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[A week of research was a questionable coping mechanism. It succeeded in keeping him from having to talk to anyone. Also, in keeping him busy. However, a week buried in information brings on a loneliness that makes unchecked depression go rampant.
That's the worst part about it, sometimes. Being so utterly incapable of breaking the ice, of visiting someone and drudging up polite conversation and leaving that loneliness behind. He can't conjure the energy to visit anyone or ask for a visit, but everything is so much worse when he's lonely. Walking that circle is worse than rummaging through page after page of data, wanting to find and yet terrified of finding. He hated it alone in the research rooms, but feared going back to the same cycle, the same circle, as before.
When he comes back, he puts off going back to the flat for as long as possible. He sees to the horses at the stable, introducing the new mare to the others. Horses don't require conversation, but they provide companionship. Gregor is faintly disturbed by that thought, as if working with the horses might be more harmful than therapeutic. He finds himself clutching Babushka's mane in both fists, his face buried in her shoulder, heart pounding with the sudden, dizzy speculation that the one thing that makes him feel happy in this place is poisoned by his own weakness. No. No, no, no, he's not about to start thinking that way. Working with the horses means working with the hands, and that's human interaction. He enjoys that part. There's a premise to it, nothing forced. It's okay. He's being ridiculous about this. Gradually, he releases Babushka's mane. Her placid temperament helps. It's as if she barely noticed.
He should go home and take a shower, but instead he sits in the stable and sends a written message out, filtering it only lazily since it's nothing important.]
[Filtered to Ivan Vorpatril, Buffy Summers, Adele LeBlanc, and everyone who works at the stable or takes lessons - 35% unhackable]
I've come back.
--GVB
[/Filtered.]
[Then, it's anything he can do to keep from going back to that apartment. He knows once he's there, he'll nest in his safe little area and be completely trapped, alone with his own thoughts. So he plunks himself into the coffee shop with a cup of coffee and a cream cake he brought over from the bakery. He should check up on Loki (he has his own problems). He should talk to Nephry (she shouldn't see me like this). Or Molly (neither should she). Or Buffy (no pretending no no no...). Or Adele (nothing she can do). The trouble is that he's not fit to be seen by anyone. There's really nowhere to go but home, is there? Like it or not, he's chained to that place. Heaven forbid he send out a message to any one of them, or even that idiot Ivan, saying, I need help, today is a bad day, I don't care what you do just make sure...
Make sure of what? That he doesn't topple off any more balconies? He knows where death leads here. Everyone does. It would sound so stupid to explain why having one week asleep, one week ushered painlessly by during the wait to go home would be worth a death penalty.
...He needs to talk himself out of thinking that way.
At last, he sends out a voice message.]
The public stables are open, with three horses available to anyone who needs them. Just check them out with the on-duty stable hand.
[After inquiries are responded to, there's nothing to do but go home. Once he is there, he is most likely to curl up on his couch and not answer the door or any messages.]
That's the worst part about it, sometimes. Being so utterly incapable of breaking the ice, of visiting someone and drudging up polite conversation and leaving that loneliness behind. He can't conjure the energy to visit anyone or ask for a visit, but everything is so much worse when he's lonely. Walking that circle is worse than rummaging through page after page of data, wanting to find and yet terrified of finding. He hated it alone in the research rooms, but feared going back to the same cycle, the same circle, as before.
When he comes back, he puts off going back to the flat for as long as possible. He sees to the horses at the stable, introducing the new mare to the others. Horses don't require conversation, but they provide companionship. Gregor is faintly disturbed by that thought, as if working with the horses might be more harmful than therapeutic. He finds himself clutching Babushka's mane in both fists, his face buried in her shoulder, heart pounding with the sudden, dizzy speculation that the one thing that makes him feel happy in this place is poisoned by his own weakness. No. No, no, no, he's not about to start thinking that way. Working with the horses means working with the hands, and that's human interaction. He enjoys that part. There's a premise to it, nothing forced. It's okay. He's being ridiculous about this. Gradually, he releases Babushka's mane. Her placid temperament helps. It's as if she barely noticed.
He should go home and take a shower, but instead he sits in the stable and sends a written message out, filtering it only lazily since it's nothing important.]
[Filtered to Ivan Vorpatril, Buffy Summers, Adele LeBlanc, and everyone who works at the stable or takes lessons - 35% unhackable]
I've come back.
--GVB
[/Filtered.]
[Then, it's anything he can do to keep from going back to that apartment. He knows once he's there, he'll nest in his safe little area and be completely trapped, alone with his own thoughts. So he plunks himself into the coffee shop with a cup of coffee and a cream cake he brought over from the bakery. He should check up on Loki (he has his own problems). He should talk to Nephry (she shouldn't see me like this). Or Molly (neither should she). Or Buffy (no pretending no no no...). Or Adele (nothing she can do). The trouble is that he's not fit to be seen by anyone. There's really nowhere to go but home, is there? Like it or not, he's chained to that place. Heaven forbid he send out a message to any one of them, or even that idiot Ivan, saying, I need help, today is a bad day, I don't care what you do just make sure...
Make sure of what? That he doesn't topple off any more balconies? He knows where death leads here. Everyone does. It would sound so stupid to explain why having one week asleep, one week ushered painlessly by during the wait to go home would be worth a death penalty.
...He needs to talk himself out of thinking that way.
At last, he sends out a voice message.]
The public stables are open, with three horses available to anyone who needs them. Just check them out with the on-duty stable hand.
[After inquiries are responded to, there's nothing to do but go home. Once he is there, he is most likely to curl up on his couch and not answer the door or any messages.]
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 12:46 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 12:53 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 12:54 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 12:58 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:05 am (UTC)From:I could if I wanted.
But it's simpler than that. I never was Aesir.
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:06 am (UTC)From:[There's some sympathy to his tone.]
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:17 am (UTC)From:[From far afield. He stares down into his wine glass again.]
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Date: 2012-10-12 01:19 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:32 am (UTC)From:Jotun. That's what I am.
[He suddenly smiles, a reaction to some internal pain.]
The monster under the bed.
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:34 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:50 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 01:53 am (UTC)From:As you know, my foster-father is nicknamed the Butcher of Komarr. [Likewise, Prince Serg is deemed a great hero of the Escobar war.] I tend not to place great emphasis on the reputation of a person, let alone a species.
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Date: 2012-10-12 01:57 am (UTC)From:What then, when the reputation is true?
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Date: 2012-10-12 02:02 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:04 am (UTC)From:[He laughs without humor, then shrugs.]
I think if you asked the Aesir, they'd say blood breeds true. [They knew there was something wrong and different about him, after all.]
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:08 am (UTC)From:[Gregor scrapes the fabric of the chair's arm with one fingernail. This is all very close to home. Vorbarras, after all. His best hope of not succumbing to the family's cursed genes is the fact that he was raised by someone else.]
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:13 am (UTC)From:I don't think I am.
But sometimes I don't know what I am.
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:17 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:32 am (UTC)From:What have they made you to be, Gregor?
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Date: 2012-10-12 02:39 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:43 am (UTC)From:[Loki smiles.]
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:46 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:50 am (UTC)From:[He smiles crookedly.]
It was well enough for the little bit I did. But... only a little bit.
[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 02:57 am (UTC)From:[Action]
Date: 2012-10-12 03:02 am (UTC)From:Oh, the Aesir want nothing of me.
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From:[Action] Count VORHALAS, not Vordrozda, dammit. All the Vor are running together.
From:[Action] Seen one Vor, seen 'em all.
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From:[Action] PFFFFFT YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT THE OTHER REPLY XD
From:[Action] <.< Also I have intended for a while to break Gregor's arm during a draft.
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