Festive
mickilennial
Half Pint
Qia
Melissa
webboysurf
Supermaxx
Nemaisare
Aeolian"How has your gardening been going this week?"
Luce looked up from her lap, her hands continuing to pick at the frayed ends of stitching on the sleeves of her jumper. It had been a hand-me-down from her brothers, and remained to this day more than a couple sizes too big for her, but she couldn't bear to pass it on. She told herself it was a living memorial, but every time she withdrew it from her closet - almost unconsciously at times - a sharper, nastier voice in the back of her head told her it was penance. To be done with it was disrespectful to her brothers. And then, in the dark as she pulled the sweater over her head, a second, far more ruinous voice would say, to be alive is disrespectful to her brothers, and she would have to reply, well, there's not much I can do about that anymore.
"Luce?"
She'd been staring at Dr. Mercia without answering the question, lost in her thoughts.
"Okay. Tomatoes are ripening." Luce answered.
"Something on your mind, Luce?"
"No." She lied, still picking at her sleeves. Gila wanted to press the issue, but time was short, and there was more immediate concern to be addressed.
"Luce, there was something specific I wanted to address this session."
Luce didn't respond, but she did stop fiddling and lay her hands flat-palmed on her lap, all attention focused. These kinds of sentences from Dr. Mercia often didn't end well for Luce, and she had learned to brace for impact.
"P.R.C.U., as you know, maintains many long-held traditions, for students and faculty alike. The most anticipated of which begins with the opening of each new academic year: the Homecoming Trials."
Luce nearly scoffed. It sounded like the Hunger Games. Gila read the incredulity from her face easily, and smiled awkwardly with sympathy.
"In any case, I've anticipated the Trials being a potentially...fraught event for you; in that anticipation, I wanted to address what you can expect, so that we can equip you effectively." Dr. Mercia could see the beads of anxiety forming on Luce's forehead, accompanied by a slowly-furrowing brow and a tight, bitten-lipped expression. She reached out and put a gentle hand upon Luce's own. "I want you know you've made incredible strides the last few weeks, Luce - you're more than capable of doing very well."
Luce looked at Dr. Mercia's hand on her own, then drew her gaze up to make eye contact. Resolve spread across her face, replacing the fear that had settled there as an uncomfortable default.
"And if it does overwhelm you - there's something of a booster I can arrange for you."
Luce looked up from her lap, her hands continuing to pick at the frayed ends of stitching on the sleeves of her jumper. It had been a hand-me-down from her brothers, and remained to this day more than a couple sizes too big for her, but she couldn't bear to pass it on. She told herself it was a living memorial, but every time she withdrew it from her closet - almost unconsciously at times - a sharper, nastier voice in the back of her head told her it was penance. To be done with it was disrespectful to her brothers. And then, in the dark as she pulled the sweater over her head, a second, far more ruinous voice would say, to be alive is disrespectful to her brothers, and she would have to reply, well, there's not much I can do about that anymore.
"Luce?"
She'd been staring at Dr. Mercia without answering the question, lost in her thoughts.
"Okay. Tomatoes are ripening." Luce answered.
"Something on your mind, Luce?"
"No." She lied, still picking at her sleeves. Gila wanted to press the issue, but time was short, and there was more immediate concern to be addressed.
"Luce, there was something specific I wanted to address this session."
Luce didn't respond, but she did stop fiddling and lay her hands flat-palmed on her lap, all attention focused. These kinds of sentences from Dr. Mercia often didn't end well for Luce, and she had learned to brace for impact.
"P.R.C.U., as you know, maintains many long-held traditions, for students and faculty alike. The most anticipated of which begins with the opening of each new academic year: the Homecoming Trials."
Luce nearly scoffed. It sounded like the Hunger Games. Gila read the incredulity from her face easily, and smiled awkwardly with sympathy.
"In any case, I've anticipated the Trials being a potentially...fraught event for you; in that anticipation, I wanted to address what you can expect, so that we can equip you effectively." Dr. Mercia could see the beads of anxiety forming on Luce's forehead, accompanied by a slowly-furrowing brow and a tight, bitten-lipped expression. She reached out and put a gentle hand upon Luce's own. "I want you know you've made incredible strides the last few weeks, Luce - you're more than capable of doing very well."
Luce looked at Dr. Mercia's hand on her own, then drew her gaze up to make eye contact. Resolve spread across her face, replacing the fear that had settled there as an uncomfortable default.
"And if it does overwhelm you - there's something of a booster I can arrange for you."
Location: Southern Plateu - Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.35: Z-bars
Interaction(s): Mackenna (@Tackytaff)
Previously: Grounding Techniques
Luce opened the bottle of the 'booster' and gently tapped the rim against her palm until a thin, white tablet tumbled out, at which point she carefully replaced the lid on the bottle and pocketed it, before swallowing the pill with a gulp of water from the bottle in her other hand. Alprazolam, AKA Xanax, prescribed as a one-off acute anti-anxiety medication; take one tablet when experiencing a high-stress situation; feel relief in 30-60 minutes.
30-60 minutes felt like a long time right now from where Luce stood, one of the first of Team Blackjack to arrive outside the intake house to await collection for the Southern Plateau. The others trickled in slowly, and she gave each a sheepish, polite nod in greeting, but as Cass filtered in line beside her any threat of having to make small talk was eliminated by the roaring engine of an approaching Minotaur, making Luce jump and her heart-rate spike; when the vehicle pulled up, emblazoned with Blackjack's team logo, and Jim stepped out - their faculty rep - it all suddenly felt very real to Luce. This was it - the Trials as Dr. Mercia had described them, as Dr. Lehrer had announced to wild applause. And it all began here and now, with a group of strangers and a bottle of xanny's.
Jim made his speech, introducing Tad at the same time, and Luce felt reassured by the presence of a direct ex-student, a living example of how the academy's programme worked; unfortunately, any solace Tad could have been able to offer was cut off two-fold; once by the appearance of Team 18's rep, Ryan Clarke, who quickly assisted the conversation in devolving into petty inter-team bravado, and then again by Blackjack's own walking disruption, Banjo, arriving late but nonetheless demanding to be up-to-speed as he whispered behind her and Cass' backs.
"Who's that guy?" Banjo hissed, to which he received only flat silence. Banjo tried again: "Who's that guy?"; and this time Luce could see in the corner of her eyes the slightest nostril flare and flexing of fingers in Cass.
"Shut. Up." Cass whispered back, and Luce felt pin-prick goosebumps across her shoulder. It was clear already that Banjo and Cass didn't find themselves compatible; she was uncomfortable with the tension and the risk of confrontation.
"Who's that guy?" Banjo asked again, and this time Luce clenched her own fists as she noticed one of Cass' hands take on the slightest glow, and his jaw tense up and set where he was gritting his teeth.
"Should have been here on time." Cass replied, practically spitting. Cass saw Banjo move to ask again, and the tension overtook her.
"Tad." She answered, quickly, and much to her relief Banjo backed down. If this was a preview of the weekend to come, Luce couldn't say she much fancied Blackjack's chances at large of surviving the next couple days, much less her own.
Regardless, intramural sniping had finally been set aside and they began to file into the Minotaurs to be taken across the island. Luce climbed into one of the vehicles, paying little attention to who she had inadvertently chosen to ride with; in truth, she barely looked up from the floor of the truck's cabin, trying to avoid looking out the windows as the university campus and its strong, safe buildings faded into the distance to be replaced by open field and the looming, ever-present treeline of the outlying forest. The xanax began to kick-in, and Luce leaned back against the seat, eyes closed and taking deep, measured breaths. From where she was sitting, 'Trials' felt like an accurate descriptor.
The ride was mercifully short, Jim's voice crackling through the radio a welcome distraction to the passing scenery as he explained further about the Trials and the surrounding landscape. The vehicle came to a halt, and they were ferried out of the cabin onto the Plateau itself, shuffling toward an empty camping lot. Luce noticed that the forest was mercifully distant, and around them various clusters of domed yurts dotted the immediate area, while further off bleachers were being erected and banners unfurled for the coming event. It felt remarkably more modern than Luce had anticipated in her anxiety, and while Jim's mention of 'camping' came as a distasteful sliver of ice through her chest, the xanax soothed the buzzing fear that otherwise hummed inside her head, and the yurts - both those already setup and the ready-to-go kits that Jim gestured towards - looked sturdy and amenable, a far cry from a length of tarp draped over a handful of poles, protecting them from the elements no more so than a raincoat and vague hoping did. Even the hedge-maze felt surmountable, despite the prospect of begin enclosed by pure vegetation: of course, the dragon of terror beats its wings and sounded its roar within her, but a calmer, more rational beast allowed reason to soothe the fear. Hedges didn't fall over - or very rarely, at least - and especially not hedges grown and controlled by well-practiced hyper-humans.
All in all, Luce gripped the xanax bottle in her pocket tightly in one hand, but felt unusually in-control of herself, even allowing a wafer of pride to drip through warmly as she thought of her circumstances and the current lack of her reaction to them. So much so that when Jim announced Tad would be camp cook for the evening, she suddenly found herself famished, her hands shaking slightly from hunger as her belly yawned at the mention of food. She had neglected to eat this morning, wrapped up in her gardening, and the anxiety post-opening ceremony had filled her with a nausea that closed her stomach off to the thought of eating. Now calmer and allowed a moment of stillness, Luce realized she was hungry.
Her ruminations were interrupted by Mackenna, who had approached her quite unexpectedly; the woman had held a sense of haughty detachment around her, like the academy was simply something she was waiting to finish before returning to something else, like P.R.C.U. was the equivalent of a phone-call from a faint acquaintance in the middle of a particularly enjoyable TV show. It was not something Luce had responded well to, given her own aspirations for the transformative potential of the university; but then Luce didn't suppose she appeared all that sociable either. Perhaps this was a chance for the both of them to discard their respective shells. Luce cleared her throat, realizing she'd spoken less words today than she could count on two hands; she hoped it wasn't obvious that she was essentially warming up her vocal cords for unplanned usage.
”Hey Luce, mind pitching together?” Mackenna asked. “Think I might have spotted the one spot slightly flatter than the others.”
Luce smiled - an unpracticed expression - and nodded emphatically, trying to appear enthusiastic, but not too enthusiastic.
"Sure! Mackenna, right?" she replied, extending a hand to shake while at the same time bending over to pick up a tent bag from the ground, resulting in an unwieldy, three-pronged pose, one arm out, one arm down, and one leg backwards trying desperately to counter-balance. Somehow she managed it without toppling ass-over-tit, and she followed Mackenna to the flat spot quietly, trying to remember how to make small-talk. They had to have something in common, right?
Ah. Of course.
"So, uh...Mackenna," Luce started, kneeling as she unzipped the tent and began pulling it open, letting the yurt unfurl from the bag. "What uh...what do you...you know..." she fumbled for words, not quite sure how to put it, trying not to be impolite but also naturally, undeniably, curious.
"What do you do?"
30-60 minutes felt like a long time right now from where Luce stood, one of the first of Team Blackjack to arrive outside the intake house to await collection for the Southern Plateau. The others trickled in slowly, and she gave each a sheepish, polite nod in greeting, but as Cass filtered in line beside her any threat of having to make small talk was eliminated by the roaring engine of an approaching Minotaur, making Luce jump and her heart-rate spike; when the vehicle pulled up, emblazoned with Blackjack's team logo, and Jim stepped out - their faculty rep - it all suddenly felt very real to Luce. This was it - the Trials as Dr. Mercia had described them, as Dr. Lehrer had announced to wild applause. And it all began here and now, with a group of strangers and a bottle of xanny's.
Jim made his speech, introducing Tad at the same time, and Luce felt reassured by the presence of a direct ex-student, a living example of how the academy's programme worked; unfortunately, any solace Tad could have been able to offer was cut off two-fold; once by the appearance of Team 18's rep, Ryan Clarke, who quickly assisted the conversation in devolving into petty inter-team bravado, and then again by Blackjack's own walking disruption, Banjo, arriving late but nonetheless demanding to be up-to-speed as he whispered behind her and Cass' backs.
"Who's that guy?" Banjo hissed, to which he received only flat silence. Banjo tried again: "Who's that guy?"; and this time Luce could see in the corner of her eyes the slightest nostril flare and flexing of fingers in Cass.
"Shut. Up." Cass whispered back, and Luce felt pin-prick goosebumps across her shoulder. It was clear already that Banjo and Cass didn't find themselves compatible; she was uncomfortable with the tension and the risk of confrontation.
"Who's that guy?" Banjo asked again, and this time Luce clenched her own fists as she noticed one of Cass' hands take on the slightest glow, and his jaw tense up and set where he was gritting his teeth.
"Should have been here on time." Cass replied, practically spitting. Cass saw Banjo move to ask again, and the tension overtook her.
"Tad." She answered, quickly, and much to her relief Banjo backed down. If this was a preview of the weekend to come, Luce couldn't say she much fancied Blackjack's chances at large of surviving the next couple days, much less her own.
Regardless, intramural sniping had finally been set aside and they began to file into the Minotaurs to be taken across the island. Luce climbed into one of the vehicles, paying little attention to who she had inadvertently chosen to ride with; in truth, she barely looked up from the floor of the truck's cabin, trying to avoid looking out the windows as the university campus and its strong, safe buildings faded into the distance to be replaced by open field and the looming, ever-present treeline of the outlying forest. The xanax began to kick-in, and Luce leaned back against the seat, eyes closed and taking deep, measured breaths. From where she was sitting, 'Trials' felt like an accurate descriptor.
--- --- ---
The ride was mercifully short, Jim's voice crackling through the radio a welcome distraction to the passing scenery as he explained further about the Trials and the surrounding landscape. The vehicle came to a halt, and they were ferried out of the cabin onto the Plateau itself, shuffling toward an empty camping lot. Luce noticed that the forest was mercifully distant, and around them various clusters of domed yurts dotted the immediate area, while further off bleachers were being erected and banners unfurled for the coming event. It felt remarkably more modern than Luce had anticipated in her anxiety, and while Jim's mention of 'camping' came as a distasteful sliver of ice through her chest, the xanax soothed the buzzing fear that otherwise hummed inside her head, and the yurts - both those already setup and the ready-to-go kits that Jim gestured towards - looked sturdy and amenable, a far cry from a length of tarp draped over a handful of poles, protecting them from the elements no more so than a raincoat and vague hoping did. Even the hedge-maze felt surmountable, despite the prospect of begin enclosed by pure vegetation: of course, the dragon of terror beats its wings and sounded its roar within her, but a calmer, more rational beast allowed reason to soothe the fear. Hedges didn't fall over - or very rarely, at least - and especially not hedges grown and controlled by well-practiced hyper-humans.
All in all, Luce gripped the xanax bottle in her pocket tightly in one hand, but felt unusually in-control of herself, even allowing a wafer of pride to drip through warmly as she thought of her circumstances and the current lack of her reaction to them. So much so that when Jim announced Tad would be camp cook for the evening, she suddenly found herself famished, her hands shaking slightly from hunger as her belly yawned at the mention of food. She had neglected to eat this morning, wrapped up in her gardening, and the anxiety post-opening ceremony had filled her with a nausea that closed her stomach off to the thought of eating. Now calmer and allowed a moment of stillness, Luce realized she was hungry.
Her ruminations were interrupted by Mackenna, who had approached her quite unexpectedly; the woman had held a sense of haughty detachment around her, like the academy was simply something she was waiting to finish before returning to something else, like P.R.C.U. was the equivalent of a phone-call from a faint acquaintance in the middle of a particularly enjoyable TV show. It was not something Luce had responded well to, given her own aspirations for the transformative potential of the university; but then Luce didn't suppose she appeared all that sociable either. Perhaps this was a chance for the both of them to discard their respective shells. Luce cleared her throat, realizing she'd spoken less words today than she could count on two hands; she hoped it wasn't obvious that she was essentially warming up her vocal cords for unplanned usage.
”Hey Luce, mind pitching together?” Mackenna asked. “Think I might have spotted the one spot slightly flatter than the others.”
Luce smiled - an unpracticed expression - and nodded emphatically, trying to appear enthusiastic, but not too enthusiastic.
"Sure! Mackenna, right?" she replied, extending a hand to shake while at the same time bending over to pick up a tent bag from the ground, resulting in an unwieldy, three-pronged pose, one arm out, one arm down, and one leg backwards trying desperately to counter-balance. Somehow she managed it without toppling ass-over-tit, and she followed Mackenna to the flat spot quietly, trying to remember how to make small-talk. They had to have something in common, right?
Ah. Of course.
"So, uh...Mackenna," Luce started, kneeling as she unzipped the tent and began pulling it open, letting the yurt unfurl from the bag. "What uh...what do you...you know..." she fumbled for words, not quite sure how to put it, trying not to be impolite but also naturally, undeniably, curious.
"What do you do?"
