I don’t usually weigh in on politics, because frankly, nobody needs my half-baked opinions when they’re looking for something improving to read (that is why people come here, to be substantially improved in one metric or another.) But the PM for the last five thousand years in NZ has just resigned because he’s kind of over it, so I have to re-post a compilation of his best and most compelling arguments.
There’s nothing like being on home ground, is there? Any troublemaker knows that home turf is the best place for launching attacks of the fiendishly brattish kind. You may not be able to step into the same river twice, but you sure can splash around in it.
“There you are, girl!”
A sharp voice emanated from behind her just a moment before two pinching fingers descended on her left lobe. Nive turned to find herself looking into the long, thin face of a woman who had a rather dignified demeanor when she was not contorted with irritation. Her dark arched brows were halfway to her graying hairline, her lips pursed into a thin line. Nive knew this woman. Her name was Mrs Meansington, and she was the head of housekeeping. She was the one who ensured that the matters of cleaning and such were attended to.
“I told you to turn down the beds three hours ago. Where have you been?!”
Nive was utterly confused as to how she could possibly have been told anything, and tried to say as much, but she did not have a chance. Before she knew what was happening, Mrs Meansington had pulled up the rear of her skirts and began belaboring her bottom with the flat of her her long, bony hand.
An updates has happends!
Something I’ve been meaning to work on for some time, alongside the online stories I’m writing, is a history of Ayla. When we first meet Ayla in Over Witch’s Knee, she is already many hundreds of years old and has lived a full life. She is self-possessed and of a calm and at times, commanding temperament. She takes the thief Atrocious both under her wing and into her bed, regarding her initially as something like a cross between a student, a plaything, and a lover.
Much like Kira, Ayla is not necessarily a ‘good’ character. But she is well loved in spite of her flaws. So I think my next Lesbia book will tell some of the tale of her early years. There is some cannon backstory to her emergence into Lesbia, which you can read here: A History of Ayla , but I want to write a true narrative of the trying time which she faces after emerging from the prison of her youth into the mortal world of Lesbia.
Here’s a little of that tale in progress:
Ayla took her first steps into the world of the mortals, finding herself in a forest which was exactly the same as the one she had left, and yet nothing like it at all. Her gossamer robes were too light against the cold winds of the world of the mortals. She had never felt weather like this before. Her years in the prison were calm ones. Obsidian walls did not move, nor did the air inside them, lest it be fanned by some deliberate act. Out here the leaves and grass never seemed to stop waving in constant gusts and breezes, and above them the sky went on forever. It was foreign, this world, and the young witch desperately wanted to be back in the dark shadows in which she had been born.
It could not be. The prison which she had known as home had collapsed under an avalanche of hatred. Her mother was gone, taken by the walls. There was no going back to the elven realm in which she had been born a prisoner. There was only the way forward…. a way she did not yet know and could not begin to imagine.
but right now, here’s some fascinating geology from the recent earthquake, during which surface faults moved at 3 km/s and uplifted new landmass. Also, kiwi accent. So much aksunt.
Pretty sure we didn’t set the train tracks up to veer across the road, across what was sea bed until late last week, and under a massive slip. Perhaps the most unbelievable thing about this picture though, is the fact that you’re looking at the remains of what had been the major national highway in the south island. That was our good road.
So there was a large series of severe-ish earthquakes last night which sent us scrambling for higher ground in the wake of vague but ominous tsunami alerts and sirens which were activated about two hours too late, but blared until well past dawn to make up for their tardiness. There’s nothing quite like curling up in bed after a long night of evacuations with the horns of doom sounding in the mid-distance while being gently rocked by multiple aftershocks. Such a cozy feeling.
We’re fine though, so that is good. Lesbia to continue soonish.