[OA gives a lot to read. Even at her most impassive, she only rarely strays into the vicinity of expressionless. Now as ever, her expression is mercurial, features rearranging themselves subtly in response to thoughts and emotions both spoken and unspoken -- the faintest shifts in the set of her brows, tensing in response to worry and guilt, slackening as she rediscovers equilibrium. Body language plays its part too, shoulders hunching as though to close her off when she's self-conscious, the fingers of one hand working idly at those of the other in a sort of thoughtful nervousness, the way her spine straightens when she finds clarity and certainty.
The gist of it is this: yes, she's suspicious. She feels a certain amount of guilt for being suspicious, though she's aware that guilt is irrational. She's choosing, deliberately and consciously, to enact trust anyway -- not necessarily to feel it, but to agree to enter into that contract nonetheless. That falls away into understanding: you roll with it, or you don't. Something about that clearly resonates, given the slight inclination of her head.]
Yeah. You're here now; all you can do is try to get a handle on it.
[She wonders how much of it is put on, that easy insouciance. One may be accustomed to change but still forced to acknowledge it's never gentle. To acknowledge it, though, is to be vulnerable, to be put on the back foot, and that seems to be her own role in this conversation for now. It isn't the first time. It certainly won't be the last.]
You can't chew through the bars of the cage, but you can learn how to fit in it.
[OA's expression does something complicated -- for a moment wry as she considers laughing off her own comment, leaning into a breeziness of her own. That's the reflex, one she's begun nurturing in her time her, but not one she likes. The more she censors herself, the more she's giving in to doubt, her own and others. To pretend none of what happened to her happened, to pretend that it didn't change her, to pretend that she's ashamed of what she is is to do a disservice to herself and to the others.
So she settles. Strangeness for strangeness. There will be no apology.]
It's nice to meet you too, Tsera. You're lucky; most people have never done anything like this before.
[A pause, a clear moment of deliberation; a flicker of hope crosses her face and is suppressed.]
Can I ask how? When you traveled before, what was the method?
no subject
The gist of it is this: yes, she's suspicious. She feels a certain amount of guilt for being suspicious, though she's aware that guilt is irrational. She's choosing, deliberately and consciously, to enact trust anyway -- not necessarily to feel it, but to agree to enter into that contract nonetheless. That falls away into understanding: you roll with it, or you don't. Something about that clearly resonates, given the slight inclination of her head.]
Yeah. You're here now; all you can do is try to get a handle on it.
[She wonders how much of it is put on, that easy insouciance. One may be accustomed to change but still forced to acknowledge it's never gentle. To acknowledge it, though, is to be vulnerable, to be put on the back foot, and that seems to be her own role in this conversation for now. It isn't the first time. It certainly won't be the last.]
You can't chew through the bars of the cage, but you can learn how to fit in it.
[OA's expression does something complicated -- for a moment wry as she considers laughing off her own comment, leaning into a breeziness of her own. That's the reflex, one she's begun nurturing in her time her, but not one she likes. The more she censors herself, the more she's giving in to doubt, her own and others. To pretend none of what happened to her happened, to pretend that it didn't change her, to pretend that she's ashamed of what she is is to do a disservice to herself and to the others.
So she settles. Strangeness for strangeness. There will be no apology.]
It's nice to meet you too, Tsera. You're lucky; most people have never done anything like this before.
[A pause, a clear moment of deliberation; a flicker of hope crosses her face and is suppressed.]
Can I ask how? When you traveled before, what was the method?