Field Notes III

Dysthet, Al was right, I never should have responded to Snaca’s ask. It as good as confirms that I’m me. I should have put it in the bin with the rest of the junk questions and moved on. This is what I get for panicking.

Cannot believe they’re still looking for me after all these years.

Well. I can believe it. They’re a cadre of terrible shitwizards who care for nothing but themselves and their shitty, unethical experiments and investments. But, I don’t know, I figured they’d give up at some point.

In hindsight, that’s a ridiculous idea. Murdoch has never forgotten anything he believes to be an insult, and an employee (however unwilling) dipping without permission is exactly the kind of thing he’d hold onto until the heat death of the stars. The rest of them are just the same.

What I want to know is how Snaca figured out where I work. Even if they did recognize me on the street, how’d they figure the Holler? I’m not wearing, and have not been wearing, any attributes from the time I was bound to Murdoch, for exactly this reason. I can hardly recall what it’s like to wear my original skin. My own family wouldn’t recognize me. I’m not buying that he got me on the shape of my walk, not the least of which because walking around with clawed toes vs the webbed and goey feet I was using to navigate Wansborne’s marshes encourage two very different gaits.

Bones. I really shouldn’t have responded at all. I feel like I’ve put the Holler under the worst sort of spotlight- even beyond what hit us when I laid into Darnas in court. Not that he didn’t have it coming, but that judge is the only reason his attempt to rotisserie me mid-testimony didn’t end in a bigger lawsuit. And it’s not like Murdoch would ever bother with something as malleable as the legal system. He’d just start lighting houses on fire.

Maybe I’ll go up north, keep moving, avoid Hamitsdown and the home office for a bit. I’ll have to stop by Meara’s first, or she’ll roast me alive for disappearing on her. Al will understand. And! I won’t have to take an intern with me. Perfect. Wintsnd is nice this time of years, maybe I’ll bother Midge for a while. She’d get a kick out of hiding me away, and I could use some time to catch up on my Dear Eze’s.

I’m going to have to be careful about my article schedule. Can’t let on where I’m laying-low, not the least of which because Midge would eviscerate anyone who came to look, and I don’t want to draw attention to Wintsnd. They’re too kind as it is.

I have been toying with the idea of doing a long-distance interview, although I honestly prefer to look my subject in the eye, really get a feel for who they are as a person before putting anything down, but I can work around that. Maybe I’ll send a few long-form letters to creatures I’ve met before, that could work. There’s that professor I met at that caster’s conference who said he’d be open to an interview but was about to leave on a sabbatical, he’d be a good place to start. I can get his contact from Jefferies. There’s also C Petsch, she’d love this kind of thing. The long for letters, the clandestine nature of the thing, she’ll eat that right up. And she’s very articulate, which makes her perfect for this. I’ll send a few initials, see if they’re down. Petsch I might have to do last. I love her dearly, but she does lean towards long-winded, and I want to give her time to get it all out.

So that’s my next few months buttoned up, I hope. I’ve been avoiding my place ever since Snaca’s letter came through, I’ll have to send an intern or Meara or someone to grab my bag. I could leave without it, light knows I’m no stranger to figuring it out with naught but the clothes on my back, but I’ve put a lot of effort into that go-bag, and if I’m going to be stomping around up north for who knows how long, I’m going to want my good socks.