From merrie@umich.eduSun Nov 20 15:37:18 1994 Date: Sun, 20 Nov 1994 01:11:02 -0500 (EST) From: Merrie Haskell To: Shadows Cc: samolnar@umich.edu Subject: Laughter's Diary Six His breath is all that I've ever been told of in the priest's warnings about hell, and all that I've ever smelled coming from Cal's forge. What is it about Cal and Driscoll, the shadow and the reality, that is obsessed with fire and the scent of brimstone? And what could this Libby possibly have done to ignite Driscoll's anger that he would fed her to this one? This... Ironclaw. That's his name. It has been a few days full of surprises, and I don't think I'm enjoying any one of them. It's distinctly unnerving to learn that you were the girl that cast the shadow that the guy who cast the shadow of your one and only lover killed. Not even killed. Fed to a dragon. That seems ignoble, if you ask me, but there are those that would argue that killing in any case is wrong. I only hope Driscoll and I can get past our respective histories and be... friends. I don't know as I have as yet made my choice in loyalty. Nominally, my loyalties lie with Amber, and my mother. But really... my father is the heir to Chaos. I don't believe I can go making any real decisions about loyalty just yet. If Driscoll and I cannot, in fact, at least tolerate each other, I very much doubt that my ultimate choice can lie with Random and his son. Enough of that thinking. Thus far, Driscoll has proved himself a gentleman to me, and our future friendship seems likely, assuming he's going to be all right and I'm going to be alive long enough to have a future friendship with anyone. And Mandor-- Father-- while he may have done the politically expedient thing this evening, failed to measure up to some inwardly and subconsciously set mark of mine. Though, he did not precisely fall short of the low mark that was also set. Interesting thought there, Laughter. Expand. Perhaps it starts out that with most people you meet that you begin to go through a series of events that turn switches on and off for trust. Kind of a binary thing, or something. I don't know. I didn't really pay close attention to this in school. It's probably closer to game theory, specifically the game of the prisoners. You know... two criminals, both guilty, are arrested; if they both plead not guilty, they get off scot free. If one pleads guilty and rats on the other guy, he gets a reduced sentence, and the other one gets a huge mega-sentence. And if they both blame the other guy, they're in for life. When this game is tested out, it's a prime example of the real version of the golden rule-- do unto others as you would have them do unto you, but take revenge when they screw you over, in which case it turns into, do unto others as they have done unto you. At any rate, it's not quite that straightforward in real life, but it seems to me that Mandor has not quite completely won this round. I went to him this one time in need and in complete trust, and gave me partial return on this. So, next time, I go to him in need, we go with partial trust, and so on and so forth. I don't know. Perhaps it looks stupid from another's perspective, but I'm still not pleased with this whole notion that Mandor's wife somehow has a right to be angry with my mother that I exist. As far as I can tell, life happens, and if you blame everyone for everything that has happened in their past, you're rather foolish. It's all a roller coaster ride. There's going to be gum wrappers from past riders in your car, whether you like it or not. Maybe not wrappers, they'd fall out when the coaster went upside down. So, gum wads. Hm. Maybe Foster and I should go to an amusement park. It seems likely that he of all my relatives would go for it. Anyways, I figure Cal and Libby are mere gum wads at the moment-- particularly gooey ones, but with a little effort, they shouldn't get stuck in anyone's hair. Heather, if she truly loves my father, should just scrape Fiona out of Mandor's car and forget about it. It's funny how you think of the most amusing things when you're facing down potential death. I mean, Mother's not exactly something smart folks would compare with bubble gum. I think the fact that this dragon is currently laughing its ass off at me is proof enough that I'm not quite right in the head. What, is this some sort of comedy routine? I really don't think so, Ironclaw. Just keep that snout aimed up. I wonder what your relationship with Driscoll really is. Is he the master here, or just a friend? Is it a precarious mastership, like what I theoretically have over Sequence? (Theoretically; especially since I think it stays with me for love, not respect.) How well do you know Driscoll? Is he the kind of fellow who thinks it's cute to be mysterious and to fill a person's house with flowers and chocolates and expensive jewelry, who wishes to extend this mystery so far as to not reveal himself to his delivery boy? And doesn't he realize opals are bad luck to wear if you're not actually born in October? Of course, I have no clue when I was born. Maybe I should ask Mother. You know, after Ahab and Kimbdyl and I get out of this alive. And where are you, Driscoll? I find it rather stupid that you go off and leave your daughter behind to find a past that from all people have told me doesn't sound pleasant. It looked like you were forging a new life quite adequately. Of course, I can't guess what it must be like, to look at everyone you are supposed to love with a stranger's eyes. Probably quite frustrating. But surely there is a better way to go about this. And why-- WHY are you sending me things? And if you're not-- who is? Shard? It's possible. But the fact that he's stumbled in to Foil may be sheerest accident. And I can't imagine that he would do such a thing, after we started off so badly. I suspect an imposter in my shadow though. Could the cultured actor I drank with really be the same boorish idiot I treed? Shape shifting. Or a very, very clever glamour. I wouldn't deny it as a possibility. Foster? Also possible, but I find it unlikely that a fifteen-year-old would attempt to woo in such a manner. Maybe not unlikely. I really don't know that much about the intricacies of his mind. The only comforting thing about that is that the list of people who it is likely *not* is far longer. I can categorically cross off my list most of my uncles, Ahab, Alex, most of the people I know who are dead. And almost definitely Bartholomew. It seems likely that he is the father of Lyss's child. Lyss's child! There is a veritable plague of children in Amber. Remember that. A good reason to hold off on romantic liasons. Not that I would mind having more children. Someday. When I'm older. Say, a thousand or so. As old as this dragon, maybe. At least he's standing up, and is thus more likely to attract the lightning of the coming storm than those of us dressed in metal by sheer value of his height. Or so I hope.