Shadowgirls

Greetings, all!

Where to begin?

Well, I guess a name is a good start.  I am Inara, though you may as well call me mother hen.  Someone has to look out for all of you.

Some time ago, I stumbled across a blog, written by one 'Fides', speaking of strange happenings around Innsmouth.  Most involved sea creatures of some sort.  I am normally skeptical, but these occurrences were matching up with some news stories that were the equivalent of "it's just a hot air balloon" in Roswell.  So, I did what any sane person would do.  I ran.  As far from the sea as I could get.

Luckily for me, my grandparents had left me a dilapidated old farm in the middle of nowhere in Kansas.  I moved out here, did some repairs, and wound up with a beautiful little family somehow.  Michael is my fiance, though when we'll find time for a wedding is anyone's guess.  We have two sons, Charlie and Joshua.  Charlie was adopted through  . . . interesting means, and has some behavior issues because of his past.  Joshua came to us in the usual way, and is almost five months old.

The two things you need to know about me are that 1) I bake a mean pie (and am a pretty good cook otherwise), and 2) you are always welcome to come and rest a spell in my home.  Just be prepared to be mothered like you were five years old again.

Until we meet again, may you be blessed by whatever God you choose.  Much love to all of you.

(Inara was never anything but story, so I am hesitant to lose any of it.  I will let go of details, but I want to keep the family I have built.  Time will tell if Cara and Daniel's story will continue, or fade away.  The Farm is now just a house and a barn, and we will forget any other building that has happened past that.  It was getting a little difficult to keep track of anyway.)

Ah, Andy, so nice to hear from you again.  Michael was starting to worry about you.

And, Honey, that accent of yours would stop a clock.  I have to say, I missed it.

Ah, Andy.  You are right, as ever.  Sorry to hear about your trouble with the IRS – never fun.

Yeah, Joshua is doing well – he will be five months old this weekend.  Already.  And, for the most part, he's a dream baby.  Sleeps through anything, never cries until he needs something, happy to just be around people.  Of course, all of that went out the window this week when he caught his first cold.  Wouldn't you know it, too, Charlie caught it at the same time.  Poor Michael's been sleeping on the couch, since both boys want to sleep on me all the time.  The only good thing about it is that it makes Charlie want to cuddle instead of throw things.  And, to be fair, Charlie is doing a ton better.  His outbursts have dropped to about once a week at this point, instead of several a day.  He is positively fascinated by his little brother, and wants to include him in everything.  After one of his tantrums one day, I told him that he couldn't be around Joshua if he was going to act like that, because he might hurt him.  I could see him turn that over in his mind.  Ever since then, he's been really careful around the baby.  Unfortunately, the nightmares continue.  I don't know if those will ever go away, completely.  Poor kid.

Oh, wait, Michael wants to say something:

Andy, don't you tell my girl to hit me like that.  She takes ya' serious!  I'm certain it's gonna bruise!  I tell ya' . . .

Inara back.  Michael's just being whiny, so ignore him.  Love to all of you. 

Hah! You are still the wily bird I remember, Fors. Palimony indeed… mayhap I lived in California where such boggling laws seem to hold more water than an urn… I am a man of the Old Country, comrade, and see all things in realms of practicality, and taking my advanced years into account, such a thing is wholly impractical.

No, that would require both parties to sign something, and handwriting is still a mystery to my precious one. You must infer a  paternity suit, yes? You are not the only one that can make the edge of a wise tounge sharp, no? Ah, but you make this old face smile, for what is a life without jibes? Though I will still keep my doors closed around april through may; this house may prove damaging to hale men in such… tempestuous seasons. Thankfully I am not forty years younger; my only vices remaining are in aged casks, rolled in Cuba or lie in decks of cards.

As for my 'affairs' with Wiseman, Foggart and Hughes… there is something of a respite in their potential depredations. Foggart apparently died of some manner of heart failure four months past, the night of his sixty-sixth birthday. Friends with loose lips in the County sent me a copy of the coroner's report… a man of his years should have stayed well clear of China, if you follow. Foggart was always the least mature and had numerous vices that had caused the Harvard faculty a few, let us say 'embarassments'. I sent his widow some flowers in condolences. She should have a most comfortable life free of this wretched man, and at twenty years his junior all doors are open, as it were. Wiseman and Hughes remain however, watchful as buzzards, so my vigilance remains.

'Beamed power' though, I feel I should nit-pick as you say, and remind you it was almost a fact a hundred years past. If only Wardenclyffe Tower had been completed… Should I find myself in Milan, Ohio, and I were a lesser man, I would take a flame to Edison's birthplace. Theives and liars do dot deserve memorial. How one man's greed and pride can cost a world… is that not the selfsame lesson of Innsmouth?

Ah, but I ramble, as old men are wont to. Lord keep all you old hearts safe, and may he guide the feet of the newcomers I sense drawing close to safe sanctuary from evil.

P

Сестра красотки тщета, и ее дочь затем похоть.

My child, as welcome as children would be, this house is not the safest place for little ones. I would not dream of allowing innocents into harm's way. Not so much as my houseguest is concerned but insofar as my deplorable habit of leaving firearms tucked under chairs and in wedged in roll-top desks. You know first-hand how dangerous my house is to the unwary. Also some things here are potential fuel for a lifetime of nightmares. I am as much a guardian as a protector of knowledge.

Should you ever wish for a weekend away however, please feel free to visit. You are both quite welcome. Though I think I will regret saying this, the large pond in the rear garden has been pleasingly transformed into a swimming pool (for ensuring muscles remain in good health – and naturally I do not mean my own) so those walking around back will no doubt mistake the place for a spa. I will naturally forbid 'pool parties' forthwith, though the house is now a modicum more relaxing. There is still room for visitors who do not mind untidiness and the smell of oil to tarry a while in the tractor shed and stablehouse.

P

Никакая головка поэтому святейше дьявол не может сделать гнездй в ем.