Well, today was a very good day swordfighting. Only really hurting in one spot, and considering the hits I took, that's good. We had a couple fun drills...I got to fight off multiple people. I'll figure out a way to win one of these multi-against-me fights. Sometime. Oh well.

The crazy grin mask did exactly what it was supposed to--intimidate. There's something to be said for stepping up to cover an ally who lost their footing, and doing it with the grin of a man who's totally lost his mind. A couple of strong swings and battlecries added in completes the effect. So much fun. 

Only hit I still feel is one where I got clobbered on the back with a shortsword. I had to defend someone unarmed, and against two armed opponents. We lasted WAY longer than we should have, but then, Cale did a good job getting us away from the guys with swords and keeping me fighting one-on-one.

I may have scared some people with the grin...and the requisite personality mask beneath it. The mask beneath it revolved around letting myself be consumed by the battle--someone asked what I wanted, and I said "I want you to die." All meant in good fun, and in the context of "oh, you got hit three times. You're dead(out)." Not dead as in not breathing dead. Not dead as in daisy chow.

All in all, two hours of fighting=two hours of fun.

Warrior's Way

My life and death are my own
All of it seeds I've sown
I've fought through countless battles, some on the field, some in my mind.
I bear the scars on my heart, I bear the scars on my soul, though my body remains pristine.
I grow weary of fighting at times, but my tour of duty doesn't end until I do.
I rely on my own strength, and that of my friends.
They help me, whether or not it suits their ends.
I help them out, without a doubt
I crush their enemies, tail to snout.
I know only battle, fighting, and war.
I know how life works. I know the score.
Once I've ended, then I'll know for sure.
Until then...I'll ride into battle again, fighting off my enemies or the enemies of my friends. May my tour of duty be long and prosperous.

Describes my room, this journal...my life, pretty much.

This is my private place
Everything is neat and clean
The skeletons are hidden in the closet
This is my private place
Come and get me out of here.

People keep talking about the ever-constant march of progress. By whose mark is progress an improvement? Is it regress? No gain?

We've gotten so smart
We know how to blow the whole world apart

Well...I found this place... a very interesting site, we have here.

Membership has its benefits, in any case, anywhere. Time to go around looking for friends, looking for fun stuff going on.

I have concealed this here because it needs to be visible but hidden in secret.
12-16-12, hidden in something six and a half years old.

I watch as you turn and head back to the real world, taking off your mask as you leave the stage we've made. I turn and take off my mask, walking back into the anterooom, the vestibule, my study. The air lock between our spaceship and the earth, where we go to different destinations.
As I look in the mirror, holding the mask in my hands, I realize that my face has begun to shift its shape to match the mask. I knew I had crafted the mask to look similar to my own visage, but when I made it, I was different from it. Whether it was the mask changing or me changing, it is getting harder and harder to keep it separate from reality.
I am Becoming The Mask.
The character I play in the tale we craft, the one who tells lies and confidently strides through his cockpit, steering the relationship and the spaceship and his life with aplomb. He loves your character, knows her, has seen her vulnerable and cares, protects.
I see it in your eyes and you see mine, that we would love for it to be real. 

I know we want to meet once. I want to make you need to meet me again, to hang out and do stuff and as we part, to kiss your hand, your cheek, your lips, pleading that I had to know. What it might be like, what I'm missing. What might be, or might have been. If it's like I've imagined. I know fictions aren't facts, but I know you. I see through your mask, not sure if you're playing along or utterly ignorant, but we could very easily be very nice together.

I had to know...because I needed to know if you're happy or stalling, content or test-running. I've got a bombshell to drop on you one day soon. It will demand action, and attempting to preserve the good you have will end in failure. I have tried that route. You must have a finish-line partner, not just someone to take you for a leg of the race.

I told you that joining up would have a price.

My villainy is as follows: you were not a valid target for pursuit when we met. I saw you would be amazing with Jesus, that I wanted to see what that would look like. It was around then I realized both that you were interesting in your own right, and that you were with an absentee someone, a guy I didn't know and didn't see.

Seven years of doing it wrong taught me one thing: Jesus first, charm second. This time we are close friends first, and maybe eventually I can convince you all those people who talked about marrying their close friend and still being together twenty years later, still happy...maybe they had a point.

Perhaps I've become like the thieving, charming con artist, because that's what this looks like to me on the face of it. The secret's out now, though. The ambush blown. I've finally managed to do this right. I've beaten the monster...but I haven't revealed this to you. This is the black hat blindsiding white hat, clearing out the guilt without solving the problem. My villainy continues unimpeded.