Chương 281: Day Two Hundred And Seventy-Nine

Dear Diary, Weird, I pop off about something one day, and somehow thinking about it, even ranting about it makes me realize how I was wrong about some shit. Like, while I know I totally go off about me not having any morals, if I think about it? For a voracious slut-beast of deific proportions, the fact that I have some deal-breakers really ought to be a clue that, if you burn me, grind me, and sift me, you'll find at least a few morals.

The fact that I now need new panties really says more about my taste in adults only entertainment than my morals. Seriously, it surprises me to say any of that, but, like, Consent is Important. Not just in the 'puree Villains formerly Lancaster' sense, but in the 'let my lady bits throb in unpleasant frustration if I realize I'm bordering on violating it' and 'seek unpleasant penance like cleaning smegma if I realize I've violated Consent inadvertently'.

'Bigotry is wrong'. Yeah, I know, most of my life I spent in the 'being bigoted against' position, but I've found myself really thinking lately about things like calling Odin a 'Fucking Legalistic Asgardian Lawyer who envisions himself the ultimate One Eyed Monster'. I'm not using 'Asgardian' there as a slur, more an identifier of which Deific fuckface I'm talking about, since let's face it this world apparently kept ordering variety packs until they got the whole set. On the Penance and Atonement thing?

I get that me having Saffron direct Marie to make some portion of my scars into something resembling ritual art is not, in fact, punishment. Our whole back and forth there is half code speak, half reminding each other why we enjoy turning our brains off and letting the other one drive, half bonding experience, and half me teasing Saffron about how bad my mathematical abilities are.

I also realize that me volunteering to do the laundry of male Cadets who've explored the fact that their only previous experiences with a penis were, in fact, pleasurable, and adding a second might make it some ratio moreso, only to find that nobody's stopping them from increasing the number of penises until Aphrodite is staring in horrified awful fascination. Okay, I know, it's hard to stare when you're masturbating furiously, and we all know she'd be doing that shit, but still. Where was I?

Oh, yeah, turning that kid's crusty modern art sculptures back into something resembling sheets is definitely punishment, one that I'd assign myself if I do something wrong enough to deserve it, but that doesn't mean shit to someone I've hurt. I also need to tell them I was wrong, tell them it's not their fault that it happened, and let them know that if there's something I can do to undo the harm I did them, all they gotta do is tell me what needs to be done.

Then back the fuck off, because it's not about me feeling better, it's about me correcting my wrongdoing. Okay, correcting my wrongdoing is maybe partially about making me feel better, but it's not 'I do it because it makes me feel better', it's 'I do it because it's the right thing to do, and doing the right thing makes me feel like a better person'. That kinda naturally leads to 'hurting people so you can apologize properly and feel better is contraindicated you dumb bitch'.

Because while I've begun to realize that 'dumb bitch' is not the whole of who and what I am? The totality of me definitely has a large 'dumb bitch' component. I am presently bringing it under control by, with Saffron's help, getting the 'horny bitch' component to sit on its face until it passes out when it's getting out of hand. So I'm not made of immorality or amorality even. I've got a few morals, maybe. I... holy shit, I have a moral compass. To quote a wise being, 'broken, and small, but still good'.

'But Tabitha,' you're saying, 'how is it broken? It still points unerringly at "fash bigot rape is bad, myeah?" doesn't it?' To which I say, 'yeah, the needle points the right way when it's balanced right, but the cover's cracked, all the water the needle's supposed to float in has leaked out, there's some grunge growing in there somewhere, the arrow pointing at 'mutually joy inducing shenanigans' is faded and hidden by lens glare when the light's at the wrong angle... the thing is busted as shit.'

But, y'know, it's mine. It suits me. And before somebody points out how that's kinda self-destructive, I'll point out that I've recently collected enough brushes, both paint and tooth, paints, polishes, epoxy, and box tops to get my wish. com restoration kit together and dedicated some time weekly to doing the work to get it unbusted. So yeah, maybe self-critical, but recognizing that my shit is busted, but deciding to work on it rather than using it as an excuse is Adulting, right?

Okay, I just heard those little 'individual threads snapping' that let you know you've pushed the elastic to its breaking point from my own brain, so I'm gonna stop the recursive navel gazing for the moment. But, because my navel is just the sort to gather some really noxious crud if I let her, I'm noting that I will be back again to gaze some more later, so try to keep that shit from fermenting. Last night Mimic dreamt of Mom doing something. Looking around for someone?

Not sure, what with the whole 'seeing her by looking at what wasn't' combined with, y'know, the unpleasant stench of ninety thousand rotting corpses. Woke to Saffron's lips gentle against my own.

"Good morning, love. Thank you."

"Any time you need it, Kitten."

"Probably not, but thank you for the offer." I growled at her a little, "what exactly is preventing my love from healing?" She shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed before she whispered, "other than quite a lot of the hurt going quiet hearing you call me your love?" She opened her eyes and smiled blissfully at me.

"We both have responsibilities, ones that require our active attention, which would hurt both of us more to fail at than both of us are restored by a cuddling session, no matter how wonderful." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I pouted.

"Why you gotta be right all the time?" She put on her most regal look and said, "it is one of my responsibilities, and just part of me being my best self. You don't like it?" I indulged myself a little with Pout Two, Pout Harder, and muttered, "only when you hit other people with it. Or when you let somebody use it on me like a sex toy. You should do that more. Like, do it at all. Mostly you. But somebody." Look, I'm pouting here, it doesn't have to make sense.

She straight up grabbed my pouty little bitchface with one hand and simultaneously squished my cheeks and wrenched my eyes up to trap them in a gaze like melted beer bottles pretending to be amber.

"On the day the ledger is cleared, you will look back on this day and laugh with joy at how foolish you were to request that." Then she leaned in and breathed in my ear, "instead of demanding it every moment of every day until the end of time itself." Which is right when Menace sleepily said, "Whath's a lejer? Legger?" Blessed Marie body-checked the conversation in a direction which prevented my lady-boner from becoming painfully awkward by saying, "Book."

Saffron, settling her head against my chest, a warm weight on my tits, said, "not incorrect, but incomplete perhaps. A ledger is a list of accounts. Who you owe, who owes you, the history of who owed who what when. It helps you tell who you can demand things of, who you ought make an effort to pay back, who has taken advantage of your trust, and who has unfailingly paid you back more than you gave them out of gratitude." Her gaze wandered across the three of us, looking a little scared. Concerned, even.

"I gadda legger?" Saffron shook her head, which totally hit pause on my response long enough for her to say, "no, my girl. Not with us. You don't keep ledgers with family for the most part, and never, ever with your children. I made the choice to bring you into this world. It is my responsibility, not to mention joy, to give you whatever you need, whether it's something to help you grow, something to help you heal, or something to let you find your own way in life.

Something I will be terribly proud to see you do for your own child when that day comes."

"Mama gadda legger tho?" Saffron giggled and booped Isnomi's nose.

"That is entirely because your mama likes it when I hold her to account, and though it still surprises me, likes it ever more when I'm meticulous about it." Then the Menace made all our sphincters clench by hitting us with the Big Bad Evil Question.

"Why?" Oh, fuck. I realized, as Marie turned and Saffron cocked her head to look up at me, that she hadn't asked us. She'd asked me. Specifically. About why exactly I when presented with Baskin Robbins thirty-one kink flavors in all their glory, with none of them sitting empty and sad, I kept going for Subbing with Masochism chunks, sprinkles, and melted Masochism sauce over top. Uh... Mom powers activate?

"I'm working to be a better person, and your mom keeping a ledger and holding me to account for my actions helps me with that." Holy shit, that's actually both true, simple enough for our precocious tot to understand, and G-rated enough that I didn't feel skeevy in the slightest explaining to her. Indeed. I'm proud of you, love. Her Grin made a cameo. Would you prefer that cancel some of your debt or be saved for some eventual credit towards favors of a no doubt depraved nature?

Uh, can I get it put in the file to be included on ledger clearing day? If her Grin didn't make an appearance just then, her eyes absolutely blazed, in a good but very hungry way, because my lucky little bitch Kitten had the back of her head pointed at Isnomi. You are such an utter glutton. Is that really what you want done with any favor you earn from me? Uh... yeah. Let's go with that as default for now. Sorry about the gluttony. She laughed at me while thinking, oh, love. How often you forget.

If it weren't unfair to keep Marie out of it, and Grandma most certainly won't watch for us for that long if it's not an emergency, I would even now be advocating for a glutton-off competition to show you that you are not, indeed, the more gluttonous of us. Sigyn'd watch. Her mouth dropped open and she stared at me. You will... no, you probably won't regret that during Summer break. Ooh. Ledger clearing Summer break is a go! Now the Grin slid onto her face. Oh, no.

But I will remind you at the end of break that I will not, in fact, consider that my ledger clearing in any way. To try and make you piss yourself in a terrific loss of control if nothing else. I sighed, just a little overwhelmed.

"I love you." She stretched up and kissed me.

"And I you, love. Marie? Is it time?"

"Breakfast."

"Thank you. Shall we be about it, ladies?" With that, we all helped each other out of bed and into our uniforms for the day. Breakfast proved that the rest of the Cadets were hidebound, not stupid, as every table now had a big old basket of mini loaves of cornbread delivered. Cornbread, butterish spread stuff, preserves, even a jar of honey. Nothing but eggs for protein, and it looked like the stocks of sriracha had waned, but they still got some pepper, and little chunks of jalapeno.

Saffron and I took the sole copy of Law and Custom of Camden Yards up to our copy room and got to work. I think I've gotten the hang of the 'being a scribe' thing. I mean, none of it was fancy. Most of it was the next best thing to a fifth grader's best block printing, really. But everything was legible, un-smudged, and complete by the end of the day. Saffron got her copy done, and I'm not even feeling some kind of way about the fact hers was prettier than mine.

Yeah, I got all up in my feels last week, but that was about her writing a whole goddamned reference book in half the time it took me to copy a single book. That made me feel like the whole 'I'm her pet' thing was way less 'having some fun with our comfort zone roles' and more 'actual truth, because she was so much smarter that I had no chance of understanding her at all, ever'. It also wasn't true, which helped wipe those feels away.

Her having nicer handwriting than me, and matching my third week pace out of the gate? Look, I've hit a point of grown up where I can fully accept playing second fiddle to her first chair. I mean, shit, when it comes to that, I'm the clear winner at life here, what with finding a partner who is satisfied with my efforts while being a goddamned virtuoso. No, I'm not talking about sex. Not entirely, at any rate.