Logs:Don't Think
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| RL Date: 7 June, 2011 |
| Who: Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Iolene's reaction. |
| Where: Candidate Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 12, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jaques/Mentions, Rilka/Mentions |
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| If Iolene had stopped to think, she might think that Rilka had not slept at all that night. That the arm she held about the smaller girl trembled for the state she was in; they both were in. But Iolene didn't think. For once in her very short, metered existence, her thoughts were blessedly blank. She didn't think of the storm that raged out in the island. She didn't think of the shocked surprise that claimed her grandmother's face when the tide took her out. She didn't think of the cry that wretched, half-voiced from her throat. A cry never completed. She didn't think of the cold of between and how it seemed such a blissful escape; how its coldness was more of a comfort than the blanket someone had tried to give her. She didn't think of her grandfather, in a curtained off section of the barracks, tended to by healers. She just didn't think because she couldn't. Instead, with her dark blue eyes open in a sleepless rest, she dreamed of nothing in particular: of washed out colors that swirled midst a hazy summer sunlight. Colors that took no tangible shape and no physical entity. She was quiet when Evie's cry broke the night. She was still when Jaques' - oh, sweet, taciturn Jaques - voice demanded answers. She didn't move from where she was cradling a catatonic Rilka, not even when the unlucky couple returned in the morning. And when people stirred, began to get up from whatever wakeful states they were in, she did too. Going through the motions. But what was there to do? So she sat in her corner and watched, ignoring the creeping chill that was settling into her shoulders and deep within her bones. As she didn't think the night before, the next day, and the next, she ignored. She ignored the heat on her forehead and the perspiration that started to bead about her brow. She ignored the aches that were making it more and more difficult to want to move anywhere but stay close to that fire. She ignored the scratchiness of her throat and just how cold she felt. Maybe tomorrow, she'd try and make an effort to release that half-finished cry. Maybe then, she might be able to truly smile again. Oh well. Tomorrow, then. |
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