(no subject)

Woe for Real-Eel [15 Chirreb 4261]

Today's stuff for Vae: a package of marzipan weapons (which are sufficiently harmless for even the most determined anti-doorwayer to deem not aiding monsters, and, indeed, tasty), and a bottle of ink and a few pens so she can practice her handwriting. You might think that she could write some other way, if she wanted to. Well, she can. She wants to practice her handwriting. Better than her spellcraft, I say.

And we were sitting in the grove. I had, of course, mentioned that the summer wasn't as hot as I like it, and she had, of course, turned the branch I was sitting on into a cloud of fire. This left me in mid-air in the midst of a fireball.

Which is, of course, quite comfortable and pleasant. But I am trying to train Vae to stop casting helpful spells on me without asking. I admit to a bit of crooning and stretching before I felt like glaring at her.

Vae:"There's the tooth-sharp look I'm coming to dread."

Me:"I'm afraid so, Vae."

Vae:"It's The Conversation we're about to have again, isn't it?"

Me:"I'm afraid so, Vae."

She turned into a small and very plush pig with a catapult strapped to her back. I don't know why -- she's taken to wearing small and increasingly odd forms when I scold her. We had The Conversation -- I have lost track of how many times we've had it -- and she pretty much recited my lines as I said them.

(Aside: By this point she knows perfectly well that she shouldn't cast spells on me (or anyone) without asking. Except for a few seconds a day: then she can't remember it. Any suggestions?)

And then Real-Eel comes galloping down the road from the next gate up, riding Nestrune's horse Glorglorga.

(no subject)

Woe for Real-Eel [15 Chirreb 4261]

Today's stuff for Vae: a package of marzipan weapons (which are sufficiently harmless for even the most determined anti-doorwayer to deem not aiding monsters, and, indeed, tasty), and a bottle of ink and a few pens so she can practice her handwriting. You might think that she could write some other way, if she wanted to. Well, she can. She wants to practice her handwriting. Better than her spellcraft, I say.

And we were sitting in the grove. I had, of course, mentioned that the summer wasn't as hot as I like it, and she had, of course, turned the branch I was sitting on into a cloud of fire. This left me in mid-air in the midst of a fireball.

Which is, of course, quite comfortable and pleasant. But I am trying to train Vae to stop casting helpful spells on me without asking. I admit to a bit of crooning and stretching before I felt like glaring at her.

Vae:"There's the tooth-sharp look I'm coming to dread."

Me:"I'm afraid so, Vae."

Vae:"It's The Conversation we're about to have again, isn't it?"

Me:"I'm afraid so, Vae."

She turned into a small and very plush pig with a catapult strapped to her back. I don't know why -- she's taken to wearing small and increasingly odd forms when I scold her. We had The Conversation -- I have lost track of how many times we've had it -- and she pretty much recited my lines as I said them.

(Aside: By this point she knows perfectly well that she shouldn't cast spells on me (or anyone) without asking. Except for a few seconds a day: then she can't remember it. Any suggestions?)

And then Real-Eel comes galloping down the road from the next gate up, riding Nestrune's horse Glorglorga.

(no subject)

Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there.

Woe for Real-Eel [15 Chirreb 4261]

Today’s stuff for Vae: a package of marzipan weapons (which
are sufficiently harmless for even the most determined
anti-doorwayer to deem not aiding monsters, and, indeed,
tasty), and a bottle of ink and a few pens so she can
practice her handwriting. You might think that she could
write some other way, if she wanted to. Well, she can. She
wants to practice her handwriting. Better than her
spellcraft, I say.

And we were sitting in the grove. I had, of course,
mentioned that the summer wasn’t as hot as I like it, and
she had, of course, turned the branch I was sitting on into
a cloud of fire. This left me in mid-air in the midst of a
fireball.

Which is, of course, quite comfortable and pleasant. But I
am trying to train Vae to stop casting helpful spells on me
without asking. I admit to a bit of crooning and stretching
before I felt like glaring at her.

Vae:“There’s the tooth-sharp look I’m coming to
dread.”

Me:“I’m afraid so, Vae.”

Vae:“It’s The Conversation we’re about to have
again, isn’t it?”

Me:“I’m afraid so, Vae.”

She turned into a small and very plush pig with a catapult
strapped to her back. I don’t know why — she’s taken to
wearing small and increasingly odd forms when I scold her.
We had The Conversation — I have lost track of how many
times we’ve had it — and she pretty much recited my lines
as I said them.

(Aside: By this point she knows perfectly well that she
shouldn’t cast spells on me (or anyone) without asking.
Except for a few seconds a day: then she can’t remember it.
Any suggestions?)

And then Real-Eel comes galloping down the road from the
next gate up, riding Nestrune’s horse Glorglorga.

(no subject)

Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there.

Woe for Real-Eel [15 Chirreb 4261]

Today’s stuff for Vae: a package of marzipan weapons (which
are sufficiently harmless for even the most determined
anti-doorwayer to deem not aiding monsters, and, indeed,
tasty), and a bottle of ink and a few pens so she can
practice her handwriting. You might think that she could
write some other way, if she wanted to. Well, she can. She
wants to practice her handwriting. Better than her
spellcraft, I say.

And we were sitting in the grove. I had, of course,
mentioned that the summer wasn’t as hot as I like it, and
she had, of course, turned the branch I was sitting on into
a cloud of fire. This left me in mid-air in the midst of a
fireball.

Which is, of course, quite comfortable and pleasant. But I
am trying to train Vae to stop casting helpful spells on me
without asking. I admit to a bit of crooning and stretching
before I felt like glaring at her.

Vae:“There’s the tooth-sharp look I’m coming to
dread.”

Me:“I’m afraid so, Vae.”

Vae:“It’s The Conversation we’re about to have
again, isn’t it?”

Me:“I’m afraid so, Vae.”

She turned into a small and very plush pig with a catapult
strapped to her back. I don’t know why — she’s taken to
wearing small and increasingly odd forms when I scold her.
We had The Conversation — I have lost track of how many
times we’ve had it — and she pretty much recited my lines
as I said them.

(Aside: By this point she knows perfectly well that she
shouldn’t cast spells on me (or anyone) without asking.
Except for a few seconds a day: then she can’t remember it.
Any suggestions?)

And then Real-Eel comes galloping down the road from the
next gate up, riding Nestrune’s horse Glorglorga.