plus the study of Latin made me really get English grammar, my understanding of which prior to that had been almost entirely intuitive.
Yes, this, most definitely. I went at it the other way, though: Greek, Latin and French (and later German) were all as a direct result of somehow magically connecting that wow, barbarian, what a cool word - Latin for "stranger"? And there's the Greek root, even older? Duuuuude!
English, for me, is still almost entirely intuitive. It isn't that I didn't study, admire and memorise the bits about the structure that I loved; I did all that. But I connect the English language in my head the way I connect music in my head. It's an osmotic thing, wherein the language and music both become essentially mantras. And as a result, I shy away from having them explained, because, well, what happens when you decontruct a mantra? It tends to stop working.
Will finish this Last Water Standing fic tomorrow, I do believe, on a very nicely lesbian note.
English is mostly intuitive for me as well, though Latin has certainly increased my understanding and appreciation of the English language. I love reading it out loud, because it's great fun to pronounce.
SA, which Latin text are you using, at your school? It's not Wheelock's, is it? I remember seeing Romans in mullets on the cover in one of your photographs.... I liked Wheelock's.
I don't know right offhand. All my textbooks are buried away for the summer. Wait--it was the Oxford Introduction to Latin or something like that. The first book was orange and the second was yellow. Very neon-y and ugly.
What does two semesters of your work in Latin translate to? I'm not familiar with the formalized-college-work system, I did all this shit independently with various graduate Classics students as tutors. Are you in Latin III now?
Well, the classes are broken up into three levels that are taken one per semester with a corresponding book. So in the fall I'll be beginning Latin 103 with the ugly blue Latin book. Official Latin classes stop after that, and move to Roman civilization and literature. I have the sneaking suspicion that in order to remain a Latin TA I'm going to have to take a Latin course each semester, which annoyingly will probably get me a Latin minor and possibly could make me stay another gorram year. Sigh.
I was doing hte choreography for the siege of the convent, when a missing scene to Touch tugged on my arm. After all, there's got to be a morning after ...
The alarm rang in what could only be a smug manner, mocking him for staying out till all hours on a work night, drinking and brooding and --
And.
Xander went very, very still after smacking the alarm quiet. There was somebody else in his bed, and if he hadn't dreamed all that, said body would have short bleached hair and be equipped just a little differently than the last body that had shared his bed.
If he didn't look, maybe he could pretend . . . no. The bedroom door was open, and out on the living room floor he could see a pile of clothing that screamed "person other than Anya."
He had dreamed of the night's events before, but he'd never thought of the morning after. So. Cold, clear light of day. No excuses of booze or loneliness or anything. What do you do, Xander Harris? Do you jump out of bed screaming? Do you very carefully reach for that stake in the duffle bag under the bed?
Or do you slide back under the covers, shove the pillow into a more comfortable lump, and wonder how much sleep a vampire needs so as not to be cranky when someone pokes them awake in the morning after the night before?
God, he was still gut-wrenchingly tired, but at least that was from being up too late, not from bad sleep brought on by booze and depression. Behind the tired, his brain was remarkably quiet, with faint murmurs of contentment and bemused surprise. So that was gay sex. Or maybe just sex with Spike. He fought off the urge to call Buffy and compare notes. Or maybe call Anya--
No. Nope. Stop that. Still resolving which way to move, here, away or back.
Work. Should work. But the boss had given him a look yesterday that said a distracted construction guy was not a good construction guy.
He picked up the phone and called the boss' cell phone. "Hey, Sam, it's Xander. Look, I think I'm going to take the day off, is that OK? Oh, good. No, it's all good, I just need a hell of a lot more sleep. Yeah? Well, thanks for the opinion. I don't know if I'm better, but--I think it's a possibility. Yeah. I'll be in tomorrow. I'll bring donuts. Bye."
No movement from the body behind him. Maybe vampires did conk out that hard during the day. Or maybe he was thinking his own thoughts.
Nah, the vote is no on meaningful conversations right now. Sleep, sleep was the thing. Physical tired sleep, not mentally tired, avoid-the-world sleep. Good sleep.
He'd slid back under the covers into his toasty warm spot before he'd finished thinking. And then he looked over at the other side.
Spike was facing away, motionless. Asleep, awake and listening, no response either way. Later for that. Xander sleepily studied the pale shoulder sticking up out of the covers, admiring the lines of muscle and bone. He ran a hand very lightly along the cool skin, just to remind himself of the texture, hoping he wouldn't wake him.
"Night, Spike," he yawned, letting his hand slide down Spike's back to the bed between them. "Or morning. Or whatever . . ." Settle things later, after more sleep . . .
Mortal breath and heartbeat slowed to the rhythm of rest. Vampire shoulders relaxed just as slowly as they'd tensed at the sound of the alarm.
And vampires do not cry, especially not because of a casual, burning brush of mortal fingers on someone who shouldn't expect more than a coldly polite request to forget everything that happened in the weird, permissive night. Certainly nothing like a continuing welcome, nor a sleepy friendly greeting, and most certainly not a touch of acceptance and companionship.
A stronger person would leave, steal a blanket, sneak out, make for the lonely safety of the sewers. Love's bitch, though, never claimed to be strong, and it was much sweeter to roll over very carefully and go back to sleep while watching someone else's face.
connie. Oh, connie. You've made me well up. Damn you, woman.
Damn you, woman.
You're welcome. Back to the carnage at the convent.
I'm going to pop over to LJ to read the next segement very soonish.
Oh, lovely Connie. I want to snuggle them both, or make them breakfast, or something.
Make us breakfast after we finish snuggling, please.
(will not write second major AU, won't, won't, won't)
Wait, I'm supposed to be writing the convent, never mind, going away now.
