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Subject: Re: Ovid watched the small scene play out
Author: Parfaitcheri   (Authenticated as sarinvae)
Date: September 22, 2012 at 11:47:59 AM
Reply to: Re: Ovid watched the small scene play out by klundtacular
No problem, I actually didn't even go on the computer at all yesterday

Ovid sat silently for a moment thinking and finally he spoke, "Yes I've been off-balance. But not because of her death. I'm getting old and frankly, I'm dying. I've got another three or four years left if I'm lucky. I was fine with that. But right around the time my wife died... it'll do better to explain what I do first. I run a military organization that brokers peace between two warring nations. Warring might be an understatement. Ondore and Rozzaria hate each other. They've been fighting wars since before they were even formed.

"My troops do a variety of things and are far more than just foot soldiers. But the king is... his mind isn't what it used to be. Its not completely gone yet but it'll be there soon enough. He's mandated therapy for me right in the middle of a political and military shitstorm for gods sake! Rozzaria senses this weakness and right around the time my wife died they began attacking villages and towns and my military outposts along the border. I mourned her death, but its not what made me 'off-balance.' The threat of another war, less than fifteen years after the last one? That is what made me 'off-balance.'"

Ovid finished his explanation and shook his head with a growl. He was agrivated but he continued, "And I grieved my wife. I did. Briefly, but she was never in the habit of grieving for very long. She didn't want me to to much grieving, told me so herself. So I didn't." He shrugged, it was as simple as that for him. She has always accepted death as it was, always knew she'd see the people she loved again some day. So she grieved for a moment and then that moment passed and she would spend her time loving or enjoying something else.

"And a moment for who she was.... there was one time years ago I saw her training a combat team. One of the soldiers did... something, I'm not sure what, wrong. It wasn't like her to yell and scream. But she stood there and started at the man and when she was done giving him nasty looks she whacked him across the head. Looked like it hurt by the way he fell over. She promoted him a week later. She was tough and nasty but she cared. The promotion was her own sort of affection, I suppose.

"We functioned well together though. A moment for that though couldn't be just one moment. It was every night. No matter how busy we were, no matter how tired or angry. Whether things were good or bad or in-between, we always made a half hour a night to talk to each other. Sometimes those talks were yelling, other times we shared our concerns or hopes, most of the time we talked about nothing at all. I could tell you more about knitting that anyone just from listening to her talk, never knitted a damn blanket in my entire life."

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