tired***
This is a guest post by an anonymous friend of Seanan's; you see, she's been kidnapped by the fae, and while we could have rounded up the valerian and southernwood and archangel (dead nettles to you and me, did you know?) and gone in all puns blazing to bust her out of the hollow hills, we weren't sure she'd thank us if we succeeded before she'd finished teaching Puck one of those card games that has you fascinated at twelve, bored at twenty, and amused again at thirty-five. The cards have a golden egg on them—well, one does—but you can play the game a number of different ways. I'll bet Seanan knows them all. Sometimes it's the egg that wins.
Actually, while Seanan's not here to see I keep my shoes off the furniture and don't tease the cats with invisible white mice (what? You don't do that? Oh, OK. Just me, then) maybe I can tell you a few tall tales about her. I know, the truth's pretty tall already. Goes up and up, and keeps getting taller. But hey, spinning yarns is fun too.
Seanan knows stuff, doesn't she? She knows how magic smells and what color blood is when it isn't human...or any other earthly creature. She knows how to give—oh, goodness, she knows that—and she spills out stories like a fountain of inspiration with the hiccups. OK, maybe that's not a terribly useful metaphor. Never mind. Seanan's a conduit, a bell-tower, a gardener whose every rose wants to wrap her around and love her to death, she's made of patchwork like Columbine's other dress, and every bit of her pours out tales that it would probably kill her to try to keep in.
Well alright, so maybe she's not underhill with Puck—um, she's stowed away on a ship made of glass, for research, you understand, and the mermaids are insisting she stay and tell them her stories and theirs too, and they've tangled her hair up with little seashells that jingle when she moves her head and goodness but it's going to take a while to untangle them, and she has to be telling stories all the while, or they take away the samphire sandwiches and they sulk—they're known for it—until the biker mermaids come and liven things up again and then they want Seanan to paint designs on their leather jackets. You don't want to know what beast the leather comes from. No, you don't.
Anyway, so Seanan isn't here today, and I think she'd agree that the cupcakes weren't going to keep, so you have one and I'll have one and we'll bake her some more when she's back, yes? And in the meantime...she's left us some books to read...
July 11 2011, 02:14:27 UTC 6 years ago