" clique." clique. So, after I told my parents that I was staying, (They weren't exactly pleased, but did send their love.) I sent my emigration documents to Ge (my home world, which is kinda slow in developing - some old beliefs remain - like having genuine parents.), and wandered around, looking for a home. It was on that trek that I met Ken Shardik. Don't pay any attention to those rumours that he's a heinous lech. He isn't heinous. He's a nice guy, if you treat him the right way. The right way is somewhere between reverence and arrogance. It came up as we idly talked that I was looking for a home, and he mentioned that he just happened to have a free room in his Castle. He's a smart guy, but a sucker for a dulcet voice. So I got the room. And access to other stuff. The hardest part was convincing him to give me some place to write my thoughts down. After reassuring him that I'd only use it for one day (today, the day I go through the Hall) he consented. I asked him if my entry would be kept; he told me to give him a copy when I was done, and then he'd decide. That usually means, "No, I won't, but I'll let you do it anyway so you can enjoy yourself." Ah well, a girl can always hope. And that's why I got it, why I'm recording my thoughts for my own edification. Putting on a bland blue terry-cloth robe, the one with my Tarot cards in the pocket, (One of my souvenirs from the satellite world Visconti - and they're pretty fun to play with, too - just something else to do when I'm alone, I suppose.) I walked over to the SDisk, deciding to leave for the Hall early, when someone knocked at the door. |