Doom! [22 Trandary 4262]
Today's doom is not my usual kind of doom. Usually I'm doomed by entanglement with an Orren (yay!) or a different sort of entanglement with a nendrai (woe!). Or getting myself into trouble with this or that courtier or official.
Today, I present the more prosaic sort of doom. I forgot about my Herbador, Music, and Religion class.
Now, once in a long while I skip class intentionally -- always, of course, for a supremely superb (and/or superbly supreme) reason. The sort of reason which even my ~mother~ would approve of without wiggling a wing. (Of course, since the reason is so supreme and/or superb, and her approval would be so routine, there is no need to actually go through the formalities of getting it.)
As I recall, I also missed a class or two when I was recovering from being killed.
But today is the first time that I've actually out-and-out forgotten about a class, for no better reason than carelessness. I was in the library reading some of the most explicitly erotic material that I have ever had the pleasure to read for a class. Well, I daresay it's erotic for limnetic hellgrammites. And maybe Herethroy... the author was a Herethroy, and I imagine Herethroy are more interested in how other insects reproduce than, say, I might be.
(OK, I am interested, but not that way. One would never imagine so many creative uses for pincers and wads of crystallized honey. At least, I wouldn't. Or ... I'd rather not. It's fascinating and hideous just what one or another of the creator gods would come up with and decide should be fun for someone, or at least some species of semi-aquatic insect.)
Anyways, I got rather bored with the limnetic hellgramite pornography -- with detailed woodblock prints showing the very act of buggy coitus. In an exceedingly revealing posture! Indeed, half of the insect was diagrammatically peeled away, so that one could see the internal workings of the very act of buggy coitus. If I ever find actual prime pornography done in this style, I shall fly in a straight line away from it for at least nine full minutes.
So I picked up a novel entitled Petrolph at the Gates of the City of Abacuses and read enough to determine that it was one of those obnoxious sorts of romances in which everyone -- and that is, of course, everyRassy, since like any decent novel it does not even notice the existence of transaffection -- winds up copulating with Petrolph by the end of the book. (Sometimes Petrolph is named something else, of course.)
The topic is inescapable.
Well, not entirely inescapable. I flew to a wholly different part of the library, and found a most engaging tome named Notes on a Method of Solving Cubic Equations. No interpersonal intimacies there! Though nesting a square root inside a cube root -- or is it a cube root inside a square root? I just read the Accanax-beboggled book, and I cannot remember which it is! -- is every bit as intimate a deed as the most intimate thing that Petrolph ever engaged in.
I say this not because cubic equations are particularly intimate. I say it because Petrolph is particularly unintimate.
And then, since I was having the delights of an intellectual dinner at Candledance, I slithered over and found a book on the practice of medicine in Mrasteia in the former days. Did you know that they sometimes used insect larvae to nibble off gangrenous flesh? And that they thought that garlands of arken leaves could ward off the maladia of headaches? And that they sewed wounds shut with silken threads when they were out of cley for healing?
Fascinating. Simply fascinating. At least, after cubic equations. I know it sounds vapid now, but at the time it was just as interesting as, oh, kissing Jinthinia. Or perhaps more.
Then I glanced at a window at the sun, and ... I'm going to be a bit late for Economics of Cley, and have missed Herbador, Music, and Religion entirely.