Logs:Depressive Agents
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| RL Date: 11 July, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Depressed!Jocelyn and drunk!Silva finally have an honest conversation. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 4, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
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| Tonight Silva is alone. She's curled herself into a ball in one of those niches. There's a bottle beside her but she's drinking it not-so-recklessly as she has been, and more like there's a scientific quality to her drinking. Never mind the fine sheet of snow, she's got a blanket tucked around her, and fluffy earmuffs are over her ears. Everything about her outfit is right up Silva's stylish ally but nothing is the white or pale colors she has always favored. Instead these snow clothes are deep black edged with blue and a dark green, Silva's face almost seeming ghostly as it shows above. Jocelyn seems to have purposefully kept as low of a profile as a public figure can in the days following Aidavanth's flight, taking most of her meals in her weyr and otherwise leaving only to attend meetings and to fulfill the in-person requirements of her job. Accompanied by a stack of paperwork that looks impossible to surmount in one evening, she's chosen a seat on that bench on the ledge, head bent in what appears to be nothing more than total concentration on the sheets in her lap. Astute, nearby observers may notice that she hasn't picked up her pen to write anything in some minutes - and it's probably just as well, since the mostly-empty glass with a tiny amount of golden liquid still left in the bottom suggests she shouldn't be working on reports. Does she notice Silva out here, too? It's anyone's guess, although her lack of response to a passerby's quick, "Evening, weyrwoman, " seems to verify that she's not wholly present. It's someone calling out to Jocelyn that brings Silva back from her own thoughts. She's skirting the edges of drunk, but she's not completely there yet. It's enough to make her loose but not... fall-over. She pulls herself up from her niche, hooking fingers around the bottle, and drifts over to where Jocelyn sits. Without permission the bluerider fills the goldrider's cup and settles herself across from the other wordlessly. There's movement in front of her - a bottle, the tell-tale sound of more liquid hitting her glass - and somebody in dark winter clothing settling nearby. Goldrider training can be a helpful thing; certainly, it enables Jocelyn to compose her features quickly and give a neutral glance up and over to find Silva. Pale eyes consider the girl across from her for a long moment, and the redhead's expression wavers just a bit. Perhaps she can't trust herself to speak, for all she manages is a dip of her chin that may be as much thanks as a silent acknowledgment. She will, at least, put aside all pretense of getting some work done, neatly stacking everything together a safe distance from her now-refilled drink so that she can lift the glass for several sips. At some length: "You'll probably have a better chance of finding interesting company if you don't sit near me, you know." There's no bite, however; it's weary, flat and quiet. Silva's laugh is low and dark without a hint of humor behind it. She doesn't gaze at the goldrider but instead keeps her eyes looking upwards as she leans on her arm. "I'm not looking for a partner tonight. Just testing a theory." One fingernail reaches out to tap against the bottle next to her. "How drunk can I get and still block Zaisyreth from feeling what I do?" There's an almost dream-like quality to her words. Slowly, Jocelyn sets down her glass to better regard Silva, something resembling a frown tugging at her mouth. "You're worried that he'll worry for you, " she supposes, equally lowly, in lieu of the chastisement she probably would give the younger rider on one of her better days. "That's what beings who love you do. Worry. There's not much that can be done for it, really." Perhaps she's not talking about the same topic anymore, for her gaze swings to what's visible of the bowl below, expression distant. "It was a mistake I made - to drink myself to oblivion- not thinking about him." Silva says the words easily enough. Her mind floats just outside of herself the drinking giving her just enough disconnect from reality. "But I won't do that again. Just to the edge. I owe you a thanks." She drops her gaze down to the woman in front of her fixing Jocelyn within her green gaze. Silva's usual fire is dampened, matching closely that of Jocelyn's energy levels. That pulls Jocelyn's attention back to her former classmate, eyebrows lifting slightly as their eyes meet briefly before her chin tucks inward in a gesture that looks defensive even if her words aren't. "You don't owe me anything, but I'm glad to hear that you're considering his well-being in your decision-making." There's a glance back for her glass, but she folds her arms and turns away from it, jaw setting. "None the less, I thank you." She doesn't go into specifics but when Jocelyn pulls away Silva leans forward. One hand reaches out as if she would try to touch Jocelyn's face, but she stops short. Her sleeve falls back to show some of the bruises along that arm, spots of darkness against the otherwise pale skin. "You're not usually so quiet." A comment out of nowhere. "I - fine. You're welcome, if that puts your mind at ease." There, a hint of her usual, sharp brevity. Blue-gray eyes slowly move to that half-extended hand, then up to the bruises that are now visible. "You're not usually so forthcoming, " the redhead says for Silva's last, reaching as if to grasp the other's hand in a tentative show of camaraderie. What she really aims to do, instead, is to look, really look toward those dark spots marring the girl's skin. Finally; "Is this what you're trying to hide from Zaisyreth?" Silva doesn't pull away, the drink having left her so relaxed that she doesn't try to hide the injuries this time. She turns her arm, looking at the marks, her smile only growing. "No, finally, he's with me - I just have to make sure he doesn't feel it like I do. But we weren't talking about me, were we?" Silva turns her gaze back to the goldrider. She knows nothing other then Jocelyn's quiet, "Why are you so quiet?" "If he gets too achy in the same places, a dragonhealer would notice." Jocelyn offers that offhandedly, but the gentle squeeze she gives to the bluerider's hand is anything but; it's the sort of gesture one would make to silently tell someone that they care about what happens to them. For her question, there's a startled look. "What? Can't a person be quiet after they've had a drink?" "Hum. I'll keep that in mind." Not that's she will STOP, but just keep it in mind. Reaching out Silva pats Jocelyn's hand before pulling away, returning herself to the careless lean on her own seat. "Oh, a person could, surely." Silva raises an eyebrow, her sardonic smile growing, "But I doubt you take it naturally. I'm sure I'm the last person you would confide in but I assure you the chances of me remembering much tomorrow are swiftly fading." Jocelyn has a short laugh for Silva's assumption, straightening so that by the looks of her body language to people glancing their way, she might well be preparing to tell the bluerider off. It's quite at odds with the way she regards the brunette wryly, eyes dark with some unspoken amusement. "Hard as it may be to believe, you aren't the very last person I'd ever talk with about my - preoccupations." Gaze falling to her hands, which lace together in her lap, she says lowly, "I had a - falling out, if you can call it that, with a - good friend." She doesn't bother to disguise the unhappiness present with those last, two words. "Really? If I remember this tomorrow perhaps I might have to change my perceptions." Silva rolls her gaze back to Jocelyn, looking the woman over from top to bottom. "A falling out? What happened?" She actually does sound like she wants to know. "It's - " Complicated, but when are these sorts of things ever not? Jocelyn inhales, tries again at the genuine display of interest from her companion. "There was a misunderstanding over something I said. At least, I think that's what sent the whole thing between. I still don't really know what happened. I only said that I wanted what was best - not for me, but for them. Somehow, it got translated as, 'this isn't what's best for Jocelyn' - and I don't think I'll have a chance to explain any farther." It's an awkward explanation at best, but certainly enough of one to gather that it's a deeply upsetting matter for the older rider. Silva keeps her gaze on Jocelyn, never mind the hazyness of that expression. Silva's in the fog where she hasn't quite lost herself yet, but is just on the verge. Her head tilts sideways as she listens, and doesn't speak right away when her words stop. "Well." Another few beats. "You could say something. Try to make them understand. Or..." Silva reaches up to twist a lock of hair about her finger, "You could let it go." She doesn't say it, but the words are implied- she could let it go like Silva has. "People don't generally tend to listen to explanations when they're scared unless they're in the infirmary looking for answers to ailments." It's a terse response, and one that has Jocelyn looking back out toward the ground below. "I - don't want to let go. It would be like - meeting Zaisyreth for the first time, growing to accept and understand one another, and realizing that you would walk away if he wished for such a thing because his happiness meant more to you than your own." The hand that reaches up to rub at her eye? Surely it's irritation from the breeze. "Scared?" Silva blinks slowly as she parses her way slowly through that single word. It's hard enough that she almost misses the rest of what Jocelyn is saying. "I wouldn't let him go." Even the prospect is enough fear for Silva to bring herself back from the fuzzy edge she had been walking along. "Ever." Jocelyn's resultant smile is an empty one, and she pushes up from her seat soon after. "So I think you'll understand, even in this state, when I say thank you for the suggestion, but it's unthinkable." Leaving her glass, she collects her impressive stack of paperwork and looks down at Silva for a moment. "Go safely, Silva." This time, when the next passerby greets her, she returns it, straightening her posture until she looks more like herself as she heads down to the bowl. |
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