S'vilen ambles in from the central bowl floor.
S'vilen has arrived.
S'vilen pokes his head tentatively into the infirmary and peers around.
Seated at a desk in one of the further corners of the infirmary, Ilesyn almost misses S'vilen; she's very much enraptured, by appearances, by the hide in her hands.
S'vilen runs his hand over his hair and steps further in when he has assured himself there aren't any major emergencies or babies being born or anything else that should keep him out. He spots Ilesyn at her desk and ambles over in her direction, not moving too quickly.
Ilesyn , evidently, hears footsteps, her head raising, eyes catching upon S'vilen as they raise. "Good evening, Weyrsecond. Is there something that I, or one of my kindred, could do for you?"
S'vilen shoots a quick glance towards Moloka's room then turns his eyes back to Ilesyn with a grin. "Sure. I promised I'd give you a chance to probe my head some time, and I have a bit now. You free?" he questions.
"Ooh!" Excitement plays upon Ilesyn's face, as she places down her hide, stowing it neatly within her desk. "Come closer, come closer. I've always got time, when someone makes true on a promise of this manner." She grins, indicating a chair. "Some use a couch, me, I prefer watching your expression."
S'vilen drops easily into the chair and hikes one ankle up to prop it against his other knee. "Whatever you like," he responds, twining his fingers together and letting his hands drop into his lap. Curiousity colors most of his expression, and he lifts his eyes to her face expectantly.
Ilesyn, already, is enjoying this, and faces S'vilen with a thoughtful consideration. "Tell me about yourself. Your hopes, your dreams, your frustrations. Your *feelings*. That, more than anything, is what we Mindhealers work with."
Ilesyn, already, is enjoying this, and faces S'vilen with a thoughtful consideration. "Tell me about yourself. Your hopes, your dreams, your frustrations. Your *feelings*. That, more than anything, is what we Mindhealers work with."
S'vilen purses his lips thoughtfully. After a few breaths, he points out, "That's a really broad question to start with. I'm not sure what to answer first, or what part to begin with."
Ilesyn changes tack, agreeing smoothly, "Perhaps that's true. What are your fears, Weyrsecond? I've already noted that you don't appear to be overly comfortable with discussing so called 'private' matters, but what else? What makes you uncomfortable?" She leans forward, watching intently, a scrap of low quality hide held within her hands.
S'vilen shifts position, unlacing his fingers and placing one elbow on the arm of his chair, leaning on it while he things. "Uncomfortable. Hm. Getting mad," he decides, nodding once.
An eyebrow raises. "Getting mad makes you uncomfortable? So you feel--guilty, about being unable to control your temper? You like to be in control, and when you're mad, you can't?" She nods, firmly, already drawing conclusions where conclusions might not really be best drawn.
S'vilen shakes his head slightly, quickly. "No. I can control my temper, and I do. It just feels totally..." he pauses looking for the right word, "totally /wrong/. Offsets my balance. I don't feel like myself when I've had to get mad about something."
Ilesyn's shoulders slump, slightly, as her theory loses air, but nods all the same. "But you know that sometimes it's necessary, even if you don't like it? Sounds like you're too sensitive to other people's feelings, perhaps?"
S'vilen shakes his head again, more slowly. "No, not really. Matiaal and Thera were the last two I was really mad at - and I'm not sure if I've ever been that mad before. I really don't care about either of their feelings where that's concerned. Apparently my yelling made her go into some sort of anxiety thing." He shrugs minutely, "I feel bad for her, but that's really her problem. She needed to be yelled at."
"Thera, anxiety," murmurs Ilesyn, apparently taking this down for further notice. "I must check with her on that. All right, I was wrong there." She's not, by the appearences, so very good at it. "But you simply don't like being upset. Why don't you like it, do you think?"
S'vilen tilts his head to one side, eyes narrowing as his gives the question some consideration. "Well," he eventually begins, slowly, "I don't know. It's just not me. I'm not an angry sort of person. It just goes against my grain."
Ilesyn nods. "It's not natural, then. Are you a pacifist, in a way, Weyrsecond?"
S'vilen flashes a quick smile and his shoulders role in another shrug. "I don't know. What would that make me a pacifist?" he wonders.
Ilesyn counts off on her fingers, carefully, "You avoid conflict, don't like to argue, abhor solving problems through force, rather than reason."
S'vilen shifts again, putting his hands back into his lap. "I guess, perhaps. I don't mind discussion, if it's productive," he hastens to say.
"And comes from both sides?" Ilesyn nods, her hands folded in front of her, as she presses onwards. "Do you avoid getting upset at people, even though, at times, you should? When, sometimes, it would be more productive?"
S'vilen shakes his head quickly. "No, not at all. I think I get mad about as often as I should, and only when it's more productive," he decides firmly.
Ilesyn's brow furrows, as she considers this, smile presenting itself upon her face. "You're very reasonable, then." She winks, shifting her pose as she comments, "What happens when you're embarrassed? Do you merely shut up, or blush, or what?" So far, she, apparently, isn't having much luck.
S'vilen lifts his hand and runs it over his short hair. "I dunno. I guess I just deal with it. Probably depends on why I'm embarassed, I suppose. If it's because I fall flat in the middle of the living cavern, or because of something I suggest in a meeting. I don't embarass too easily, though."
Ilesyn makes an indescribable noise -- something resembling, perhaps, a grunt, and comments, "Please tell me that you're sexually frustrated, or an insomniac, or scared of wide hopen spaces, or...So far," she adds, with a smile, "You're sounding as close to 'normal' as most people get. But then, you're holder bred, I believe?"
S'vilen laughs freely and heartily, a hand rising apologetically to his mouth as if he could hide it. Calming, he continues to grin, nonetheless, "I'm not really any of those, sorry." However, he then confirms her last question, "Yeah. Fort Hold, but my parents were crafters. My foster mum was my mother's sister."
Ilesyn hesitates for only a moment, then begins to laugh of her own accord. "Oh dear," she laughs, between comments, showing the gaps in her teeth, "Never mind. Perhaps some of us are destined to be forever normal. So you were fostered? Do you, or did you, have much contact with your real parents?"
S'vilen waves his hand vaguely. "Some, yes. They come to visit for family occasions and such, but they're more like an aunt and uncle instead of parents," he explains, shrugging.
"Does that bother you, at all?" asks Ilesyn, leaning forward. "Do you think you missed out, at all, or was your fostermother fine as she was?"
S'vilen grins broadly, averring, "My fostermum was great - and her husband, too. There were a ton of us, 'cause she had a few of her own, and fostered some of my cousins - her brother's kids - too."
Ilesyn smiles. "Very comfortable, then. You have children, yourself?"
S'vilen breaks into a broad, proud smile, making the answer evident without having to supply the words. "Yes, I do. My son's called Isaen. He's just about 2 turns old," the bronzerider elaborates.
Ilesyn's smile broadens in return. "Ah! You love your son, I can see that. Isaen; a very nice name. He's fostered?"
S'vilen starts to nod, then shakes his head. "Sort of," he concludes. "Yilisa has a nanny that is responsible for raising her children, but she keeps the decision-making rights, so to speak. She's a very protective mother, but she doesn't have the time to give them the attention they deserve."
Ilesyn tilts her head into a nod, querying, "And you feel involved in your son's life, as well? You don't feel guilty, for not being there for him, constantly?"
Ilesyn tilts her head into a nod, querying, "And you feel involved in your son's life, as well? You don't feel guilty, for not being there for him, constantly?"
S'vilen shakes his head slowly. "No... I just can't give him that. Perymith, and my responsibilities come first," he explains. However, he does show a slight lack of confidence, asking anxiously, "You think I should? Do you think it'll cause him problems?"
Ilesyn grasps onto this thought, commenting, "So it hurts you, to know that you're not there enough, even though you're practical enough to know that it simply isn't possible." She, apparently, digests this, nodding. "I don't know, Weyrsecond, but as long as he does have love and support, he ought to be fine. Does it frustrate you, your lack of time for him?"
S'vilen nods slowly. "I suppose it does, sometimes, but not usually, no," he decides. "I just make the most of the times I do have with him."
Ilesyn considers, her head tilted to one side. "That's very mature of you." She drops silent, as if weighing up thoughts, and considering them in depth.
S'vilen grins mischievously. "Oh, I was curious what you'd have to say about me. I generally think of myself as well-balanced, and your claim that everyone has mental flaws made me wonder," he explains.
Ilesyn laughs, admitting honestly, "I'm still sure you've got them, I'd just have to find them. And I'd need clues -- you're like a closed book; not giving me anything. But, in that case, you're obviously balanced enough on the whole that it doesn't matter. Perhaps I should rephrase it to 'almost everyone has obvious, important mental flaws'."
S'vilen cracks another smile. "That might be wise," he says as he rises out of the chair. "You really ought to talk to Thera, though. I think you might be able to help her with her problem - men yelling. Something about a father who always did it."
"Verbal abuse?" Ilesyn pales slightly, but nods. "I'll talk to her. She, it seems, is far more in need of mindhealing than you are!"
S'vilen lifts a hand and taps his finger against his temple. "Yes," he agrees. "Rilareth helps, but it was bad enough she had trouble breathing for a moment. She has to be able to take being yelled at - especially if she persists in endangering Rilareth with Matiaal."
Ilesyn nods her head slowly, noting, "I wish I'd been informed of this sooner, Weyrsecond, but, nonetheless, I *will* follow it up. There is no place for a weyrling, or a rider, when they cannot take responsibility for their actions, when being yelled at."
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 01:48 AM