Logs:All That Glitters
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| RL Date: 14 February, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Silva, Aidavanth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Silva tells Jocelyn just what she thinks of her with unexpected results. |
| Where: Jocelyn's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 1, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edeline/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Quint/Mentions |
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| It's the next day, after Jocelyn and Quint kept Silva from making a really poor choice of intimate company. Not early, because Silva was in no shape this morning to go anywhere right away. Almost midday is when Silva feels alive enough to finally get about, but it is without her usual polish. No makeup, and her hair is just tied up in a ponytail. Now she's outside Jocelyn's weyr, drawing courage up. "Jocelyn?" Her voice /sounds/ strong enough as she rocks on her heels slightly outside. To Jocelyn, Aidavanth's warm, clear voice holds only a little surprise as she interrupts her rider's focus with the sound of gentle taps. « Silva's here to see you. » To Aidavanth, Jocelyn's astonishment is palpable, even as she puts aside her note copying at her desk in favor of going to meet Zaisyreth's. « She's never sought me out before, » the redhead muses as she crosses into the front-facing cavern. « What could she want now? » To Jocelyn, Aidavanth would arch an eyebrow if she had one, pointing only to their shared sense of knowing in answer. « Be kind, » is a gentle reminder. Aidavanth, halfway to her preferred spot for surveying in the sun on her ledge, pauses briefly once she hears Silva's call before continuing outside. It's likely that she relays the bluerider's arrival to her lifemate, as Jocelyn appears some minutes after in the entryway, hands spotted with ink and expression, taken aback before she has time to smooth it into something carefully polite. "Silva." Eyes more gray than blue take in the girl's appearance for a long moment, then: "Come in." She turns without waiting to see if the other will follow, already moving to the elevator shaft to call for a fresh water pitcher. In the meantime, she half moves toward the sensible chairs at the table, but ultimately changes direction to sit on the edge of one of the armchairs near the bookshelf, eyebrows lifting expectantly. "Sit. The chair across from me won't bite." Needless to say, this is awkward for Silva. When the minutes tick past she is ready to just turn and walk away and would have if Zaisyreth hadn't silently been pressuring her to stay patient. "Jocelyn," is all Silva gets out before the older weyrling us taking it right out of her hands. She follows, eyes moving around to take in the enormous weyr with surprise and envy. Following she takes the seat offered and smooths out her shirt fussily. Not too long does she allow the silence to continue before, "Why did you do that?" Genuine bewilderment, "Zaisy says you helped last night. Why?" The sound of a mechanism at work heralds the arrival of their water, and Jocelyn rises to retrieve it from the trap-door in the wall, carrying the tray over to the table. She doesn't answer Silva immediately, pouring a generous glass before crossing back to her classmate, offering it to her with a pointed look that turns more thoughtful as she regards the teenager steadily. "I won't be very good at taking care of this place if I don't look after its people, " she says neutrally enough. It almost manages to be business-like, save for her eyes; there, her concern is permitted through, however subtly. A trifle awkwardly, "On a more personal level, " surprise, she does have one of those! "You looked like you could have ended up in a bad situation. It'd be irresponsible of me to watch something like that happen to you and not act in your best interest." "So... it was just your responsibility?" Silva misses the look in Jocelyn's gaze, her eyes are fixed on the glass of water handed to her. She fidgets, almost imperceptibly in place, thumbs tracing invisible lines on the glass. "And you didn't tell anyone about what you found out. Was that your responsibility too?" A beat of silence before Silva blurts out, this time with a hint of heat, "I never asked you to, you know. I know you don't like me, and that's okay because I don't really like you either." Jocelyn takes a step back as she relinquishes that glass to the other weyrling, retreating to her former perch on the edge of the seat across the way. "I didn't say that, " she begins, one hand lifting to pinch irritably at the bridge of her nose. That statement of Silva's belief in their mutual dislike, so bald, elicits a long, careful exhale. "And yet, you came here today, " the redhead says measuredly. "I'm going to assume that you didn't come into my home just to tell me that you don't like me, as you've long made your feelings eminently clear." Her lips press thin for a moment, hands curling at the edges of her trouser pockets. Suddenly, "Look, I'm terrible at saying things like this - but contrary to what you seem to believe, I don't want to see you get hurt or taken advantage of by someone with poor intentions. No one deserves that sort of treatment. Zaisyreth obviously sees something of worth in you, even if you're too entrenched in your adolescent concerns to see it in yourself." Her tone stays frank as the words, pent-up for some time, push their way out. "Regardless of where you lived before the here and now, you're presently about to become a High Reaches wingrider. Does that mean I'll feel responsible for your well-being as long as I serve my home? Yes. That's my job. But it's now your home, too. I don't know how they did things where you grew up, but I was raised to remember that we're not going to get far without our community. It doesn't mean that I have to like everyone, " thank Faranth, "but it does mean that I have to respect them. That includes you." "No," she didn't come just to insult Jocelyn. Silva hadn't meant to do that at all. It's all she gets out before Jocelyn moves on though, and every word the gold weyrling speaks is like a knife and Silva flinches at most of them. She at least manages to look ashamed about her words, even as Jocelyn sideways seems to confirm that she doesn't like the teenager. "It's not that easy. Like you say it is. The whole suddenly being a part of a 'community' or whatever. You're so good at everything." Totally oxymoron, Silva's eyes still not looking up. "It's like you were made for this." It's a whine and Silva hears it, her dislike for //herself// only growing with each word. "You think I don't know that it's hard?" Jocelyn pushes back, finally permitting her own frustration to be very audible. "I've spent my whole life here, and even that hasn't been enough time to feel like I fit in well!" With the admission she likely didn't intend to give, she promptly deflates, rubbing unhappily at her temples. Her eyes squeeze shut for some minutes, breathing rapid. Quietly, "I'm not 'good at everything, ' as you put it. Clearly I'm not good at this, " and a hand lowers from her forehead to wave aimlessly at the space between them. "People. I worked hard to pick up useful skills and become competent at my job when I first worked for Giorda. Classes, numbers, learning were all easier to deal with than my lack of solid friendships as a child." And children can be cruel to one another, something that turns of growth haven't managed to erase. It's there, for a moment, in the silence after she speaks, the pain that grimaces briefly over her features before it's swiftly tucked away again. Gaze focused now on a book with a blue spine inside of the bookcase, she works to regain her composure, expression tight and tired. Silva sets down her glass on the arm of the chair, and wraps her arms around herself. There's shame written all over her expression, a feeling Silva doesn't let in very often, and it's more uncomfortable then the prideful arrogance she usually pulls on. "What are you going to do?" The question comes quietly, almost like Silva's asking for advice for herself then wondering what Jocelyn is going to do. "If you're asking if I'm going to tell someone that one of Lady Edeline's people ended up riding for us despite her refusal, I see no need to unless that knowledge ends up endangering this weyr." Jocelyn's misunderstanding of to whom Silva's talking might be purposeful or genuine; it's difficult to tell. Wearily, "Why did you come here today? You could have asked about last night via Zaisyreth without ever leaving your pillows." Two spots of color remain high in the woman's cheeks, but she otherwise looks calmer than she did some minutes ago, almost curious. Silva draws her legs up against her chest, and wraps her arms around them. Head resting on her knees she finally looks up at Jocelyn. "I haven't told my family I impressed. They wouldn't understand. I don't understand." That being more the reason Silva doesn't want to go near home, more than the political backlash of Lady Edeline's displeasure. "But.. I meant like... what are you going to do about like... people. If you don't feel comfortable here after like... living here forever..." Her arms squeeze tighter around her legs. "I'm tired of feeling all alone. That's why I got all tangled up with that guy last night... he was so nice and like, it was nice to be paid attention to." "They say we'll never be alone again, after having Impressed, " Jocelyn muses aloud, half in answer, "and that's certainly true. But as much as they do love us, it isn't going to quite fulfill everything, is it?" It's both a rhetorical query and an acknowledgment of what Silva's just expressed. "Feeling less than comfortable with people isn't going to change unless I work harder to push past it. Aidavanth helps, certainly, but I've grown so accustomed to the feeling that it's - hard to be another way, " like a too-old, too-comfortable jacket. But perhaps that's a topic for another time, as she listens to the other weyrling further. "Was he really nice, " she probes carefully after a few moments, "or simply saying nice things to you? There's a difference, you know. Someone can say something nice, and even smile while working out how to pull the rug out from under your feet." No, she doesn't have trust issues at all. Haltingly, "It - takes time, at least for me, to work out someone's intentions, whatever the scenario. It's harder now than it was before. I have to assume until it's proven otherwise that people are interested in adding a connection with High Reaches to their acquaintance rather than, well." Me, goes unspoken with a wince. "I love Zaisyreth." Very little else that Silva says these days is filled with such sincerity. "But... he's not a person, you know?" Prime example being the night before. Zaisyreth had no idea what to do as Silva dug herself into serious trouble. Finally the blue weyrlings unfolds her legs and leans forward. She's short enough that her feet don't sit flat on the floor, just her toes touch. "I'm not really interested in the weyr." Pure honesty, as the words come slowly. "You don't have to worry about that with me." There's a small, genuine curve to Jocelyn's mouth for that expression of sincerity. It fades after, leaving the older weyrling looking briefly in the direction of the ledge. "No, " she agrees at some length, "he isn't." Pale eyes turn back to observe Silva's movements, flicking up to study her face in light of that unexpected honesty. For a moment, she's all but impossible to read, at least until her eyebrows slowly lift. "I don't have to worry about that with you, " she repeats dubiously, as though mulling the concept over. "Is that an offer of - " Friendship might be too strong of a word. She clears her throat, tone gentler for her next. "What, exactly, are you trying to say?" "Don't tell anyone, okay?" That's a whole pile of secrets Silva's asking Jocelyn to keep. "I don't think we're allowed to not like, feel like that." Yes, silva does feel like the Weyr wants to control her feelings. It's probably part of the reason she's so morose so much these days. Her heels kicks against the seat, eyes having fallen down again. "I don't know like... I guess I shouldn't go to bars by myself. But like... I'm tired of staying inside all the time and like, not going out." "Plenty of people must feel that way, " Jocelyn reasons with a little nod, "or they wouldn't have weyrmates." An almost-snort escapes her afterward, and there's a wry smile in its wake. "I don't mind my solitude. It's how I work best - but I do go places every now and then, as my schedule permits. You can too, you know. Take the time to travel with Zaisyreth. See some new scenery. Go to gathers, get the full experience and not have to worry about getting dragged into endless small talk with lords and ladies. You have a type of freedom that some people will only be able to dream of. Make use of it. Farideh's eyes almost bugged out with happiness when we went to visit the weavers at Boll. I'm sure you'd enjoy their showrooms and displays with all of those little squares of fabric and lace and Faranth knows what else." "Oh." There's a shift there, as Silva draws back into herself. Whatever else she'd come to say gets sucked back behind her teeth and the younger weyrling pushes herself to her feet. "Journeyman Quint said that, too. A little bit back." Hands come up to brush hairs back out of her face as Silva looks towards the exit. "I should probably go. I wasn't really feeling good this morning, so I missed some stuff. I should like... go say sorry." "He's not unknowledgable, that harper, " Jocelyn endorses reluctantly, standing as Silva gets to her feet. Carefully, "I hope that you're feeling better now." It isn't wholly a reference to the girl's hangover, either, judging by the considering look she gives. "I - " Pause, restart. "If you want to - talk to someone again, sometime, I don't know that I'm necessarily yours or everyone else's top choice for that sort of thing. But I'll listen." It's hesitant, but genuine in offer. "I've nearly a decade on you and I struggle daily with learning when to use my defenses and when to leave them at the door, so to speak." Interacting with people is hard, says her grimace before her expression smooths. Her, "Thank you for stopping by, " flows more easily than the rest, as though delivered on a practiced autopilot. "He's been nice to me." A hint there of 'nicer than most' lingers on the edge of her words. She rocks back and forth for a moment, licking her lips as if in preparation for saying something else before she shakes her head. "It doesn't matter really." It doesn't come out as painful as the one before, more tinged with serious regret. "Thanks for your help last night. I'll be more careful about stuff like being out and whatever." That is almost bubbly even. Silva fixes a smile on her face. "I'll see you around." And determined, she's going to take herself towards OUT. |
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