Oh, [ she says with a little laugh, holding Bryn's gaze for a moment. ] You're way better off than me, then... I'm not normally this bad with homework. [ She turns her attention back to the stairs, leading them up another flight. ] I can't really figure out why I'm struggling so much, either.
[ Maybe it was just that she didn't have the right poem. The one Bryn had sent her earlier, the Dickinson one, at least seemed to start some possible ideas percolating in her head. Still, she's unbelievably thankful that the hunter agreed to help. ]
[ Bryn stays focused on Shane and only Shane until her attention turns back to the stairs, at which point Bryn looks down, blinking twice rapidly. ]
I suppose I had a head start. I picked my poem before we left class. [ And already had ideas on how to analyze it formed in her mind before she started writing. ] I'll help you, though.
If I can ever return the favor, just let me know; I'd be more than happy to. [ She has a feeling Bryn doesn't need much in the way of tutoring, though.
It's a short walk from the top of the stairs to Shane's dorm and once they get there she shifts the weight of the pizza into one hand, the other opening the door. She's half turned toward Bryn as she pushes it open, her roommate nowhere to be seen. ] Are you a fan of poetry, then? Since, you know, you had one in mind that quickly and you found one for me pretty quick.
[ Bryn follows, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket in preparation to take it off when they get in the room. ]
It's a hobby of mine. [ She feels strange admitting it. Poetry has always been her private obsession, cherished in secret in between missions and training. ] My father bought me a book of sonnets when I was young.
[ Shane's never been that into it, but she can definitely appreciate a nice poem when she reads one. Or when one's sent to her.
She pushes the door open the rest of the way and walks inside, depositing the pizza on the nearest desk. There's a larger than average heat lamp on one side, currently turned off, which makes it clear which bed belongs to Angelique, Shane's roommate. The other side of the room is mostly neat, though there's a sweater tossed over the foot of the bed and some school supplies - a notebook, pen, highlighter, and a currently asleep laptop - in the middle of it. ]
[ Bryn shrugs out of her jacket and folds it over her arms, unsure where to set it down so just holding it for now. Shane's room looks more... lived in than her own. Looks more how a teenage girl's room should look. Looking around, Bryn doesn't see any weapons. She smiles briefly at the thought, then lets the smile fade. ]
A favorite? [ She'd heard the question, she was only repeating it as a way to buy herself more time to think. She'd never been asked to choose a favorite before. ] I suppose I like American poets best. Dickinson, Plath, Frost. Langston Hughes.
I don't think I know any Langston Hughes poems. [ She's familiar enough with the others (Dickinson even more so now, thanks to the poem Bryn had sent her earlier) but poetry's never really been her favorite thing in the world. She prefers music, which some could argue is a form of poetry, and visual arts. Hence why she was struggling so bad with her paper.
Closing some of the distance between them, although still leaving enough for them both to be comfortable, Shane reaches a hand out and nods to Bryn's jacket. ] I can take that, if you want. Or you can set it on the chair, [ she gestures with her other hand toward the chair in question at the desk nearest them. ]
[ Rather than hand her jacket to Shane, when given a choice, Bryn opts to drape it over the back of the chair herself, uncomfortable with the thought of having someone else do work she can easily do herself. ]
I’ve known rivers: [ She says, launching right into a Langston Hughes poem. ] I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
[ Shane steps aside, though she wasn't exactly in the way, so Bryn can put her jacket down. The sudden start to the poem confuses her for a moment and she stops, having begun heading in the direction of her bed to grab her laptop, turning to face Bryn again, her eyebrows raised faintly.
But as she continues, it's pretty clear Bryn's not just starting on some strange story. Shane stays put, listening quietly and intently, almost inspired by Bryn's love of poetry to try to love it, too. At the end, she lets out a quiet breath of a laugh. ]
That's really impressive. [ There's a pause where it's unclear if she means the poem of Bryn's memorization of it, but she clarifies: ] I don't think I know anything well enough to just recite it like that. [ She smiles. ] The poem's nice, too. Does he write about rivers a lot?
Just in that one poem. But it's not really about rivers. It's about connecting yourself to your past, to your ancestors.
[ That's something that means something uniquely special to Bryn. She doesn't have ancestors in the traditional sense-- she wasn't born to a mother; she sprang forth from a magic tree on a ley line-- but hunter culture was all about learning from those who came before you to better protect the world from dangerous myths.
As an answer to how she knows it well enough to recite: ] I wasn't allowed to read my poetry books very often. I had to memorize them to keep them with me.
Oh. I could see that, [ she says with a slight nod. Though truth be told, she probably wouldn't have connected that, at least not without knowing a little more about the poet or something.
That second bit, however, has Shane frowning somewhat and she finishes making her way to her bed. She grabs her laptop, letting the power cable rest on the bed once it's unplugged, as well as the binder and a pencil that had been near it. ]
At least you could memorize them, I guess; it's better than not having them at all. Do you still memorize them now that you're at the school?
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no subject
Date: 2017-05-12 08:08 pm (UTC)[ Maybe it was just that she didn't have the right poem. The one Bryn had sent her earlier, the Dickinson one, at least seemed to start some possible ideas percolating in her head. Still, she's unbelievably thankful that the hunter agreed to help. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-05-12 08:14 pm (UTC)I suppose I had a head start. I picked my poem before we left class. [ And already had ideas on how to analyze it formed in her mind before she started writing. ] I'll help you, though.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-12 08:21 pm (UTC)It's a short walk from the top of the stairs to Shane's dorm and once they get there she shifts the weight of the pizza into one hand, the other opening the door. She's half turned toward Bryn as she pushes it open, her roommate nowhere to be seen. ] Are you a fan of poetry, then? Since, you know, you had one in mind that quickly and you found one for me pretty quick.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-12 08:26 pm (UTC)It's a hobby of mine. [ She feels strange admitting it. Poetry has always been her private obsession, cherished in secret in between missions and training. ] My father bought me a book of sonnets when I was young.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-12 08:38 pm (UTC)[ Shane's never been that into it, but she can definitely appreciate a nice poem when she reads one. Or when one's sent to her.
She pushes the door open the rest of the way and walks inside, depositing the pizza on the nearest desk. There's a larger than average heat lamp on one side, currently turned off, which makes it clear which bed belongs to Angelique, Shane's roommate. The other side of the room is mostly neat, though there's a sweater tossed over the foot of the bed and some school supplies - a notebook, pen, highlighter, and a currently asleep laptop - in the middle of it. ]
Do you have a favorite poet?
no subject
Date: 2017-05-29 11:30 pm (UTC)A favorite? [ She'd heard the question, she was only repeating it as a way to buy herself more time to think. She'd never been asked to choose a favorite before. ] I suppose I like American poets best. Dickinson, Plath, Frost. Langston Hughes.
no subject
Date: 2017-05-30 10:27 pm (UTC)Closing some of the distance between them, although still leaving enough for them both to be comfortable, Shane reaches a hand out and nods to Bryn's jacket. ] I can take that, if you want. Or you can set it on the chair, [ she gestures with her other hand toward the chair in question at the desk nearest them. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-06-25 08:03 pm (UTC)I’ve known rivers: [ She says, launching right into a Langston Hughes poem. ] I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
no subject
Date: 2017-06-28 09:05 pm (UTC)But as she continues, it's pretty clear Bryn's not just starting on some strange story. Shane stays put, listening quietly and intently, almost inspired by Bryn's love of poetry to try to love it, too. At the end, she lets out a quiet breath of a laugh. ]
That's really impressive. [ There's a pause where it's unclear if she means the poem of Bryn's memorization of it, but she clarifies: ] I don't think I know anything well enough to just recite it like that. [ She smiles. ] The poem's nice, too. Does he write about rivers a lot?
no subject
Date: 2017-07-23 01:47 pm (UTC)[ That's something that means something uniquely special to Bryn. She doesn't have ancestors in the traditional sense-- she wasn't born to a mother; she sprang forth from a magic tree on a ley line-- but hunter culture was all about learning from those who came before you to better protect the world from dangerous myths.
As an answer to how she knows it well enough to recite: ] I wasn't allowed to read my poetry books very often. I had to memorize them to keep them with me.
no subject
Date: 2017-07-25 08:55 pm (UTC)That second bit, however, has Shane frowning somewhat and she finishes making her way to her bed. She grabs her laptop, letting the power cable rest on the bed once it's unplugged, as well as the binder and a pencil that had been near it. ]
At least you could memorize them, I guess; it's better than not having them at all. Do you still memorize them now that you're at the school?
no subject
Date: 2017-08-19 06:59 pm (UTC)[ An eidetic memory, or something close to one, is an invaluable skill for a hunter to have. ]