Another evening.
Another night spent attempting to avoid the prattle of every idiot that nature gifted with a larynx.
Why do they think I never speak? If I spoke, it would only encourage them to talk more. "Oh, he's such a good listener. Oh, he's so understanding." I am neither. I don't understand and I have absolutely no desire to listen to them. None of them have anything worth saying.
What is worth saying? Little.
Do they think that their brains will begin working if their mouths stop moving? Would that be worse? Perhaps it would be. Some of those fools should not be allowed near an unguarded thought for fear of the damage they could do. Smart enough to have interesting ideas; not wise enough to know they're bad interesting ideas. The Doc is a living illustration of that concept.
Zoren Blitz comes close to achieving the proper balance of silence and action. She keeps her mouth shut most of the time. Granted, she tends to be overly talkative when fighting, but that can be somewhat excused in the heat of the moment. She speaks as a tribute to the delight that battle brings her; just as she screams in the arms of her lover.
I have heard some of the men wonder if those tattoos continue under her clothes, and if so, how far they continue. If I were inclined to share confidences with them, I could tell them how far those tattoos go – all the way down her body. I would know. I helped ink them. Her silence during even the most painfully intimate of those inscriptions may have been what drew me to her to begin with.
It could be said that her body speaks for me.