My First Yuletide and last night's adventure

[thrihyrne]

This was the first year I participated in Yuletide, and I was alerted to my story last night! The writer selected Pullman's His Dark Materials to write for me, so if you're a fan, go here to read "Last Ounce of Courage" written for me. It focuses on Balthamos, which is even better; I'd selected him as one of the characters I would be particularly interested in reading about. I'm about to write a review for my author. I forgot to note that before all the snow came, I saw two of what I consider to be my own dæmon, or animal that represents my soul, up close and personal eating the cat food on my friends' porch. Raccoons! When I first read the series, I spent loads of time wondering what my dæmon would be: finally it came to me. A raccoon, as I am indeed a night-creature and very clever with my hands, and his name is Gymnopedie. But I'd never seen raccoons up close; they really are pretty cute, even if they're scavengers.

I got to the Christmas Eve service at the Episcopal cathedral in NW Portland last night, but very nearly didn't get home. I am so glad that I went; I've been waxing a bit melancholy about not singing, so this was my opportunity to sing hymns, at least. It was a reasonably high-quality choir (having sung in semi-professional choirs pretty much the entirety of my adult life, yes, I am a choir snob) and I only felt badly that they didn't get to sing the many anthems lined up during communion. There weren't that many of us in attendance due to weather!! But I left with a very light heart and then... had to back out over a snow burm because I'd had to park on the street, and very nearly didn't get over it. My wheels were spinning and there was that awful "tire spinning" stink, but eventually Bianca the Power Subaru™ was a hero and I was able to back out onto the road and get home.

I'm readying myself to return to my other home as Yvonne's son returns today. I'm washing the sheets and will move my things so he feels like it's his room and I'll go back to the other house this evening after I pack up my computer. Right now the house is very quiet so I'm going to drink coffee and write, then when he house livens up I'll take a few more pictures of the inside of the house this time and make some phone calls. Much of my family and some of my dearest friends are on the east coast, but the day is young. At least here in the Pacific time zone!!

For all of you who are celebrating today in particular, I hope that you gain new pleasant memories. This has certainly been a memorable first holiday season for me. Oh! And in what may be the best gift for me, the new friend Julia I mentioned a post or two ago, three houses down in the huge house? Has now suggested that I move in there as my next residence. Aside from needing to get internet since she doesn't even own a computer (and I'd need a space heater as she keeps the house cold, though with another person hopefully I could convince her to change), there are NO downsides. In fact, it rocks. A lot.

Comments

pt 2

[liriaen.livejournal.com]

It's not really in Lucca. It's a small villa in the foothills, tucked between rocks and vineyards, and the scent of honeysuckle is overwhelming. When Ron steps out on the loggia, there's a sea of blossoms: oleander, jasmine, and lavender, plus an undulating wash of flowers he's never seen before. "Sweet," he says, going for noncommittal. "Yours? When did you buy this?"

Draco doesn't answer immediately. The bees are really loud, Ron notices. "Some time ago." Draco doesn't meet his eyes. "The day Milan made their first offer." He looks a lot less imposing like this, shuffling his heel against Palladian stone.

"Why?"

"I thought... I thought you might like a get-away. Milano can be cold in winter."

That's what warming charms are for, Ron almost replies, before hearing the unsaid please. So he nods and slips his fingers around Draco's. "Thank you," he says, and flounders when Draco twists his grip to pull Ron close.

The move lands him nose first in sandal, face buried against Draco's neck. It smells different here, under a warm Tuscan sun. Mixed with Draco's salt and sweat, the miasma of cognac and power is gone: there's more iris now, and nutmeg, and something Ron can only describe as silk and velvet.

It should unnerve him more. But after a while of resting his head in the crook of Draco's neck, his perception shifts. He doesn't know why it's taken him so long to understand that it's a different smell: that, among the many shades of sandal, this is another nuance - something finer, gentler, with a hidden glow like rosewood.

Draco's hands move over his back; restless, hopeless strokes that turn feeble in the end. "It's yours, no matter what happens now." With us.

But. But, don't say that, he whispers in his heart. Eyes closed, he holds on. He can't remember when Draco started using the damned stuff. Can't say when it happened, without him even knowing. But sandal isn't sandal. And Draco isn't Lucius. "Why don't you show me around," he says. You could start with the bedroom. He doesn't say that; he kisses him instead.

Re: pt 2

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

Oh, dear heart. This is absolutely gorgeous. You took such a wee prompt and just ran with it! As always, your imagery and workcraft is breathtaking; the short, snappy sentences, Ron's inner thoughts and struggles, their relationship over time encapsulated so poignantly without being overdone or coyly.

Beautiful! I'll be linking to it to share with the other R/D fans on my flist! Thank you so very much!!! ♥

Re: pt 2

[liriaen.livejournal.com]

Dear, so glad you like it. It's a bit untidy; so much going through my head while writing. Heavily edited (which is errrm certainly hard to notice...) and rewritten a few times. I find myself obsessed with themes of ageing and shifting and changing, this growing out of something and into something else.