ALBATROSS 3a
Monday, February 15, 2010
River Tam's diary at the Academy. Part 3, considering where she's been and where she is now. Ongoing.
I've split Part 3 into two parts because of the length, 3a and 3b.
For those who want to start at the beginning, Part 1: http://www.fireflyfans.net/bluesun.aspx?bid=22568
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 3534 RATING: 10.0 (PG13) SERIES: FIREFLY
Once again, thanks to Bytemite and gilovetodance.
The entries remain cryptic and unordered as usual. Questions, comments, guesses welcome. Have at it.
[Joss is boss, River is not mine, etc. ad nauseum, ad infinitum...]
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ENTRY #????
Do you know what I’ve done? I’ve gone so much farther than the other subjects, as usual. Ha. Great things to be expected, a great and terrible grace. Of course. Everyone knows it from the time they’re two: “a badly painted tiger looks like a dog; a badly carved swan looks like a duck”. I hoped so badly that one day I’d cease to be an ugly duckling, but now, now the power is still hidden behind the portrait-eyes. I can’t figure out who’s in charge of this circus. And they’ve clipped my wings—-I’m no longer allowed out of this room, this cell, except my visits to Mathias and Slawn.
___
ENTRY #????
Ode to Hypnos
Sleep’s warm fingers on my neck
A gentle weight on thighs, shoulders, back
Head indented in the pillow
A little rest.
___
ENTRY #????
I was supposed to be the mouse. Little mouse, sorting through the crumbs—disarming, unnoticed, unbegrudged. And tap into the--taproot. Great tree strangling the stars, and twisted roots rotting away at the core. I just touch the leaves, the twigs from which my steel cocoon hangs. The same paths over and over again. Like repeating sine, cosine, tangent. Hours.
My wingspan was immense—could soar for hours and not get tired.
I thought I was the albatross, so much higher, remote, alone. Vast archangel wings, and nothing between me and sky. Now I know what I am. Regardless of Mathias, I will make my own epitaph.
I am the spanner. I make things not go smooth in the works—important things, things much larger than me. More important than me. I am payment, the girl in white by night who drifts and is tied down, still flapping, still screaming. Ripping out her feathers to make that mattress where they will cut it out. You can alway
Nice Miranda reference, with Caliban.
Is sleep death here?
Yes. Caliban also has speech problems.
Prospero says he musn't tell.
Given that there are two planets named after characters in The Tempest,and that you have to go to Ariel to get an inkling of what happened on Miranda...
No, death is Hypnos' brother. :) However, there are several kinds of "sleep" in the entries. Being on the table(or in that chair), blanking out trauma, forgetting because she wants to forget.
Autumn leaves are dead leaves, aren't they? calls to mind leaves on the wind, but I doubt that's it.
Plastic tiles are Mah Jong, aren't they? And in Mah Jong, there are season tiles? Spring, Winter, Summer, Autumn?
Hmm, Chivalry... I'll try to puzzle that out when brain think better.
Mahjong is a popular gambling game. Besides cultural fusion,it’s unusual as “winning” can run the range of almost entirely luck or entirely skill. Because the game can be more or less rigged, and intentionally lost, there's diplomacy (and occasionally creative forms of bribery and debt-paying).
Playing a game with someone is seen as a friendly thing to do. Nice aide.
There are season tiles, but the leaves are literal. They will come up again.
The game itself was a small detail--after a few more sections you should see the outline better.
The game itself is a detail. Hmmm. Tricky...
I like that you're pointing me out to directions I didn't uncover the first time. I appreciate it, I can be pretty thick during the weekdays.
The blocking is the irony of this--so much "power" in a stupid little game. All River has left is her wits, so she's contrasting herself with him. And yet he doesn't know he's become expendable.
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