Log Date: 12/1/98 Log Cast: Rosa, Tance Log Intro: Two days have elapsed since Rosa Scardino brought Tance Vokrim back in from their trip to the Ranges... and since Quinn Maloret presented Tance with the news that his fiancee, Kesya As'shoriah, did not survive their overlong trip to Verron IV. Devastated and drunk on polly wine, Tance has attempted to flee into the Ranges, only to be kept from it by the able interference of a sledtech and a security guard who don't want to let him risk his neck trying to pilot a sled. And thus, Tance has fallen into a numb stupor, hidden away in his quarters. It is there that the concerned Rosa comes looking for him... ---------- Tance's Suite(#3189R$) This large central suite seems comfortably airy, and by the stylish decorations and sheer size of the area, it obviously belongs to a senior Singer. The walls are a pleasant shade of forest green, the carpeting a neutral beige shade that compliments the other nicely. Trim in rich polished wood here and there -- in picture frames, railings and bits of furniture -- give the place a more natural, fresh feel. Though you can see several doors leading off into still more rooms, this one has been split into multi-levels to allow for greater function. One side is partitioned off by a low, polished wooden rail, one step leading into a modest dining area. At the opposite side of the room, a dark green couch and a few large, over-stuffed chairs of the same color rest in a circle, perfect for friendly conversation. The art on the walls is all tastefully done, mostly pen and inks and oil paintings of landscapes. Although the room is currently spotless and comfortable, there are subtle indications -- to the very observant -- that it may not always have been so. A few cheerful throw rugs cover old stains on the floor, as do some oversized pillows that rest against the wall here and there. Obvious exits: Out You hear a soft chime and an electronic voice announces that Rosa is in Ocher Quadrant next to Tance's Suite. You hear someone call out, "Tance? Are you there?" There's a slight pause. "It's Rosa. I've brought over a little homecooked lunch."". Rosa With shining coppery curls, golden highlights glinting among them, and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, red is one of the first things one notices about this petite young woman. Standing barely 150cm, her trim body seems to exude energy. Rosa's straight stance and direct look note her self-confidence, and the occasional flash of her green-flecked amber eyes gives a hint to her temper. Rosa's long, coppery tresses are pulled back away from her face and into a braid, which swings across her back as she walks. She is wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, with paler blue threads worked through. On her left breast is emblazoned the Heptite Guild dodecahedron. On Rosa's feet are sturdy, well cared-for boots with reinforced soles, of the type Singers wear when in the Ranges. Around Rosa's neck is a simple gold chain, suspended from which is a delicately crafted pendant, fashioned in the shape of an eight-pointed star. Set into the center of this is an emerald, its rich green highlighted as light reflects from its facets. The slight twinkle in Rosa's eyes, and the hint of pink in her cheeks seems to indicate that Rosa is in a good mood. To Ocher Quadrant, Tance, if he _is_ within, gives no answer. The privacy light on the door is green, though this doesn't necessarily mean much, not with the vagaries of Tance Vokrim's memory.... From Ocher Quadrant, Rosa sighs quietly. "Well, if you're not in there, I'll just drop the food off. You can heat it up later." Murmured comments, presumably to Bear, follow for a few moments. Rosa steps in from the hall. Rosa has arrived. _Is_ he within? An immediate glance around the suite doesn't reveal him; there's only the shabby, but pleasantly serviceable, furniture that occupies the space, a good bit of which has dustcovers over it from Tance and Kesya's extended trip to Verron IV. But the door to the bedroom is standing wide open. After looking around the chamber, Rosa frowns quietly. "Well, hopefully he's here, Bear," she says quietly. "I agree - the lasagne is best hot." Crossing to the dining area, the little Singer sets down the tray she's been carrying. After looking around for a few moments more, she heads toward the door to the sleeping area. "Tance?" You feel resonance tingling in your bones. There is no answer. Within that little bedroom, though, one might glimpse a crumpled blanket out from under which sticks a single foot; tousled gray-brown hair is visible at the blanket's opposite end. "No, Bear," Rosa says with a sigh to the little pink creature, "I don't think that tickling his foot will be a good idea." She shakes her head and walks toward the crumpled blanket. "Tance!" she calls again, more loudly. "Tance, it's Rosa." Tance doesn't stir, for a long moment. Then, sluggishly, he starts to burrow his disheveled head under his pillow, momentarily baring the shoulders of the jumpsuit Rosa had last seen him wearing when she'd escorted the man into the Ranges. Rosa chuckles softly. "Tance," she says. "It won't work. Can't hide under the blanket. I'll let Bear tickle your feet. That's sure to wake you up. Wouldn't want to miss a fresh meal, would you?" Silence. Then, in a strangled croak of a voice, Vokrim mumbles, "G'way." "I'm afraid I can't do that," Rosa says, after a little sigh. "I'm worried about you, Tance. Want to make sure you're all right. Plus, I need someone to help me eat this nice lunch I've made. Can't you smell it in here?" "'Mnot hungry," comes that same strangled voice out from under the pillow. "Now Bear," Rosa hisses, "don't be rude. I'm sure he doesn't mean to be insulting." She clears her throat. "Not even for lasagne and peach cobbler, Tance? Fresh made and not out of a catering unit? I made it special for you. Won't you at least get up and keep me company?" The form lying huddled on the bed slowly shifts position, enough that a pair of brown eyes comes into view somewhere under the pillow. Tance's gaze is dull and lifeless, and he just stares out at Rosa hollowly, without a vocal reply. Tance(#3209POQce) This man stands at about 5'10" in height, though the way he seems prone to slouching over often disguises how tall he actually is. His height is further confused by the state of his undernourished frame; from the look of him, he probably hasn't eaten decently in several days. Despite a deep coppery tan to his weathered skin, there's an unhealthy pallor beneath it, suggesting recent illness or injury, and the brown eyes within that face meet the galaxy with a wild, disoriented, and frequently anguished gaze. Tance's hair has grown out into a shaggy unkempt mop, that at one time might have been a dark shade of brown. Now it's shot through with grey, and lightened into paler yellowish streaks as well from exposure to sunlight. He's had a beard and mustache grow in, equally unkempt, showing that he hasn't been near a razor in weeks. He's wearing a simple standard-issue jumpsuit, the kind the Guild Infirmary hands out to Singers who come in with their own clothing destroyed beyond re-use, and a battered pair of workboots. The hairs on your arm stand on end and a chill goes up your spine. You notice a strange expression on Tance's face. The little redhead kneels down on the floor next to the bed. She smiles gently. "There you are, Tance. I'm glad to see you. Won't you come out and at least have a cup of coffee with Bear and me?" Perhaps it's his symbiont that nudges him, at last, in action? Or perhaps it's a niggling consideration that if he does want Rosa wants, she'll go away and leave him be... and perhaps it's simply because that some small part of Tance is desperate for the company. Whatever option might be the true one, the grizzled Singer doesn't specify. But he does creep out from under the pillow, pulling himself up to support himself on one elbow, still staring numbly at the redheaded young woman. "There," Rosa says with a smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Absently hugging her little pink companion, she winks. "Why not get all the way up and c'mon over with me to your dining room? There's all sorts of good things there." She chuckles. "Cooked up a storm this morning. And I'd be glad for your company." If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. Go to the dining room? Okay fine... he can do that. Tance moves stiffly, though -- his body protesting two days' worth of doing nothing but lying in bed -- and with all the physical coordination of a badly constructed robot. He crawls out of the bed, gaze swinging absently over his own bootless feet, before he makes it to standing. He's still wearing that jumpsuit, indeed, and it's much the worse for wear, not having been removed in those same two days. The man staggers mechnically off towards the little dining room, obediently enough, but his gaze remains entirely hollow. A look of profound sadness crosses Rosa's face as she looks toward Tance - his expression, his condition, his bearing. "Eating'll make you feel a little better," she says quietly as she stands and walks toward the dining room. "D'you like lasagne? I have salad, a pizza, and some peach cobbler for dessert too." Tance stops once he's reached the table where Rosa had placed the food, the robot having accomplished its Go To The Dining Room directive. There's no reply to Rosa's question, either, though Tance does awkwardly turn to face her as she follows him. And he stares down at her with that hollow, helpless gaze, memory blurred by two days' passage still nevertheless trying to prick at him. This girl... she helped him. Perhaps she could help him again? His mouth works for a moment as he tries to give voice and name to the reason his entire being feels as though it's shattered, but no sound escapes him. Rosa has, for now, mastered her expression. What Tance sees now is friendliness, and compassion. She settles her little pink friend onto a corner of the table. "He insisted on coming along too," she says in a brisk tone. "To see for himself that you are all right. We've both been worried after...." She pauses, looking down, and wiping at her face. "...after the news. So, we made some lunch and brought it over." The news. Memory stirs, and Tance's face quivers a little, the lifeless gaze momentarily taking on a sharp flicker of pain. At last, he croaks out, "K... Kesya's.... gone." Rosa nods wordlessly, sniffling and dashing her tears away with the back of her hand. "Yes, Tance," she says in a whisper, "Kesya's gone. But I don't think she'd want for us to be sad. She always wanted the best for her friends." Brown eyes take a kind of dull notice of the tears, setting off tiny flares of further recollection, further processes of thought in the back of Tance's crystal-mazed mind: the girl with the bear was a friend of Jade's. The girl with the bear helped him, and here the girl with the bear is again. Here to help him? He realizes, with a cold fright seizing at his chest, that he is a bare breath away from an all too familiar oblivion. Half of him pleads to be allowed to retreat into forgetfulness... but the rest recoils in terror, clinging to scraps of recent memories of sanity, of life. Entirely unaware of the fright beginning to animate his features, Tance takes an unconscious step towards his visitor, hoping for help. "Wh-what'm... what'm I g-gonna do?" he rasps. If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. Rosa does take note of the play of emotions flitting across Tance's features. She watches carefully, her own expression showing sadness and worry. "It's not going to be easy, Tance," she says at the end of a long silence. "It won't be, for any of us. The most we can do is to take each day as it comes. And we'll survive." She gives a little smile. "I'll help you record your memories, if you still want to do that. Remember, we started that out in the Ranges? For right now, though, maybe we should start with just eating lunch." Tance's gaze slides hesitantly to the food still waiting upon the table; then, with the same slow, stiff movements that had propelled him out of the bedroom, the older Singer sinks down into a chair, now staring at the victuals as though he's never seen their like before. Slipping to a seat, Rosa smiles. "I'll just serve up plates, if that's all right," she says, dishing up healthy servings of lasagne and salad and opening a pair of Yarran ales. "Food's probably the best thingn for you right now. Hey, did you soak in a radiant tub after we returned from the Ranges?" The older Singer watches with those plaintive dark eyes as the food is placed before him, and there's another flicker of life somewhere in his expression, the faintest of rumbles from his person. Tance's head and psyche might be unmoved by the thought of food, but his symbiont is another story, and before he has time to consider the matter, he's reaching for a fork. Rosa's question throws him, though, and his brow furrows even as he keeps staring at the steaming lasagne. "Don't remember," he mumbles. "Well," Rosa says after a bite of her salad, "that's not a huge surprise. It was prior to us cutting and it was late. You really were in resonance debt at the time." She then samples the lasagne. "Does it taste okay to you, Tance?" He begins eating, slowly at first and then with a little more vigor, as his symbiont wakes up and starts informing him in no uncertain terms that food is a very good idea. Tance doesn't look up, though, as he mutely bobs his unkempt head. Rosa smiles, pleased. "I'm glad you like it," she says. "It's an old recipe. Usually take some out with me when I claimhunt." The little redhead then continues her eating. Tance might have made it to the living room, but it would seem that coherent conversation is beyond him... that it requires every facet of his attention to manage the task of eating, never mind what demands his symbiont might be issuing to him. Gradually, though, as hunger becomes satisfied, his gaze strays back to his visitor, and it doesn't take too long before Tance sits there with an empty plate before him, his attention returned to Rosa, and his mournful, frightened expression silently pleading for further guidance. Eating rather ravenously herself, Rosa looks up, startled, noticing Tance's gaze and his empty plate. "Wow," she says with a smile, "that was fast. D'you want any more? Or would you like to talk, perhaps?" If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. The man's brow is mostly concealed by the uncombed mop of his gray-streaked hair, but his eyes crinkle up around the edges in bemusement at the options presented him. Passover hunger is not yet upon Tance, but still, two days without food makes for a fairly powerful hunger at any time of the year. "M-more?" Tance mumbles, looking exactly like a starving small boy, or perhaps a starving small dog. Rosa laughs softly. "Of course you can have more if you want it, Tance. Eat as much as you like." She slides the dish holding the lasagne over toward him. "I did make it for you. So g'wan and eat." She winks. He does, though his motions remain awkward. Another portion of the pasta and sauce and meat in the dish begins vanishing under Tance's tentative attempts at it, and somewhere in between mouthfuls he can be heard to whisper in bereft tones, "Sh-should... I talk?" Meanwhile, Rosa has settled back in her chair and begun sipping on her ale. She watches the eating of the lasagne with satisfaction. "Talk?" she asks. "Well, you can if you want to. It might help, too. Or if you'd rather just listen, I could talk." She glances toward the pink creature. "Or Bear could sing something." Something about that last option bothers him, and it takes Tance a few moments of pausing over his food before he observes dolefully, "Don't hear... him." "You don't?" Rosa asks. "Well...that's not too surprising. Not many do." She smiles. "Nothing to worry about there. But he's asked me to tell you that if he can do anything to help, he'd be glad to - as long as it doesn't involve needles. He hates needles." Another long pause. Then Tance murmurs, his voice once more solidly returned to that childlike warble he'd been using before, "Oh... okay." He makes a little more progress on the lasagne before he shyly appends, "I... dunno what to talk about..." Rosa gives a little smile. "Well, you could talk about anything you like," she says. "Or ask me or Bear questions. I've never been to your rooms before...you could tell me about some of the things you've got in here, if you'd like to do that." That makes him freeze, his brown eyes beginning to look liquid. After another pause of several moments, Tance croaks, his hand with the fork halted on the table, "J-J-Jade... gimme... all of it..." "I remember her talking about it," Rosa says with a smile. "About how much fun she had redecorating your suite. It looks really comfortable. A nice place to live. Did Kesya do the pictures as well?" Framed by a border of rich, dark hardwood, this oil painting seems almost to come to life. The shoulders and backs of two people can be seen at the right, obviously soaked and disheveled -- but what really attracts the gaze is what those two are obviously looking at. A reflection stares back at them, and you can see in it the room they're standing in; a boathouse, sails spread to dry in the background. But this is not what the artist was painting. The gaze of the two in the reflection captures and holds yours, the expressions on their faces jubliant and completely carefree. A green-skinned woman, dressed in a soaked wetsuit, disheveled hair swept back from her delicate face, has one arm looped around the waist of an equally soaked man. He though, has a slight spattering of grey in his soaked and messy hairdo, his face seeming a bit more weathered. Though he also seems just in from a sail, his expression is what captivates the picture, and what evidently has captivated the two being painted as well. One of surprise, delight, and pure happiness, the artist has somehow managed to capture this pair in a wonderful moment... just looking at it makes the observer want to giggle aloud, for it tends to convey the same feeling right into the room. You can hear crystal resonance coursing gently through your body. Inexorably, Tance's brown gaze shifts round to the pictures on the wall -- and in particular, the one that portrays himself and Kesya As'shoriah. It doesn't take much to suppose that it is her image upon which his attention now rests, for his eyes grow progressively more liquid, until at least tears begin leaking down his weathered cheeks. Rosa turns toward the painting as well. "It's lovely, Tance. A wonderful likeness," she murmurs softly. Glancing toward the older Singer, she sees the tears falling. Slipping out of her chair, she embraces him loosely. "Just let it out, Tance," she whispers. He is transfixed, apparently; Tance doesn't move as the younger Singer comes to his side, his gaze riveted upon that painting with the grinning, vigorous version of himself and the green vibrant figure of Kesya depicted thereon. But he weeps, progressively harder, and as Rosa slips her arms about him it can be felt that he violently trembles, as though his very frame might rattle itself apart. As the tears continue, Rosa remains silent, her arms holding the shaking Tance. She bites her lower lip, stroking his shoulders and smoothing back his hair, quite unsure of what to say. Held up close, Tance isn't exactly a paragon of grooming; one might suspect the man hasn't had a decent bath since before he was brought back to Ballybran. Perhaps he remembers something of his own overfragrant state, for even as he turns towards Rosa in instinctive desperate search of her comfort, he flinches at her contact, ashamed of himself. "S-sorry," he chokes out hoarsely. Rosa has indeed decided that breathing out of her nose at such close quarters isn't a good idea. She doesn't back away, however. "Sorry?" she repeats. "What on earth for, Tance? You haven't been yourself since you got back from Verron. And right now, you need a friend. I'm glad I can be here." "'C-cause... she's gone, and I... I..." Words fail him; how to explain the crushing fear that he is nothing without Kesya, his beloved Jade, who hauled him back from decades' worth of deterioration, who helped him remember what it means to be a living, thriving human being? "I..." "Because you're scared?" Rosa asks softly. "I don't blame you, Tance. You and Kesya fit so well - you belonged together. Now that she's...gone...it's got to be awfully difficult for you. Try to remember that there're folks here who care about you and want to help, if you'll let them." The crystal resonance is zinging through your body. Help... a magic word, a talisman word; Tance looks timidly up as Rosa utters it. He doesn't have to admit to his fear, written as it is all over his face. But then he shakily nods, just once, as his arms come up to cling to the small Singer. "S-scared," he agrees bleakly. "H-h-help me..." "I'll do whatever I can, Tance," Rosa says, gripping the older Singer's shoulders tightly. "Any time. You just tell me when you need help, and I'll be there." Still tear-filled brown eyes flick another glance towards the painting, and a husky groan escapes the man before his voice reverts to the higher register, and his attention returns anxiously to Rosa's compassionate visage. "N-now," he stammers. "H-help now... wh-wh-what should... I do?" "Well," Rosa says, cracking a smile, "if you're asking me, I'd suggest maybe a soak in one of the radiant tubs. It'll help relax you some. After that, you might want to think about putting down your memories, even if it hurts to think about them. Have you accessed your personal file since you've been back?" Looking decidedly overwhelmed, Tance visibly falters under these further suggestions -- too much for his still-shocked brain to easily handle, perhaps. Finally, though, his gaze drops down to his own overripe person. A faint hint of disgust and shame creeps across his expression, enough to suggest that indeed, he still is at least aware of his own hygiene, and he mumbles abashedly, "Bath?" Rosa nods decisively. "Bath," she says. "That'd be a good thing. You could take a glass of Yarran with you to enjoy while you soak too, if you like." Tance's attention creeps over to the beer, and then back up to his visitor. Another flare of fear traverses his face as he croaks, "Y-you w-w-won't go?" Rosa shakes her head. "No," she says, "I'll stay here if you'd like. Bear and I could clean up a bit, after lunch, and access one of the vids if that's all right with you." You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. Hesitantly, Tance nods, and then begins to laboriously pull himself to his feet. Once he stands, pulling with equal hesitance away from Rosa as though he were a child loathe to release a protecting parent, he absently lifts a hand and rubs his knuckles along his bewhiskered jaw. "Sh-should... I shave?" Rosa watches Tance with some bemsuement. "I'd say that's up to you," she says with a smile. "D'you like having a beard?" He doesn't answer that, at least not vocally. With still-wet eyes, he glances at the painting one last time... and perhaps that's answer enough, since his image there is beardless. Then, Tance stumbles off to his bathing room, moving slightly less mechanically than he had when he'd first emerged from slumber. "Have a nice bath, Tance," Rosa calls as he heads off toward the bathroom. "I'll stay out here with Bear." She begins tidying up the dirty plates, nibbling on the remains of the cobbler. Tance(#3209POQce) This man stands at about 5'10" in height, though the way he seems prone to slouching over often disguises how tall he actually is. His height is further confused by the state of his undernourished frame; from the look of him, he probably hasn't eaten decently in several days. Despite a deep coppery tan to his weathered skin, there's an unhealthy pallor beneath it, suggesting recent illness or injury, and the brown eyes within that face meet the galaxy with a wild, disoriented, and frequently anguished gaze. Tance's hair has grown out into a shaggy unkempt mop that at one time might have been a dark shade of brown. Now it's shot through with grey, and lightened into paler yellowish streaks as well from exposure to sunlight. His jaw, however, is bare, speaking of a recent encounter with a razor, and leaving his full countenance open to view. He appears to have just bathed, for his face and frame show signs of scrubbing, and he smells of soap and water and radiant fluid. He's clad himself in a thick and serviceable deep blue terrycloth robe. You notice a rather strong prickling along your skin when you pass too closely to Tance. You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. It takes some time, but eventually, the sounds of a bath in progress begin emerging from within the bathing room. Once or twice, too, there's the sound of Tance stumbling on something, and pained mutters that might be oaths if Tance were in at all a more vigorous state of mind. But at last, water does run... and some time after that is the thicker gurgle of radiant fluid. Long minutes after that, that too stops... to be followed by the softer sound of some sort of device being activated within the bathing room. Rosa is meanwhile tidying up the room, singing softly - a song having something to do with pirates and serving girls. She occasionally glances toward the bathroom. At last, the door swings partway open. The brown eyes that peer out into the suite are undoubtedly Tance's, but the rest of him might well be unrecognizable as he peers around the door's edge. He has, indeed, shaved, though a small, new-looking nick along one side of his jaw suggests that this process wasn't entirely easy. His hair is damp and slicked back from his face, leaving his full set of features in view, and his one visible arm appears to be garbed in blue terrycloth. His gaze sweeps round the suite, looking fearfully for some sign of his visitor's continued presence. Hearing the door open, Rosa turns quickly from the painting she's been inspecting. "There you are," she says with a smile. " You look much better, Tance. How d'you feel?" Uneasily, Tance inches out from behind the bathing room door, his gaze dropping down towards his feet. "I, um, I found a robe," he ventures shyly, and unnecessarily, given the deep blue terrycloth robe which is now wrapped and awkwardly tied about his frame. "It's a nice color for you, Tance," Rosa says with an approving nod. "Decided to get rid of the beard, did you?" Rosa looks at you for a moment. Tance seems to struggle with a reply, and finally settles on just bobbing his head a time or two. The robe, surely, must have been another part of Kesya's general beneficence to the man she loved, for it looks far too new to have been purchased earlier than within the last few years. Rosa smiles again. "You look nice," she says. "Hey, wanna give a try at accessing your personal file? See if anything is familiar?" You feel the resonance tingling in your blood. Tance peeks up again, casting a skittish look around the room, and giving another long, liquid glance to the painting of himself and his lost fiancee. "D... dunno," he murmurs in nervous tones. "Dunno if I'll... remember..." "Well, you might not," Rosa says equaly enough. "But that's why we make personal records - to jog our memories when we do forget. Why don't you give it a try, Tance?" Clearly, the idea unnerves him. But still, Tance approaches the desk where the battered but still quite usable access terminal sits, a passage across the room that involves much glancing back to Kesya's painted figure... and to Rosa's live and present one. His condition's improved a bit with the ablutions, his motions no longer quite so jerky, no longer quite so stiff, though it is still with obvious uneasiness that the man settles down into the chair beside that desk. Rosa smiles encouragingly. "Go on, Tance. See what it says. I'll be right here if you need me." Another long, limpid brown glance Rosa's way; then, his face full of trepidation, Tance activates the terminal. Its screen flickers to life, and after a moment a placid computerized voice requests, "Please present voice confirmation for file access." [Tance, unfortunately, can't bear to keep up with the search into his files; Rosa, at last, leaves him to rest again in his quarters. End log...]