Appearances aren't everything
May. 9th, 2010 04:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently 13:27 Pacific Time on Sun May 9 2010.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (27% full).
Country House
With the return of her clothes, and her keys, and her car, Shelby's mood has been much improved, even if she remains skittish around the new cub. The downstairs windows are flung wide to carry the smell of fresh cookies far and near. With music playing into only one earbud, Shelby bumps the oven door closed and dances with the tray of cookies over to a cooling rack, mouthing along to whatever it is she's listening to.
The door opens and Zosia enters, muttering to herself as she does. She's reading something on her phone, sounding puzzled as she mutters a few things. That done, she looks up, sniffing at the air. "Nice. Cookies."
With only one earbud in - probably just for this reason - Shelby neither jumps nor squeaks, but manages a polite smile for her Elder. "Afternoon, Zosia-rhya. This is the last of them. Those are cool enough to eat." A nod toward the spread-out newspaper, and row upon tidy row of cookies waiting patiently to be tended to.
Zosia scoops one up and starts to much on it, going to the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of water. Pouring a glass, she looks over at the cub with a questioning eyebrow raised.
Shelby tugs the earbud free before silencing her phone; coiling the wire tidily gives her a few more moments' grace. Eventually, however, she's left with either looking at the cookies or the Theurge, and the cookies don't expect obedience. "Yes?"
Rolling her eyes, Zosia asks, "Did you want some water while I have this out?"
"No, thank you," the cub answers, flushing. "I had some milk, earlier," and gestures to a nearly-empty glass waiting by the oven.
Zosia tucks the container away then turns, leaning against the counter as she drinks. "So, you've been doing well on one end of your training. Time we started on the other end."
"The other end," Shelby repeats politely, returning her attention to the cookies. Tricky things, cookies. They require nearly a person's full attention to slide them off the cookie sheet and onto a cooling rack.
"You have to fight, Shelby." Zosia says this matter-of-factly. "And we have to hunt down some sort of wyrm thing so that you can see the enemy up close."
Shelby starts, "I don't," but doesn't finish, only turns further attention to a particularly stubborn cookie. Or a cookie that should be stubborn and isn't, sliding easily onto the spatula and from there onto the rack. "Yes, Zosia-rhya."
"You do. You learn to fight now or you die when it comes to your rite. Since there is combat in all rites, in some way." Zosia's jaw tightens as she says that, perhaps in anger at something else or perhaps because of the necessity. Or maybe at Shelby's initial protest.
"Yes, Zosia-rhya," the cub says again, doing her best to mask both words and body language into something neutral and inoffensive. The last of the cookies is transferred and Shelby slips off the oven mitt, newly-free hand smoothing across her other forearm. "I met a Glass Walker, the other day."
Zosia's eyes are narrowed but she just asks, "What was his name?"
Shelby's eyes flick to the window and a flash of movement there before returning to Zosia's chin. "Jack Salem. Or Scar. I can see why they call him that. He wasn't... well, there was something weird about him."
Hesitating as she mulls that over, Zosia quells the first response she has. Instead, she tilts her head. "What was weird?"
Shelby says, "I don't-," but stops there with a shrug, face furrowed as she thinks. Slowly, "He... reminded me of your father? A little. But I'm not sure how. They don't look at all alike."
"Well, they're both Philodoxes," Zosia says dryly. "And they're around the same age, I believe. Though I doubt it was that. He's rather well-bred. Odd as that may sound. Used to be a Shadow Lord, apparently, then left the tribe." She considers that and adds, "Or was tossed out. Either way."
"...Shadow Lord?" the Ragabash echoes, in the same tone of voice one might say 'kitten-eater'. "But he seemed so-." She shuts up again, eyes dropping back to the cookies. Must be alert for a stampede.
"Oh, I doubt he seemed nice," Zosia hazards in an attempt to guess what it was she didn't say. "But not a plotting hunchback in a corner? No. There's a few about though not many. A few of their kin too." Zosia's face turns sour.
A dark-eyed glance marks the guess - lucky? - but Shelby doesn't comment. "He wasn't what I expected. Though he said he had a tribemate with dyed hair and piercings."
"One of the things I learned very fast was that people rarely are what one expects." Zosia sighs as she says that, adding, "In fact, they often defy stereotypes."
There's a short laugh from Shelby's side of the kitchen. "Then what's the point of having them?" She nudges this cookie here, that one there, lining them into their ranks more squarely. "How is - how has everything been with you?"
"Enough people are like them that it makes a bit more sense." Shaking her head, she shrugs restlessly, snagging another cookie. "Can't sleep. Dreams and dreams and more dreams."
"I'm sorry." The Ragabash glances up again, not protesting Zosia's claiming of her kill. "Is - does - are they from Aljan?"
Just call Zosia the Cookie Monster. "Some seem to be but it might just be a generic Unicorn. Most are from the Lady of the Mirrors, I suspect, from Chimera." The theurge lifts her hand, rubbing at her eyes. She looks tired. "Hard to sleep."
"You could... go take a nap?" Shelby offers lamely, gesturing toward the stairs. "No baby to wake you up here. I could make sure you aren't bothered."
"No baby at home either," Zosia says that in a rather morose voice. "Tristan's all off being..." She gestures vaguely with a hand. "Environmentally responsible or something or other."
Shelby says, "Oh," in that same uncertain tone of voice, and drops her eyes back to the cookies. Still no stampede. "We could... watch a movie?"
"No," Zosia says, restless. Then: "I'm not good at watching movies. Too boring after a while."
"Oh," the cub says with an edge of helplessness to counter the Theurge. "Well, um." She looks from one side of the kitchen to the other but no Wyrm things leap out, only dirty dishes threaten Gaia's peace. "Would you like to run on the bawn?"
"No. We should...talk about something that I think you're mostly ready for." Zosia drums her fingers restlessly against the counter.
"I already know about sex," Shelby laughs, and if it's forced, at least she's trying to lighten the mood.
Zosia smirks a bit at that, her expression turning sly. "I'm not your mother, that topic is not one I'm getting into. No, I'm thinking the gifts that the spirits can give you."
Shelby does a pretty good job of covering up the wince, changing it instead to a bright smile that's only forced until the Theurge's words sink in. "--Gifts? Like... no, the mirror-thing you showed me is a rite. Gifts are the other one."
"Gifts are the direct things that the spirits give us that we can just ... do. Like my ability to speak to spirits or heal or sense the presence of the Wyrm. So we could get you gifts for being born to humans and one for being a ragabash. Falcon will give you one when you pass your rite of passage." Cluelessly, Zosia has no idea what terrible territory she just trampled across with her earlier statement.
Shelby touches a cookie with the flat of a fingernail, nudging it into better alignment. "So you think I-. You think they'd-?" She quiets for a few seconds, long enough to come up with a complete sentence: "But the moon is small."
"Yes. But we can start discussing which spirits to approach for the skills and then go over how we'd do it." Zosia drums her fingers. "And if you can handle fighting, we'll look into teaching you some hunting and maybe a little rite."
Shelby's hand drops back to her side. "Yes, Zosia-rhya." A moment later, with a little wave toward the sink, "Is there time for me to wash up first, or do you want to get started now?"
"Go wash," Zosia says, waving her hand. "I have to think on how we'll handle this."
"Yes, Zosia-rhya," Shelby says again, with no small amount of relief. There's even a sincere, if small, smile for the older girl as she cleans up from the baking.
Currently the moon is in the waning Crescent (Theurge) Moon phase (27% full).
Country House
With the return of her clothes, and her keys, and her car, Shelby's mood has been much improved, even if she remains skittish around the new cub. The downstairs windows are flung wide to carry the smell of fresh cookies far and near. With music playing into only one earbud, Shelby bumps the oven door closed and dances with the tray of cookies over to a cooling rack, mouthing along to whatever it is she's listening to.
The door opens and Zosia enters, muttering to herself as she does. She's reading something on her phone, sounding puzzled as she mutters a few things. That done, she looks up, sniffing at the air. "Nice. Cookies."
With only one earbud in - probably just for this reason - Shelby neither jumps nor squeaks, but manages a polite smile for her Elder. "Afternoon, Zosia-rhya. This is the last of them. Those are cool enough to eat." A nod toward the spread-out newspaper, and row upon tidy row of cookies waiting patiently to be tended to.
Zosia scoops one up and starts to much on it, going to the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of water. Pouring a glass, she looks over at the cub with a questioning eyebrow raised.
Shelby tugs the earbud free before silencing her phone; coiling the wire tidily gives her a few more moments' grace. Eventually, however, she's left with either looking at the cookies or the Theurge, and the cookies don't expect obedience. "Yes?"
Rolling her eyes, Zosia asks, "Did you want some water while I have this out?"
"No, thank you," the cub answers, flushing. "I had some milk, earlier," and gestures to a nearly-empty glass waiting by the oven.
Zosia tucks the container away then turns, leaning against the counter as she drinks. "So, you've been doing well on one end of your training. Time we started on the other end."
"The other end," Shelby repeats politely, returning her attention to the cookies. Tricky things, cookies. They require nearly a person's full attention to slide them off the cookie sheet and onto a cooling rack.
"You have to fight, Shelby." Zosia says this matter-of-factly. "And we have to hunt down some sort of wyrm thing so that you can see the enemy up close."
Shelby starts, "I don't," but doesn't finish, only turns further attention to a particularly stubborn cookie. Or a cookie that should be stubborn and isn't, sliding easily onto the spatula and from there onto the rack. "Yes, Zosia-rhya."
"You do. You learn to fight now or you die when it comes to your rite. Since there is combat in all rites, in some way." Zosia's jaw tightens as she says that, perhaps in anger at something else or perhaps because of the necessity. Or maybe at Shelby's initial protest.
"Yes, Zosia-rhya," the cub says again, doing her best to mask both words and body language into something neutral and inoffensive. The last of the cookies is transferred and Shelby slips off the oven mitt, newly-free hand smoothing across her other forearm. "I met a Glass Walker, the other day."
Zosia's eyes are narrowed but she just asks, "What was his name?"
Shelby's eyes flick to the window and a flash of movement there before returning to Zosia's chin. "Jack Salem. Or Scar. I can see why they call him that. He wasn't... well, there was something weird about him."
Hesitating as she mulls that over, Zosia quells the first response she has. Instead, she tilts her head. "What was weird?"
Shelby says, "I don't-," but stops there with a shrug, face furrowed as she thinks. Slowly, "He... reminded me of your father? A little. But I'm not sure how. They don't look at all alike."
"Well, they're both Philodoxes," Zosia says dryly. "And they're around the same age, I believe. Though I doubt it was that. He's rather well-bred. Odd as that may sound. Used to be a Shadow Lord, apparently, then left the tribe." She considers that and adds, "Or was tossed out. Either way."
"...Shadow Lord?" the Ragabash echoes, in the same tone of voice one might say 'kitten-eater'. "But he seemed so-." She shuts up again, eyes dropping back to the cookies. Must be alert for a stampede.
"Oh, I doubt he seemed nice," Zosia hazards in an attempt to guess what it was she didn't say. "But not a plotting hunchback in a corner? No. There's a few about though not many. A few of their kin too." Zosia's face turns sour.
A dark-eyed glance marks the guess - lucky? - but Shelby doesn't comment. "He wasn't what I expected. Though he said he had a tribemate with dyed hair and piercings."
"One of the things I learned very fast was that people rarely are what one expects." Zosia sighs as she says that, adding, "In fact, they often defy stereotypes."
There's a short laugh from Shelby's side of the kitchen. "Then what's the point of having them?" She nudges this cookie here, that one there, lining them into their ranks more squarely. "How is - how has everything been with you?"
"Enough people are like them that it makes a bit more sense." Shaking her head, she shrugs restlessly, snagging another cookie. "Can't sleep. Dreams and dreams and more dreams."
"I'm sorry." The Ragabash glances up again, not protesting Zosia's claiming of her kill. "Is - does - are they from Aljan?"
Just call Zosia the Cookie Monster. "Some seem to be but it might just be a generic Unicorn. Most are from the Lady of the Mirrors, I suspect, from Chimera." The theurge lifts her hand, rubbing at her eyes. She looks tired. "Hard to sleep."
"You could... go take a nap?" Shelby offers lamely, gesturing toward the stairs. "No baby to wake you up here. I could make sure you aren't bothered."
"No baby at home either," Zosia says that in a rather morose voice. "Tristan's all off being..." She gestures vaguely with a hand. "Environmentally responsible or something or other."
Shelby says, "Oh," in that same uncertain tone of voice, and drops her eyes back to the cookies. Still no stampede. "We could... watch a movie?"
"No," Zosia says, restless. Then: "I'm not good at watching movies. Too boring after a while."
"Oh," the cub says with an edge of helplessness to counter the Theurge. "Well, um." She looks from one side of the kitchen to the other but no Wyrm things leap out, only dirty dishes threaten Gaia's peace. "Would you like to run on the bawn?"
"No. We should...talk about something that I think you're mostly ready for." Zosia drums her fingers restlessly against the counter.
"I already know about sex," Shelby laughs, and if it's forced, at least she's trying to lighten the mood.
Zosia smirks a bit at that, her expression turning sly. "I'm not your mother, that topic is not one I'm getting into. No, I'm thinking the gifts that the spirits can give you."
Shelby does a pretty good job of covering up the wince, changing it instead to a bright smile that's only forced until the Theurge's words sink in. "--Gifts? Like... no, the mirror-thing you showed me is a rite. Gifts are the other one."
"Gifts are the direct things that the spirits give us that we can just ... do. Like my ability to speak to spirits or heal or sense the presence of the Wyrm. So we could get you gifts for being born to humans and one for being a ragabash. Falcon will give you one when you pass your rite of passage." Cluelessly, Zosia has no idea what terrible territory she just trampled across with her earlier statement.
Shelby touches a cookie with the flat of a fingernail, nudging it into better alignment. "So you think I-. You think they'd-?" She quiets for a few seconds, long enough to come up with a complete sentence: "But the moon is small."
"Yes. But we can start discussing which spirits to approach for the skills and then go over how we'd do it." Zosia drums her fingers. "And if you can handle fighting, we'll look into teaching you some hunting and maybe a little rite."
Shelby's hand drops back to her side. "Yes, Zosia-rhya." A moment later, with a little wave toward the sink, "Is there time for me to wash up first, or do you want to get started now?"
"Go wash," Zosia says, waving her hand. "I have to think on how we'll handle this."
"Yes, Zosia-rhya," Shelby says again, with no small amount of relief. There's even a sincere, if small, smile for the older girl as she cleans up from the baking.