View source for Logs:Make Them Sorry

{{Log
|who=Yesia
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|what=Post-hatching pillow talk with an impressionable baby dragon.
|where=Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
|day=25
|month=7
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.21
|quote="Because, they are mean girls."
|mentions=Olrina, Paz
|type=Vignette 
|ooc=Just...getting my feet wet.
|icons-new=icon_yesia.png, icon_yesia_aeaeth_siren.png
|log=Well into the night, they are talking. 

Sixteen others are dreaming, exhausted from the emotional impacts of the day and, yes, Yesia would love to be too — but Aeaeth has rested for so very long already. She gamely stifles a yawn with the back of her hand, her eyes staring into the whirling adoration of a small, green dragonet, and the question comes again.

<< Who else? >>

Who else do we not like? Who else do we ''like''? Yesia looks around the room, her smile sharp on the edges. 

''None of them,'' she sends back, conspiratorially. ''They've all been terrible, Aeaeth, and mean. Except maybe Paz,'' she adds, as an afterthought, with a glance down the way to her friend's couch, where she sleeps curled against her sturdy little blue, a smile on her round face. ''Paz is okay. And Olrina, I guess.'' 

<< You wanted to be their friends, >> her lifemate picks out, wading further back into the secret parts of her mind. << You wanted them to be nice? Why were they not nice? >>

''Because,'' she snaps back, sharp and nasty before she can catch herself, her indignant anger bubbling over, ''they are mean girls.''

Something like whale-song waves through her mind, beautiful and sad, wrapping her in calm, comforting shades of purple and blue, hints of yellow and red. Beneath the color, color Yesia has to wade through in search, she finds the words.

<< I am so sorry. >> Yesia's alarm at that is a burst of color itself: pink, she is pink, and gets the feeling she always will be. Before she can get in her objection, her heart breaking at the apology, Aeaeth continues, << I would have come to you sooner. I ''wanted'' to, but it was not my fault. They ''made me'' wait. >> At least half of her whining, petulant tone comes out as a low sound in her throat as she bumps her head into Yesia's side. 

At once, Yesia wraps her arms around the wedge-shaped head, her hand smoothing across Aeaeth's sharp muzzle. Her outburst, like that, is immediately forgotten and forgiven, in that order. "No," she says, forgetting again that she can think it, "No. Don't you be sorry. Never you. ''They'' should be sorry. I have you now, and I love you. We'll show them. We'll make them sorry.''
}}