(no subject)

 a few days ago, one of my grandmas had what we thought was a small stroke. as it turns out, she’s been having strokes since July, and the one that finally got caught was a pretty big one. mentally she’s still there. she’s speaking, albeit kinda slurred. her memory’s intact, even if her attention span isn’t. she’s lost a lot of mobility on the left side. we’re all glad that mentally she’s still there, but there’s a very real possibility that she won’t be able to go back home. we do know she’s going to need permanent nursing care, since she’s a diabetic being put on warfarin. that's assuming she doesn't have another stroke before they can actually start her on warfarin.

the house is kind of a beehive right now. we’re nine hours away, but my dad is the one who needs to handle most of the official stuff. my grandpa’s dementia has progressed too much for him to handle any of it. originally my dad was going to head up the day after christmas, but he went ahead and left today. if something happened between now and after christmas and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye, he would never forgive himself and he would probably kinda blame us. he'll be back in a couple days.

and I dunno how I’m supposed to feel. I’ve never been very close with most of my extended family? when I was little my grandparents were kind of disinterested in learning anything about my diabetes, so I couldn’t really spend the same one-on-one time with them that my siblings did. so I really only saw them once a year or every couple years when the whole family visited. even when I was old enough to manage my own diabetes, they still tended to treat me like an infant and I had no interest in visiting.

so…I dunno what to feel. I mean, I’m supposed to be upset, and I am, but it’s just a vague ‘well, that’s unfortunate’ and a sort of nebulous ‘!!!!!!’ mostly I’m sad for my dad and my aunt and my uncle.

Fallen London: Some sort of title, whatever

yaaaay more Shai. also I'm borrowing my friend's OC. Shai and Ari are kinda dating but I don't think they've quite realized it yet, so mostly they drink coffee and booze and have inappropriate conversations in public.

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It's supposed to be music. It used to be music, years ago when your hands were your own. You weren't amazing at it, but still, you were at least good. You were. But now? Even with your more flexible set of hands, your fingers keep tripping over the keys.

You bungle the first few measures of the same song for the fourth time, and you switch to a new one so you can repeat the process. Your thoughts skirt four songs ahead for a moment, wryly getting a jump on how many times you know you're likely to botch it again tonight.

You didn't hear Ari enter, but you spot them from the corner of one eye when they come to stand in the doorway. And part of you sort of wants to stop--slam your hands on the keys, laugh, pretend it's on purpose--but you carry on for a few measures longer, until you're too fed to bother anymore. At least for tonight. You won't say you're glaring at the keys, but your weight leans heavy on your hands, and if you could crack the ivory with sheer willpower you can't say you would protest.

They sidle over, not a care in the world, and drop down beside you on the bench. For a few seconds, neither of you says anything.

Slowly, they look down at your hands, their eyebrows rising.

"You're going to crack the ivory," they inform you eventually, so very helpful. You relax your elbows and your hands go slack against the edge of the keys.

This used to be easy. But no, it wasn't, it's 88 keys and being off by one could ruin a song.

I used to be good at this. But you used to be able to sew, too. Objectively speaking, you should probably be more fussed about losing the more practical skill.

This shouldn't be so hard. But that's just whining, isn't it? When it comes right down to it, some pretty music isn't all that important.

In the end, you can't quite find the words to put to your frustration, so you don't bother.

Ari prods one key, and the note reverberates long after their hand falls back to their side. Their silence is...thoughtful? Mostly it's making you sort of wary, and you tap two claws against the edge of the keys.

"Teach me how to play something."

You shoot them a sidelong, incredulous look, and abruptly you can't help but to wonder if they need their hearing checked. Or perhaps they're simply making fun of you. You turn that idea over for a split second before discarding it.

"What?" they protest mildly, leaning closer to your shoulder. "You know how." You're looking at the keys again, but you can practically feel the expectant look they're giving you.

Slowly, you sigh. You roll your shoulders, and then your wrists. You curl your fingers over the keys again. "First of all," you sigh, "you need to hold your hands properly." You can manage the basics. You can still do that, at least.