“That was kinda, sorta, the how of figuring out the superficiality stuff.” It was a marked change; word after word came out like Sam had burned or bitten her tongue and expected each syllable to hurt. She kept her eyes fixed on the tiny pool of ink Saxsice had created, but continued to answer. “I could see auras before that, but while I was snowblind, auras were the only thing I could see. It seemed like that brought them into focus, but I didn’t care about that because I was living in dread of spending the rest of my life seeing only what nobody else did because what the doctor said didn’t mean shit. I mean, leg’s buggered up because someone didn’t know what they were doing; not a lot of faith left for the next chucklefuck, y’know? Sometime the second morning I had an epiphany piggybacked on a panic attack, or something. I remember crying. But that was also when I realized how much of the world as we know it is only surface stuff.”
Sent from my iPad
On Oct 29, 2023, at 9:19 PM, queenking - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org<a>dw_null@dreamwidth.org> wrote:
[queenking: ([neutral] ew no why)] Saxsice King (queenkinghttps://queenking.dreamwidth.org/profile) replied to a comment you left in a Dreamwidth entry "open post"https://queenking.dreamwidth.org/2581.html. The comment they replied to was:
"Oh, okay then. That makes all the difference." And it did; Sam was once again, visibly content. "When I heal something, most of the time, it looks and it sounds like it should hurt; there's the same sorta shurrrrp noise really bad peeling from a sunburn can make, and it does pull... but it doesn't hurt. Just feels weird. And probably my skinwitchery is faster, cause once I get a grip on a wound it comes off easier than the bandaid over it."
What happened when she did a thing, even when it was a witchy thing--that was easy to explain, so long as the focus was on the what and not the why. What had happened, to her, was harder, and so Sam paused, running her tongue over her teeth for a moment's stall on answering. "You know how I mentioned that one New Year's as the worst holiday I ever had?"
The reply was:
"Bet that's kinda fun, in a weird way. Y'know, when you pick a scab or whatever? Except it doesn't actually hurt or make shit worse." Saxsice unscrews the pen, pulling out the little plastic cartridge filled with ink, then snapping it in half so she can drip the liquid right onto the surface of her coffee table. That can't be even remotely sanitary, but maybe werewolf healing means she can't get any infections?
She dips the tip of the needle into the ink, then glances over at the pause, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I remember. When we were fixin' that little video game cabinet fucker."
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Sensing this is a heavy moment, Saxsice keeps carefully tattooing her ankle, making a long, thick line up the side of her leg. When Sam pauses, she glances up, offers a half-smile.
"Sounds like...a lot, all at once. A good realization, but a heavy one."
"It was a lot. Is a lot. I feel like I've cheaped out on you, y'know, trying to pass 'I realized how much of the world as we know it is only surface stuff,' off as event the start of a summary, cause like on one level? That's obvious to everybody, at least everybody who doesn't have x-ray vision or an offshoot, so whoa, I know, shocker. And at the same time, this is exactly the sort of thing where talking about magic is a struggle that makes me feel stupid because none of the words I have work the way I need them to if I'm going to get what it's like across. Gawd." And then, for good measure. "Shit. Fuck. And damn."
It was a lot to say, all out in a rush, but it (was Sam again trusting her mouth to solve a situation by just letting whatever wanted to come out of it come out of it unexamined, unimpeded) worked, pushing through the heavy moment like a woodpecker working through the bark and phloem. That was it; the moment was over, ended, eroded, and Sam set it aside to stand and poke softly at the beginning of Saxsice's rather temporary tattoo. "Anyway,"
"Nah, you haven't," Saxsice says gently, wiggling her toes at the poke. "I appreciate you tellin' me, y'know? I bet it's not easy. I can't even talk about who and what I am, gotta talk around it like it ain't there. Facing shit head-on isn't really my style."
Settling down the needle, Saxsice hugs her knee to her chest, watching the ink for a moment. Before their eyes, it bleeds, scabs over, then smooths out, all within a handful of moments. Then, just as suddenly, the ink starts to weep out of the skin, slow at first, then spraying out like a tube of toothpaste that's been squeezed. Saxsice watches, bemused, then wipes away the last drips of ink, showing her skin as unmarked as it had been before the needle. "There y'go. My party trick."
"Admitting to it is easy, because you're in the mix yourself. We're on pretty level footing, you and me. Explaining it is a bitch. But... thank you; it's good of you to say that." Under other circumstances, Sam would've inflicted a companionable shoulder-check; she just wasn't in a good position relative to Saxsice to do that, though, and would've waited for her to set the needle down regardless. She kept quiet to join the other woman in watching, the anticipation unmistakeable... and the 'party trick' worth the wait, odd enough to make her laugh aloud. "That's cool! But also definitely something I could intervene in."
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no subject
“That was kinda, sorta, the how of figuring out the superficiality stuff.” It was a marked change; word after word came out like Sam had burned or bitten her tongue and expected each syllable to hurt. She kept her eyes fixed on the tiny pool of ink Saxsice had created, but continued to answer. “I could see auras before that, but while I was snowblind, auras were the only thing I could see. It seemed like that brought them into focus, but I didn’t care about that because I was living in dread of spending the rest of my life seeing only what nobody else did because what the doctor said didn’t mean shit. I mean, leg’s buggered up because someone didn’t know what they were doing; not a lot of faith left for the next chucklefuck, y’know? Sometime the second morning I had an epiphany piggybacked on a panic attack, or something. I remember crying. But that was also when I realized how much of the world as we know it is only surface stuff.”
Sent from my iPad
On Oct 29, 2023, at 9:19 PM, queenking - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org<a>dw_null@dreamwidth.org> wrote:
[queenking: ([neutral] ew no why)] Saxsice King (queenkinghttps://queenking.dreamwidth.org/profile) replied to a comment you left in a Dreamwidth entry "open post"https://queenking.dreamwidth.org/2581.html. The comment they replied to was: "Oh, okay then. That makes all the difference." And it did; Sam was once again, visibly content. "When I heal something, most of the time, it looks and it sounds like it should hurt; there's the same sorta shurrrrp noise really bad peeling from a sunburn can make, and it does pull... but it doesn't hurt. Just feels weird. And probably my skinwitchery is faster, cause once I get a grip on a wound it comes off easier than the bandaid over it."
What happened when she did a thing, even when it was a witchy thing--that was easy to explain, so long as the focus was on the what and not the why. What had happened, to her, was harder, and so Sam paused, running her tongue over her teeth for a moment's stall on answering. "You know how I mentioned that one New Year's as the worst holiday I ever had?" The reply was: "Bet that's kinda fun, in a weird way. Y'know, when you pick a scab or whatever? Except it doesn't actually hurt or make shit worse." Saxsice unscrews the pen, pulling out the little plastic cartridge filled with ink, then snapping it in half so she can drip the liquid right onto the surface of her coffee table. That can't be even remotely sanitary, but maybe werewolf healing means she can't get any infections?
She dips the tip of the needle into the ink, then glances over at the pause, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I remember. When we were fixin' that little video game cabinet fucker."
From here you can:
Reply to this comment by replying to this email. Replies will be formatted using Markdown syntax. Your comment must appear before all other text at the top of the reply email. Do not change the reply-to address. It uses a secret address to identify you. Reset the secret addresshttps://www.dreamwidth.org/manage/emailpost if you've accidentally shared it with anyone else.
no subject
"Sounds like...a lot, all at once. A good realization, but a heavy one."
no subject
It was a lot to say, all out in a rush, but it (was Sam again trusting her mouth to solve a situation by just letting whatever wanted to come out of it come out of it unexamined, unimpeded) worked, pushing through the heavy moment like a woodpecker working through the bark and phloem. That was it; the moment was over, ended, eroded, and Sam set it aside to stand and poke softly at the beginning of Saxsice's rather temporary tattoo. "Anyway,"
no subject
Settling down the needle, Saxsice hugs her knee to her chest, watching the ink for a moment. Before their eyes, it bleeds, scabs over, then smooths out, all within a handful of moments. Then, just as suddenly, the ink starts to weep out of the skin, slow at first, then spraying out like a tube of toothpaste that's been squeezed. Saxsice watches, bemused, then wipes away the last drips of ink, showing her skin as unmarked as it had been before the needle. "There y'go. My party trick."
no subject