Post by Solitaire on Nov 13, 2016 9:34:53 GMT -5
Had I overstepped my boundary?
You know the one where lines blur and everything decision seems a little more hazy around the edges than you last remember- and not just cause of all the cocaine you’d been snorting either.
That was a joke, I don’t do cocaine. I never liked the way it made me feel- always so on edge and paranoid that a demon hiding away in the broom closest was preparing itself for consumption of my face.
Ever since Nikolay had attempted arson upon my club though, I couldn’t help but wonder if there really was a demon lurking in my closest, after all he’d shown so little disregard for anyone just so that he might play the hero to extricate a favour from me. Who was to say that his reputation of being the devil’s kin was simply a fabrication of terrified do-gooders trying to justify their own social failures.
I just assumed it was a Russian thing, after all the way they conduct business is indeed interesting in the same way that analysing the way your skin melts away after a spider bite would be considered so.
Of course I hadn’t confronted him, that would have simply been rude of me like accusing the guest in one’s home of stealing all the good silver just cause there is a spoon peeking out of their waistband. I’d held my tongue, even as he’d become increasingly agitated upon my return- his occasional glances towards the doorway becoming more prolonged and perplexed.
Expectation not being met must have been an entirely foreign concept and it left me wondering just how far his thugs would get before they’d end up paying the price for their faintness of heart and sedition.
Immediately I had to put the thought from my mind, I’d watched too many crime shows where a less than perfect gangland murder had been solved and successfully prosecuted in exactly 44 minutes to get my hopes up. It wasn’t as though I liked them, after all they’d agreed to commit arson for the sake of a payday- however I found myself almost pitying them for the no-win situation they’d found themselves in.
No doubt one that could only head in a singular direction regardless of the course taken.
Another thought to be put from the mind, after all I’d given myself a night off for a night in. Why? Perhaps the better question would have been- why not?
It wasn’t the first apartment I’d rented in Atlantic City, closer to my fourth or perhaps even fifth, even now having been here almost a year I’d found it hard to simply settle anywhere- call it that romani soul if you will. A need to wander, to travel, to experience. Live while life still ran through ones vein.
It wasn’t home, but it was enough- furnished with the barest basics, the girls at the club had always joked that I must be quite literally rolling in money for owning the club and whatever other absurd rumours seemed to catch fire at the smell of smoke, however the reality was a lot less glamourous although I hadn’t had the heart to convince them otherwise.
Everyone needed something to believe in after all, no matter how petty and erroneous it might be- take those who believe in god, my darling mother and sister are great examples, and spend their lives devoting themselves to a force beyond sight, sound, touch, taste and smell. All while wholeheartedly convinced that words written in a book- that may or may not have been written by someone with an extraordinary imagination- dictate the way their lives should be led.
Maybe I was overthinking the whole belief thing- who was I to say that fervour and zeal towards an omnipotent, omnipresent aging gentleman with flowing robes and a majestic beard wasn’t the recipe for eternal life and existential being. It was simply easier to let them believe- besides, who didn’t want to brag to those who turned their nose up that they worked for a trillionaire businesswoman right? Human nature always seemed to be a rather curious thing.
Truth was I’d accrued enough wealth to remain minimalistic comfortable with anything more stashed away for perhaps a future generation of inked solitaires, not quite paranoid to stash money in my mattress but too wary of the banks and their sticky flytrap-esque fingers.
I’d made sure it was safe, that was all that mattered.
Even now curled up on a couch, which wasn’t mine but simply came with the apartment, with lights dimmed and book resting open across my lap- it was difficult to find a nicer way to spend an evening. Maybe with a cup of herbal tea… Now that was a most intriguing thought.
*knock*
… Interrupted so very rudely by a single, echoing knock upon the front door.
It was difficult to ascertain which was the oddest part of the situation- that there was the possibility of visitors when I’d made entirely sure that no one was aware of my current address, anyone following would still be 2-3 behind depending on their own level of tenacity. Or perhaps it was most odd that they only knocked once.
Who even did that- was it not part of human nature to knock in a succession defined by ones personal OCD towards even and odd numbers? Had I misread more of society than I first realized.
Was I simply overeating and there were more knock on the door to come to relieve the anxiety creeping up to my throat, tasting oddly similar to acid and bile. Was there someone still waiting at the door?
I decided to wait a few moments longer, if they were impatient they would have knocked by now or at least announced their presence- however silence, barring the thundering of my heart rattling against my voice box, reigned supreme. It was an eerie feeling, that expectation of the door coming flying off its hinges towards you- or worse, that feeling of nothing at all. A confusion that seemed to black out the remainder of sense and dulled reactions where it felt as though moving in slow motion.
Crossing the carpeted floor with bare feet, the softest padding of footsteps towards the door- I’d made the decision to play the movie trope, swinging the door open so that if someone should be standing and waiting, that they’d receive a surprise and likely a worthwhile beating for their less than comedic efforts.
Maybe it was just kids knocking and running, reaching the end of the corridor doubled over with giggles as though no one can hear them, or see them in the reflection of the elevator doors.
At the last moment, I resisted the urge to shout AHA!, you know for the faint off chance of someone legit with a story to tell or a question to ask. It seemed almost foolish, as the door swung back towards me with more force than I had initially expected, leaving me all open mouthed with the word halfway up my throat and the front door narrowly missing the edge of my nose.
I really should have sent the demon in my closest, I’m sure it have been a fraction more effective.
Still- all of it… For a damn envelope
It was like watching a movie and only desperately needing to pee, right when the biggest movie breakthrough happens to take place. Maybe that’s what this was- a whole pantomime crossed with an intervention, should there have been anyone I’d actually want to invite anywhere except off the edge of a cliff.
Slightly dirtied, hand written address- all correct which was a touch more startling- sat on the doorstep facing up, my details written in a scrawled cursive and a postage stamp that had likely been missing in a drawer somewhere for 65 years.
It seemed a pity, scooping the wayward envelope from the edge of the doorway, that no one wrote to anyone else anymore- it was all just so technology driven that people seemed to forget about what came first. Impersonal with a touch of intimacy and spread with impatience cause no one can remember how long it takes for a letter to get even just to the next house over- despite the fact it’s literally just there.
Maybe I should have thought things through more, in consideration of the fact that I’d likely upset the plans of a Russian street shark and now an envelope marked only with my personal details messily scrawled across its face before being left on my doorstep- I suppose alarm bells should have shrieked within the confines of my skull.
I didn’t give them a chance though as the envelope tore between my fingers- after all, what was the worst it could have possibly contained?
******
“It’s not the furthest stretch of the imagination to consider LAW as the wildest of wild wests.
I suppose if we follow that logic then it can only be assumed that it wouldn’t be quite wild enough without there being an outlaw to oppose the forces of good. Only the outlaw happens to be a good guy… Which makes the thinking rather perplexing indeed.
Does this, in turn, make me the villain? Stroking a non-existent moustache as I tie a damsel to the train tracks and all those most delightfully awful tropes that we cringe at, yet can’t turn away from. A car crash pantomime that seems all too real for those of us not involved. Only instead of a car, it’s a train hurtling down the tracks with no hope of stopping in time as maniacal laughter rings out across the middle of nowhere.
Yet a hero does emerge, and saves the damsel just in the nick of time.
Or not.
In this case there is no damsel to be saved- the hero is not a hero, and the villain not so either.
Most curious, no?
Personally, I don’t truthfully see myself as a villain- and therefore the wrecker of our fun little game, although if we instead considered this act of theatre a ‘Josie Wales Western Fantasy Fairytale’ then it changes the perspective and all of a sudden my argument becomes less convincing.
I become the villain simply because my point of view happens to oppose that of the protagonist- how very assumptive. Luckily for myself, and I hope for your sake Ms Wale also, all this talk of fairytale and fantasy is just that- and the defining difference between what we want to believe and the reality that defines us is that the perceived villain generally comes out on top, simply cause those wanting to do good find themselves too busy trying to remain honourable.
I don’t want you to take that as an assumption that I’d cheat to win, an act that would surely leave us both more hollow for the effort, no I’d like you to simply consider it as a fact that I don’t confine myself with the boundaries of what is considered acceptable and just.
Define those things how you choose.
Those boundaries that we set for ourselves guide our path ways, and should we stray we find ourselves shocked back into conformism, while there is nothing wrong per se about the approach- I find it leaves people rather restricted to the directions their lives take and the distance it allows them to tread before an unseen leash pulls back into line.
Perhaps those limitations we unknowingly set originate from the places we come from, our backgrounds and upbringings moulding and slowly characterizing where our lives shall lead us. Surely there are no better examples than us both, don’t you think?
Opposites side of a greater colour spectrum meeting in the centre as a spark of white light that blinds all those fortunate enough to have witnessed our convergence- two of LAW’s up and coming stars, shining brightest when the spotlights are pointed our way on a collision course towards an undetermined golden opportunity.
It all seems rather fanciful when you consider it for a moment.
However, the bright spark only lasts a moment. Perhaps never to be replicated in quite the same way- even if we should collide like burning supernovas once more it shall never burn quite as brightly as this. Our directions must eventually vary though- two forces cannot keep going straight forward without one having to deviate and allow the other to pass.
This is where the spark happens, where the collision takes place and where one must yield so that the other might continue upon their pre-determined path.
So who gets the right of way?
Some might argue it’s the bigger of the two forces, what with mass being a deciding factor in most momentum based physics equations and in turn that places the emphasis squarely upon you, Ms Wales. It must certainly be a curious feeling, being the larger of two combatants for once. However with size, you give up the predetermined advantage of speed- another rather important factor when one considers momentum and so the scale then shifts back to even.
How can we differentiate then, if we even out in the physical sense- because while I could rattle off statistic and weigh up options all night I can assure you that the scales would consistently return to even.
So one must consider what is not tangible.
Which then brings us back to the idea of boundaries and those restricted by their morals. It is where you’ll fail Ms Wales, cause while you may be an outlaw of the most modern and precocious, I can assure you that I have fewer qualms about my moral code.
It doesn’t equate to cheating, simply a laxing of what would be deemed in all fairness. A bending of rules at times instead of simply snapping them across my knee like most are want to do- I trust you understand Ms Wales.
At this point, I’m not willing to allow my undefeated streak to simply be in vain. While four win may equate to little in the grander scheme of things, it is the zero in the losses column that I’m determined to maintain.
You had your chance at remaining unbeaten, a fact I can assure you isn’t lost upon yours truly, and you allowed it to slip between your fingers because on the night you allowed yourself to be restricted by the moral boundaries you set. Let us not forget that those against you have been of a high quality also, however excuses cannot be made when it is your own shoulders to bear.
I am not a callous woman, Ms Wales, nor am I unfair.
At Night of Glory, you have your chance to take what I have earned and claim the opportunity gifted to you in spite of your previous failures- however I do not have to be any kind of soothsayer to see that once again, you shall trip at the hurdle of your own making at that the boundaries you have set yourself shall fail you once more.
I have the ability to step over the line because I have none Ms Wales. You stay within the lines cause it’s what you’re predetermined to do.
xoxo Amirai.
You know the one where lines blur and everything decision seems a little more hazy around the edges than you last remember- and not just cause of all the cocaine you’d been snorting either.
That was a joke, I don’t do cocaine. I never liked the way it made me feel- always so on edge and paranoid that a demon hiding away in the broom closest was preparing itself for consumption of my face.
Ever since Nikolay had attempted arson upon my club though, I couldn’t help but wonder if there really was a demon lurking in my closest, after all he’d shown so little disregard for anyone just so that he might play the hero to extricate a favour from me. Who was to say that his reputation of being the devil’s kin was simply a fabrication of terrified do-gooders trying to justify their own social failures.
I just assumed it was a Russian thing, after all the way they conduct business is indeed interesting in the same way that analysing the way your skin melts away after a spider bite would be considered so.
Of course I hadn’t confronted him, that would have simply been rude of me like accusing the guest in one’s home of stealing all the good silver just cause there is a spoon peeking out of their waistband. I’d held my tongue, even as he’d become increasingly agitated upon my return- his occasional glances towards the doorway becoming more prolonged and perplexed.
Expectation not being met must have been an entirely foreign concept and it left me wondering just how far his thugs would get before they’d end up paying the price for their faintness of heart and sedition.
Immediately I had to put the thought from my mind, I’d watched too many crime shows where a less than perfect gangland murder had been solved and successfully prosecuted in exactly 44 minutes to get my hopes up. It wasn’t as though I liked them, after all they’d agreed to commit arson for the sake of a payday- however I found myself almost pitying them for the no-win situation they’d found themselves in.
No doubt one that could only head in a singular direction regardless of the course taken.
Another thought to be put from the mind, after all I’d given myself a night off for a night in. Why? Perhaps the better question would have been- why not?
It wasn’t the first apartment I’d rented in Atlantic City, closer to my fourth or perhaps even fifth, even now having been here almost a year I’d found it hard to simply settle anywhere- call it that romani soul if you will. A need to wander, to travel, to experience. Live while life still ran through ones vein.
It wasn’t home, but it was enough- furnished with the barest basics, the girls at the club had always joked that I must be quite literally rolling in money for owning the club and whatever other absurd rumours seemed to catch fire at the smell of smoke, however the reality was a lot less glamourous although I hadn’t had the heart to convince them otherwise.
Everyone needed something to believe in after all, no matter how petty and erroneous it might be- take those who believe in god, my darling mother and sister are great examples, and spend their lives devoting themselves to a force beyond sight, sound, touch, taste and smell. All while wholeheartedly convinced that words written in a book- that may or may not have been written by someone with an extraordinary imagination- dictate the way their lives should be led.
Maybe I was overthinking the whole belief thing- who was I to say that fervour and zeal towards an omnipotent, omnipresent aging gentleman with flowing robes and a majestic beard wasn’t the recipe for eternal life and existential being. It was simply easier to let them believe- besides, who didn’t want to brag to those who turned their nose up that they worked for a trillionaire businesswoman right? Human nature always seemed to be a rather curious thing.
Truth was I’d accrued enough wealth to remain minimalistic comfortable with anything more stashed away for perhaps a future generation of inked solitaires, not quite paranoid to stash money in my mattress but too wary of the banks and their sticky flytrap-esque fingers.
I’d made sure it was safe, that was all that mattered.
Even now curled up on a couch, which wasn’t mine but simply came with the apartment, with lights dimmed and book resting open across my lap- it was difficult to find a nicer way to spend an evening. Maybe with a cup of herbal tea… Now that was a most intriguing thought.
*knock*
… Interrupted so very rudely by a single, echoing knock upon the front door.
It was difficult to ascertain which was the oddest part of the situation- that there was the possibility of visitors when I’d made entirely sure that no one was aware of my current address, anyone following would still be 2-3 behind depending on their own level of tenacity. Or perhaps it was most odd that they only knocked once.
Who even did that- was it not part of human nature to knock in a succession defined by ones personal OCD towards even and odd numbers? Had I misread more of society than I first realized.
Was I simply overeating and there were more knock on the door to come to relieve the anxiety creeping up to my throat, tasting oddly similar to acid and bile. Was there someone still waiting at the door?
I decided to wait a few moments longer, if they were impatient they would have knocked by now or at least announced their presence- however silence, barring the thundering of my heart rattling against my voice box, reigned supreme. It was an eerie feeling, that expectation of the door coming flying off its hinges towards you- or worse, that feeling of nothing at all. A confusion that seemed to black out the remainder of sense and dulled reactions where it felt as though moving in slow motion.
Crossing the carpeted floor with bare feet, the softest padding of footsteps towards the door- I’d made the decision to play the movie trope, swinging the door open so that if someone should be standing and waiting, that they’d receive a surprise and likely a worthwhile beating for their less than comedic efforts.
Maybe it was just kids knocking and running, reaching the end of the corridor doubled over with giggles as though no one can hear them, or see them in the reflection of the elevator doors.
At the last moment, I resisted the urge to shout AHA!, you know for the faint off chance of someone legit with a story to tell or a question to ask. It seemed almost foolish, as the door swung back towards me with more force than I had initially expected, leaving me all open mouthed with the word halfway up my throat and the front door narrowly missing the edge of my nose.
I really should have sent the demon in my closest, I’m sure it have been a fraction more effective.
Still- all of it… For a damn envelope
It was like watching a movie and only desperately needing to pee, right when the biggest movie breakthrough happens to take place. Maybe that’s what this was- a whole pantomime crossed with an intervention, should there have been anyone I’d actually want to invite anywhere except off the edge of a cliff.
Slightly dirtied, hand written address- all correct which was a touch more startling- sat on the doorstep facing up, my details written in a scrawled cursive and a postage stamp that had likely been missing in a drawer somewhere for 65 years.
It seemed a pity, scooping the wayward envelope from the edge of the doorway, that no one wrote to anyone else anymore- it was all just so technology driven that people seemed to forget about what came first. Impersonal with a touch of intimacy and spread with impatience cause no one can remember how long it takes for a letter to get even just to the next house over- despite the fact it’s literally just there.
Maybe I should have thought things through more, in consideration of the fact that I’d likely upset the plans of a Russian street shark and now an envelope marked only with my personal details messily scrawled across its face before being left on my doorstep- I suppose alarm bells should have shrieked within the confines of my skull.
I didn’t give them a chance though as the envelope tore between my fingers- after all, what was the worst it could have possibly contained?
******
“It’s not the furthest stretch of the imagination to consider LAW as the wildest of wild wests.
I suppose if we follow that logic then it can only be assumed that it wouldn’t be quite wild enough without there being an outlaw to oppose the forces of good. Only the outlaw happens to be a good guy… Which makes the thinking rather perplexing indeed.
Does this, in turn, make me the villain? Stroking a non-existent moustache as I tie a damsel to the train tracks and all those most delightfully awful tropes that we cringe at, yet can’t turn away from. A car crash pantomime that seems all too real for those of us not involved. Only instead of a car, it’s a train hurtling down the tracks with no hope of stopping in time as maniacal laughter rings out across the middle of nowhere.
Yet a hero does emerge, and saves the damsel just in the nick of time.
Or not.
In this case there is no damsel to be saved- the hero is not a hero, and the villain not so either.
Most curious, no?
Personally, I don’t truthfully see myself as a villain- and therefore the wrecker of our fun little game, although if we instead considered this act of theatre a ‘Josie Wales Western Fantasy Fairytale’ then it changes the perspective and all of a sudden my argument becomes less convincing.
I become the villain simply because my point of view happens to oppose that of the protagonist- how very assumptive. Luckily for myself, and I hope for your sake Ms Wale also, all this talk of fairytale and fantasy is just that- and the defining difference between what we want to believe and the reality that defines us is that the perceived villain generally comes out on top, simply cause those wanting to do good find themselves too busy trying to remain honourable.
I don’t want you to take that as an assumption that I’d cheat to win, an act that would surely leave us both more hollow for the effort, no I’d like you to simply consider it as a fact that I don’t confine myself with the boundaries of what is considered acceptable and just.
Define those things how you choose.
Those boundaries that we set for ourselves guide our path ways, and should we stray we find ourselves shocked back into conformism, while there is nothing wrong per se about the approach- I find it leaves people rather restricted to the directions their lives take and the distance it allows them to tread before an unseen leash pulls back into line.
Perhaps those limitations we unknowingly set originate from the places we come from, our backgrounds and upbringings moulding and slowly characterizing where our lives shall lead us. Surely there are no better examples than us both, don’t you think?
Opposites side of a greater colour spectrum meeting in the centre as a spark of white light that blinds all those fortunate enough to have witnessed our convergence- two of LAW’s up and coming stars, shining brightest when the spotlights are pointed our way on a collision course towards an undetermined golden opportunity.
It all seems rather fanciful when you consider it for a moment.
However, the bright spark only lasts a moment. Perhaps never to be replicated in quite the same way- even if we should collide like burning supernovas once more it shall never burn quite as brightly as this. Our directions must eventually vary though- two forces cannot keep going straight forward without one having to deviate and allow the other to pass.
This is where the spark happens, where the collision takes place and where one must yield so that the other might continue upon their pre-determined path.
So who gets the right of way?
Some might argue it’s the bigger of the two forces, what with mass being a deciding factor in most momentum based physics equations and in turn that places the emphasis squarely upon you, Ms Wales. It must certainly be a curious feeling, being the larger of two combatants for once. However with size, you give up the predetermined advantage of speed- another rather important factor when one considers momentum and so the scale then shifts back to even.
How can we differentiate then, if we even out in the physical sense- because while I could rattle off statistic and weigh up options all night I can assure you that the scales would consistently return to even.
So one must consider what is not tangible.
Which then brings us back to the idea of boundaries and those restricted by their morals. It is where you’ll fail Ms Wales, cause while you may be an outlaw of the most modern and precocious, I can assure you that I have fewer qualms about my moral code.
It doesn’t equate to cheating, simply a laxing of what would be deemed in all fairness. A bending of rules at times instead of simply snapping them across my knee like most are want to do- I trust you understand Ms Wales.
At this point, I’m not willing to allow my undefeated streak to simply be in vain. While four win may equate to little in the grander scheme of things, it is the zero in the losses column that I’m determined to maintain.
You had your chance at remaining unbeaten, a fact I can assure you isn’t lost upon yours truly, and you allowed it to slip between your fingers because on the night you allowed yourself to be restricted by the moral boundaries you set. Let us not forget that those against you have been of a high quality also, however excuses cannot be made when it is your own shoulders to bear.
I am not a callous woman, Ms Wales, nor am I unfair.
At Night of Glory, you have your chance to take what I have earned and claim the opportunity gifted to you in spite of your previous failures- however I do not have to be any kind of soothsayer to see that once again, you shall trip at the hurdle of your own making at that the boundaries you have set yourself shall fail you once more.
I have the ability to step over the line because I have none Ms Wales. You stay within the lines cause it’s what you’re predetermined to do.
xoxo Amirai.