Logs:Don't Need Pity
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| RL Date: 8 April, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Silva, Aidavanth, Zaisyreth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn tries to check up on Silva and offer her ears. It backfires. |
| Where: Lofted Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 7, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quint/Mentions |
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>---< Lofted Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------<
Inside, the weyr itself is also tall but narrow, the wallow a two-story
affair while the living area's made more spacious by the loft installed
above it. While outside it was plain, inside, it's all about the details:
the stone cleverly worked to shape heat and sound into comfort, the
built-in benches smoothly chiseled into a corner where a table might fit,
and best of all, what seems to have been a ship's mast wedged from the
loft level to the floor - a smoothly polished pole, the better to slide
down in a hurry for a literal or metaphorical fire.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Jocelyn F 26 5'5" lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes
Silva F 18 5'2" sylph, dark black hair, green eyes
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Ledge
>--------------------------------------< 1D 7M 40T I10, summer afternoon >---< "I don't know. I think it needs.... something." Silva's busy at work in her weyr, dashing about with more energy than the small woman usually shows to any endeavor. She's got pillows scattered about in different corners. "It's just, it's stone Zaisy. I don't think anything can soften it just right. It's just... like, it's too empty." There's something about her activity though, like she's trying to burn off something through movement that probably would be better put to just being faced. For his part, Zaisyreth sits on the ledge without watching calmly without the same sense of frantic agitation Silva shows. A gentle knock-knock precedes Aidavanth's warm, if brisk inquiry to Zaisyreth; if Silva's home with him, she and Jocelyn would like to call on them both. « We won't be long, » the queen is quick to reassure of the potential interruption, passing along a sense of Jocelyn being equally frenetic in her movements, a flash of marching down a corridor in the lower caverns; in another, searching for papers, pacing into and out of her study. Savannah warmth reaches out to wrap around Aidavanth, accepting her within his mind without a single hesitation. « Of course. It is the time for calling. » The message gets passed on to Silva and she abruptly pulls up from her activity. "WHO wants to come visit?" Clear confusion in Silva's voice. The pause doesn't last for long though, before Silva jumps back into action, picking up pillows as quickly as she can (and dropping some when the armful is too big) so she can toss them at the low sofa she'd gotten. « So it is, » Aidavanth replies in kind. « Thank you. We'll be there soon. » A short time later, there's the tell-tale sound of large wings beating outside as she carefully deposits her passenger and moves instead to settle upon the rim of the caldera so that she doesn't dwarf what space her brother doesn't take up on his ledge. Tucked into one of her favored, button-down shirts and a crisp, well-tailored pair of dark slacks, Jocelyn's appearance is nevertheless a little wrinkled, something that causes her to smooth at her clothing absently as she gives Zaisyreth a nod in greeting on her way to the entry. "Good afternoon, Silva, " she calls to more obviously announce her arrival, hesitating just inside the entrance to the bluerider's weyr. "I'm afraid I can't stay long, but I - " A pause, as she clears her throat. "May I come in?" Silva JUST manages to shove the last of her mass of pillows into place when Jocelyn arrives. Whirling there's a hint of color to her cheeks that hadn't been there before, probably the result of runing about faster than she had. "Jocelyn." Beat, wait, hospitality. "Yes, you can..." not have a seat on the couch apparently. A tiny glare for the unhelpful sitting place, so Silva instead points at a chair, "Have a seat? I mean, if you're going to be here and whatever." "Thank you, " and Jocelyn settles onto the edge of that chair's seat, hands clasping loosely in her lap. Eyes more gray than blue rove briefly to take in the weyr at large, those carved benches, that couch, those pillows - and resettle on Silva afterward, appraising. It's the same sort of thoughtful, measuring look that the younger rider might have caught directed her way a time or two over the past sevenday. "I wanted to see how you've been, " she says at some length, "and to ask if you might like to go spend an afternoon playing tourist somewhere that's warmer than our mountain summers. You said once that you'd like to get out more, I think." It ends with something akin to a prompt rather than an actual statement, and a small shift in posture as her shoulders tense marginally once the invitation's out there. Silva may not be the most social of individuals these days, but she does at least know the basics of hospitality. Offer a chair, and something to drink. So she only catches a hint of that look as she turns around with a glass of water in hand to offer to Jocelyn. It gets a wrinkled brow back, but before she can bluntly comment Jocelyn is asking if she'd like to go somewhere. "Wait. Now you want to like, go do something with me?" Serious doubt in SIlva's voice, but she's still going to hold out the water. "I thought you didn't like me." There, a break in Jocelyn's otherwise even expression as she accepts that glass of water; her features tighten into a small wince before easing. "I've watched you mature a lot over the past turn and a half, " she settles for saying after some moments, "and I was rather certain that you didn't like me for quite some time." Clearing her throat, she raises the cup to her mouth, both to take a sip and to obscure part of her face, however briefly. "I didn't make friends easily when I was your age." This is more hesitant, but no less frank. "I still don't, which probably doesn't surprise you. But as you've said that I needn't worry about you having an agenda behind offering your - acquaintance, friendship, ears, whatever it was you meant - " She breaks off again, lips pursing faintly. "Someone worked to befriend me when I was a little younger than you are now. She had a significant impact on shaping the kind of person I decided I wanted to become. I don't expect to be able to affect anyone similarly, but I never said that I wouldn't want to learn how to be - a dependable whatever-it-is-you-want-from-me." Awkward articulation is awkward. "Because I didn't." Like her that is. Hands freed from the cup, Silva can now awkwardly cross them over her chest with her expression settled into a slight frown as she picks her way through the layers of meaning in Jocelyn's words. There's the smallest tapping of her toe before, abruptly, "You're saying you pity me and so you're offering this because you feel sorry because you think something is wrong with me. Well. You're wrong. I'm fine." That last word has the weight of Silva trying to convince herself of that same fact. "I mean, like, if you need fashion advice or whatever, I can do that. But I don't need your pity." While Silva speaks, Jocelyn's lips press thinner the longer the girl continues, culminating in her jaw setting by the time she's finished. Impatiently: "For Faranth's - you have brains, Silva. Use them. When have you ever known me to pity someone? You're right - you don't need pity. I don't think there's a thing wrong with you, either. You've changed considerably since we were candidates, which is a normal, expected occurrence. If you're enjoying keeping to yourself, then by all means - take comfort in your solitude with Zaisyreth. But if it's because you're uncomfortable with - something, anything, someone - you should talk with someone you trust. Figuring ourselves out won't get any easier, you know. Best not to let it completely consume you inside. You don't want to feel more pain than you should over a child calling you out on your behavior if that's ultimately what you rely on to cope, like I did." It's a surprisingly earnest, honest speech. A snort from Silva, who is set just as stubbornly in her own ways. "So you think, like, if I don't start 'reaching out' or whatever, that I'm somehow going to like... what, self implode?" There's a half glance at all those pillows, and there's a slight feeling of guilt which crosses Silva's expression. She does have enough brains (and enough helpful conversations with Quint) to know exactly what she has been doing to herself with the quasi isolation. "I learned my lesson already, okay? I do stupid stuff so like... just whatever." Her eyes are now firmly on the ground, and that last has overtones of self-defeat in it. "Whatever. Do you need fashion advice or whatever? I don't mind being useful, but since I know you don't really want to do something with me, I'd rather at least be useful." "I think, " says Jocelyn quietly, "that you're going to find that your life will start to feel emptier if you don't at least let someone besides Zaisyreth in. It doesn't, for what it's worth, have to be me. It should be someone you're comfortable with. You should be using your full potential. Making mistakes is part of learning. And if someone dares to laugh at you for them, it's probably because they're trying to cover up their own." Disregard people like that, says the dismissive wave of her hand. And as Silva starts to withdraw, the redhead drains what's in the water glass until it's half-full (half-empty?), setting it down on the chair as she gets to her feet. Stiffly, "Believe what you want; I'm clearly the wrong person for this. Go talk to a healer, if you're worried that someone won't keep your unbosomings to themselves." Beat. "Thank you for the water." At least some of the fight has drained out of Silva, as she stands with her arms across her chest and her head bowed. "Quint said pretty much the same thing." She leaves off that the harper was a little more nice about it. "I don't deserve to have a second chance, and it's not like I'm going to like, get it anyway." Silva, without a lot of trust in her fellow man. "Look. If you want shopping advice or like, whatever, I'll go." Silva's attitude elicits a pinch to the bridge of Jocelyn's nose, and the goldrider straightens her shoulders, chin lifting before: "I have too many people trying to give me advice. Take some time to think it over - I don't want you to humor or pity me." For now? The interaction must be over as far as she's concerned, for she's briskly heading for the ledge with a parting, "I have one more meeting before my day ends." Goodbye? It must be one, as a rush of wings signals her departure not long after. |
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