Chapter 6 (Continued)

[78rpmlife]

"Hey..." she cooed gently. "It's going to be okay. I don't think you have anything to worry about. That didn't exactly look like a lover's quarrel. A woman who runs like that doesn't want to be caught, and I doubt he's going to be able to change her mind anytime soon." Rubbing her back, she shrugs. "Besides, he didn't look that handsome. Unless he's got some sort of heart of gold, I think you could do better. I mean look at you, you're adorable! I'm shocked you even have eyes for that big oaf, when you probably get asked out all the time."

She has no idea why she's saying any of this. This woman's mental state meant next to nothing to her, but damn it all if she was just going to stand there awkwardly while she cried her eyes out about this.

"Look, let's get you set back up with the cart, and clean this up a bit. I'm sure most of this can wait until tomorrow. It sounds to me like you need that quiet night more than you realize."

The woman nods. She wipes at her dripping nose with the back of her hand, producing a sharp snuffly snort in the process. Her skin is blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed. She is the dictionary definition of an ugly crier. "I do. I ruh-ruh-really d-do," she stammers out.

She snuffles in through her nose deeply and loudly once more and breathes out heavily. "You're very kind. You're wrong, I don't ever get asked out. But you're very kind," she mumbles. "I'm a mess. I don't know how to talk to anybody, I just watch and remember everything. Do you know what that's like? When you can't forget anything?" She gestures miserably at her frizzy hair. "My da used to say 'Vensa, you've got so many thoughts trying to push out of your head, they make you hair stand on end.' Gee, thanks da. Not helpful, you know?"

She hunches her shoulders. "Makes me a good librarian but not much of a date. 'Hi, Ishan, thanks for dinner. Are you going to get the vichpas? I remember the day three years, six months and sixteen days ago when you brought some vichpas and flatbread for lunch, so I know you like it. The last time I had vichpas was two weeks after my cat died.'. Pathetic, isn't it?"

Vensa, which apparently is the hapless Archivist's name, turns her eyes to look at Asra and gives her a watery, shaky-lipped half-smile. "I don't talk to people much, so you get all my words. I'm sorry."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

The woman nods. She wipes at her dripping nose with the back of her hand, producing a sharp snuffly snort in the process. Her skin is blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed. She is the dictionary definition of an ugly crier. "I do. I ruh-ruh-really d-do," she stammers out.

She snuffles in through her nose deeply and loudly once more and breathes out heavily. "You're very kind. You're wrong, I don't ever get asked out. But you're very kind," she mumbles. "I'm a mess. I don't know how to talk to anybody, I just watch and remember everything. Do you know what that's like? When you can't forget anything?" She gestures miserably at her frizzy hair. "My da used to say 'Vensa, you've got so many thoughts trying to push out of your head, they make you hair stand on end.' Gee, thanks da. Not helpful, you know?"

She hunches her shoulders. "Makes me a good librarian but not much of a date. 'Hi, Ishan, thanks for dinner. Are you going to get the vichpas? I remember the day three years, six months and sixteen days ago when you brought some vichpas and flatbread for lunch, so I know you like it. The last time I had vichpas was two weeks after my cat died.'. Pathetic, isn't it?"

Vensa, which apparently is the hapless Archivist's name, turns her eyes to look at Asra and gives her a watery, shaky-lipped half-smile. "I don't talk to people much, so you get all my words. I'm sorry."

She most certainly was getting all of her words. Once again Asra found herself having to take serious efforts to not let her surprise and discomfort show on her face. Not only that, but small tinges of agreement in the idea that someone who remembers everything might be a bit awkward to talk to. Luckily, she has tons of training when it comes to pushing through her own discomfort to offer kind words.

"It's quite alright, Vensa," she offers, retracting her comforting arm as she studies the strange woman in front of her. "Seems unlikely you'd come across those willing to engage in casual conversation when you work in a place that demands silence from its inhabitants." She chuckles softly at the horrible image she conjures in her mind of a research library filled with chattering fools.

"Though I can't say I remember absolutely everything I come across, I do have a pretty good memory, so I can sympathize," she continues. "Though to remember everything sounds a great gift to me. Have you considered a career change? If you've an aptitude for magic, Whitestone is always looking for research assistants, and I can't imagine a more frightening force than a Jade Advocate with a mind like a steel trap. Anything has got to be better than such thankless work," she gestures towards the cart and the multitude of documents still strewn about them.

She nudges the poor woman with her shoulder, trying to encourage a bit of playfulness to peak through her dour expression. "And don't worry so much about romance. Broaden your horizons and you're sure to come across someone who appreciates a good mind protected by a good head of hair."