|
|
Post by Wayland on Jul 21, 2021 21:25:21 GMT -8
One week later.
Wayland has a couch. It’s a perfectly serviceable couch. The cushions are in decent repair. There’s no bedbugs. It doesn’t creak when you sit down in it. (Not since she did some maintenance work on the frame, anyway.) By all accounts a decent place to park your butt. Instead of doing that however, Wayland is sitting on the floor, on the sort of cheap off-white carpeting endemic to rental properties, with her back leaning up against the couch’s foot and body.
She left her boots at the door, and made Riley take off their footwear too before coming into her home. It’s not the first time Riley’s been there. They’ve met a few times over the last week, sometimes out for a walk, but often over a meal or a drink. This is the second time it’s been at Wayland’s house, a small two-story rental in Summerlin that her court helped her get into. She’s got one leg splayed out in front of her, and the other tucked upright, bare toes curling in the carpet.
Tying yourself to a Contract isn’t like pumping iron to build muscle, or running a mile to build endurance. It’s more like a combination of history, occultism, psychology, and philosophy, from what Wayland can tell. Learning from Riley, learning to invoke clauses that are outside the parameters she is naturally party to, has involved a lot of talking. A lot of reflection. A lot of navel-gazing, to be honest. They’ve gotten to know each other a little bit better over the last week, as a natural result of their efforts. But it’s not been a fast or easy process. They haven’t been forcing it. The sensation of the Pupil’s Pledge binding them seems to indicate that they’re on the right track.
“It’s like toxic relationships,” the Ogre opines, making a small circle in the air with her spoon. They’ve worked hard, it’s been a week, Wayland decided that they deserve ice cream. Or at least, she deserves ice cream, and there’s a pint of it sitting on her upturned knee, kept steady with one hand, and Riley deserves whatever frozen dessert they fancy. Here in her home, she is comfortable in a pair of old jeans and a black band-tank. The central AC has brought the temperature down to somewhere comfortable, but the icy treats are still a relief.
“Like toxic family,” she goes on. “You know what I’m saying?” she glances over at the Darkling. “There’s this implied obligation, that your family always deserves access to you, no matter how terrible they are. They’re your family, and you only get one, right?” The Ogre makes a sour face to show what she thinks of that idea, “But that’s bullshit. Nobody deserves access to you, let alone people who hurt you. No matter what relationship you have with them. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
|
|
Riley Sorsa
.
Presence (3) Captivating | SL(1) Stylish Mantle (2)Spring | Status(1) Entertainment
Posts: 913
|
Post by Riley Sorsa on Jul 29, 2021 6:54:50 GMT -8
Riley's face contorted at the thought. Riley was on the serviceable couch, but instead of sitting on it usually, their legs were thrown up over the back, they back on the seat, and their head dangled over the side. The two were a living stereotype of Queer folk being unable to sit correctly. Riley's own bowl of ice cream was seated on their bare mid-drift.
"I mean, it is bullshit." The Moth says flippantly, gesturing with a spoon.
" access to you is only held by you, no matter who is asking. It's a matter of consent."
Riley sat up slightly, making sure not to topple their bowl of ice cream. The Moth pauses for a moment as a headrush occurs from sitting upside down.
"It takes courage and strength to set up those boundaries. More so when its to protect yourself"
The idea of the contract being a mater of consent given power and form. To setup a true boundary, beyond that one could normally make gave Riley a moment of pause. They imagined for a moment what it would of been like back in Texas if they had that strength. The courage to set up those boundaries. Would Riley be here today? Would they had been stolen?
|
|
|
|
Post by Wayland on Jul 29, 2021 12:32:18 GMT -8
Courage and strength and consent and boundaries. Good ideas. Riley had reminded her days ago that these things don’t always feel good. But just because something feels bad doesn’t mean that it’s going to work. Power doesn’t always come from pain.
(It usually hurts to have, though.)
“It’s not self I’m worried about though,” she muses idly, spoon dipping back into her pint. The whole reason they’re here is because Wayland wants to cause fewer problems for everyone else. Then she winces, feeling a sudden dropping sensation in her gut, the Pupil’s Pledge telling her that she’s going in the wrong direction. “Er, okay. Self. I can only control myself, I can’t control other people. But I can choose what I do. My decisions can help further my goals.” The plunging sensation fades. If she wants this to work, she’ll have to keep her focus inward.
“Consent,” she echoes Riley, bringing her spoon to her lips as she continues to think over their words. “Self,” she goes on after cleaning her spoon, “My boundaries. My choices. I get to choose.” There’s a small frown as the thoughts start coming together in her head. She reaches out, setting her pint of ice cream on the coffee table she’s got in front of the couch, and pushes herself up to her feet.
“I decide who gets access to me. I can’t always choose how people see me. But I can choose if they see me. That decision is mine. I want that decision to be mine.” Her eyes close, silver hands loose at her side, and pausing to take a deep, slow breath.
The decision of when to be seen and when not to be has been largely stripped from modern society. The constant presence of cameras and computers and images being uploaded to the internet has made privacy a rare commodity. (Not to mention government surveillance.) She can reclaim that privacy. If only in a small way. All she has to do is… agree to this bargain.
To Riley, for just a moment, Wayland’s image blurs. Almost pixelating, like their eyes are losing resolution. Like they’re watching a video where Wayland has been blurred to protect her privacy. When the smith turns to look at Riley, black censor-bars seem to block out her face.
It lasts for less than half a second, before the black bars vanish and the image resolves. Like a YouTube video's buffer has finally caught up and can now reach a higher resolution. It was so brief, it’s like they might have imagined it, or like it was some weird trick of the light.
Wayland grins as she feels the Pledge between them satisfied, a promise fulfilled, unwinding as it fades back into the Wyrd.
|
|
