Rory had both lost and been lost before; he knew that he had felt like this before, adrift in a currentless sea, apathetic as he stared up at a wan, uninteresting sky. He knew what it was like to return to a house that felt haunted in reverse: empty, and the shadows you saw were only in your own mind, for each time you turned, you saw that there was nothing—no one—there. He knew that days and days would pass, and bit by bit, he would figure life out again. Day by day, getting up would be easier. Eating would be easier. Going on would be easier.
He had goats to tend to. Kiddings to oversee. Ponies to groom. Things to plant. Fiat Lux to look forward to. A business to run.
He couldn't stay like this forever, and even though he knew that he wouldn't, he also knew that he was wasting daylight, wasting precious time being stuck in this melancholy, strange wasteland. Flowerbirth was such a busy time, he couldn't not do all the things—
Jigano's hand was warm beneath his. Jigano .. deserved more than this lost, lost creature; deserved the man who would sigh and scratch his chin and complain softly about how shitty he felt and ruefully comment on his apathy and then.. get off his ass and do something. Not just sit there with a gryphon on his lap and a knife in his hand and...
Something tugged on the piece of wood he very much hadn't been carving, and Rory, as if he was a beast ten times his size, moved his head rather slowly to peer at what was going on.
Unsurprisingly, he had a young gryphon chewing on it. He blinked, what passed for silent laughter in a man who had forgotten how to conjure visible emotions, and tugged back on it a little. Not because he was annoyed, for he wasn't, but to give her a little resistance. Something to fight, even though he didn't have much of that in himself anymore.
It almost seemed as if he hadn't heard Jigano, for he stayed like that for a couple of seconds, just tugging on the bit of wood, before rather abruptly seizing a moment when the gryphon's hold on it was very loose to work it out of her beak and hurl it out the workshop door. It was a strange and sudden movement from the silent man, but there was no aggression in it. If anything, it was just a ploy to get Isuma off his lap.
"Alright," he said, as if he hadn't not responded for several seconds, and stood up (had Isuma not left his lap, he would just gently lift her up and deposit her on the floor). His hand felt colder now that it was no longer touching Jigano's, and he let the knife clatter to the workbench. It laid there among the chaos of his thoughts.
His hand twitched, as if he contemplated reaching for Jigano's hand again, but what he ended up doing was merely walking forward, as if he was going to walk into Jigano if he didn't move out of the way—more the way one might herd an animal rather with any sort of force behind it, and anyway...
He wasn't going to ram his friend.
He was just—his hands were trembling, he noticed, and he didn't really know where he was looking, a stranger in his own skin, his body an unfamiliar burden—
Waking up was always hard. He stopped where he was (whether that was before Jigano, or to the side of him, or .. anywhere, really), though it was more of a stumble to a swaying standstill. His blood was rushing and what he saw of the world seemed far away.
"I'm sorry," he heard himself say, his voice rather distant. "I don't feel too well."
Surprise surprise, that's what happens when you don't bother to eat and then suddenly stand up.
He had goats to tend to. Kiddings to oversee. Ponies to groom. Things to plant. Fiat Lux to look forward to. A business to run.
He couldn't stay like this forever, and even though he knew that he wouldn't, he also knew that he was wasting daylight, wasting precious time being stuck in this melancholy, strange wasteland. Flowerbirth was such a busy time, he couldn't not do all the things—
Jigano's hand was warm beneath his. Jigano .. deserved more than this lost, lost creature; deserved the man who would sigh and scratch his chin and complain softly about how shitty he felt and ruefully comment on his apathy and then.. get off his ass and do something. Not just sit there with a gryphon on his lap and a knife in his hand and...
Something tugged on the piece of wood he very much hadn't been carving, and Rory, as if he was a beast ten times his size, moved his head rather slowly to peer at what was going on.
Unsurprisingly, he had a young gryphon chewing on it. He blinked, what passed for silent laughter in a man who had forgotten how to conjure visible emotions, and tugged back on it a little. Not because he was annoyed, for he wasn't, but to give her a little resistance. Something to fight, even though he didn't have much of that in himself anymore.
It almost seemed as if he hadn't heard Jigano, for he stayed like that for a couple of seconds, just tugging on the bit of wood, before rather abruptly seizing a moment when the gryphon's hold on it was very loose to work it out of her beak and hurl it out the workshop door. It was a strange and sudden movement from the silent man, but there was no aggression in it. If anything, it was just a ploy to get Isuma off his lap.
"Alright," he said, as if he hadn't not responded for several seconds, and stood up (had Isuma not left his lap, he would just gently lift her up and deposit her on the floor). His hand felt colder now that it was no longer touching Jigano's, and he let the knife clatter to the workbench. It laid there among the chaos of his thoughts.
His hand twitched, as if he contemplated reaching for Jigano's hand again, but what he ended up doing was merely walking forward, as if he was going to walk into Jigano if he didn't move out of the way—more the way one might herd an animal rather with any sort of force behind it, and anyway...
He wasn't going to ram his friend.
He was just—his hands were trembling, he noticed, and he didn't really know where he was looking, a stranger in his own skin, his body an unfamiliar burden—
Waking up was always hard. He stopped where he was (whether that was before Jigano, or to the side of him, or .. anywhere, really), though it was more of a stumble to a swaying standstill. His blood was rushing and what he saw of the world seemed far away.
"I'm sorry," he heard himself say, his voice rather distant. "I don't feel too well."
Surprise surprise, that's what happens when you don't bother to eat and then suddenly stand up.
