She’s in no hurry. She lets her in, with a gesture to the picnic table in Kiryu’s walled yard. It’s mostly sand, with a verge of flower garden to support the little beehive tucked against one wall. There’s a very large dog on the porch, square-muzzled and gray spotted, who lifts her head to give Shaw a critical look. The hen scratching in one corner cares much less.
“Do you want coffee? Tea?” Taylor asks, her expression blank but with worried eyes.
If she thinks about it too hard, most spaces on the Barge can wig Shaw out, which is why she never lets herself think about it too hard. Some places are harder to swallow than others, though, and this one - with its impeccable outdoor feel, its obvious fakery - gets to her more than most. She freezes in the doorway for a second or two, going blank and still and rigid, then forces herself to step into the cabin.
"I'm good. No, actually, uh-- coffee. Sure."
She watches the dog, though doesn't try to approach or hold a hand out the way she normally would. She can appreciate an animal who is skeptical of strangers.
“Coffee.” Taylor nods, and steps up onto the wooden house’s porch, sliding open the broad door and nudging the dog with one foot. She heaves herself up onto her long legs and goes inside, while Taylor looks back at Shaw. “No one else is home, looks like, so want to sit inside or out?”
Keeping her hands busy making coffee for Shaw and Tea for herself is good, for Taylor, and she keeps her head down over it.
"... yeah. Tessa- I..." She pauses, feeling for what she can remember. "Tessa drove me to the hospital."
"I... I remember being in the car, but I know I wasn't," she says at last, bringing Shaw her coffee, and sitting in the chair beside hers, rather than across.
"My- my dad blamed me, for my mom. I was supposed to answer my phone, she was trying to reach me... He knew better, but-" Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. "He did. And he told someone who told someone who told me. And I- did not have the inner... I don't know. Distance, I guess. To know that he was wrong. So I was afraid he was right. For years, every time I thought something good about myself. How could I ever do the right thing, when I'd killed my own mom? A huge meal of fear, for whoever ran that particular simulation for me."
"When my dad died - that was the first time I realized how different I was from other people. When I started to realize how I'd never be what they... expected of me."
And she felt that failure over and over, until she joined the Marines and realized how perfect combat was for someone like her. Until she, eventually, found her team, and realized that it was possible for someone like her to be cared for and understood.
"How about now? You ever end up cultivating that inner distance?"
"I did. A lot of my graduation was learning what is my fault, or my duty, or my burden, and what is not." She looks aside at Shaw.
"I've met a lot of kids who'd just lost parents. There isn't a way they react. Some cry. Some rage. Some trigger." She shrugs a shoulder. "Some don't seem to notice, for a long time afterwards."
"Mm, no, I noticed. I thought about him a lot. I could see the empty space he left behind." She pauses. "I could see how much my mom hurt. But if I hurt, I couldn't tell."
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If it’s a memory, give me some details?
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… Yeah.
Come over? I’m in 412.
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[She comes soon, but not immediately: it'll be twenty minutes before Taylor hears the rap of knuckles on her door.]
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“Do you want coffee? Tea?” Taylor asks, her expression blank but with worried eyes.
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"I'm good. No, actually, uh-- coffee. Sure."
She watches the dog, though doesn't try to approach or hold a hand out the way she normally would. She can appreciate an animal who is skeptical of strangers.
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"It was a phone call," she says dully. "From your dad, giving you the news; does that sound familiar? You were at my... your friend's house. I think."
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"Yeah. I- Really girly room? Pink everything, fashion magazines?"
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She sits herself down in the nearest chair, closing her eyes, not noticing the pronoun mix-up this time.
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"... yeah. Tessa- I..." She pauses, feeling for what she can remember. "Tessa drove me to the hospital."
"I... I remember being in the car, but I know I wasn't," she says at last, bringing Shaw her coffee, and sitting in the chair beside hers, rather than across.
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Belatedly, she notices the coffee for the first time and reaches out to take it.
"You saw it. In a dream...?"
No, that doesn't feel right.
"A simulation."
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"I-" She doesn't remember that, and isn't sure she wants to. "Maybe.
"I'm - in the car, I wasn't me, and it wasn't my mom... he called me Sameen."
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"... Mmhm. That's the time Bouchard let the Fears in, then. Some of us had domains... feeding on different kinds of fear."
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She presses her palm to her chest, pumping the heel of it against her skin. "You feel it, it's right there at the forefront, you know what it is."
She takes a sip of her coffee, finally, and then declares, "Kinda sucks."
She might have some decidedly mixed feelings about her own emotional difficulties, but all in all? She's perfectly relieved not to normally feel fear.
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"My- my dad blamed me, for my mom. I was supposed to answer my phone, she was trying to reach me... He knew better, but-" Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. "He did. And he told someone who told someone who told me. And I- did not have the inner... I don't know. Distance, I guess. To know that he was wrong. So I was afraid he was right. For years, every time I thought something good about myself. How could I ever do the right thing, when I'd killed my own mom? A huge meal of fear, for whoever ran that particular simulation for me."
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And she felt that failure over and over, until she joined the Marines and realized how perfect combat was for someone like her. Until she, eventually, found her team, and realized that it was possible for someone like her to be cared for and understood.
"How about now? You ever end up cultivating that inner distance?"
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"I've met a lot of kids who'd just lost parents. There isn't a way they react. Some cry. Some rage. Some trigger." She shrugs a shoulder. "Some don't seem to notice, for a long time afterwards."
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Shaw shrugs, a bit stiffly but with no sign of offense taken at the question. Bluntness is a thing she can appreciate.
"No, I couldn't feel it. Not ever."