Logs:Soft Hands, Full Strength, Can't Lose

Soft Hands, Full Strength, Can't Lose
Dramatis Personae Desi, Elie, Sera
In Absentia Gaétan	2023-10-29 "{Yet by the grace of God you have a family here, also.}"
Location <NYC> Chelsea Piers Sky Rink - Chelsea
This once-posh stretch of Hudson Shoreline has seen its share of ups and downs and come around into vogue once more in the 21st century. A sprawling sports and entertainment complex now spans piers 59 through 61, with facilities for everything from golf to pickleball to freerunning (advertised as "Ninja Parkour"), but the two full-sized ice skating rinks are still the biggest draws. There's no open sky above the Sky Rink, but copious windows looking out on the neighboring piers admit plenty of natural light. It's not quite as picturesque as skating at Rockefeller, but as publicly accessible NHL regulation rinks in Manhattan go, it's hard to beat this. Youth open skate hours are extended this time of year to accommodate teenagers gearing up for school tryouts. Though a New Yorker born, Sera was nevertheless raised Québécois and, as such, has been skating circles around the peers who've come to dust off their skates. Her team, distinguished by yellow rather than red mesh vests, has won the scrimmage by six goals (four of them hers) and, schmoozing done, she's curving away gracefully for the boards. Beneath the scrimmage vest she's stripped off to drop into the appropriate basket in passing, she's decked in Montreal Canadiens gear, which draws a bark of laughter from one of her erstwhile opponents. She breaks sharp and clean, kicking up a fine spray of snow, and turns to level a glare at him. "You got a problem with my team?" she's asking, cool but not unpleasant? Desi has been watching from the stands, at least intermittently, though she scribbles on the tablet in her lap now and then. She's dressed casually today, a fawn suede jacket over a soft black sweater, a purple ombre scarf draped aesthetically around her neck, a tiered skirt in shades of purple, black shoulder bag embroidered with a silver triple goddess symbol, and slouchy knee-high boots that match her jacket. Her hair is braided in one long winding crown braid whose tail hangs over her shoulder, and her makeup is neutral, invisible to the casual eye. With the scrimmage ended, she'd turned her attention to her work. At least until Sera's voice rings out over the ice. She takes a deep breath, closes the folio cover on her tablet, and stands up. Farther up the stands, another woman has been watching practice much more dedicatedly. Elie Tessier is probably also dressing casually, by her standards: a forest green double-breasted cape over a black turtleneck, gray trousers whose legs are just wide enough to swish when she walks, and no-nonsense black pumps. Her hair hangs down in loose curls from beneath a demure gray cloche with a green ribbon and bow — just enough of her fussy and slightly anachronistic elegance to stand out, but not stand out too much. She's descending the steps and pauses at the end of Desi's row to meet her eyes and tip her head toward the ice in a slightly peremptory come-along-now fashion. "I don't have a problem," replies the boy who laughed as he de-vests himself (he's wearing a Bruins jersey, which might explain a few things). "They just suck." This witty insult draws a ripple of nervous laughter from the other young people nearby. One of his friends glances warily at Sera and tries to usher him away. It's too late. Sera is already making a beeline for him, and though she doesn't have a lot of room to build up momentum, her acceleration is deeply impressive coming from a dead stop and she slams into him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. She shoves off of him and coasts, her stick gripped hard in one hand but held back and away, ready to toss it aside. "You want to say that again?" Anger ripples out from her in tight, suffocating waves. Desi is slipping her tablet back into her purse and nearly drops both when she looks up into Elie's bright green eyes. "Mother?" The single word, half-whispered, is swallowed by the echoing space and drowned out by the teenaged bickering down on the ice, but the shape of her lips is clear enough. She stares for a second, but the spell is broken when Sera checks the Bruins fan. "Sera!" she calls out flustered, hastening past her mother down the steps. "He's not worth it, come on." Elie trails Desi without giving any sense at all she's following — she's just less hurried — and stops at the second row of seats, leaving the last three steps to give her a better view of the arena. "Seraphine." Her voice is steady and calm, but it carries well, and carries authority without her needing to add any actual instruction to it whatsoever. The Bruins fan rolls his shoulder on the side where Sera hit him, his jaw working as he looks around and considers his options. Her anger is working its way into him, but he's afraid and uncertain and not reallyspoiling for a fight he might lose to a girl (and not a very large one, at that).. Sera whips around at the sound of Elie's voice, her eyes wide with shock. She looks back at Bruins Fan just once — she makes no rude gestures and speaks no parting shot, but her gaze is sharp and the threat in it is plain — then turns away and curls gracefully toward the two women waiting for her at rinkside. She clambers over the boards, shedding gloves and helmet without taking her eyes off of Elie. Her excitement and hope and fear spill haphazardly over as she struggles for words, settling finally on a kind of shy, uncertain, "Hi." Desi relaxes when Sera disengages, and though she does not make a point of checking the girl for injuries she is watching her closely, as she wordlessly accepts gloves and helmet and stick. "{Mother, we should let her go change,}" she ventures tentatively, her nerves jangling loud enough to jangle Sera's. "{I don't know if Gae told you about her, but if not…}" "{He told me,}" Elie replies lightly, a little impatient but tolerant in fondness, "{you needn't handle me with kid gloves, Desirée. Are you quite alright, darling?}" This last being clearly intended for Sera, her eyes ticking down over the girl and then lowering very briefly, in sorrow and not apology. "{I hadn't meant to meet you like this. I'd wanted to see you from afar, first — you played brilliantly, I must say — but then…}" The flutter of her hand in the direction of Sera's foe is simultaneously disgusted and dismissive. "{Well. He asked for it, no? That was a solid hit, and I wager he'll think twice before insulting les Habitants again.}" Sera looks just a little poleaxed and feels a great deal moreso, her control slipping comprehensively now. "Ma —" She darts an uncertain glance at Desi, licks her lips, and looks back at Elie, her eyes still wide. The resemblance between the two women is striking, both still taller than Sera even in her skates (admittedly, both also wearing heels). "{But Gae told you where I'm from? You know I'm not — I'm not your daughter?}" Desi shifts her weight so that she's standing just a little closer to Sera. Her nerves have not receded, but they're drowned out now by protective concern. It's not really clear what she expects to be protecting Sera from, much less how, with hockey gear balanced awkwardly in her arms. "{Mother, maybe we should talk over lunch.}" "{I know,}" Elie's agreement is gentle and touched with grief. "{I lost a daughter, and I will always miss her, but I have gained a daughter, too, and you have lost so much more.}" She reaches out and touches Sera's cheek — just the pads of her fingers, mindful not to scrape with her perfect french tips. "{Yet by the grace of God you have a family here, also, and I am so glad they've been taking care of you.}" She stretches out her other hand and touches Desi's arm, her gaze following a moment later. "{I've missed you so, darling, but you have done so well. For yourself and for your new sister.}" Her smile is soft and sad when it returns to Sera. "{A thousand curses upon Prometheus for keeping me from all of you! But especially you, when you needed a mother most.}" Sera pulls, perhaps unconsciously, toward Elie's hand, her desperate hunger for affection and relief for its offer clamoring louder with skin contact. Her next breath comes unsteadily, her eyes glassy-bright with tears she does not shed — will not, at least not here. "{It's not that simple,}" she murmurs, "{it's hard for them. It's hard for me. I'll always feel wrong here and that makes you all feel wrong, too.}" Misery and despair creep into and through and beyond her, though she's rapidly recollecting herself and, in turn, her power. Desi opens her mouth to raise an objection, but quiets when Elie reaches for her, too. Her yearning is different from Sera's, less urgent and more complex. She's very still under Elie's hand, not pulling closer, not pulling away, either. "{Not always,}" she finally tells Sera. "{You have a life here, and your control is getting better all the time. It's getting easier for us, too.}" She conjures a wan smile that makes her look all the more like her mother. "{Do you feel wrong now?}" "{Oh, my poor, sweet girl!}" Elie smooths her hand over Sera's hair, sweat-damp and mussed from the helmet, and heedless of all that pulls the girl into her arms. "{Family is often complicated, no? In this universe as any other. But you are here, and you are ours, and you are not wrong.}" She pulls back, but clutches Sera's hand instead as if she cannot bear to fully let go as she looks down into the girl's eyes. "{Never let anyone tell you otherwise.}" There is a fire in her words and her gaze that passes through to Sera, a wave of second-hand conviction underpinned by the unshakable strength of her presence. "{I know this is a lot all at once, but if you feel up to it, I'll treat you both to lunch.}" She pulls back, patting primly at Sera's touseled hair though this does absolutely nothing to unmuss it. "{I have so much to make up for, and so much I want to hear about my beautiful girls.}" Sera chokes back a single sob, stifling it against Elie's shoulder, but by degrees she grows steadier with the verbal and emotional bolstering. "{I — I don't feel wrong,}" she tells Desi, a whisper of her amazement and the rightness of her hand in Elie's slipping through even after she's mostly reasserted control of her power. "{I'd like to go to lunch. After I shower and change. The others, they've not told me much about you — and I get that it was painful, they thought you were dead. But I want to hear all about you, too...}" She licks her lips, suddenly diffident, her voice quiet and tentative when she adds, "{...Maman.}"