View source for Log:Satyrs Growing Roots

{{ Log
| cast = [[Sid_Spokes|Sid]], [[Gisa_Cohen|Gisa]]
| summary = Sid comes to see Gisa at [[Tamarack Falls Jewish Books]] and they talk about their current emotional states. Masks come down, and vulnerability happens, however briefly.
| gamedate = 2017.06.09
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = 
| location = [[MT03]]
| categories = Changeling
| log = Sid arrived, at sundown, sober. Again. And if not consistantly, at least with a text ahead. He wasn't perfect, but he was trying. He was wearing cargo shorts, button up shirt, his signature vans. Hell he even showered. He greeted loud enough to play MArco Polo, "Shalom. bubbe?" He waded back ad seemed almost confused by a lack of a Miranda or a Lucky, but regardless, sometimes the stillness let one thing.
 
She's curled up in her favorite chair, reading, or at least looking like she's reading. Gisa has a book in her lap, her eyeflames sort of focused off into the near distance, just past the book. She's got shadows under her eyes, her hands cradling the book, and it takes her a moment to refocus when Sid speaks. Her head tips up, and she offers him a wan smile. "Shalom, bubbuleh." She pushes herself up to her feet, bare feet on the floor so she can lean and kiss him on his cheeks. "How are you?"
 
Sid wrapped arms around her in a hug and paused. "Eh as well as well is and perhaps better than I have right to be. We walk, we could be worse" Hey he was Dusk, he was working with what he had towork with. He observed, and not without an overt expression o teh face. "You look tired. Sit and let me get you something? If not for you than for me?"
 
He gets a big hug from her, and she rocks from side to side for a moment before stepping back. It's a Proper Hug. That wan smile stays on her face; Sid's one of a very few people who get to see how worn the golem can be. There's probably a reason that she hasn't been in public of late: whatever she's going through makes her look less than totally stoic, and so she doesn't want anyone to see that. "Yes, I understand." Gisa could have been Dusk, after all, but she chooses hope. And, truly, the scent of petrichor is stronger around her now, that specific wet scent of the earth right after the rain. The smell of fire catching chases the petrichor scent, and there's a sense of ozone, the feeling that lightning could strike at any moment. Her connection with her Court? Stronger. "You could get me a glass of blackberry wine, if you'd like."
 
Sid moved to pour her wine. And get some crackers on a plate. With grapes. And then he started slicing a small apple. There was an amused chuckled from teh Satyr who slid his sunglasses atop his head. "You're doing too much and not enough of what you should be doing. You keep moving and never stop you'll wear your legs to tny stump and be able to go nowhere, Sidney." He looked to her with a grin, being mindful not to cut his thumb or palm in teh practice. "SOMEONE, as I recall said this to me." Her. It was she and Saul. "Been thinking on that last couple days." He brought the small plate and the wine back to her before he poured hisown and walked back with glass and bottle and sat.
 
"It isn't that I am doing too much, Sidney. Well, maybe it is. But it is -- another issue, that is why I am so tired. So out of it. So -- not myself." Gisa is honest, and with Sid, at the very least, she's totally straightforward, not hiding behind her mask. She watches him in the kitchenette, and rather than getting up to not allow him to take care of her, she forces herself to sit still. Her fingers twist together, making a squeaking sound of ceramic on ceramic. "What have you been thinking about that, for yourself? Or for me? You ''do'' need to run less. Settle down for a little bit."
 
Sid took a deep breath and instead of wearing his mask of the party boy he was simply as she found him: wandering child, Bishop of an empty tribe. "I think... maybe we both ought to. Took a short holiday and schlepped my tail up to Fort Brunsett for two days. Just did a lot of thinking and made peace with understanding my present limits. My feelings on things. Why I left and came ehre. My grandmother says hi by the way and let me know to tell you she was thinking of you." His hand waved in a placating 'and all thht' gesture as if his actual grandmoter were somehow telepathic. "So what's on your mind?"
 
"I am trying to do so," admits the golem, watching Sid. She may be tired, but she's still here for him, no matter how much trouble she's having with focusing. "Talk to me about what you thought about. Your limits. Your feelings on things. And give my love to your grandmother." His blood grandmother, anyway. "There is a lot on my mind, Sidney. But you first." Watch both of them try to get out of talking about their own feelings by asking the other person.
 
Sid slouched into his chair. "Just working on connecting with... anything. Found... something. Shit I felt something while I was sober. It's a miracle, who knew. I dunno. For a short bit I was, eh I dunno. I was sorta happy. Or sobriety isn't agreeing with me and is plotting revenge. One of the two. What's up with you? Been busy, out...I DO miss our dinners. It gives me..." He quint looking for the words and he chose, "A place I'm supposed to be. Focused. Something familiar that feels like things sort of have a plan. But you... are stuck in motion. You alright?"
 
"You need to settle down for a while and grow some roots, Sidney." Of course the Earthbones would think that someone needs to grow roots to the earth. Irony, though, that she's spent so long wandering. "What did you feel when you were sober?" Gisa starts slowly picking at her food; she has gotten to the point where she doesn't feel hungry, for whatever reason, and is eating by rote. Finally, she replies, "Yes. We should have our dinners. And possibly a motley." A pause, and she clears her throat. "I am working on becoming a Pilgrim," she explains, "and Alonso feels I am unhealthily dependent on my prayer rituals. He might be right. I am ... not well... now that I have been not praying for a week."
 
Sid furroed his brow and didn't address what was up with him before leaning forward, "Our need to move may be the same but the means are our own. Just because he lacks faith doesn't mean that you do. It's who made us. It's how we survived and our people before us and saying 'thank you'? That's not an unhealthy dependancy. That's part of who we are. It is how we got to where we are. It is welcome to be with us to get us where we are going." He set his glass down adn found...patience omewhere. His Hebrew was shoddy and he had an accent in such a way he still sounded from California. "''Your rites are your conversation in faith. Your relationship is for you and God. A man who walks can only find his own path, not yours. We can learn from those around us without giving up who we are. It is our map.''" He wasn't good at it, and really grew up laxed but the last seven months may have more impact than he generally lets on.
 

She reaches out one hand and rests it on Sid's arm. "The thing is, Sidney, he isn't wrong. I know, and I fought it too, but he isn't wrong. It isn't wrong to need to pray, it is ... there's also... " Gisa's face crumples up a little bit, wearily. "There's something broken in my head. And I use the prayer to stitch together the brokenness," she finally manages. "I have been holding myself together with a little thread made out of words for a long time. And maybe -- I should -- try to fix it. Instead of pretending that just praying is all I need to do."


Sid got up and walked over to sit next to her. He reached over and dropped his mitt into her sceramic one. He thought long on that and looked to her, "You know you kept me alive? Offered me... someplace to belong when hope left me." He watched ehr eye flames and the ''shin'' on her forehead as waystones for her subtle expressions.
 
Her hand closes around his: the Fireheart that fuels her warms her hands, all the more so when she folds her other hand over top of their clasped hands, too. "I know that now," Gisa answers quietly. "Thank you." She takes a small breath in, and lets it out. Her eyeflames flicker, almost uncertainly, but the ''shin'' burns steadily. "You do not have to hope, Sidney. I have decided to hope for you. As long as I am alive, that is my job."

Sid watched her and lifted her hand to pat it. He got op and wandered back to his bag and pulled out a small brass cup that almost looked a bit like a kylix. It was Saul's left to him. He took, in this case the bottle of wine shared and filled it. He lifted it to stir it with his finger three times before reiterating Saul's toast or blessing of sorts in it s original tongue, "May we remember that when we walk it is not alone. Leave your burdens with me while you find your direction." His finger lifted and he tapped her forehead gently; he didn't want to stab her in the Shin with a finger. That's jut painful as it is rude. Still wether it was the wine used, or the assurance, the young Blackbird, would unburden what he could." Generally Bishops worked on trade but she'd given him much that he could never adaquately pay pack. In English he replied with a nod, "We will find an answer. What helps one may help us all, yeah?"
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