lalalalala

(whistling, filing fingernails, playing with cats)

Of course, I already know what happens next. Neener....

curse you wee deb!

(always wanted to say that)

wee deb!

Wee? I'm 5'9" and can match shoulder width with my daughter's boyfriend.

Doing edits on Needfire. Unless I get SA's and Plei's soon, I may post the changes I made, in here, and then give Rebecca and shrift and all to archive.

wee in the metaphorical sense? in the less than the jolly green giant sense? I don't know how it works, I just wanted to say it!

It's a thing, deb, a fun phrase to use against people who have done something that frustrates/annoys in an amusing/irrelevant way. Such as stealing a number that you were trying to number slut or referring to a song that then gets stuck in your head.

Thank you connie. I am vindicated in my expression of deb weeness.

It's definitely getting on toward naptime.

It's from Weebl and Bob!

Curse you, wee bull.

Oh. (clueless)

I wish Rebecca would check in. I wanna post the rest.

It's from Weebl and Bob!

It is? I was just enjoying the faux-Irishness of it all.

OK, so, here's the bit that was added to the last part of Needfire:

• * *

I went to Speakers Corner, and sat, opening the black purse on the ground. Four glass bottles, one through four. One tiny key. I took the bottles out and opened each, in order, setting them down.

I closed my eyes, and spoke. "Papa? Ecoutez, papa."

I am here, petite.

"Tell me how to do this, papa." I was sitting in silence; no one could have heard, no one could have seen. I was Speaker, and my father listened. "Tell me how to go, how to leave this behind. Tell me how?"

That is why I came. Ask yourself first: are you certain, that this is what you want? To go? Because the key to peace, to freedom, is there to your hand. But this is not an easy river to cross, petite. So you must be sure.

(The river of Jordan is muddy and cold, it chills the body, but not the soul....all my trials soon be over....)

"I'm certain, papa. Where will it take me, this key? What does it open?"

A little house, Amadee. I thought I heard a laugh, a warm loving sound, moving down the dead skin and fire-damaged neurons like a hug. A door, to a little house, where you may be lost, or found. Your own little place, yours alone, to move at will between walls of this world and many others.

I drew a breath. "Show me."

Each jar, in order, opening. The first bottle: air. He gave me the casting, my fingers running around the lip of the bottle three times, a breath of sound from the jar, whispering into the tawny streaks of first light breaking, three times, the spell wound up. Second bottle: earth, three times around the lip, a call, a cry from the bottle as the contents rose to meet the air, swallowing the air, then sinking into it.

I began to understand. It was music, the music of the spheres, the power of eternity and infinity, the song that held the universe together. And it sang for me.

Third bottle: water. Three times around and my fingers felt salt water, and clear water, tears and streams, and the song was the voice of a waterfall. They hung around my head, three lines of music, awaiting completion.

Fourth and final bottle: fire. Three times with my dead finger this time, remembering the needfire, hearing with my good ear the sudden howl of sound from the jar. Here was the final tone: dissonance, to balance consonance. All around me the universe hummed and sang, twisted its spherical music.

"Papa?"

Watch the Corner, Amadee, my darling girl. Take the key in your hand. Have it ready. Your moment is coming. And trust yourself, always. Au revoir, petite.

The air began to move. I could see it, molecules of spectral light, of shadow and solidity, the air shook and shuddered and shaped. A portal, a gateway, a door.

I took my bags in hand and went through without a backwards glance.

• * *