Logs:Ghost
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| RL Date: 6 December, 2015 |
| Who: Lys, Evyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Lys speaks to H'vier's ghost. |
| Where: Spinners' Haunt Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, V'ret/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language and angst. Follows Logs:Real. |
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| "Dick." Laying in the sheet-stripped bed with it's now musty smelling reeds with her hands folded across her stomach, Lys tasted the word in her mouth. It echoed in the cavern and she knew her only company truly were the spinners already reclaiming their once-home. She'd asked Evyth for privacy, had promised to talk with her after, but had said this was something that she needed to do alone. If Evyth had been listening, she probably would have giggled at the use of the word. "Dick," Lys said again, a name that suited her anger. She felt silly. So silly. H'vier was gone. Her anger would never be known to him, and what did it matter if she stayed mad forever? Evyth wasn't here, but she could imagine all the too intelligent arguments she would make. Catharsis was good, even if she felt silly. She took moment to feel the oddness that was being alone. Lys wasn't always in communion with Evyth, but it was rare that she was ever this alone. Appreciating the moment turned into procrastinating and she shook herself. Focus. "I'm mad at you." She still felt silly, but she felt something else too, something freeing, something-- good. "You said you'd be there. And--" Her voice broke. She wanted to quit. The pit in her middle that she so often could just ignore was growing. It did, whenever she dared think about it. This time, it had grown so fast that the burst of feeling threatened to consume her. She wanted to quit. And yet... After somehow managing to face other fears here with V'ret, there was just enough bravery left to punch a hole in that pit, to lance it and let the poison weep out of her. Her voice was raw and her eyes were red by the time she'd finished. Several times, she'd felt Evyth's flutter of concern, her bid for invading Lys' privacy but she'd been too consumed to do else but deter her. Accepting help and solace wasn't something that came easily to Lys. In childhood, when she had wept, none had spared her the time. Just a weepy child crying over nothing, or worse, simply getting her comeuppance, a lesson there for the learning, they'd thought. She never learned that lesson. She had learned that those who help and those who care are few and far between, that trust shouldn't so easily be given. She hadn't given H'vier trust easily. She couldn't even say when she truly began to trust him, rather than to trust in the consequence that she thought would be too great. It had been before the cave-in. It still hurt that he hadn't come then. Hadn't been there for her in the wake of it. "Not so different from now," was a word with a sniffle. She used her sleeve in the absence of anything else to wipe her face with. It took only a flicker of a thought toward her lifemate for the warmth, acceptance and unconditional love that was so much a core piece of who Evyth was to Lys to come flooding back in. It tingled and pricked where it contacted those lingering darker feelings of abandonment, of loss, and stung where there was forgiveness. It was painful, she realized, and yet good, like walking into a warm room after spending too long in bone-chilling cold. Evyth didn't draw back, she blanketed Lys with feeling and with assurance. The smell of the kitchens on feast night was strong, blotting out the mustiness of the unoccupied weyr. Darting from weyr to ledge, to press herself into the warm, supple hide of her lifemate was answering the deepest kind of calling she knew. It was an instinctive response to that love that she would never be without. She felt hollow, but in an oddly good way. If a klah pot could feel, Lys imagined it would feel like this, grits and stains of its long use there, but empty and waiting to be filled with warmth, with energy, with life. Evyth giggled. "What?" Lys smiled in spite of herself as the green dipped her head and nuzzled across short hair and shoulders. « Klah is life, » Evyth intoned with mock gravity and then giggled again. "It is," Lys protested, but weakly and too much cheered by that reaction to her strange thoughts to make any kind of argument. « Some might say a good night's sleep would be better. » Evyth hazarded, innocently. "Some people like to be wrong," Lys returned, grinning. "Besides, who has time to sleep? Calisthenics, drills, lectures, silver thread lessons, meetings, friendships, soon a place of our own and now--" She couldn't say it. So Evyth did, « Boys? » Lys buried her face in the dragon's hide, "Shut up," was muffled and too soft to stop the green's glee. « I knew it. Tell me everything! What happened? What do you want to have happen? Do you like him? » Lys could feel her cheeks burning in the face of this too friendly interrogator. "Later. I'll tell you later," she hedged. There was resistance from the green and then reluctant acceptance as the young woman reminded, "I still need to finish my essay on formation theory." The sigh was huge. (So was Evyth, to Lys). « Alright. But promise to tell me later? » 'Promise' was such a dangerous word and it prickled Lys' too raw feelings. Still, to Evyth, she could make promises. Slowly, and deliberately, with a caress over the itchy spot of paisley-like patterning, Lys promised. Later. |
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