Difference between revisions of "Logs:Holding Up"

Of all the weyrlings, I'dro is the one G'vri has been specifically avoiding spending any one-on-one time with. He hasn't been outright avoidant otherwise, doing his duties as an assistant weyrlingmaster as necessary, but being alone isn't something that he's trusted either of them with, evidently. Tonight is different, though. The bronzerider waits until Nasmaeth is asleep before approaching I'dro, asking for a few moments, then turning to lead the way to somewhere not exactly private, the sofas in the weyrling complex, but private enough for a conversation. "How have you been holding up?"

Real privacy would be suspicious, wouldn't it? Of course, no need to worry: I'dro is almost prim about how he keeps a safe distance about following, about not sitting down so close. Back straight, hands on his knees. How is he doing? He certainly doesn't look any worse for wear. Maybe the first few days he might have let such fine details as shaving go unnoticed, but since then, despite the work, he's somehow managed to go back to perfectly neat clothes, perfectly perfect hair. It's meant, of course, that personal grooming has eaten up the lion's share of his tiny amount of free time. Although he's done a very good job at keeping his shirts clean, he hasn't done quite as good a job at keeping them in one piece, and a number of them seem to bear scars of this ordeal, slashes across clean fabric mended with careful little stitches. While Nasmaeth isn't being kind to his wardrobe, this doesn't yet seem to have required any Healer attention. He's at least letting her walk on her own feet, now, most of the time, but they always wind up in that sort of proximity when they aren't up and about. Maybe the stiffness of his posture is just the strangeness of this sudden solitude. The long and wistful look at G'vri, that's absolutely no different than if she were to be there, and he's been terrible at being subtle about them. He catches his lower lip in his teeth for a moment. "She's growing so fast, but still a bit hard to imagine her ever being as big as all the grown-up greens, her having that far to go. She sleeps like a baby, but it doesn't feel like having an infant in my head." No transition from that, just abruptly into: "Are you breaking up with me?" Though at least those words are quieter.

"She will," G'vri assures the weyrling. It's awkward. He knows what he's saying, of course, it's just saying it to I'dro that makes it awkward for him. It's not a dynamic he was entirely prepared for. But he's trying. Or he would be, moreso, if he didn't seem so surprised by I'dro's abrupt question. "What? No. I--" He's clearly not sure about that question or how to answer it. Were they even in a relationship that would require breaking up from? "I just wanted to know how you were doing with everything. It can be... stressful."

Yes? No? Maybe? It's not like even I'dro seems terribly sure about this question once it's past his mouth. At least that means there's no recriminations for G'vri's answer. "It is. Stressful. Two weeks is exactly enough time to realize that there are no rest days anymore, no real chance to relax, and won't be for a long time yet." It's a good thing, really, he's not being expected to parent an actual child, given how weary he manages to sound at the notion. "You would have been younger. Is it easier when you're younger? I'm just this big bundle of exhaustion and nerves and feelings and I'm not allowed to do anything useful to blow off steam."

"It gets easier. And harder. Then maybe easier again." Is he being comforting yet? "I was fifteen," G'vri agrees with some amount of sympathy. "It was easier then than it would be now, I think. I hadn't been with anyone yet. But I'd still... you know." He makes kind of a crude gesture with his hand. He'd started doing that by then. "Is she the sensitive sort?"

"She doesn't seem to care," I'dro admits. "Or at least, I don't think she cares. I worry about her waking up, but it's not like I don't think about it when she's awake, so I don't see why that'd be different. I keep trying to explain it to her like she's a toddler when she's in my head and is clearly fully aware of--" He cuts himself off, there, rubs at his face with one hand. "You know." Rather than elaborating. He's started to relax in his seat, but every now and then he gives a glance around like there's something here to get caught at, rather than just perfectly ordinary conversation. "It was weirder, at first. It's starting to feel more normal. Not being alone with thoughts like that."

"Tovriath didn't care very much. He encouraged me sometimes. Not... by myself. He thinks that's pointless. But before we were allowed with other people. He knew it was something I wanted to do. It didn't until we got our own weyr, though." But G'vri doesn't tell the story of how he lost his virginity. In fact, he slouches back into his seat and lifts a hand to rub over his face. Better than looking at Sid the way he was there for a moment; heated and longing. "Are you getting on well with the other weyrlings?"

A flicker of smile, but I'dro quickly ducks his eyes away from that look, and focuses instead on his suddenly-interesting fingernails. "Good," once there's a question to pay attention to instead. "I think. No, good enough. So many of them are so young, I thought I'd feel more out of place, but it's not so bad. I sometimes end up feeling... protective? Maternal." There, that's a real smile that time. "They're all babies that need a little fussing over, now and then, maybe. Helpful that I know my way around a pair of scissors, that sort of thing. Maybe I was hoping for different sorts of friends, but this'll do."

G'vri has a smile for that, too. "You'll probably make a good assistant, you know. Once you've become a full-fledged rider yourself. But you'll make friends, one way or another. It helps when you're in a wing, sometimes. If you get along with your wingmates. This doesn't last forever. You might even miss it once you've moved on." It's hard to tell if he's being entirely serious or not, granted.

"I'm not worried about it. Not anymore." I'dro's smile turns coy. "Are you worried about it? Are you worried about me?" These are clearly rhetorical questions, since he's not even pausing for an attempt at an answer. "You know, I don't mind a little fussing-over myself, now and then." It seems like a prelude to something else, but abruptly his tone shifts. "I should get back, before..." Before mistakes are made? "Before she wakes back up."

The bronzerider might have answered, or tried to, if given the chance. But he doesn't seem keen on going back to it once I'dro's moved on. G'vri starts to smile at the rest, but as soon as the weyrling suggests it's time to go, he sits up in his seat again to lean his elbows against his knees. "Right. Probably a good idea. Just-- if you need anything, let me know, okay? She can speak to Tovriath whenever you need."