Mina Corte-Real | Syrinx (syrinx) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-05-03 01:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | !event #019, !mini-log, osiris, syrinx |
Syrinx had gladly taken the offer from Osiris. She liked the man, he had this soothing thing about him- quiet- like her. It wasn't the same when she fluffed up and sang for Troilus, nor was it the blushing (want) towards Castor. This was just a quiet sort of kinship. She had no trouble scrambling up and clasping his arm, she had no trouble speaking to him, because she wasn't scared that he wouldn't understand. Osiris would understand better than anyone because he was like her. At least, that was Syrinx's perception of the entire thing.
His home was full of people, but she didn't pay notice, instead looking up at him- not with the same hero worship she had for Pollux or Aeneas- just herself.
As nice as it was at first to be surrounded by the people he loved in his otherwise lonely apartment ever since Set had stormed out, it only served as a constant reminder of precisely where he was falling short in this lifetime and that was a feeling that crushed out any enjoyment he was getting from indulging in it otherwise. They weren't real, and it felt insulting to his wife... no, not his wife and his children to wish certain things could be different. Isis had always been a woman of her own convictions, strong-willed and capable of making her own decisions and sticking by them. That's what Osiris had always admired about her, respecting Isis above all others and often trusting her judgement even over his own, and unfortunately it was why he had no choice but to accept that the pretend domestic bliss with the mere imitation of the woman he loved could never be real when Isis had already moved on without him. And she had every right to, Osiris was in no position to complain. Either way, her presence wasn't particularly helpful to moving on.
Syrinx's need to get away from her own situation was perhaps too convenient for Osiris to latch onto, glad to help her escape and appreciating her non-demanding company as they barricaded away from everyone else in his closet. She was quiet in a way he was used to, and nobody he felt obliged to act any sort of way toward but naturally. Nobody who looked up to him as a king of Egypt or of the Underworld, a father or a brother, with no expectations to be strong or great or accomplished. He never had to worry about her asking too much of him, or feeling as if he let her down. It felt strange, huddled with somebody he barely knew, but feeling far more comfortable with Syrinx than any of the fake family invading his home.
It was comfortable, she felt like she was fluffy and nesting in the closet. Her fingers dug into his arm in a soothing manner, Syrinx closed her eyes and buried a little deeper into the make-shift fort they were in. "You weren't joking." Her voice was a little dry, rough from disuse, "There are a lot of people." Of course her speaking was a lot more coherent than her typing.
She cleared her throat, "Sorry." For her voice, for being here, for taking space, for even breathing. She always had to apologize.
Don't be was on the tip of his tongue before thinking better of it, wanting to reassure Syrinx that there was nothing to be sorry for. But it was far too demanding to outright reject it, and he understood how it was to feel compelled to apologize when there was no specific need to do so. "Thank you," Osiris responded instead. For her voice, for being there, for taking space.
Syrinx smiled in the darkness, pressing her head against his shoulder in an affectionate and innocent manner. "Mm." Her eyes snapped shut and she hummed a little- a very, very quiet tune because she didn't want anyone from the outside to open the door and peek in. It didn't last very long though, after a while Syrinx had fallen asleep against Osiris- quiet puffs of air and the occasional soft sound as she got comfortable.