Logs:Breakdowns
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 18 April, 2016 |
| Who: C'ris, Lyrisa, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys has a meltdown. |
| Where: Quinlys' weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 8, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Risca/Mentions |
  |
| Times flies when you're having fun. Not so much when you're not, and Quinlys is, these past four months, not really having fun. Oh, she loves the baby; that's inarguable. It's just... it's just. It's a beautiful summer's afternoon and probably half the Weyr is outside and enjoying it, but Quinlys? She's at home with the baby, looking tired and haggard, and just staring at the sleeping child from across a cluttered and messy space. Clearly, it's been a good day (not). Unlike Frostbite, C'ris hasn't had the time or inclination to make new, lasting connections to his current wingmates. Not with the disolution followed so soon by Lyrisa's birth, and all of his free time spent with his daughter and Quinlys. He doesn't linger at drills today, either, for all that the day is nice, but he has been out there, enjoying the day in the air with his dragon. It shows in the wind-chaffed cheeks and mussed hair when he drags himself into Quinlys' weyr with a quick smile and a greeted, "Hey, sorry. Drills ran long today." But his first path traces carefully towards his daughter, to lean over her crib and just soak her in for a moment before turning back to the Weyrlingmaster to finally look at her and the room around them. His first offer is a helpful, "Should I send for some food?" It shows-- and it turns Quinlys' expression darker as she glances up to see the other bluerider, though she manages not, at least, to immediately take it out on him. "It's fine," is dull, though at least she manages to stand up, stretching out limbs that seem not to have moved in sometime. Having said that: "I'm not hungry. Eat if you want to." "I can wait. We can go get something later together, when you're hungry," is C'ris' easy reply, shaking his head. His lips curve into that smile of his, a simple thing, but as Quinlys rises, he only moves to pick up a discarded piece of clothing off the floor. "If we bring Lyri, my mom can watch her for a while. At least until after dinner." It's the right answer, but it still makes Quinlys toss her head and look unhappy. She turns away from C'ris, ignoring his efforts to tidy and instead moves towards the exit to the ledge, staring out over the stone expanse, and the Weyr below. "Or," she says, "we can drop her off at the nursery for the night and then I can get some actual sleep." Her arms wrap around her shoulders, hugging herself close. C'ris picks up another piece of discarded clothing as he follows her exit to the ledge, holding both in his hands as he paces along behind her. "Quin," he says gently to that suggestion, his smile disappearing into the faint frown that appears concentrated into the corners of his lips. He shakes his head. And his only offer is, rather than agreeing, "Why don't you go get some sleep now? I'll take her with me for a while." "You think I'm a bad mother," is accusatory, declared without Quinlys actually turning to face C'ris. "A proper mother wouldn't... you should just go. Take her and go." "No, Quin. No. I just think you're tired and that-- it happens," C'ris answers, and that clothing is discarded again onto the floor of the weyr as he steps closer to wrap his arms around her, fingers resting on her hips for a moment. He'll even agree with soft sympathy, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "Everyone needs a break once in a while." Quinlys' body is stiff against C'ris', but she doesn't pull away. "But I am a bad mother," she tells him, shoulders drawn in upon themselves. "Sometimes when she cries..." She doesn't finish that thought. "And then you come in and you're all... perfect. And it's not fair. I don't even know why she cries most of the time." C'ris breathes a sigh into red hair, only that as his arms tighten around her for her words, practically radiating sympathy even before he speaks. "No one's perfect," he says quietly. "But she is happy and healthy and-- You did that. We did that." Of course, he always seems to know which cry means what, whether she's hungry or needs to be changed or just wants to be held, so. Sympathy doesn't, in this instance, help. Quinlys is crying, now-- silently, but still. "But she likes you, and I can't seem to do anything right," is hopelessly woebegone. "And I'm tired and getting her out of here is awful so I never leave and summer is going to end and I won't have done anything and then there'll be weyrlings again and I don't know what to do anymore. Why do you have to be so perfect? It's not fair." "You aren't doing anything wrong," is C'ris' soft counter, concern wrapped in the soft edges of his words. His focus turns quickly to fixing, offering, "I'll talk to my mom. She can come up during drills and duties for a few days so you can get out, and then I'll come get her after--. We'll figure it out; we'll get you a break, I promise." "Because that makes a great impression; I can't even look after my own child when I'm not really working." More than the occasional drills or trips to the barracks to make plans for future clutches. Quinlys pulls away, now, turning around so that she can face C'ris, hands on her hips. "I'd rather send her to the nursery." C'ris' frown only deepens, and he speaks before thinking as he answers her with a quick, "How is that better? It's the same impression, and then she's stuck in a cavern without family, with people she doesn't know raising her--." He catches himself with a shake of his head, reaching to rub his fingers softly against her arms now instead. "She's my child too. I will talk to my wingleader, and take some days off. We'll make it work." "It's a completely different impression," declares Quinlys, loud enough that it sets Lyrisa to wailing-- not that the redhaired bluerider goes to comfort her; right now, she's too annoyed, taking a step back away from C'ris' arms and glowering. "It's perfectly normal to be in the nurseries. There's nothing wrong with it." Where Quinlys doesn't, C'ris will; that it gives him a reason to step away from the conversation is only a coincidence, surely, as he turns to cross back into the weyr and scoop his daughter from her cradle. "I want to come home to you and her. I want to wake up in the night to see my daughter sleeping soundly. I want to be there when she takes her first step and says her first word," he answers softly, almost a lullaby sung to Lyrisa as he rocks her gently until the cries become softer noises. "I don't want to miss any of it." "And I don't want to be your little woman, waiting here with the baby," says Quinlys, though it's more a bitter accusation. "I want a life, too. During the day... she needs to be in care during the day. I need someone else to care for her during the day." "I'm going to take some time off. I'll take her for the next few days and then we can--." C'ris' words are tight, tighter for that accusation as brown eyes are lifted to stare for a moment at Quinlys. Finally, he adds, "We will figure something out. I never wanted you to be anything you weren't, Quin." Quinlys' face is blotchy and red, her expression utterly miserable. "You should go," she says. "Or I will. I can't talk to you right now." She's deliberately not looking at the baby, either, quite as if the very presence of their daughter is more than she can handle right now. "I'm going to go away. For a few days." It isn't feelings for himself that flicker across C'ris' expression openly, only sympathy and concern for the bluerider. He doesn't try to change her mind or appeal to her, simply stating, "Alright." A pause, and more to himself or perhaps Lyrisa he repeats, "Alright. We'll be alright." Would Quinlys prefer it if C'ris argued with her on this? Maybe. It's difficult to tell-- perhaps she doesn't even know what she wants, though her expression remains a challenge to the other bluerider. "Go," she says. "Now. Please." "I love you, Quin. Just-- I'm here if you need me, ok?" is what C'ris answers, even as he wraps Lyrisa up tighter against his chest. For a moment, it seems like he will move closer to her, but the challenge in Quinlys' expression seems to be what stops him. Instead, he turns to go as she asks, taking his daughter with him. Maybe Quinlys regrets what she's said, in those moments after, as C'ris leaves. But she's stubborn; and she's worn down. True to her word, she'll be gone for a few days-- and it's liable to be a miserable few days given she had been breastfeeding their daughter-- but when she's back? Things are easier, at least a little. It's been obvious for some time that motherhood has been difficult for High Reaches' weyrlingmaster-- she looks awful these days, and moody and miserable to boot (especially by contrast to C'ris). Evidently, however, something boiled over at long last, because early in month eight the redhaired bluerider disappeared for a few days, leaving her infant daughter behind in C'ris' care. When she returns, it's clear the time away has done her some good, because her spirits are, if not back to normal, certainly in better shape than they were... though Lyrisa, now four months old, is in the care of other people (including her grandmothers) significantly more often. |
Leave A Comment