I know I'm being used, but that's okay because I like the abuse

Blogger didn't update the feed whenever I edited an entry in the past; I don't know why it's happening now. Strange, strange things.

Some Greymalkin, at any rate (Bet y'all just thought I was going to keep making veiled and cryptic references to him, didn't ya? Well, I am. Because this sucks, and it isn't even finished, but I can't bring myself to write any more of it. Also, Blaine at 18 is like every angsty emo teenager squared):

--------------

The infirmary was a quiet place in the middle of the afternoon; Maddel always left as soon as the sun rose if there wasn't anyone in the process of dying, and Sigliss took off at noon, leaving him alone with the Shrive. And, it being daytime, the cats were more likely to be napping than causing trouble. He could feel three of them in the corner of his mind, lurking somewhere nearby. Blaine knew he ought to sleep as well, but nervous energy kept him awake. He busied himself with restocking and cataloguing medicines.

He still hadn't quite readjusted to keeping Guild hours- that was why he couldn't sleep, of course. Not because Nagendra had ripped out half of his soul less than a month ago, leaving him a spiritual cripple.

I've got a soul to match my face, he thought humorlessly, as he ground a pile of roots into dust with a well-stained mortar and pestle. At least I'm symmetrical now. The sound of a door opening and the feeling of a stranger on the edge of his consciousness distracted him from what could have been yet another spectacular bout of self pity.

"Excuse me, Healer? I'm supposed to- Tyrin? 'Tasha's tits, is that you?"

The pestle hit the worktable with a hollow sound and rolled in a slow circle; Blaine stared at the man in the doorway. "Grey? What- you-" He tugged frantically at his veil. He'd pulled it down to work, but he couldn't let anyone actually see-

An elegantly manicured hand pulled the veil out of the way. Greymalkin grinned at him. "No shame, Tyr. I've got some of my own." He tapped the jagged that line cut down across his forehead, missed his right eye by the barest margin, and skittered away towards his jawline. "Those are impressive, though."

Blaine grimaced and looked away uncomfortably. "You should've seen the other guy."

"Oh?"

"It was a window. Didn't stand a chance."

Greymalkin leaned against Blaine's work table and laughed. "I'll bet. Holy fuck, Tyrin, it's good to see you- it's been, what, eight years? I almost didn't recognize you, you've changed so much. You're a healer now! I guess that suits, but it's too bad you left the undercity- we used to hear about you from the other Guild all the time." His grin turned sly. "Heard your luck went bad and you got killed on a job, actually."

"I did."

Greymalkin's smile faltered. "You don't smell like a ghost."

"It's...complicated. Tyrin is dead. Somebody sold out his team and they all got caught and killed by their mark. And I'm Blaine Torkehaav, the eighty sixth Apostle of Varun, recently excommunicated."

He whistled through his teeth. "Guess that makes you almost important, doesn't it?"

Blaine forced a laugh. "Almost. Now I'm really just one of Maddel's lackeys. But look at you- you finally earned your tags. I remember when you got your ass kicked as much as I did in hand-to-hand."

"Guess you're not the only one who's changed, Ty- Blaine." He pushed himself away from the work table. "I don't have a whole lot of free time right now, but we really should catch up at some point."

"That would be nice." Blaine added a few leaves to the mortar and began grinding them into dust. "What did you need from the infirmary?"

"Another emergency kit- second room on the left, third shelf, right?"

"Yeah."

And then the infirmary was quiet again, and he was alone, save for the pairs of slit-pupiled eyes keeping watch from between the walls.

-------

Blech. Awwwwwkward. I don't even know where this is going- I know where the whole thing with Greymalkin needs to end up (*sings* Aaaarsenic will do the triiiiick, good thing they're all immune to poison!), but this is just kind of awkward and sad. That does describe Blaine rather well at this point in his life, but Grey, at the very least, needs to be less sad-and-awkward and more devious-and-sleazy.

I am full of meh. I have so many scenes in my head- mostly Blaine/Silverlock things, because I am full of romantic shmoop (Festival of Joshel, meeting Stacia, the first time they fuck, Blaine fighting, Silverlock helping out in the infirmary, on religion, the rest of the Greymalkin stuff, domestic things), but also a few Foxbird-y and Lady Delavrey-y things, all sorts of things about Silverlock's childhood, and some Theron bits (delicous and fat free!). But I have no desire to write, and when I try to force myself, I end up losing interest halfway through, as with this bit.

I've been working on a soundtrack for Blaine and Silverlock in my head because, once again, the sap, it overflows. Most of the titles for all the fragments I've written recently are lyrics from songs that will be included, once I finish the thing- but I don't think either of them will ever forgive me for including both The Offspring and October Project. Hell, I might not even forgive myself.

I need to make another summer mix CD, I think- one with lots of a cappella, live music, Morcheeba, and Moby. Something light on the ears.