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 Posted: Sat Apr 26, 2014 4:03 pm
"It is hard," Cesc agreed. His voice was even, though low, and he watched her as she struggled with herself and her depression. It was clawing at her desire to be better, trying to force her back down into the muck. Hopelessness: that was what the jungle had given them, a black-wrapped gift, a thing to hide in their chests. "It's so hard it feels impossible. I know that. Forgiveness is the hardest thing a person can offer themselves, and I know, I know, I know how hard it is for you. Believe me that I do."
He settled back, keeping his gaze on hers, level and calm. When she smiled, his own lips dared to tip up, just barely, offering her a genuine expression. "You don't have to do it all right now. And don't feel like it's impossible because you can't. But it's little by little, that's what it is. You couldn't create anymore while you were feeling so damnably low -- but that power, that creativity, the things that made you you are still in you. The jungle can't get rid of that any more than it could vanish our souls or essences from us. It's entwined in you too deep. You can't feel it because you're holding on to the jungle with both hands."
"I'm not saying you can let it go all at once. I'm just asking for you to believe you can loosen your hold. One finger at a time."
The stag looked down then, a gentle furrow appearing between his eyes. It was so hard to explain, so difficult to get through. But he wanted to, and badly. "Maybe you can start with that. Something small you used to do. Find the strength for that one thing and try to hold onto that instead. Because the more you let go of the jungle, the farther away it slips. It leaves tracks -- but it goes. And I'll help you. Anything you want. Whatever you need. I'm here for you as long as it takes."
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2014 12:48 pm
The shelf Anya had leaned against before she had taken up residence in the papasan had four tiers to it, with each tier assigned a collection of certain things. DVDS, CDs, and other media-related odds and ends were the most prevalent items on the majority of the shelves, but the second rung was devoted to a small selection of books, all of them Zeke's. The number of books on the shelf was so small in fact, that they were not the only things collecting dust there. Pressed firmly to the left with a bookend as they were, the right side was instead home to a shallow wicker basket which was itself home to several small balls of yarn, spools of thread, squares of cloth, sewing needles, and a set of knitting needles too. Most certainly not Zeke's by far, but rather placed there by the vet as a 'just in case' deal in the chance Anya wanted to knit or sew but didn't feel like making the journey to her room and back. Like the rest of Anya's craft supplies they hadn't been touched or even so much as looked at in these few months since the jungle, but as Cesc spoke, the Widow's gaze finally left the Stag's and sought out the dish and its contents.
"It's still in me, Cesc?" Perhaps it was. Staring at the balls of yarn in particular, Anya felt a sense of yearning in her chest. From there it spread to her arms and down to her fingers, putting an odd twitch in them that was both foreign and familiar. Slowly, so slowly, she started to rise. "Maybe..."
He said to start with something small. Anastacia didn't know anything that could be smaller than starting something new. In her room she had projects long started and long abandoned, but even the barest thought of trying to continue one of them right now made her feel anxious. Baby steps was the key. As she moved back to point A, the spider queen thrice looked back over her shoulder at the Frei she had left behind. Her nerves felt like they were being jolted with electricity and that hold Cesc spoke of felt more like it was growing larger than backing off. The warring sides of her kept on fighting and momentarily the side that had kept her locked away from the world was winning out. She wanted to sink to the floor then, curl up, and hide. The shelf was suddenly miles away rather than a few short feet. Anastacia felt the world tilt on its axis...but for the first time she tilted back.
I can do this. I can do this... Baby steps. One finger at a time. She looked back once more at Cesc, looking for that support he had been providing since his arrival. She found it there. He was hovering a few inches off the floor next to her seat, but that was enough. She steeled her nerves, took a breath, and turned around to put her hand on the shelf right in front of her. When she turned back around, the bowl was fit snugly in the Widow's arms. Her return to her seat was quicker; at no time did she make a pause to wonder at her companion, save when she looked for a place to set her prize down and found no other.
"Could you...Would you hold this for me?" She held the bowl out to him, one ball of yarn wobbling precariously near the edge. Previous Anya wouldn't have asked, but Present Anya felt the need to. "There's nowhere else..."
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Posted: Wed May 21, 2014 8:44 pm
Cesc held still as she made her way to the basket, his hands closing around the frame of the chair. He wanted to murmur encouragement, to propel her forward instead of back -- but this was for Anya to do. She had the strength in her. He believed that.
All he did was smile as she looked back at him. He was waiting. He would stay waiting.
When she came back, he loosened his hands and took the bowl, curving his fingers around it and holding it steady.
"Of course," he said simply. He smiled, and it was true. "As long as you need."
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Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 11:15 am
When he took the basket her shoulders slumped - not out of despair but relief. No smile touched her face but ease slipped into the stress lines marring her features; softening them, smoothing out some of the finer points, and giving just a glimpse of a pinpoint of light finally at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Anastacia nodded and reclaimed her seat. Turning to Cesc, there was only a moment's wavering - a deep breath before a plunge - as she slipped her hands in to find what she wanted to make an attempt with.
Needlework was an option, but with how her hands were shaking, Anya didn't believe she could thread the eye without hitting another roadblock she'd have to work over. Knitting would be her start today. She pulled the thicker, longer needles out first and set them aside next to her in the papasan. The yarn took longer to select. The balls available were a motley of sizes and a range of colors and each one her fingers grazed seemed both likely and also horrible. A small frown creased her features and her crown scuttled with nerves and blossoming frustration. Slowly, the spider queen raised her head enough so that her arachnid eyes caught sight of the Stag. Her lavender pair still on the bowl, she appeared to be contemplating a moment before curling her hand around and withdrawing a ball. Once and then twice it took her to properly cast on the pink yarn, but when she had the first loop secured Anya wasted no time from there. She was hardly anywhere near the speed she could once turn a row of loops out at, but she found it mattered not. What mattered instead was the rushing sensation in her chest as the first row turned into the second and the feeling of lightness that was beginning to replace the heavy one around her back and shoulders as the second became the third. In time her posture would straighten and she would sink back into the cushions, relaxed and enjoying herself, but for now this was more than enough.
I can do this.
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