originallutece | (no subject)

You have good taste. A doctor, for my favorite doctor.

He's going to get jealous if you keep complimenting me so highly.

I'm on my way now; I'll be there in about twenty minutes.

[Or thirty; she's been risking breaking speed limits too often lately to want to risk it tonight. But half an hour later, there she is, waiting to be buzzed in before heading towards the familiar red-and-black figure.]

[The best word for Carmen's residence of choice in Recolle is, frankly, "unnecessary". Between the gated entry that slides open like a whisper when Rosalind draws close and waits to be admitted, to the long winding drive up to the house past a beautifully-landscaped lawn, to the manor-sized house that could comfortably house twenty yet in practice only holds a single woman and her cat — well, frankly, it's just another testament to the fact that the woman seems incapable of doing anything halfway, ever.

As promised, she can be found waiting on the terrace when Rosalind pulls up, stretched out in a lawn chair and reading what appears to be a book of proverbs, with a pair of sunglasses sitting neatly on her nose and her bare legs crossed at the ankles with a pair of red heels sitting discarded on the ground nearby.]

There you are. The gate didn't give you any trouble?

Not particularly.

[She's dressed much the same she always is: sensibly and with practicality more in mind than attractiveness. There is a scarf around her neck, but that may too be thanks for practicality. Flapping a hand, she waits until Carmen moves her legs to the side before taking a seat.]

What are you reading?

Kotozawa.

[She says, with a perfect Japanese accent, as she shifts obligingly to make room for Rosalind to join her.]

It's a book of Japanese proverbs my mentor once gave me. So, for example, koketsu ni irazunba koji o ezu — one who refuses to enter the tiger's cave will never catch its cub. Or, for the English equivalent: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

[She settles in, trying to go over the Japanese in her mind. She knows about four words in Japanese, and none of them particularly useful, but perhaps she ought to start looking more into it.]

I rather like the comparisons between societies like that.

[She offers a slight smile.]

The ways entirely different sayings turn out to be the same thing, because people tend to think the same way. You tend to see it more in myths-- the same kinds of themes tend to crop up time and again, despite the fact they originated from all over the world.

Which is your favorite proverb?

I have to pick just one?

[She laughs softly, setting the book aside and stretching in place as she settles comfortably back in — evidently for the long haul.]

It tends to change with my mood, certainly. But I suppose I'll always come back to nanakorobi yaoki — "Fall seven times and stand up eight."

[All right, this is where they're spending the rest of the evening, clearly, and Rosalind shifts, stretching her arms over Carmen's legs and bracing her hands on the edge of the chair, so she can lean back and rest her weight on them.]

Fitting.

[Especially tonight, especially on the heels of what they've touched on.]

What's the literal translation?

Literally it's "seven times down, eight times up", with an English equivalent of "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

[It is actually absurd how easily they're all just up in each other's space like this, but you know what, this is what we're doing now, it seems.]

I remember my mother watching me learn to ice skate, when I was young. There was a jump I was trying to master — I must've spent a whole afternoon doing nothing but that one move, trying to get it right. And I remember her telling me to take a break and come in for dinner because I must be getting tired and bruised from falling, and stubborn thing that I was, I told her that I wasn't coming in until I had it right. And she told me that if I skipped dinner, there wouldn't be any later, but still...I wouldn't come in until I could make that jump.

It was dark when I finally did go in, and there was a plate still waiting for me at the table, covered up to keep it warm. My mother was there, too, and I remember...

[She smiles, softly.]

I remember she told me she was disappointed with me for ignoring her, but proud of me that every time I fell, I got back up again. She said it was a good trait for a girl to have, to never stay down when she fell down.

[She listens to the story carefully, a faint smile on her face. And when it's done:]

She wasn't wrong.

[It's a quiet assessment, but she means it.]

She sounds kind. Admirable.

She was. She was brilliant, frankly — ambitious, clever, hardworking. She made a name for herself in her career of choice and then struck out on her own to start her own company and do the same thing, except better than anyone else.

[She shrugs a little, absently running her hands through her thick mass of hair and pushing it away from her face.]

I remember when people would see us together, they'd sometimes ask me, "are you going to be the next Ari Sandiego", and she would always interrupt and say no, I was going to be the first Carmen Sandiego.

[It's a sweet story, but it makes Rosalind think again of their earlier conversation-- about the hollow feeling of seemingly not being missed.]

. . . if you don't wish to speak of it, we won't. But if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something about where you were the past month.

About this last month? Of course, go ahead.

[She tilts her head a little, curious.]

You said you took care of a few of the younger ones stuck there. Miss Sandiego, you said they called you. Were you . . . is that something you're used to, caring for teenagers like that?

[She's leading up to something, but one thing at a time.]

...No, not really. If I'm being honest, I don't think I did a very good job of it. It's one thing to help and encourage children their age, but to act as a guardian in any sort of meaningful capacity...?

[She shakes her head.]

Why?

There's a boy I used to teach when he was a child. He moved here from England, and lately we've been reconnecting. I suspect he looks to me as his parental figure in the absence of his father, given I knew him when he was young and the age difference between us. On top of that, there's a few others who have started to . . . I suppose look up to me as some kind of authority figure.

[She wrinkles her nose.]

I'm hardly suited towards it. I suppose I hoped you might have some advice, but it sounds as if we're in the same boat.

Oh. You've acquired yourself a troupe of admirers, have you?

[The face Rosalind makes gets a laugh out of her, and she shifts to better facilitate nudging her on top of it.]

The hard part is that they're always watching. It's knowing that when something happens, they're going to look to you — not just for answers, but for reassurance. You'll be the model from which they'll take their own cues about how to judge and react to the situation at hand.

For those weeks...anything I was feeling, my moments of vulnerability, my personal hangups and difficulties — they had to be surmounted, and immediately, and alone. It didn't mean I always had to know what to do, or even that I had to solve ever problem we were faced with, quite the contrary. But I always had to be the one giving off the impression that everything was going to be all right. And sometimes that's a difficult burden to bear, when you have to take even something like a trauma and put it away for later, because they need you to keep holding up the sky on your shoulders for the sake of the ones that are watching you to see if it's falling.

[It's sound advice, and she nods as she takes it in. It's also not something impossible to accomplish; Rosalind isn't prone to panicking easily, and she suspects if she can bear up over the past month's horrors, she can bear up under almost anything. But . . .]

And when they come asking about personal affairs?

Then that depends on the personal affairs in question, doesn't it?

[She cocks her head slightly, quizzical.]

Romantic.

[Hrhgh.]

...So boys are asking you for love advice, which has led to you asking me for advice about giving boys love advice?

[ 8D ]

Essentially, yes.

[A beat, and then:]

It's the one boy, for now. The others are more generally life advice.

Tell him to never forget to love himself most, first. Being adored will never make you happy if you can't adore yourself just as much.

What sort of romantic questions are you getting from him?

I don't think that's a problem, fortunately.

[But hmm . . . ]

He wasn't certain if he had a crush or not. It seems rather obvious from the outside that he does, and he wanted to discuss the feeling in detail, right up until I suggested he might find his friend attractive, in which case he shut down.

Mmm. So he's embarrassed about his feelings? Or maybe he's just flustered about having to admit to them in front of someone whose opinion he values so highly.

(no subject)

originallutece - 2017-09-10 03:43 (UTC) - Expand