Logs:Bloody Clarity
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 12 June, 2016 |
| Who: Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: After she and Drex get into a tiff, Silva decides on a 180 in life. |
| Where: Silva's Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
 |
| "Red doesn't look very good on you." Silva slides down from Zaisyreth's neck, leaving behind a thin trail of red behind her. The blue paces with her as far as he can fit, humming quietly with worry over the fact that Silva is //bleeding// and not going to a //healer// for it. Normally chill as any dragon could be this development has the blue almost knotted with worry. Silva is cool though. Her mind completely clear. Away from her dragon's warmth and caring she walks, sweeping into the weyr. First to go is the dress, wine and blood splattered as it is now, tossed carelessly into a corner heap. It'll get thrown away at some point. A distant part of her mind mourns the passing of the dress, it really was a cute one, cut just right to show off her features to the best. Then water, she always keeps a pitcher-and-bowl here for quick clean-offs when the baths aren't an option. Beside it a white rag remains white for only seconds more before she dips it into the water and slowly, methodically, begins to wipe away at the blood still dripping from her hand. Pain stings as she wipes but it is sucked into the vortex of her clear mind. It continues to bleed but her careful wiping shows the shard of glass which split the skin. Setting aside the cloth she reaches out for a pair of tweezers and pulls the glass from her own skin. Grasping the glass shard in her tweezers Silva lifts it up to the light, the blood quickly drying upon it and obscuring the transparency of the glass. Almost casually her bloodied hand grips onto the wet rag, applying pressure to eventually stop the bleeding so a bandage can be applied. Turning the shard this way and that Silva is mesmerized by the play of light through the bloodied glass. Her voice sounds far away, and Zaisyreth's worried winds are even further, as she says, "Alright." Seconds, minutes, hours - time loses all meaning as she stares at the glass. Finally, slowly, deliberately she puts the glass shard down. "Alright." She repeats again. "We'll try it that way." Standing she goes to find a bandage for her hand, then turns to look at her weyr. If it was going to hurt anyway, shouldn't she at least get some fun out of it? Eyes pass across her closet and stop on a pure black dress she'd bought on a dare, but never actually thought she would wear. Good hand pulls it down to examine the fit - tight, the neckline too deep for any sense of modesty, and the cut beyond scandalous. Slowly it gets a nod and she pulls it on. Shoes, those high-heeled black ones of course. Make up? The deep red, high blush. Hair is allowed to fall curly around her shoulders, with one side pinned back and the other falling half over one eye. With the pain in her hand to keep her mind clear the decision to cast away any safety net and toss herself into the deep end seems like the only clear one to make. « Silva... » The warning tone in Zaisyreth's voice clashes against her new found clarity, the wooden chimes hidden in large baobab trees clanging ominously. "Nonsense. Let's go." Still one handed she pulls herself up onto the blue's back, and sits stiffly. "Time to try something new." |
Leave A Comment