She was very good at deflecting. Good at leading you on and then leaving you in her dust. Good at saying no. Good at saying yes only when she wanted to. ”Earn it,” she says simply, as if that explains everything. ”I can usually have my pick, Loren. So I pick the ones worth my time.” This is not meant to be cocky, but rather honest. It isn’t that hard to get a boy into bed with a few careful touches and light kisses. It doesn’t take long for all their brainpower to be diverted, after all. That game was far too easy, and she only likes easy prey when it’s the kind she was going to eat (literally, not figuratively). She wanted more from a partner.
His next response is slightly more surprising, that he doesn’t realize he was handsome. She begins to wonder how he grew up, what had brought him to this place of feeling so low. It is moments like this that she feels lucky. She may not have her family anymore, but they had been so good to her. They lifted her up in various ways, turned her into something fierce and wild and free. They influenced, as all family is wont to do, but they never forced. There was an important difference.
She does grin as he says he loves ningo feathers. ”You surprise me, it seems.” Because the thing is, she wants him to like the ningo feathers. She wants to be led by someone who can live like a Halovian and enjoy it, at least in part. And maybe some part of her just wants him to be worth her while; to turn himself into something more. ”Where did you grow up that you had to sleep on rocks?” she asks, losing track of the cadence of the game. Not that it mattered now. The game had served its purpose, to break the ice, to break down walls (aided by the booze and the buzz).
She shrugs. ”I suspect most of that tight-lipness is simply because we don’t know much more to tell you. History has a way of getting distorted, lost. Throw in the war, the barrier, and everything else, and information has been pretty scarce around here.” It’s a shame they don’t quite trust each other enough to talk more, because maybe together they could find the mageglass. Maybe one day they would trust each other enough to try it, though today is not that day.
She listens as he talks of his family more, curiosity in her gaze. ”Were you all mages, then?” The Launceleyn’s she had met were, so it seems like a logical assumption. Much of her family had been as well, beside Korbin who seemed to be the family’s white sheep (or black raven, technically). Though a very well loved white sheep, because he was an adorable pain in the ass.
He places his own hand on hers this time, and she finds herself moving her hand to simply twine their fingers together. She may not be jumping into bed with him, but the gesture feels right anyway and so she does it. Willing to simply sit in comradery, understanding, for what pain feels like. ”It hurts, of course, but not in the way I thought. There’s always a hole where they belong, always that moment in the morning when I get punched in the gut with realization, but then it fades and they are with me. I am lucky to have had them. Luckier still to remember them, to hear the sound of their voice in my head, to carry them with me. We cannot live, not really, without loss and pain. It makes it all the sweeter.” She feels so very cliche at that moment for a girl who tries not to be, but maybe she is a cliche. Maybe it doesn’t matter because it feels so very true. It hurts, but it’s a liveable type of hurt.
”Here’s the thing about calling it a phase. It makes it sound like you will just move past it. You won’t, Loren. You have to choose too. And trust me, I’ve been there. You won’t find peace in a bar or a bed. You’ll find it the hard way, by grieving, and learning to live with the grief.” He answers her next question honestly, turning his head away, and she does not reach out to bring him back. She lets his gaze stay that way, simply squeezing his hand slightly. ”If you could dream now, what would you dream? Sometimes dreams aren’t big things.” That is always what her mother taught her, that the world was hers to take if she chose. There would be obstacles, hardship, roadblocks, wrong turns, but in the end it was always theirs for the taking.
His next response is slightly more surprising, that he doesn’t realize he was handsome. She begins to wonder how he grew up, what had brought him to this place of feeling so low. It is moments like this that she feels lucky. She may not have her family anymore, but they had been so good to her. They lifted her up in various ways, turned her into something fierce and wild and free. They influenced, as all family is wont to do, but they never forced. There was an important difference.
She does grin as he says he loves ningo feathers. ”You surprise me, it seems.” Because the thing is, she wants him to like the ningo feathers. She wants to be led by someone who can live like a Halovian and enjoy it, at least in part. And maybe some part of her just wants him to be worth her while; to turn himself into something more. ”Where did you grow up that you had to sleep on rocks?” she asks, losing track of the cadence of the game. Not that it mattered now. The game had served its purpose, to break the ice, to break down walls (aided by the booze and the buzz).
She shrugs. ”I suspect most of that tight-lipness is simply because we don’t know much more to tell you. History has a way of getting distorted, lost. Throw in the war, the barrier, and everything else, and information has been pretty scarce around here.” It’s a shame they don’t quite trust each other enough to talk more, because maybe together they could find the mageglass. Maybe one day they would trust each other enough to try it, though today is not that day.
She listens as he talks of his family more, curiosity in her gaze. ”Were you all mages, then?” The Launceleyn’s she had met were, so it seems like a logical assumption. Much of her family had been as well, beside Korbin who seemed to be the family’s white sheep (or black raven, technically). Though a very well loved white sheep, because he was an adorable pain in the ass.
He places his own hand on hers this time, and she finds herself moving her hand to simply twine their fingers together. She may not be jumping into bed with him, but the gesture feels right anyway and so she does it. Willing to simply sit in comradery, understanding, for what pain feels like. ”It hurts, of course, but not in the way I thought. There’s always a hole where they belong, always that moment in the morning when I get punched in the gut with realization, but then it fades and they are with me. I am lucky to have had them. Luckier still to remember them, to hear the sound of their voice in my head, to carry them with me. We cannot live, not really, without loss and pain. It makes it all the sweeter.” She feels so very cliche at that moment for a girl who tries not to be, but maybe she is a cliche. Maybe it doesn’t matter because it feels so very true. It hurts, but it’s a liveable type of hurt.
”Here’s the thing about calling it a phase. It makes it sound like you will just move past it. You won’t, Loren. You have to choose too. And trust me, I’ve been there. You won’t find peace in a bar or a bed. You’ll find it the hard way, by grieving, and learning to live with the grief.” He answers her next question honestly, turning his head away, and she does not reach out to bring him back. She lets his gaze stay that way, simply squeezing his hand slightly. ”If you could dream now, what would you dream? Sometimes dreams aren’t big things.” That is always what her mother taught her, that the world was hers to take if she chose. There would be obstacles, hardship, roadblocks, wrong turns, but in the end it was always theirs for the taking.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
