*clings to the outside world*
Jul. 11th, 2011 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniYay! This is the first time since Wednesday night that I've had Internet and phone.
We had a big rainstorm Wednesday night, when we got about an inch of rain in about half an hour. All that moisture tripped the fail-safe on the outlet into which my Internet/Phone is connected.
Audrey reset it on Friday, but the Internet never came back, and I had to wait until she returned today so I could borrow her cell and call Verizon service. Luckily, they were able to fix the fault remotely, but it took a while...
In the meantime, four and a half days where I have no one to talk with but myself? Not a pretty mental space.
I need a burn phone.
In the meantime, in order to keep sane, I gave myself 2 24-hour writing challenges, and successfully met the first:
"Sally," her mother called. "It's time to go, and don't dawdle!"
Sally hesitated for just a moment. Then she scooped up her find and hid it behind her back, as she trotted up to her parents in the parking lot. She knew she couldn't really hide it from them, but maybe her mother would let her keep it, once she saw Sally holding it, and saw it up close.
"What have you there?" her mother asked, suspiciously.
Sally brought it out, grasping it protectively by one paw.
Her mother gasped. Her father choked on the swig of water he'd just taken.
The "teddy" was stained with black smudges of mud, and its fur was matted down with dampness in a few places. But other than that, it was good as new -- except that it had one rabbit's ear, a crocodile snout, webbed hind feet to match, and a lion's tail. And Sally loved it.
"Good Lord!" her mother said. "Where did you find it?"
Sally scooped Zoo-Zoo Bear (as she'd named him) protectively into the crook of her left arm, to shield him from her parents disapproval, and pointed to the edge of the parking lot, where the asphalt was crumbling, and a small stand of trees and weeds was pretending to be a forest. "Over there," she said. "Can I keep it? Please?"
Her parents exchanged one of their Glances. Her mother pursed her lips, and her father coughed lightly.
"Some other little girl might have lost it," her mother said, "Don't you think we should turn it in to the Lost and Found?"
Sally hugged Zoo-Zoo Bear tighter. She didn't want anyone else to have a claim on him.
Her father glanced at his watch. "We're don't have time to look for the Lost and Found, now," he said, herding them toward the car with a hand on their shoulders.
"Peter!" her mother protested, under her breath.
"Let's just get there in peace," he muttered back, as if Sally couldn't hear him.
Sally climbed into the booster seat in the back and did up her own seatbelt. They might try to take him away, later. But for now, she'd won.
Her father pulled onto the highway, again, and they continued on toward Great Aunt Elinore's house, for a mandated visit. Sally knew that none of them really wanted to go, but, as her mother said: "It was just one of those things." After a moment or two of awkward silence, her mother turned the radio back on, and the car was filled with the voices of grown-ups arguing about the news. Sally tuned it out. At least, that let her parents be in their own world.
She sat Zoo-Zoo Bear on her lap, and gazed into his eyes. They weren't like other teddy bear eyes -- but bright green, with red pupils -- like she imagined dragon eyes to be. It was his eyes that drew her to him -- she'd seen them glinting brightly in the dappled sunlight in the weeds, and at first, she'd thought they were beetles, and went closer to investigate.
And that's when she saw his alligator snout fringed 'round with white, felt teeth, and mismatched ears, and feet, and knew this was the bear for her. She was old enough, now, to understand that the bear wasn't really alive. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd called her over, somehow, and asked her to take him. She couldn't have just left him there, after he'd asked.
She smoothed down the fur around his shoulders. The black smudges were dusty, and came almost all the way off just by themselves, sifting to the floor like charcoal dust. This was a new bear-- Sally was sure of it. His stuffing was as firm and even as those stuffed animals they gave as prizes at the state fair every summer. And he smelled of nothing except the ground and bushes where she'd found him. If he'd ever been hugged or carried by another child, even if he'd just been laundered he would have smelled more like the blanket on her bed.
No, Zoo-Zoo did not belong in the Lost and Found -- he belonged with her.
She had so much she wanted to tell him. But she didn't want to say anything out loud, in case her parents heard. But he would understand why it was so unfair that she'd gotten in trouble in school. Mrs. Zachery wouldn't put her picture on the wall with the other kids,' because she'd drawn a spider-bird-horse-giraffe as her "favorite animal," because it wasn't real, like a cat or a dog, or elephant or gerbil, like the other kids drew. Mrs. Zachery had never said it had to be a real animal, just a "favorite." But she still said that Sally hadn't followed the rules.
But how could Sally pick just one favorite animal? So she mixed them together.
And then, Tessa made fun of her, and called her "Dumb-dumb" on the playground. So Sally pushed her. She only wanted her to go away. But Tessa fell, and started crying. And Sally's mather was called in for a meeting. And Vice-Principal Watkins showed her the picture, and said Sally was Troubled. and Needed Help.
And then, Sally found Zoo-Zoo. And the fact that he existed somehow meant that she was All Right. Mixed-up animals could be real, even if they were really make-believe.
The theme tune of the next show came on, blaring, and Sally's mother turned off the radio. Her shirt rustled as she shifted in her seat, and Sally put her head back and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
"Do you think it's a good idea," she said to her father, in that Secret Talk voice, "letting her keep it?"
"I don't know. Are we letting her keep it?"
Sally hugged Zoo-Zoo tighter.
"But it's so strange -- are you sure it's safe?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, do you think it could be sabotaged, somehow?"
"You mean, like a bomb, or drugs?"
Her mother shushed him.
Her father put on his blinkers, and pulled into another lane.
"I think it's from that Fluffy Hearts disaster, actually," said.
"But that was months ago -- and all the way in Michigan."
"What else could it be?"
"But how did it get here -- just out in the open like that?"
"I dunno. Where to all those single shoes come from, on the side of the road?"
"Hmph, Was there a recall?"
"We can look it up when we get home," he said. "And she's passed the 'choking hazard' age, anyway. I don't see how one week could do any harm. And besides, she may get bored with it by then, and we can send it back."
Sally pressed her face into the top of Zoo-Zoo's head, and promised never to let that happen.
Then she fell asleep for real without even realizing it.
And then her father was shaking her awake, and unbuckling her seatbelt.
It was dark, now. And her neck was sore. But Zoo-Zoo was still on her lap. She tucked him into the crook of her left arm again as she stepped down from the car, and quickly pulled bits of dead leaves from the tuft of Zoo-Zoo's tail before taking her father's proffered hand.
Her sneakers crunched on the white gravel of the drive, which almost seemed to glow in the blue evening light, and she looked up at the house. It was old, with fancy chimneys and corners and things sticking out -- not like the normal square houses in their neighborhood. And it was big. She wondered if this was what a castle looked like.
But her mother said: "Phew! This place is practically falling down. I wonder how Elinore can keep living here by herself."
They were the last to arrive.
A tall, fat man with thin yellow hair and a blue-striped button shirt opened the door. "John!" he said. Long time no see!"
"Phillip," her father said, stiffly.
Phillip bent down in front of Sally. He smelled like whiskey, and stung her nose. She held her breath.
"And you must be Sally Rose," he said. "The last time I saw you, you could fit in a shoebox." He was about to say more, but then he caught sight of Zoo-Zoo, and straightened up, awkwardly. He glanced at her father, with one eyebrow furrowed. "Y-Yes," he said. "Yes, indeed." He nodded to her mother. "Sarah," he said, "Lovely to see you again."
"Phil," she replied.
"Everyone's in the parlor," the man said, and led them in, and announced them: "Well, the Johnston's have finally arrived! We're a quorum, now!" And he laughed out loud.
Sally slipped behind her mother -- it looked like there were a dozen people here, all grown-ups, and none of them people she knew. She was the only kid here, and she was afraid she was going to be pushed forward and introduced as the Baby all Grown Up.
But Aunt Ellinore, who sat in the middle of the gathering like a queen in her rocker, interrupted him. "You missed dinner, Johhny," she said, to her father. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes, sorry. No, thank you," he said. "Drive took longer than we expected -- we ate on the way," he explained. "But it's past Sally's bedtime... maybe we could put her to bed, first...?"
"Yes, yes, of Course. The room's on the second floor, third door on the left." Aunt Ellinore ducked her head a little, and glanced down at Sally, behind her mother's legs. "Would you like some milk and cookies before Bed, Dear?" she asked.
Sally did. But she didn't want to say so, in front of all these strangers. So she shook her head silently.
"What do you say?" her mother prompted.
"No, thank you." Sally said.
Several of the grown-ups awwed and clucked appreciatively, and her mother patted her on the shoulder. "I'll take her up," she said, and she scooped Sally up onto her hip and carried her up the stairs and into the third room on the left; Sally clung tight to Zoo-Zoo, so's not to drop him.
The room was small, with a dresser and a table with a lamp to go with the bed, and a small, oval rug that looked like it was made from scraps of fabric on the floor. But there was an old wooden doll on top of the dresser, and maybe that's why Aunt Ellinore thought this was a good room for Sally.
Her mother helped Sally out of her shoes and dress, and said that, for tonight, it was okay for her to sleep in her undershirt; they'd get her bag with her pjs in the morning. Then, she tucked Sally in, and tucked Zoo-Zoo in beside her. But Sally could see that she still pursed her lips when she looked at him.
Then, she kissed Sally on the cheek, and turned out the light, and closed the door behind her, but being careful to leave it ajar enough for a little light to come through from the hallway.
And then, Sally lay there, listening to the grown-ups talking, downstairs. Usually, that helped her fall asleep. But this time, their voices sounded a little bit angry. And she didn't know why. She didn't even know why they'd come, really, except that Aunt Ellinore had asked them to. It wasn't even Christmas, or Thanksgiving or even anyone's birthday. ...Well, maybe it was Ellinore's birthday. But why would that mean staying for a whole week? And why stay here, why not in a hotel?
Sally was still awake when the grown-ups stopped talking, and started coming up the stairs. She listened as doors opened and closed all down the hallway, and her mother and father going into the room across from this one. That was good. But some footsteps continued up, even over her head. Sally had never been in a house with three floors, before. She lay there and listened to her ceiling, as people walked above her.
And then, it was all quiet for real.
That's when Sally wished she could have fallen asleep before. Because if she were awake after all the grown-ups were asleep, that's when the Shadow Creatures came out from the walls.
She heard them, first: talking among themselves -- planning all the things they would do to her once they caught her -- in their groaning, growling, whispering, language. She closed her eyes tight, and pretended to be asleep. If they thought she were asleep, maybe they would leave her alone.
But she heard them come closer, anyway. And she couldn't help but peek, just a little.
That's when she saw the Shadow Creature's pointed ears, sticking up over the the edge of the bed, and then, its eyes -- just pools of paler grey -- not a proper color.
And then, something wonderful happened.
The Shadow Creature caught sight of Zoo-Zoo Bear, and, like that big man Philip, backed away, with a little yelp, and slid back down through the cracks between the floorboards.
It gave Sally just enough time to roll over, and pull the covers over her head, and tuck Zoo-Zoo's head under her own chin.
The next thing she heard was her mother's Secret Talk voice, from the other side of the door: "She really did sleep through the night," she said -- "even in a strange house."
"And that thing didn't even explode," her father answered, with a chuckle.
Sally lay very still, and pretended not to have heard them. But she could tell that Zoo-Zoo was hers, now. For real.
--end--
This second one, I did not meet [Points to the bad mental space, and not really being in a good condition to think about a story with tragic undertones], but at least I got something down, and the first bones of world-building]:
Humans have many names for them. Humans of Scandinavian descent call them "Trolls." Humans and trolls dwell together in the same temporal universe, more or less, but their respective realities are more intersecting than cooexistant -- like the warp and weft of a tapestry, or basket, each lives in the spaces of Space-Time where the other does not.
It's a wonder, then, that trolls and humans encounter each other at all. But they do, occassionally -- in mountain ravines, or near bridges, or any such space where the nature of space, itself, is indeterminate.
Trolls, being the more ancient of the two species, have a deep mistrust of humans, especially hunters, with their guns, and clergy, with their churchbells, and merchants, with their coins. The sounds these human artifacts make send shockwaves through the fabric of the universe, and disturb the trolls' daily lives. And the humans act as if they're entitled.
Defending themselves against this extistential incursion of the humans is at the center of almost all troll culture, because it is necessary to create free space for every other aspect of daily life to flourish. However, there is a major rift among the trolls as to how this defense should be carried out.
One tribe (known among themselves as the Lightning Trolls, known by Outsiders as Nasty trolls) defend themselves by exploiting humans' own mistrust and resentment toward each other -- As a lightning bolt finds a fissure in a tree, splitting it, and burning it -- distracting humans with their own discord, and thus limiting humanitiy's power to encroach on the realities,
The other tribe (known among themselves as the Well-Spring trolls, or Joyful Trolls among their Outsider allies, and the Mewling Trolls among their adversaries) defend themselves along two tracks. The first track, in their own world, is to work and perfect what they call "Clariying Magic" -- magic that can penetrate the disturbances created by human activiities. The second track is to find subtle ways to encourage humans' desire to cooperate and play -- thus limiting the human desire to drown out each other's church bells with louder ones, or to hunt each other with firearms.
Each branch of trolldom is proud of its own heritage, and claims to be the older and truer society. No one can (or it may simply be that no one dares) say with certainty how much of these histories is true, and how much is legendary pride.
---
Oh, and there were things I wanted to rant and/or cheer about over the last five days, but I have a migraine now, and want to take a break from this screen for a bit...
We had a big rainstorm Wednesday night, when we got about an inch of rain in about half an hour. All that moisture tripped the fail-safe on the outlet into which my Internet/Phone is connected.
Audrey reset it on Friday, but the Internet never came back, and I had to wait until she returned today so I could borrow her cell and call Verizon service. Luckily, they were able to fix the fault remotely, but it took a while...
In the meantime, four and a half days where I have no one to talk with but myself? Not a pretty mental space.
I need a burn phone.
In the meantime, in order to keep sane, I gave myself 2 24-hour writing challenges, and successfully met the first:
"Sally," her mother called. "It's time to go, and don't dawdle!"
Sally hesitated for just a moment. Then she scooped up her find and hid it behind her back, as she trotted up to her parents in the parking lot. She knew she couldn't really hide it from them, but maybe her mother would let her keep it, once she saw Sally holding it, and saw it up close.
"What have you there?" her mother asked, suspiciously.
Sally brought it out, grasping it protectively by one paw.
Her mother gasped. Her father choked on the swig of water he'd just taken.
The "teddy" was stained with black smudges of mud, and its fur was matted down with dampness in a few places. But other than that, it was good as new -- except that it had one rabbit's ear, a crocodile snout, webbed hind feet to match, and a lion's tail. And Sally loved it.
"Good Lord!" her mother said. "Where did you find it?"
Sally scooped Zoo-Zoo Bear (as she'd named him) protectively into the crook of her left arm, to shield him from her parents disapproval, and pointed to the edge of the parking lot, where the asphalt was crumbling, and a small stand of trees and weeds was pretending to be a forest. "Over there," she said. "Can I keep it? Please?"
Her parents exchanged one of their Glances. Her mother pursed her lips, and her father coughed lightly.
"Some other little girl might have lost it," her mother said, "Don't you think we should turn it in to the Lost and Found?"
Sally hugged Zoo-Zoo Bear tighter. She didn't want anyone else to have a claim on him.
Her father glanced at his watch. "We're don't have time to look for the Lost and Found, now," he said, herding them toward the car with a hand on their shoulders.
"Peter!" her mother protested, under her breath.
"Let's just get there in peace," he muttered back, as if Sally couldn't hear him.
Sally climbed into the booster seat in the back and did up her own seatbelt. They might try to take him away, later. But for now, she'd won.
Her father pulled onto the highway, again, and they continued on toward Great Aunt Elinore's house, for a mandated visit. Sally knew that none of them really wanted to go, but, as her mother said: "It was just one of those things." After a moment or two of awkward silence, her mother turned the radio back on, and the car was filled with the voices of grown-ups arguing about the news. Sally tuned it out. At least, that let her parents be in their own world.
She sat Zoo-Zoo Bear on her lap, and gazed into his eyes. They weren't like other teddy bear eyes -- but bright green, with red pupils -- like she imagined dragon eyes to be. It was his eyes that drew her to him -- she'd seen them glinting brightly in the dappled sunlight in the weeds, and at first, she'd thought they were beetles, and went closer to investigate.
And that's when she saw his alligator snout fringed 'round with white, felt teeth, and mismatched ears, and feet, and knew this was the bear for her. She was old enough, now, to understand that the bear wasn't really alive. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd called her over, somehow, and asked her to take him. She couldn't have just left him there, after he'd asked.
She smoothed down the fur around his shoulders. The black smudges were dusty, and came almost all the way off just by themselves, sifting to the floor like charcoal dust. This was a new bear-- Sally was sure of it. His stuffing was as firm and even as those stuffed animals they gave as prizes at the state fair every summer. And he smelled of nothing except the ground and bushes where she'd found him. If he'd ever been hugged or carried by another child, even if he'd just been laundered he would have smelled more like the blanket on her bed.
No, Zoo-Zoo did not belong in the Lost and Found -- he belonged with her.
She had so much she wanted to tell him. But she didn't want to say anything out loud, in case her parents heard. But he would understand why it was so unfair that she'd gotten in trouble in school. Mrs. Zachery wouldn't put her picture on the wall with the other kids,' because she'd drawn a spider-bird-horse-giraffe as her "favorite animal," because it wasn't real, like a cat or a dog, or elephant or gerbil, like the other kids drew. Mrs. Zachery had never said it had to be a real animal, just a "favorite." But she still said that Sally hadn't followed the rules.
But how could Sally pick just one favorite animal? So she mixed them together.
And then, Tessa made fun of her, and called her "Dumb-dumb" on the playground. So Sally pushed her. She only wanted her to go away. But Tessa fell, and started crying. And Sally's mather was called in for a meeting. And Vice-Principal Watkins showed her the picture, and said Sally was Troubled. and Needed Help.
And then, Sally found Zoo-Zoo. And the fact that he existed somehow meant that she was All Right. Mixed-up animals could be real, even if they were really make-believe.
The theme tune of the next show came on, blaring, and Sally's mother turned off the radio. Her shirt rustled as she shifted in her seat, and Sally put her head back and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
"Do you think it's a good idea," she said to her father, in that Secret Talk voice, "letting her keep it?"
"I don't know. Are we letting her keep it?"
Sally hugged Zoo-Zoo tighter.
"But it's so strange -- are you sure it's safe?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, do you think it could be sabotaged, somehow?"
"You mean, like a bomb, or drugs?"
Her mother shushed him.
Her father put on his blinkers, and pulled into another lane.
"I think it's from that Fluffy Hearts disaster, actually," said.
"But that was months ago -- and all the way in Michigan."
"What else could it be?"
"But how did it get here -- just out in the open like that?"
"I dunno. Where to all those single shoes come from, on the side of the road?"
"Hmph, Was there a recall?"
"We can look it up when we get home," he said. "And she's passed the 'choking hazard' age, anyway. I don't see how one week could do any harm. And besides, she may get bored with it by then, and we can send it back."
Sally pressed her face into the top of Zoo-Zoo's head, and promised never to let that happen.
Then she fell asleep for real without even realizing it.
And then her father was shaking her awake, and unbuckling her seatbelt.
It was dark, now. And her neck was sore. But Zoo-Zoo was still on her lap. She tucked him into the crook of her left arm again as she stepped down from the car, and quickly pulled bits of dead leaves from the tuft of Zoo-Zoo's tail before taking her father's proffered hand.
Her sneakers crunched on the white gravel of the drive, which almost seemed to glow in the blue evening light, and she looked up at the house. It was old, with fancy chimneys and corners and things sticking out -- not like the normal square houses in their neighborhood. And it was big. She wondered if this was what a castle looked like.
But her mother said: "Phew! This place is practically falling down. I wonder how Elinore can keep living here by herself."
They were the last to arrive.
A tall, fat man with thin yellow hair and a blue-striped button shirt opened the door. "John!" he said. Long time no see!"
"Phillip," her father said, stiffly.
Phillip bent down in front of Sally. He smelled like whiskey, and stung her nose. She held her breath.
"And you must be Sally Rose," he said. "The last time I saw you, you could fit in a shoebox." He was about to say more, but then he caught sight of Zoo-Zoo, and straightened up, awkwardly. He glanced at her father, with one eyebrow furrowed. "Y-Yes," he said. "Yes, indeed." He nodded to her mother. "Sarah," he said, "Lovely to see you again."
"Phil," she replied.
"Everyone's in the parlor," the man said, and led them in, and announced them: "Well, the Johnston's have finally arrived! We're a quorum, now!" And he laughed out loud.
Sally slipped behind her mother -- it looked like there were a dozen people here, all grown-ups, and none of them people she knew. She was the only kid here, and she was afraid she was going to be pushed forward and introduced as the Baby all Grown Up.
But Aunt Ellinore, who sat in the middle of the gathering like a queen in her rocker, interrupted him. "You missed dinner, Johhny," she said, to her father. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes, sorry. No, thank you," he said. "Drive took longer than we expected -- we ate on the way," he explained. "But it's past Sally's bedtime... maybe we could put her to bed, first...?"
"Yes, yes, of Course. The room's on the second floor, third door on the left." Aunt Ellinore ducked her head a little, and glanced down at Sally, behind her mother's legs. "Would you like some milk and cookies before Bed, Dear?" she asked.
Sally did. But she didn't want to say so, in front of all these strangers. So she shook her head silently.
"What do you say?" her mother prompted.
"No, thank you." Sally said.
Several of the grown-ups awwed and clucked appreciatively, and her mother patted her on the shoulder. "I'll take her up," she said, and she scooped Sally up onto her hip and carried her up the stairs and into the third room on the left; Sally clung tight to Zoo-Zoo, so's not to drop him.
The room was small, with a dresser and a table with a lamp to go with the bed, and a small, oval rug that looked like it was made from scraps of fabric on the floor. But there was an old wooden doll on top of the dresser, and maybe that's why Aunt Ellinore thought this was a good room for Sally.
Her mother helped Sally out of her shoes and dress, and said that, for tonight, it was okay for her to sleep in her undershirt; they'd get her bag with her pjs in the morning. Then, she tucked Sally in, and tucked Zoo-Zoo in beside her. But Sally could see that she still pursed her lips when she looked at him.
Then, she kissed Sally on the cheek, and turned out the light, and closed the door behind her, but being careful to leave it ajar enough for a little light to come through from the hallway.
And then, Sally lay there, listening to the grown-ups talking, downstairs. Usually, that helped her fall asleep. But this time, their voices sounded a little bit angry. And she didn't know why. She didn't even know why they'd come, really, except that Aunt Ellinore had asked them to. It wasn't even Christmas, or Thanksgiving or even anyone's birthday. ...Well, maybe it was Ellinore's birthday. But why would that mean staying for a whole week? And why stay here, why not in a hotel?
Sally was still awake when the grown-ups stopped talking, and started coming up the stairs. She listened as doors opened and closed all down the hallway, and her mother and father going into the room across from this one. That was good. But some footsteps continued up, even over her head. Sally had never been in a house with three floors, before. She lay there and listened to her ceiling, as people walked above her.
And then, it was all quiet for real.
That's when Sally wished she could have fallen asleep before. Because if she were awake after all the grown-ups were asleep, that's when the Shadow Creatures came out from the walls.
She heard them, first: talking among themselves -- planning all the things they would do to her once they caught her -- in their groaning, growling, whispering, language. She closed her eyes tight, and pretended to be asleep. If they thought she were asleep, maybe they would leave her alone.
But she heard them come closer, anyway. And she couldn't help but peek, just a little.
That's when she saw the Shadow Creature's pointed ears, sticking up over the the edge of the bed, and then, its eyes -- just pools of paler grey -- not a proper color.
And then, something wonderful happened.
The Shadow Creature caught sight of Zoo-Zoo Bear, and, like that big man Philip, backed away, with a little yelp, and slid back down through the cracks between the floorboards.
It gave Sally just enough time to roll over, and pull the covers over her head, and tuck Zoo-Zoo's head under her own chin.
The next thing she heard was her mother's Secret Talk voice, from the other side of the door: "She really did sleep through the night," she said -- "even in a strange house."
"And that thing didn't even explode," her father answered, with a chuckle.
Sally lay very still, and pretended not to have heard them. But she could tell that Zoo-Zoo was hers, now. For real.
--end--
This second one, I did not meet [Points to the bad mental space, and not really being in a good condition to think about a story with tragic undertones], but at least I got something down, and the first bones of world-building]:
Humans have many names for them. Humans of Scandinavian descent call them "Trolls." Humans and trolls dwell together in the same temporal universe, more or less, but their respective realities are more intersecting than cooexistant -- like the warp and weft of a tapestry, or basket, each lives in the spaces of Space-Time where the other does not.
It's a wonder, then, that trolls and humans encounter each other at all. But they do, occassionally -- in mountain ravines, or near bridges, or any such space where the nature of space, itself, is indeterminate.
Trolls, being the more ancient of the two species, have a deep mistrust of humans, especially hunters, with their guns, and clergy, with their churchbells, and merchants, with their coins. The sounds these human artifacts make send shockwaves through the fabric of the universe, and disturb the trolls' daily lives. And the humans act as if they're entitled.
Defending themselves against this extistential incursion of the humans is at the center of almost all troll culture, because it is necessary to create free space for every other aspect of daily life to flourish. However, there is a major rift among the trolls as to how this defense should be carried out.
One tribe (known among themselves as the Lightning Trolls, known by Outsiders as Nasty trolls) defend themselves by exploiting humans' own mistrust and resentment toward each other -- As a lightning bolt finds a fissure in a tree, splitting it, and burning it -- distracting humans with their own discord, and thus limiting humanitiy's power to encroach on the realities,
The other tribe (known among themselves as the Well-Spring trolls, or Joyful Trolls among their Outsider allies, and the Mewling Trolls among their adversaries) defend themselves along two tracks. The first track, in their own world, is to work and perfect what they call "Clariying Magic" -- magic that can penetrate the disturbances created by human activiities. The second track is to find subtle ways to encourage humans' desire to cooperate and play -- thus limiting the human desire to drown out each other's church bells with louder ones, or to hunt each other with firearms.
Each branch of trolldom is proud of its own heritage, and claims to be the older and truer society. No one can (or it may simply be that no one dares) say with certainty how much of these histories is true, and how much is legendary pride.
---
Oh, and there were things I wanted to rant and/or cheer about over the last five days, but I have a migraine now, and want to take a break from this screen for a bit...
