility. > > I was angry, and I think both of us were a little surprised at how much emotion came out. I said a lot of things, and I was careful to keep my word, but I don’t remember much of it. > > I blamed him, because making friends was hard before, but impossible once I became a practitioner. > > I told him the truth. That I was given the responsibility too soon. Other families don’t let children have powers. I’m sixteen, but I’ve had powers for almost half of my life. > > And then I swore. I swore I wouldn’t ever make my children go through this. I would let them lead lives untouched by all of this. > > Never have I seen him react like he did. As if he’d heard me and he actually listened.

> Ampelos was still there, smug.

> > I don’t know why I did it, but I took hold of Ampelos’ tail, seized a letter opener from the nearest shelf, and I stabbed him, fixing the tail to the arm of the loveseat. I ran, before my father or mother could catch me.

Ooooooohhh fuuuuucccck! Well, we know the weight of making oaths. But what is the weight of hurting a familiar? I still don't quite understand how the snake could be taunting her either when it can only look hiss and move. Maybe its her imagination, maybe its something only she would understand, what it represented in her day-to-day life with her absent, albeit seemingly respectable but also willfully ignorant mother.

> As I said, mortified. I know I have responsibilities. I’ve done irreperable damage by swearing an emotional oath. One I’ll have to keep or be forsworn. > > I know I’ll have to go back and bow my head, accept my due punishment. It’s well after dark, and writing is getting harder as even moonlight is harder to come by. I’m sitting out of sight, using my bookpack as a seat, but trouble is sure to find me. I almost hope it will. > > I don’t know what to do, > > Rose D. Thorburn.

:( She just did the same homeless thing Blake did, didn’t she? She totally did.

> September 25th, 1939 > > Dear Diary, > > I’m not going to write the bit at the beginning. I know there is no use in it. It doesn’t protect me or do anything. I’ve known for a good while, and right now feels like a good time to make a change. I’m fairly certain I never made a promise, more because my father wouldn’t have exacted one from me than because I remember anything that well.

Another answer. You cant just make protections in written letter for your lies. It was just practice.

> I’m not sure if I should write this down, but when I sit here, muddy and bleeding in spots, scuffed and bruised, I think of Minnie, and I think I want to preserve as much of myself as I can. Even the gory bits. > > I found trouble. Aimon Behaim. Years older than me, visiting home while an injury heals. An enemy. > > He mocked me, following me, and it took me minutes to realize why he wasn’t doing more. My mother was back, and he was scared. > > I called him on it, and I offended his pride. He teased me, a working of spirits to bring raindrops down from leaves overhead, and I retaliated by throwing down the clay doll I keep Arsepint inside, giving an order to attack. Something of an overreaction. > > I didn’t think that a soldier might be carrying a firearm.

That sounds like trouble.

> I had to order Arsepint away before he could kill my oldest servant, and Aimon closed the distance, and pressed the gun to my head. I spat in his face, he grabbed me by the hair, and we fought. I dug my fingernails into his bandages, he tried to throw me over the edge of grass so I might fall in the lake, and I pulled him after me. > > Like my argument with my father, I can’t say everything that happened. It was stupid, ignoble, and animal. > > I look at him now, lying still beside me, and I think maybe Aimon was just as scared and frustrated as I was. A different kind of fear and frustration, but it was there. > > Somewhere along the line, he decided to let me win. I ended up above him, pinning him. > > He didn’t expect me to call Arsepint back, and have the lesser goblin bring me the dropped firearm. > > With a gun to his head, he refused to say uncle. To relent in the simplest, smallest way. I think that was when I realized we were the same. There was only us.

The first time she didnt feel alone maybe. The only time she ever had a group.

> And Arsepint. But allowances must be made. > > He kissed me, and I kissed him back. > > Things went to natural places from there. > > I’m enjoying sitting here, watching Aimon’s bare chest rising and falling. He has a bloody nose and it’s making him snore, and I like that. > > When I’m writing, dear Diary, I sometimes like to think that you’re communicating with me, when my thoughts clarify and I can jump to new ideas. It’s sad, that I give you an identity, when you’re only one of a long series of notebooks, but I’ll hold to the idea because it makes it easier to put pen to paper. > > If you were communicating with me, I’d think you just pointed out how Aimon and I were connected in the heat of the moment. You might be telling me I could have an ally in this. A way to make up for the damage I’ve done to my family with a careless oath. > > But Minnie is still fresh in my mind. Trusting the wrong person is a telling mistake, with consequences and damage. > > And I think of my first diary, your predecessor. Of Pearl, who offered me an enticement before dragging me off to where I could be beaten. > > I don’t know what to do, but it’s a more comfortable sort of doubt. At worst, I have an enemy I know and that’s better than having and knowing nothing at all. My predecessors will have to bear with me. > > R.D.T.

And thus she would forever go into a life of doubt. I now trust that she was the author of most books rather than her mom contributing to most of them as I thought before. She was reclusive, we don’t know anything about a grandfather. Ok. Thats the end of Bonds and we end it by seeing how the family bonds that began this arc and this story started, what are they built on. Things make a lot more sense and I'm very satisfied with what we've got thus far. Everyone just seems... unhappy, never satisfied. Those are dangerous feelings for people with power in their hands.

I'm currently in a shed in the middle of the woods, I'll maybe do an after arc thoughts. Something more in-depth. But that is a big maybe, becuase right now, I'm diving right into Arc 2!!

2019 clarification: Reminder that this was all written January 2018. That trip seems so long ago!

#CodeZeta liveblogs #pact #PactArc1 #Pact1.x

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vitalmindandbody · 7 years

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If not my surname or my husband’s, could we call most children after a New Zealand volcano?

Franki Cookney and her husband didnt much like each others surnames, so now theyre having a baby theyve decided to pick a brand-new one

When my husband, Rob, and I marriage last year, the question of what to do about our surnames scarcely recruited our discussions. We are both scribes, so our names are on every piece of work we do. That we would deter our own seemed a yielded. There was just one niggling disbelieve. What would happen if “were having” brats?

I had always thought that we would just deposit both our identifies on the birth credential, but I knew this didnt fairly resolve the problem. Whose identify would go first? And which reputation would end up being used?

We could use a double-barrel call, but didnt detect our surnames, Cookney and Davies, gave themselves to hyphenation. Whichever guild you choose, research results is clunky and we were reluctant to saddle a child with it.

We could have just preferred whichever call sounded best with our babys first name. But in that scenario, one parent culminates up not sharing a surname with their child and neither of us wanted that. Plus, Id sounded too many fables of parents being agreed upon at airport protection because the refers on their passports didnt equal that of their children.

The traditional alternative of taking my husbands surname was never on the table. Fairly apart from the feminist principle of not wanting to renounce my identity for his, I wasnt keen on the identify. Rob supported this and was by no means offended. The fus was, he wasnt a fan of my appoint either. Its precisely a bit unwieldy, he said. Its almost Cockney but not quite. Youre perpetually having to spell it out. We looked at our moms maiden reputations and our grandparents names but ever intention up back in the same plaza, feeling that it wasnt equal, that picking one surface of their own families over another wasnt fair.

We hit on the idea of taking a new reputation about a year ago when before our bridal we went to write our wills. As we chit-chat to one of the attorneys, it transpired that he and his wife had done precisely this. Theres a fair fragment of admin, but its good, it operates, he did , nodding decisively. Unexpectedly, it didnt seem so outlandish. This wasnt some childish disobedience or bohemian pretentiousness, this was something solicitors did!

We mooted it with friends, who were largely unfazed. What appoint will you go for? was the thing they were most strange about. Good query. Could we mix the messages of our identifies and establish something new, we wondered. Directories were attained: Dents, Cave, Devine, Kinsey, Dacovnicks Cookies? Nothing of them quite hit the mark.

As our wedding gleaned nearer, we made the appoint competition on a back burner. But when I became pregnant 3 months later, we were forced to look at the situation afresh and decided to change tacking. How about a plaza? I intimated. Somewhere weve inspected that we enjoyed. A backpacking stint before we got married had left us with plenty to choose from but most sounded reasonably bizarre when attributed to a couple of ordinary Brits. Rob and Franki Tongariro possessed any particular sparkle, but reputation yourself after a New Zealand volcano would be ridiculous. And Zhangjiajie might create retentions of dazzling Chinese mountains, but imagine having to spell it every time you booked a whisker appointment or called your internet provider. For a while Salento and Chaltn were on the roster, after places available in Colombia and Argentina. But we werent convinced we are to be able pull off the patently Latino-sounding former and supposed the latter would lead to a lifetime of chastening people who enunciated it Charlton.

Then Rob mentioned, What about Stone Town? The beautiful old-time township of Zanzibar City is where he had asked me to marry him. It instant detected right. Stone was straightforward but important. It seemed good with both our given name and after a few weeks of trying it on with other names would work well with almost anything we decide to for our newborn. It was perfect: a solid epithet( with a potential for puns “thats really not” misplaced on us) that felt like a constructive solution to our problem. We would impede our original surnames for piece and accept this new family name for our personal lives.

By law, all you need to do to change your figure is, well, change it. Simply choosing and using your brand-new call is enough. Informing your reports and accounts, however, requires a document of proof such as a wedding certificate or, in such cases, a deed canvas. “Were not receiving” official acces of buying a deed referendum. You can write one yourself using free templates from the internet, but deficiency of clarity about the process results in some institutions demanding an original certificate despite the fact that no such situation exists. You can either fight it out or you can do which is something we did and offer 15 -2 0 for a company such as the Deed Poll Office to draw up the character on your behalf and print and stamp it on watermarked article. Established the directory of bodies and organisations you have to notify and the health risks arguments over what constitutes an original credential, this seemed a reasonable compromise.

Perhaps “its been” naive, but we didnt expect to meet with resist. Uncertainty, perhaps. Intrigue, for sure. When it came to getting married, we had trenched virtually every habit extending, prohibiting the matrimony itself, and no one had wondered us. Surely this too would be seen as a modern updated information on an outdated habit. But when we announced our decision to our families, the reaction was mixed.

Franki and Rob. Photo: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

While they understood our predicament, the common refrain was that the child would lose the connection to its family history. Try as I might, I cant know what this is. To me, family history exits far deeper than ones call. Its in accordance with the rules we live, our values, the prudence and shared ordeal passed down through generations. It is part of the storytelling our parents did and its in the stories we, more, will tell and the beliefs we will share.

Our roots “re not in” our refers, they are in our middles. My grandmother, whose surname was Jones, is important to me not because of her appoint but because of her ardour. My great-grandmother, a midwife I never even satisfied, let alone shared a appoint with, formations a part of my gumption of identity. Why? Because of the lane my own mother talks about her, because of the pictures she has decorated in my heads of state of that life, that clas, that time.

Interestingly, the reputation itself has also testified a sticking point, with a few people commenting that its abiding. Youre doing this really unusual thing but youve picked a really ordinary appoint, said one colleague, as though by doing something different we are obliged to go the whole hog and announce ourselves Rob and Franki Thundercats.

In fact, the accessibility of the name was something we contemplated would be used sell the idea. It turns out we were naive there, too. My mom, a former primary school teacher, insisted that someone called Stone would be teased. Another relative describing him as a dead weight of a name.

In my experience, boys will come up with monikers no matter what. I wasted often of my school years known as Franki Cookie while my given name was often elongated to Frankenstein, Frankincense or Frankfurter.

Never tell people your call alternatives in advance, admonished one pal( too late ). Its as if telling parties in advance is inviting a talk or consultation!

While my familys thinks undoubtedly matter to me, I suspect she might be right. Ultimately, this is our decision, based on our necessities, and I hope they will come to see it as a practical and positive step , not an reckless one.

Its almost impossible to get everyone on board, adviser another friend, who changed her surname by deed ballot in 2004. The idea upset my grandmother but my daddy, her son, understood. When I married my husband, he took my epithet. Im still not sure two brothers was 100% behind us, but when we had our first son, he was the first to be born into our dynasty. Im so excited that we are the first in our tree!

This is exactly how I find. I affection the idea that our baby will be born into this new, specially elected and carefully thought-out family name. And if the working day he or she decides to change it either to something new or to one of our old last name we will fully support that.

Even when you change names, ancestry can still be traced and, if nothing else, I like to think we will be looked back on as the ones who tried something new; who instead of forming do with an unsatisfactory place, considered creatively about how to solve it. Thats their own families bequest Im glad with.