Pressure
I could feel the pressure building up behind my eyes. The latest round of schedule changes had everyone tense and unhappy. The changes didn't really affect me, but the injustice felt by others stung the senses and made it difficult to think. When you know all of the secrets, nothing surprises you.
I watched some, but mostly I listened. These people had acted for too long to give much away by body language, and the voices long modulated into accommodating-without-accommodating tones, with uncaring steel underneath, but there was enough there to notice true feelings--the breathing would give them away. And the eyes, which are so hard to hide, spoke volumes. The jargon was simple, once you figured out it was their way or the highway. My way or the highway, even, since the world knew me as one of them. Couldn't help but smile at that thought, though it was true in at least one sense. The smile flew from my face when I heard what came next.
"--asked if I would intercede on his behalf with the crown. I said that I would, but most certainly will not. There can be no word of this to anyone. Tomorrow I will speak with the underlings. Dreadful accident, and all. Deadlines must be met." All said in the most righteous tones--everything for the good of the land, especially for me. Ah, that stung. The more unsavory emotions had a flavor in the mind, and it was never good.
"Quite." The under-minister winced slightly, as if something pained him. This went unnoticed by the other speaker, but the other was not watching, too intent on her own machinations. This one was much better at masking the taste of the feelings--a true survivor in this hierarchy. He would be here long after this one's flame burned low.
I slipped, sight unseen, out into a perimeter corridor. Someone needed to be warned, and if I didn't not warn certain people at certain times, terrible things could happen. Had happened.When you expect to go unnoticed, you go unnoticed--or if you act the fool to the right people, you are only a fool. A slip of the tongue, and nothing more. This works well for me, and those who have the gift of clear-seeing always know better than to trust my easy acquiescence and downcast eye. My own tells are a quirk of the lips, a flash of eye. I keep my hair short to hide the most telling of giveaways--a penchant to twirl a lock of hair, come hells or high waters--and the cut merely added to the impression of general flightiness.
The route was circuitous, but finally wound up in a back corner with a loose brick. I jimmied out the brick and whispered into the space a short message, "Be-ware the rising flame, it has had too much air." It would have to be enough. I replaced the brick and whispered another word, that the message would only be heard by the one who would most benefit--in this case, the one destined for a dreadful accident. They would not die at the hired hands of this most odious of courtiers, even if they did deserve it.
If you want to kill someone, you should see their blood.
For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Bewildered Bug gave me this prompt: She could feel the pressure building up behind her eyes. I gave Barb Black this prompt: I am a part of all that I have met.
I watched some, but mostly I listened. These people had acted for too long to give much away by body language, and the voices long modulated into accommodating-without-accommodating tones, with uncaring steel underneath, but there was enough there to notice true feelings--the breathing would give them away. And the eyes, which are so hard to hide, spoke volumes. The jargon was simple, once you figured out it was their way or the highway. My way or the highway, even, since the world knew me as one of them. Couldn't help but smile at that thought, though it was true in at least one sense. The smile flew from my face when I heard what came next.
"--asked if I would intercede on his behalf with the crown. I said that I would, but most certainly will not. There can be no word of this to anyone. Tomorrow I will speak with the underlings. Dreadful accident, and all. Deadlines must be met." All said in the most righteous tones--everything for the good of the land, especially for me. Ah, that stung. The more unsavory emotions had a flavor in the mind, and it was never good.
"Quite." The under-minister winced slightly, as if something pained him. This went unnoticed by the other speaker, but the other was not watching, too intent on her own machinations. This one was much better at masking the taste of the feelings--a true survivor in this hierarchy. He would be here long after this one's flame burned low.
I slipped, sight unseen, out into a perimeter corridor. Someone needed to be warned, and if I didn't not warn certain people at certain times, terrible things could happen. Had happened.When you expect to go unnoticed, you go unnoticed--or if you act the fool to the right people, you are only a fool. A slip of the tongue, and nothing more. This works well for me, and those who have the gift of clear-seeing always know better than to trust my easy acquiescence and downcast eye. My own tells are a quirk of the lips, a flash of eye. I keep my hair short to hide the most telling of giveaways--a penchant to twirl a lock of hair, come hells or high waters--and the cut merely added to the impression of general flightiness.
The route was circuitous, but finally wound up in a back corner with a loose brick. I jimmied out the brick and whispered into the space a short message, "Be-ware the rising flame, it has had too much air." It would have to be enough. I replaced the brick and whispered another word, that the message would only be heard by the one who would most benefit--in this case, the one destined for a dreadful accident. They would not die at the hired hands of this most odious of courtiers, even if they did deserve it.
If you want to kill someone, you should see their blood.
For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Bewildered Bug gave me this prompt: She could feel the pressure building up behind her eyes. I gave Barb Black this prompt: I am a part of all that I have met.
posted by Bran mac Feabhail at 8:55 PM
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