Logs:Amateur Mindhealing
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| RL Date: 20 December, 2014 |
| Who: Lycinea, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lya and V'ros make some progress toward actually being friends (but only because Quinlys basically made her). |
| Where: Winter Warmth Weyr (V'ros'), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 8, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Winter Warmth Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Inside, there's a hollow depression in the stone large enough for even a small bronze, with a narrow walkway around it for human occupants to make their way into the long, narrow cavern of the inner weyr. It's always warm in here, as though the heat from those next-door hatching grounds have seeped deep into the walls, staying close so as to keep things toasty in winter, and occasionally, unbearable in summer. The inner weyr is a single cavern that extends a long distance back into the bowl wall, growing steadily narrower as it goes until, at the very back, the width is only enough for the double-sized bed that has been jammed up against the wall. There are built-in sconces for glows in the walls, however, and the ceiling is high enough that it isn't as claustrophobic as it could be.
The well-worn ledge and the wallow are both cold, barren, without their habitual occupant. And even in the inner sanctum of the weyr, silence lies heavy - that is, until the kitchen girl arrives with the nimble green and her rider. It won't be until she gets to the back, where V'ros is hunched over his desk, rolling a paperweight between his fingers that any sound will reach her ears; then, it's just the creak of the chair he sits in. His head comes up when she calls his name, his brown eyes seeking the blonde in the light provided by the glows. "Lya?" he asks, brows hitching upwards. If Lya had better manners, she might not intrude so willingly into the weyr, but as is... well, here she does come, repeating the name for it to be heard as she heads inward. No point in wasting the trip if he is, indeed, within. She stops when she sees him, the fingers of one hand dipping into the holes of the loose crocheted top she wears. "Hi." This is where she should say something else, but instead is distracted looking around his weyr. Words elude the brownrider, for now. V'ros stares at her with his eyebrows still lifted while she's busy looking around his weyr. It might be that he's too surprised to come up with a clever answer, or more likely, he's waiting for her piece; because with Lycinea, there's always a piece. Lycinea takes her sweet time looking. At least she doesn't seem given to wandering and touching things. Finally, her eyes come back to V'ros. "How are you?" She tries. It's an awkward question on her because it's obviously not what she's here to ask. It's preamble. She might not even care about the answer, but maybe she should get credit for asking anyway. "Uh," V'ros sets down the paperweight and leans back in his chair, where the front legs almost come off the floor. "Fine. How are.. you?" He tries for normalcy too, even if, it's exceedingly awkward for the both of them. "Well," Lya starts immediately and then stops, as if trying to decide just what she wants to tell him and what she wants to leave out. She fidgets. "Well, I'm not apprenticing to healer, so that much is settled." As if that fills in any of the many blanks she's just created in so saying, "But I'm not here to talk about that really. I have a question for you. Only, it's not one you probably want to answer. Or talk to me about, so I maybe should ask so you can tell me to leave and then--" They can stop all this? "Can we sit?" Maybe she thinks this is how people would approach such a delicate question. "I didn't.. know that you were.. applying," V'ros mutters, but like a good listener, shuts up so the girl can finish speaking what she came here to say. Except now she wants to talk, which can never end well. He gestures to the only other sitting arrangement in the weyr - the bed. "You can sit.. there, and I'll.." Without explaining the rest, he gets up and turns his chair around to face the bed, where he in turn, sits down and waits. "Well, I wasn't so much applying as the healers here were maybe going to sponsor me," Lya's hands come away from her middle and her fingers lace together in front of her then come away from each other again to hang awkwardly at her sides. "But I'm not, they're not. It's not happening. Whatever." She reaches up then to run a hand through her hair, left to hang around her shoulders a little messily. She eyes the bed a moment and with a sigh moves to perch on its very edge. "You need another chair," she points out while her hands come to fidget on her knees. She takes a deep breath, holds it a moment and then lets it out in a puff. "I want to talk to you about my turnday. Or rather, what happened on my turnday." Impassiveness reflects in the brownrider's face, his eyes never straying from Lycinea's face, though towards the end he does start to look concerned. "I don't need another chair. It's just me and.. Zmeyth doesn't need one." His hands curve around the seat of the chair, his elbows setting on the arms. "What.. about it? I thought we were done with.. that." "But... like..." Lya looks confused now, "Don't your friends visit or, do they all-" She stops, casting a dubious eye over her shoulder to the bed. Then she inches forward so she's touching as little of the bed as possible while still sitting on it. It's probably safest. "Nevermind," she doesn't need to know. "Anyway, the storm." She fidgets, "The thing is, there are these rumors in the kitchen and I'm wondering-- you were really upset. And about Aishani, and all. They're saying that it wasn't lightning that hit her..." She dares a glance at is face, looking uncertain herself, "Is that stupid?" Did he see anything? The openness, the nearly-welcoming air with which he's been receiving his guest immediately flies away with reference to Aishani. V'ros' expression becomes shuttered and blank. "Why would you say that? It was lightning. I saw it with my own.. eyes." A flicker of doubt comes and goes. "I'm not saying it," Lya protests with an almost hurt expression. Here she is, trying so hard. "It's the rumor in the kitchens." She looks down at her nearly worn through work boots and then is reaching up to bury her hands in her hair, messing it a little more. "I'm not-- I don't know. Maybe everyone is paranoid because of what happened with Aishani and then Teris. But if you saw it, and it was lightning, then that's the end of that." The blonde shifts onto her feet, hands closing into uneasy fists that open again immediately. "I didn't mean to-- you know. Bring up-- I-- Do you ever talk about how you feel, V'ros? To anyone?" It's an abrupt change of topic, and the blurted questions sound almost like wondering aloud more than truly expecting of answers. "To Zmeyth?" V'ros keeps his face particularly blank throughout all of the talking and backpedaling, but settles on a disbelieving expression. "Are you.. trying to be a mindhealer now?" His hands become fists, resting on his thighs, and his foot starts tap-tapping in agitated rhythm. "I talk to Zmeyth. I don't need to.. talk to anyone else.. A'rist, if Zmeyth won't help." Then, he's giving her an expectant look. Is that it? "Aishani's.. death was.. unfortunate, but I.. can't upset every time someone dies." Because people seem to be dying at a fast rate of late. "No, I'm just-- Faranth," Lya swears, settling back down on the bed. "I'm just trying to be a friend, V'ros. And I'm just not very good at it. You were-- I don't know, upset, after. And you wouldn't talk to me then, so I-" am not going to tell you Quinlys told me to do this, "-don't know why I thought you might now." She shakes her head. "Nevermind. I'm. I don't know. Are we friends? Do you want to be friends? Am I just a pain you don't want to deal with? I can just go away," she sounds with the rapid delivery of these questions like she's just trying to sort out where they stand. Everything else is, for the moment, set aside. "Do you always have to talk?" V'ros asks, seriously. "People.. don't always want to talk, and can't talk when it's.. too hard to put into words." He shrugs and his foot moves faster, his whole leg bouncing with the movement. "I want to be friends, but you can't.." His eyes drop and he sighs. "I tried to do something nice. I don't always like things, but that doesn't mean.." He looks at Lycinea again, shrugging; hopefully, she can decipher his words. "No," Lya answers with apparent honesty. "I don't talk a lot." She does fidget a lot, however, and continues to do so now. "You don't have to talk to me. I just needed to ask. Because this all-- I don't know, it might sort of-" does "-matter to me." This goldrider business. She looks at the floor. "So what do you like so we can try doing some of that instead?" Now she looks up at him, looking tired but not unwilling to do better. A weighty sigh is heaved. "It matters to all of us. That's why.. we.." V'ros passes a hand over his head and his recently-shorn hair. "I don't know. I like hanging out with Snowdrift. I like Zmeyth. I like.. flying?" It's a weak start, but it's a start, nevertheless. The flesh between Lya's brows puckers as her brows draw down. "I don't know that Snowdrift would like hanging out with me." She's not one of them. "I don't imagine Zmeyth likes me since I puked on him, but maybe I could help you wash him, or something, sometime, to make it up to him." Or something. "I don't even know what dragons like." She fidgets. "And I get sick when I fly." Does she need to remind him. "What do you do with Snowdrift that you like or is it more because you like them that it's something you like no matter what you're doing?" A sharp laugh echoes in the weyr, brought on by the blonde's comment about Zmeyth, and V'ros' faces squishes up from the force of his smile. "He'd.. approve of that." Eye for an eye.. bath for a puking? His hands come back to rest of his thighs and his face eases into its former contemplative expression. "I like Snowdrift becase.. I fit in. We're a wing, we're all the same, or similar. We do.. a lot of things. Search, drills, and go to gathers together. Anything we do.. everything we do.. I like it all. There's not much time for hobbies, I guess." Weeeell... That's unnerving. Lya side-eyes him, even though she has to turn her head in order to do it, while he laughs. "Aaaalright." She says when he's finished. "You just tell me when and where. And then if there's anything about how. I don't have a firelizard or anything so, no experience." She shifts a little on the edge of the bed; really, it can't be comfortable to be sitting so much on the edge and not really on the bed. "Well." She thinks. "I like gathers. I'm not very-- I don't really-- I can't dance," there, she said it, "Not well, anyway, but I like gathers. So maybe the next time there's one, I could tag along, or something, and we can have some fun together. And maybe then things will be a little better. Between us. With our friendship." She finishes, all of this a little awkwardly still, but she's trying and there's a flicker of interest that maybe, just maybe things are improving. They haven't walked away from each other yet, so that's progress, right? "Uh," the brownrider stops to think, "another sevenday, usually in the evenings is when he likes it." That's his warning - in a week, he'll be collecting her offer, if it's still on the table by then. "It's not hard. You just.." Vros makes a circular washing motion with his one hand, then shrugs lazily. "We haven't gone in a while. Next one might be Igen. I heard them talking about it." Another shrug, less concern for her lack of dancing skills. "We shouldn't.. force it.. but we can try." "So like one of the great platters for feasts," Lya concludes after watching the motion. "Seems easy enough except for the whole, you know, just how huge he is." The girl makes a face but she doesn't rescind the offer anyway. Even if it is work. "I'm not forcing it. Or trying to force it. I'm just saying," she might sound a little exasperated, "that you like gathers and I like gathers, so that's something we can agree on. Finally." One thing. "We don't even have to go with Snowdrift. I just thought... Well, it doesn't matter. We can try, okay?" She'll settle on his word and try to look optimistic. "He's alive," V'ros adds, for obvious reasons. Big brown dragons might have words if they're treated like a dinner platter, in this instance. He scuffs his boots across the worn floor, skipping his gaze off the bed and then to the nightstand. "Yeah, we can. Whenever. But don't.." His eyes come back to the blonde. "If I don't like.. something, you still can. We don't have to.. leave." No repeats of Ista, please. "I just meant, the motion-" Lya mimics it now. The circle-scrub. "Obviously, he's alive." She won't go into which dragon are not. Then the blonde gives him a steady, studious look. "So let me just make sure I have this right," in case she needs it for a tribunal in the future, "You're giving me permission to not care if you don't like something?" V'ros returns the steady, studious look with a apprehensive one of his own, brows lowered over dark eyes. "Yes. We don't have to agree on.. everything. We will disagree.. often.. but, you can't run away. Just because." He's clearly referring to their Ista trip, which is probably bad form. "Auh!" It's a wordless squawk of protest. "I did not run away. I just didn't want my first ever trip to a real beach to suck." Lya folds her arms across her chest and screws up her face stubbornly. "If you're going to surprise someone with a trip, you should at least pretend to have a good time." Then she adds, "And not judge them." Now she's really done. "It wasn't going to suck." V'ros uses his calm voice, asserting that he still thinks they should have followed through with the original plan. He shifts in his seat and the wood creaks with his weight. "We can.. agree to disagree." "Fine." Lya says, but her arms stay crossed over her chest. "You still need another chair. Because I don't know what goes on in your bed and I want somewhere to sit when I visit. Or you can let me use that chair and you can sit on the bed." Wouldn't that be the better arrangement anyway? "I don't need a chair," V'ros says, defending his lack of furniture, "We can meet other.. places. No one comes up here." He gives her a reproachful frown. "My bed's clean." His focus shifts to the entryway, and one thumb jerks in that direction. "You can always.. go. If it worries you." Friends, brutally honest, always. "Why does no one come up here? You have friends, don't you?" Lya asks now curious, her brows dipping. "They don't need to." Wary eyes watch the kitchen aide. "We all live.. here.. in this Weyr. They don't need to come into my space." His inner weyr, his piece of the pie. "We meet other places. Snowasis, the bowl.." V'ros' arms cross over his chest while he's busy staring her down with a menacing eye; she's treading dangerous territory is what his newly refreshed attitude says. "Do you want me to not come into your space?" Lya asks, letting her eyes slip around it. "It seems nice, having a space your own." She sighs. "I live with five other girls. And we don't like each other." She shifts up from the bed, this time to wander a little bit toward the ledge. She's still not touching things, so she should get credit for that much. "You don't.. have to." That may be a polite way of saying no, but V'ros has the manners, at least, to stand up when she starts moving towards the ledge, in anticipation of her leaving. "It's nice. I don't have to worry about.. everyone else." He follows the path of the wall on his right, just a step behind the blonde. "You could always.. stand. See if you Impress." "Nah," Lya dismisses it. "I've been here my whole life and the dragons've never been interested in me." For Searching, she presumably means. "Besides, I have a glorious invisible life as a kitchen helper to look forward to. Why would I want to throw that bright future away?" Her sarcasm is thick, but she's not planning to stay to talk about it. "I'll get out of your space," she seems to have taken his first words to heart (for now, anyway). "Let me know about the washing thing." And that's that as she heads back to the ledge in roughly good time to meet her ride. "You could ask," is his departing remark, his steps becoming shorter the closer they get to the ledge. V'ros follows her all the way up to the entryway of his inner weyr, where he stops to watch her depart, his expression a mixture of confusion and his usual brooding. |
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