#rutgers

Soon the two are on their way in search of Maisie. Flopsy is certainly welcome to come along, if he likes.

Dagmar is looking a bit scowly, even though she is coming along.

Sylvi is sympathetic towards that scowl. She knows that, for Dagmar, this is like walking into elective surgery with no anesthetic.

"Maybe this isn't the best idea?"

"Maybe not. But it's the idea I've got right now. And I don't think it's the worst idea." I sure hope I'm right.

"Oh, hey..." she stops them as they're going past the wings place. "Don't want to go empty-handed." And an order is picked up, Maisie's favorite flavor.

Dag's frown deepens, and she wraps her arms around her torso. She doesn't offer to help carry the food.

Sylvi notes this as they walk, and engages in an awkward silence for a bit.

In the silence, it might take Sylvi a moment to notice that Sam stopped walking.

When her shadow is no longer looming quite as closely, Sylvi stops and turns to look at her.

She hasn't fled, but she is stalling back at the corner, pondering the cross street.

Sylvi retraces her steps to get back to her again. She doesn't say anything right away.

Her mouth pulls downwards. Not sure what tp say.

"I don't want to do it."

There. A decision.

"I don't blame you." But she doesn't seem about to turn back.

"Yeah. Okay then."

She scrubs briefly at her face and heaves a sigh like a furnace. "Okay. Okay. We can get through finals, and figure out how to get that thing off Symon once we're home for summer. Be easier, at home, right?"

Sylvi presses her lips together, weighing her words. "I don't know. If my guess is right, she might not want to let him come home. Might lure him away for a summer trip or something."

There's a flash of expression - brief, wide-eyed, fearful - that is quickly shuttered under square-jawed stubborn. "We won't let that happen."

"Because we've had so much success so far?"

She grinds her teeth. "We could make sure Anne-Marie gets him home."

"Maybe. Even so, there's still the matter of getting him back to himself. And...I don't think you're in the right headspace to do it."

She grins the heel of her hand against her temple.

"Well, somebody has to."

"Yeah, and you're the right person to do it. But you're all torn up with guilt about hurting him right now, and you're...." She stops and takes a breath.

"I'm what?"

Sylvi looks at her. "You're not being honest with yourself."

"Honest enough."

"You deserve more than just 'honest enough.'"

"And how often does anybody get what they deserve? Arguably, probably better I don't."

"How do you figure?"

A grunt and a vague gesture.

Sylvi sighs. "Look...you and I have talked about stuff a lot of times, right? Like, you've told me about jousting, and about track, and I've told you about makeup and videos and stuff, right?"

A subtle nock of tension in her shoulders and a wary shift in her voice. "....yeah?"

"Okay...tell me every detail about choosing a color palette for a person with...olive complexion and grey hair. Go."

Blink.

Blink.

"Mm-hm."

"Maisy's olive, right?" Hazarding a guess.

"And I couldn't recite how to know which grains to feed a pregnant horse."

"But just about five minutes ago, you gave practically a dissertation about how Symon does taxidermy."

"I wouldn't expect you t-..." She frowns. "I... no, like, I just listened..."

"Yeah, but you listened more than just listening."

Eyes widen, apologetic. "I listen to you!"

"You wouldn't expect me to memorize stuff, and I wouldn't expect you to. It's not like something you meant to do with him. But...you did it. Because..." a pause "...he's not just your friend."

Huff.

A head tilt of challenge.

"He's my... was my... best friend."

Sylvi sighs.