Metaphor

We're so used to speaking figuratively that sometimes it's important to clarify when a comment was literal.

Landing

And after that long virtual marathon it comes to this: sitting cross-legged on a real bed, trying to explain, in inadequate words, things which I don't fully understand.

The reason I've considered Damrak: to replay that scene with me there as a person.

The reason that last time with Jacob was so hard: the sense that I no longer mattered; that he can have what he can hold, but no more. The rest of me... is up there with the bright-coloured birds in the virtual trees.

I must have some room to move if I'm to be there; all of me; engaged. Some sense that what I do makes a difference, even if it's small. Some hope. Take that away, and there is only outward surrender and inward flight.

We'd come so far.

Change tense: We've come so far, and in exploring edges and boundaries we've messed up for a bit.

It was even all virtual. I could have broken the connection at any time. But I still believe it's a failure to quit an engagement once I've committed to it. How do I work on that?

It is no longer a simple thing of lust and joy. It's a more complex thing of lust and joy and negotiation and accidentally/intentionally stumbling into old scenes which I need to learn to avoid completely or replay with altered scripts.

The nanites seem to be settling in okay. No immune response to them, although the spikes in pulse, respiration, etc, had the medics holding me for observation for hours longer than they'd said.

I did warn them.

Hunters

Damrak is here: hungry, but diverting from his hunting to watch my dancing and marking. He knows; at least some of it. He'd like a chance to mark this body, too.

I've told him 'no'.

Why did I do that? Do I not want to? Am I scared to? Is it – on balance – not worth it?

Once again I've made no promises, yet once again I'm turning down other opportunities. I could have taken a lover for the duration of the gathering. I could have celebrated with my cohort or, come to think of it, with a number of groups. But I haven't. I can almost imagine the report card: “Matariki fails to play well with others and turns down opportunities to bond with them.”

Part of me would like to try Damrak again with me as an equal, or even as the hunter. What would it be like? A struggle and a fight: he's another man I have no concerns about breaking. He's such a hunter – am I wrong to call him a predator? – that I think of him as fair game. I'm intrigued. Not before the marks, though – the clone was barely healed from the last time with Jacob, and Frarn had rolled his eyes at the extra challenges of working with distressed skin. Not after, either: ouch. So no Damrak for me this time.

I'm also... would I want to lie in his arms betweentimes? Would there be – could there be – gentleness and wordplay? Would I want there to be? If I'm trying out some hunting of my own and also making a point, don't I just want to be able to walk away? That was lovely. Have a good life.

Does it work like that? Maybe I could just assume the world into that sort of shape and it wouldn't realise any differently, the way I didn't realise any differently.

Jacob's doing well so far at making me want to stay. I think he understands more of the game than I do. I sometimes think he understands some things about me that I don't yet know. There I was, hoping to be a special and unique flower, and I'm coming to suspect that I'm (also?) a type, with triggers and responses in common with many others. I imagine that with his age and experience you see patterns; know your prey; learn the choreography.

I'm enjoying learning.

If I'm being played, for now it's worth it.

Waiting

We're waiting for more entries in the lists of the missing from Frarn, Eystur and Lustrevik. Epecially from Lustrevik, where we have kin-houses which are checking their registers.

We won't be ending the gathering early. The decision is to keep on doing just what we would have done. We're more watchful, sure, and there's interest in how the ground-based operations on the other planets have run and what we could do against Sansha if they came here.

I should be used to it by now, the sense that I should be flying. There's almost resignation that each time I embark on something in the traditions that will take me away from the pod there will be some event that will have me feeling I ought to be back there.

This hurts. Purely physical pain that grows and grows and does not diminish until you're suspended above it, knowing it and focused by it. There are drugs for it, if I want them. I don't, or at least not yet. All that willpower training must be useful for something. And I'm feeling it and thinking of his touch. Wise? Perhaps not, but it makes the cut and burn seem something quite different.

Marking

When tomorrow's work begins there won't be a way I can lie comfortably. From then until the end will be shifts of the skin-smiths, and chanting, and wiping of blood.

It all came together quickly.

I saw the first drawings. Gave some feedback; considered the aunt's comments. After the dance, though, the artists all wanted to make changes. I ended up dancing again for them: the dances Auntie Gytha taught me when I could barely walk, the Atamahara and Maa'Tushindor traditions, the Gallente dance I studied. What they wanted most were my dances. My version of the fire dance; Shura'aia; Plein Air; the water and fire sections of the cleansing series; even my improvisations to Verone's piano playing. I have danced myself for them and they have redesigned the marks for me.

It's going to be beautiful. Strong; fluid; graceful.

I want to wear this design. I want to be worthy of it.

Daughters

Mother's here. She seems to have taken lessons in holding babies gracefully. I guess that does mean she's useful to give Kerem more breaks, even though the idea of mother actually changing her granddaughter is head-shakingly incongruous. They do look well together. I'm sure mother's aware of that.

We had one of those conversations:

“Jonny?”

“Gone.”

*pause*

“But you're not alone.”

“Correct.”

*pause*

“Will Jonny be back?”

“I don't know. *pause* I hope so, for Maia.”

Why is it still so hard to ask her about my father?

Witnessing

My teeth are chattering as I write this. I'm wrapped in a blanket with a warm mug of something Auntie Gytha brewed up.

I danced today. For Ko Braya – for the gathering – and to have my marks witnessed. That last bit meant I wasn't wearing very much. And it's cold here. And the dance involved water. Which would all have been okay except that afterwards I was asked to wait around, cooling down, while the techs took altogether too long to confirm that the recordings were clear and uncorrupted. I froze while my people tried to make it through from the other side of the main arena with my cloak.

After they confirmed the recordings I got a surprise: something I hadn't thought would happen so soon. I've been acknowledged as a teacher. I know enough about the dance forms to pass them on, and I'm okay with students. I can, officially, do what I've been doing this last week. This is unexpected and really rather special. And will require another mark.

But the clans have witnessed my marks. When I carry them over ... should I say that my marks will be notarised? The voluval, anyway. I'll have footnotes worked into the new designs.

There's much discussion over the designs for my new marks. Also suggestions about a few other things to add while we're at it. Oh, and while we're here Ulf's getting a mark for the relief of Lantorn.

I'm finding the hard way that not all my marks are visible.

Designs

I had a chat with Uncle Malmar. Found out that Karnedo Tresh, Jamla Main, Frarn Eisenar and Waneshendi Unver are all here: the best skin artists in Maa'Tushindor. Got cleared to make a call to my clone crew, then started some talks.

I have a plan.

Death-bringer

Torg Shamaatha Braya is not that old – maybe twice my age. He led troops at the Battle of Tears. He lived. I remember thinking, when I saw him first, that he wished he hadn't.

Torg Shamaatha Braya bears responsibility for many deaths through his career. I noticed him again today, while I was guiding some young dancers, and realised that I bear responsibility for more. Deeper than that: I felt a strange kinship in the sudden knowledge that the erenda of death-bringing has worn us both.

... and I went on and corrected the posture of a young dancer and shaped another's hands into the wind-form. This is the life I first trained for.

Marks

In my body again, marked with my marks: tribe, sub-tribe, clan, name-mark; voluval; first-child. Stretch marks nearly faded by the treatments. Wound nearly healed.

I've left a clone marked in other ways. I wish... I wish I could have brought those marks with me: to know them, even to show them.

I've had that clone well over a year. It was Kahu's gift of freedom to me: unmarked, able to determine its own beginnings.

While I'm away I'm having that clone marked with my marks. I'd like to live as though it's the real me living my life.

I don't know how to be a peaceweaver who flies and kills. That'll be an adventure.

I find myself wanting to be all my 'me's together.

I want privacy. I want to tell the worlds.

Connections

Maia is well. Kerem is talking. Ulf is angsting. I'm longing for an absent lover. Situation back to normal.

It's good breathing the same air with kin again.

The gathering is huge.

Last night it rained. I have a pile of bandannas originally in Atamahara red and gold which are now swirls of orange. One of the outworkers got keen and commissioned a batch of them from some generic supplier. I've been coordinating a recall and replacing them with clan-made sashes which use stable dyes.

We need to talk with our outworkers more. The bandannas are a small sign.

Officially, we're in the phase of puzzle-contests, story-telling and dance performances. I'm one of the judges of the fire dance. Win it one year: judge it forever.

Unofficially... the discussions are under way. At least I'm still on the fringe, but being fast-tracked. I wish I felt the confidence I show.

Ulf lives in apprehension of being married off. He's smitten with Carinelle, and mostly happy. He still doesn't seem to realise that it'd take something big for it to be worth it for Atamahara to marry him away.

The problem -- potentially, for him -- is that some of the discussions are big.

Gathering

I missed the last gathering of the Maa'Tushindor clans. I was hacking up pod goo instead, still learning the trick of breathing it in without choking and gagging.

The time before that I danced the fire dance. Other dances as well. Some private performances. It was an adventure. New people; intense flirtations; quite a few clanchildren born after.

But not mine.

Ko Braya's called the clans together again. This time Atamahara wants its pilots there. We're the blingships in the fleet; perhaps the bait.

It'll take weeks. I really, really wish she'd chosen another time.

Had the chat with Eva. Her advice is a lot like Auntie Gytha's, but -- how to put it -- quite sanguine about the idea that damage happens. I won't think of nanite repair paste or research for structure repair bots the same way for a while.

I'm happy.

I'm having to consider answers to the questions I usually ask.

I'll find a bespoke nanite maker.