Jessalyn Redgrave is no more, and I am Grim.
Or so that appears to be the case.
I did not anticipate revisiting pages of my past. I have consistently been of the belief that the past is meant to remain there. Thus the past has made me as I am in this moment, and yet beyond that it is no more than any other memory that I possess. `Twould be a lie if I were to claim that memories are a close companion of mine. Although some, I would venture to say, have proven useful over the passing of time.
I am digressing. Evading, perhaps. As I am wont to do both, poor habits of discourtesy in a woman who was groomed in youth with the opposite in mind.
Regardless, I am Grim, it has been said. An inevitably fascinating notion. I was grim before ever truly knowing the Grim. Jaded and distrusting. Willfully isolated. A connoisseur of façades, of masques, of veils.
I have encountered befuddlement with the notion of strength and finding a lack of utter abhorrence in the company of those I would define as my cohorts. At first, I was not so fond of them. 'Fond,' itself being a surprisingly kind word for me to use. Perhaps overly kind, considering I would hardly define myself as such a being. All the same, I have grown less to outright reject them, but find an odd sense of belonging slight ease in their presence. Familiarity, I suppose. It would seem that in spite of my attempts to prove otherwise, I too am not immune to such sentiments.
In tandem, companionship brings other thoughts to mind. Some I had thought to pen yet find that my belief is should I begin to, it will imply I have entertained the notion. That, I cannot permit. At the same time, it has proven that I am not stone and ice, as I would like to believe.
Ah, imagine the irony there. That I have become so accustomed to holding my secrets in whatever abyss I can find, that even the one place where I should feel sanctuary in placing my thoughts is not secure enough for me to free myself of burden. I suppose that is to imply that I as I lie and deceive others, I do the very same to myself. Fortunately, deception has a constructive place within those I have chosen to align my ideals with.
Or so he has implied, whether for personal preference or not.
Grim notions aside, Oralech came to me for my assistance. It has been many years since he has even spoken such things in my direction. I had thought our debts to one another paid for a history that I had meant to put to rest. I do not believe in foolish notions such as fate, yet it has been uncanny coincidence that he and I would find ourselves once more on the same side of the world and on the same side of this idealism we have fallen into.
When I observe him, it seems he has not changed in the slightest since the first time we met. Still lacking a concept as to the 'right time' for his antics. A barbaric nature that I once would have thought unheard of from our people. I wonder what he thinks of me now, considering the time that has passed between us. It is difficult to determine, considering he seems to spend most of his time with me playing the antagonist. He must enjoy infuriating me to no end.
Yet there is an odd contented familiarity in that, as well. May he never change, even as I do.
He made mention that some of his scars are not healing properly. As I ever have in the past, I am in search of the proper materials for a new salve. One that, perhaps, may alleviate potential concerns he may hold. Although I would have thought him the type to use his scars to attract his bedmates. Seems I still hardly know if he has sent me on this errand for ulterior motive or not.
I assume he is simply keeping me out of conflict, as should a retainer do for his ward.
The weight of this tabard represents the weight of reflection carried upon the name of the Grim. I suppose to some, they may view that as nothing more than a trifle. Coming from the world that I have, like many if not most of my kind, I understand in some situations reflection is everything. Reflection and representation.
Qabian said that the tabard he gave me belonged to a mage. A magistrix, would be the more proper term for her, I suspect. Frya the Frygyd. Frygyd as in 'frigid.' The parallel is not lost on me. From one malicious icy individual to another. Except perhaps that I am not so malicious. Outwardly.
We'll see how long that lasts. Some days the chains seem looser than they ought to be. Where chains break, so too does discipline. Strength of resolve can go only so far.
Khorvis made an observation of me that I did not anticipate, implying that as much as I may attempt to fall into the shadows and seclude myself into a nigh nonexistence, those higher in the ranks of the Grim appear to be taking notice of me. I remain undecided whether this is positive or negative. It is not attention I seek. One with talents like mine, if I am to be so generous in calling them such, is better off without that ray of light.
Regardless, it would seem that I am known. Although the question remains, in the presence of the Grim, what face of Laeynna Emberflame do they see? Is it the true face? Will they ever come to know it, if such a thing exists? In all likelihood, truth is a matter of what is required and what is not. Regardless of my lies and my deceits, as long as I do what is expected of me appropriately, my nature is of little consequence.
--
Awatu claims we possess a piece of G'huun. My personal knowledge on the Old Gods is about as much as is publicly known. I confess to being interested. Uncharacteristically, I voiced that. I suppose I was delighted by the potential prospects of such a fascinating piece of what shapes Azeroth's history and present. We are permitted to examine it, it seems. Gavril said he could use an alchemist's insight. Assistance.
I had not thought to call myself one. I masquerade largely as a simple botanist. I would imagine it is clear enough I am no simple anything. Otherwise I would not be here now.
Still, there presents an opportunity. I believe I will need to take Gavril up on his offer. Perhaps I will be able to speak up with something more appropriate than an uncertain murmuring that fades into the air.
--
Oralech took more of my salves. Rather, I gave them to him. I don't know what he's doing that is causing his scars to take longer to heal. That man is going to kill himself if he's not careful. I cannot always come to his rescue either, however, just as he cannot always come to mine. I would rest easier, however, if he was not so eager to throw himself into harm's way.
Of course, I'd rest easier if he knew how to shut his mouth every once in a while. He antagonises me out of affection and of this, I am aware, however, some of the things he says causes a discomfort within me. It isn't the what, but rather the concept.
I am not inclined to harbour any sense of affection or fondness for my cohorts. His attention is not equivalent to implication that I could be defined as 'likable.'
Am I convincing Oralech or myself of that. The truth of the matter is
I hate him.
That's just it. I really just hate him. I hate him so much, I want to wring my hands around his stupid neck and watch the life fade from his eyes.
Maybe I don't hate him?
He's frustrating. He's aggravating. He tries to get under my skin and I let him. He can see it. He knows he's succeeding. Am I letting him win? I can't let him win.
But he also makes things... He makes things interesting. He makes them challenging. In that respect, I don't hate him.
Do I actually ever listen to myself when I speak? This is the second time I have allowed myself to be too indulgent in the company of those I would consider at best slight allies. Furthermore, it is not them I can hold responsible, but merely myself. Finding the balance between being not outright horrid and carrying some form of professional diplomacy is proving to be a challenge.
At the same time, I can no longer simply state that I dislike all of them, or even any of them as that would be false. Many of them are incredibly fascinating and interesting. As such, I am not displeased to hear them regale the rest of us with tales of their adventures or of their histories. Everyone has a story, after all, whether they choose to share it or not.
I am no different in that respect, though no story I would ever tell would be particularly of note. I am here now. That is all that matters, is it not? I have Oralech to thank, or despise, for that. Seems the desire to still breathe comes and goes with the wind. He and I may not be so different in that respect. Sometimes I think his headstrong demeanour and ability to jump headfirst into conflict is his way of attempting to seek out his own glorious end.
While I cannot completely dislike these little games of introduction we have been playing with one another, I fear saying something I mean to keep to myself. Fortunately, said games allow us to maintain an air of mystery. But it also beckons more questions.
There was curiosity about some... happenstances from my past. I said I would tell him later. I hope he has forgotten. I assume he has. He didn't seem in his right mind when he left for the night. He only remembers what's important, I imagine, and there's no reason for my past to be one of those things. But if he does recall, I suppose I'll be a woman of my word, as I have been so far and attempt to be as to the point as possible in indulging information from a Laeynna who no longer exists. The details aren't important.
Although I have to wonder. Do I seem so unfit for marriage, or is it that my so-called prudence would make me an unlikely candidate? There's nothing wrong with my lack of experience in that department. It isn't for absence of opportunity, but rather absence of my desire to get involved with something of that magnitude.
I can't tell if I agree with the assessment or if I'm insulted by the implication. Possibly both. I don't intend to ever embark on such a path, either way. To wed, I would lose control and that is something I can never allow another to hold over me. I must always remain true to my desires and my motives above all other things. In the end, I suppose I should not be bothered by anything he said.
He doesn't matter, after all.
Clearly if I keep saying it, it'll eventually come true, yes? More accurately, I don't want him to matter, which I imagine is a different matter altogether.
Truly, what does matter is this piece of... whatever it is... I still have. What do I do with this? I should give it back to Master Gavril. I'd love to pick his mind, I think, or whatever's left of it. It'd be a good opportunity to do precisely that.
I feel as if sometimes I'm losing touch with who I am. As if I don't know myself anymore. Something he said tonight made me think of it, actually. I had already lost all of my connections when I came to the Grim. Thus, I had nothing to sacrifice, because I came to them with nothing. I was treated as a special case because of this.
It's true. When I caught wind of the Grim and what they meant to do, I was barely eating, barely sleeping, and when I did either, it was just enough so I wouldn't wither away completely. Not for any lack of coin. My work warrants me enough of that. It was simply that I didn't have much of an attachment to life. It would be a kind thing for me to say that the Grim have given me a second chance at life. At the same time, it is not wholly untrue.
I came to the Grim as nothing. I still am nothing. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. But have I gained anything? A sense of belonging and family, I suppose. I hate those words. And those concepts really. I hate that these people make me smile. I hate that these people cause me to experience something other than infinite loathing. And I hate it most of all because I know when I smile around them or if I laugh, that it's not being faked. It was easier when I didn't care in the slightest about them. Instead now, I notice things about them. I express interest.
I'm becoming invested in their lives and their backgrounds. I'm truly beginning to see them as something resembling a family. Dysfunctional as it is.
--
Oralech is going to get himself killed. He opens his mouth without thinking of the consequences. I get it. He's never had to actually think before speaking in the past. That's how he's always gotten into trouble. If I hadn't stepped in tonight, would Master Gavril had done away with him? Or worse yet, Awatu? He might say something to the commander. If he does, I couldn't protect Oralech from that. He's my guardian. He's supposed to be protecting me, not the other way around.
But I'm no damsel in distress either. Oralech is more like muscle if I should find myself in a situation that I can't talk or manipulate my way out of. Regardless, it would be inconvenient for me if something happened to him. He apologised to Master Gavril, but all the same. I concern for his future prospects. Qabian had high hopes for him and Oralech has failed all of those expectations. That might be the wrong word for it. They both have many things in common. I know that Oralech is one way with the Grim and one way with me. I see a more serious side of him, one that the others don't know exists.
I wish he would represent himself better. One day, he'll make a terrible mistake and push someone too far. I cannot save him from everything.
--
He remembered that I said I would go on a date with him. I thought he'd forgotten. I think he wanted to take me to that play. Or he wanted me to go with him. I turned him down.
Was I nervous? Maybe it was the prospect of being somewhere in public with him? Not that it likely would have made a difference. Others of the Grim were there. It's not like they would have known. Maybe I've been trying to avoid him. It's true that I've been keeping to myself in his presence more, aside from the brief conversations we've had here and there.
Maybe it really was the concept that I don't have much taste for humour. I told him I don't like laughing. Not wholly untrue. I don't like the sound of my own laugh. It's stilted and awkward. You can tell I don't laugh often. I don't like seeming uncertain. I don't like seeming unsure. I don't like having eyes on me. I don't like the attention. Just let me hide back in the shadows where I belong.
He found me looking at the sunset again. I've been doing that a lot lately, as well. The sun and the water. As if you'd think I was contemplating throwing myself into it. I'm not. I just feel something different when I look at them. I almost start to feel like a person again. It's just a trick, I'm sure, a game I'm playing with myself.
All the same, it sounds like we have plans for another time. I suppose I should write him and see what he would like to do.
The realisation has struck me, however. I don't know how to go on a date. I don't think I've ever had one before that wasn't some kind of societal, political requirement. I somehow suspect crotch flowers are not going to be the way to tackle this.
Well. I still haven't written him. I'm probably not going to. Writing a missive for something like this seems too fel damned impersonal. He'd probably want to keep it that way.
I keep playing this guessing game with myself, knowing that I could just as easily solve this if I actually spoke to him. Obviously I can't do this in front of everyone, for my sake. His too, I suppose. It's not like we don't catch each other typically before everyone else arrives.
Maybe this time I really will just camp out there the—
I lied. That won't work this time. Well, it might, but most likely not. Perhaps I'll just tell him I intend to borrow him later. Not that that won't get me looks already.
Why does it have to be this difficult, or is it just difficult because I don't know what to do. I'm a little too old for the educational talk, after all. Asking about a how-to on this has to be out of the question. Besides, everyone would probably say 'just do it.'
He's the one who reminded me. Is that the same thing as asking? Maybe it's more like he's collecting a debt. Maybe if I just view it like that. I hate owing anyone anything.
This is all ridiculous.
I'm just going to write him. I'm positive nothing will go wrong that hasn't already gone wrong.
We find honour in sometimes the places we last expected to find it, regardless of what the circumstances may be involving said honour. We also find personal truths and sometimes, or most times in my experience, they tend to be the kinds of truths we did not want to acknowledge.
Fears and mistakes. The fear of making mistakes. The inevitability of making mistakes. I imagine these kinds of thoughts are what make us as we are. Flawed and imperfect beings. I've used the excuse several times over that we act in our best interest for the sake of survival. By using this reasoning, I've been able to justify actions of good and ill intent. Everything is easier if we just say we're trying to survive for one more day.
I've been too honest. In the end, it will only be me who winds up hurt. I thought I was immune to that, however. For that reason, I know it's better if I'm not honest. It sounds stupid when I say it now, however. Fel, have I ever failed. What have I done. How much of that is the truth? Is everything I say a lie? Maybe I want it all to be a lie.
I have a lot of thoughts that I don't intend to put down in here in hopes that they'll simply go away. I fear if I should write them, they may become solid, malleable ideas. More real, I suppose. And I'm a coward, knowing that I'll run the moment I'm faced with them. Certainly feels as if I've been running long enough at this point. I didn't realise what I was running from before. Not fully, anyway.
It's all gone now, so stop looking at me. Don't look at me. Don't acknowledge me. I won't miss it. Do I go red?
I need more. I need to drown myself in it. I don't have anymore. I can't sleep. I can't focus. I can't eat. It's not the following day I want to see. I just want to stay numb. Vices, vices, vices, vices, vices.
