#depression.txt

"Hey, d'you think you're coming out?" Rorin's voice came, reedy as always in spite of being muffled through the wooden door. "Things are starting up out here." Saerun frowned, pulling her legs in closer and resting her head on her arm, idly twirling the wine bottle held loosely in her hand. She could tell he was right; she could smell freshly cooked food, baked bread, and some sort of sweet confection she couldn't quite identify. Aside from that, she was fairly sure she could hear singing from just outside the house. One of Solveig's kids, she presumed - nobody she knew sounded like that. Evidently, Ila had chosen to throw a proper party that evening. That certainly didn't appeal to her. She'd never been a fan of parties, especially not in her adult life; the sounds and crowds had always made her uneasy. Even among friends as she was, the thought of either dragging everyone's mood down with her, or pretending everything was fine was exhausting, to say the least. And those were certainly the only options. Briefly, she wondered how many others were just going through the motions. She could feel the anxiety that simmered in the clan, though she'd not been out to put faces to it, or to pinpoint the reasons why. "...I'd love to eat dinner with you," Rorin added, barely audible. At that, she couldn't hold back a derisive snort. Good lord, you have no idea. No idea how little you actually want that, she thought with bitter amusement - though it quickly faded as she felt the echo of his hurt pass through, shooting down her antennae like an electric shock and leaving the vague but unignorable feeling of being slapped in the face. Guess he heard her. It proved her point, really. Still, she couldn't help but feel slightly bad at the fact. "I'll pass," she replied, her own voice thicker and words more slurred than she expected. She cleared her throat. "...Thanks, though." "'Kay," Rorin replied, still with that strained, quiet tone she had to strain to hear over everything else. He was quiet for some minutes after that, but she could tell he hadn't actually left. Haphazard mixes of frustration, confusion, and even jealousy leeched in through the door. It would have been somewhat disconcerting if she wasn't becoming so annoyed by the whole affair. "...Edan is back," he finally said, his voice tense and a bit louder than before. "I'm sure he'd like to see you." So that's what this is, she thought, at once angered and amused by whatever this boy had concocted in his own mind. She certainly didn't feel bad for him anymore. She wasn't sure whether she was going to shout at him or laugh in response until she opened her mouth, but it turned out to be the latter. "Well, tell him he's free to come visit if that's true." Finally, the young mirror left, his heavy footfalls disappearing into the distant party murmur and music. Saerun felt a bit lighter as the miasma of his foul mood finally dissipated. She wasn't sure how she felt about him anymore. All her former hunting companion had been doing recently was getting on her nerves; trying to get closer in a way that made her want to... she didn't really know how to put it. Yell at him? Chase him off. Peel off her skin? Something in that range. She didn't need to be an empath to be aware of his annoying little crush - as if the pleading and possessiveness didn't give it away - but it had been easier to play dumb. Until recently, anyway. Still, she couldn't fathom why he did. Slim pickings, probably. Mixed with some... grotesque hero complex. It disgusted her, but she supposed why didn't matter much. She lay back, taking a long swig from the bottle and, once more, laughing bitterly to herself. No accounting for bad taste, after all.