Logs:A Complicated Question
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 13 June, 2011 |
| Who: Madilla, Rhaelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla explains some things to Rhaelyn. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 13, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
  |
| The day is still fresh, it's not yet dinner time, and in the lull of the day the infirmary is in one of those quiet moments. It doesn't mean that the sick don't still need tending though. One of the sick is Rhaelyn. Still sick. She's almost green through the grey-white coloring of her as she tries to make herself comfortable through a fit of coughing. NOthing helps. Sitting up, laying down. Always the rattling cough. After two weeks of this illness, and countless deaths, the healers are beginning to look understandably weary. In the relative quiet, a handful of them are standing near the office doors, conducting a low conference; as it breaks up, curly-haired Madilla tracks back across the infirmary, pausing here and there to check on patients. Eventually, she draws up beside Rhaelyn, her brows knitting in sympathy. "Still no better, Rhaelyn?" Rhaelyn pushes herself up straighter, shoulders shaking with weakness as she struggles to catch her breath. Her head shakes about being better, eyes watery and red. She does look horrible, and who woldn't still suffering that sort of cough. The plea for help rests on the healer. Make it all better! Madilla's apron is full of big pockets, and out of one of them, now, comes a bottle of cough syrup that is no doubt familiar to Rhaelyn by now. She pours some of it into a conveniently located glass and hands it over, saying, "It was probably about time for more of this, anyway. I'll go and get you something to chase it down with." Because this cough syrup? Nasty stuff. Rhaelyn's features twist into a traggic mask as she clutches the sheets and draws them up towards her chin, "Please....I...no more...." A little sniffle of sadness that it's medication time. "It...it makes me sick." Madilla will know the truth, but it doesn't stop the sick exile from giving the lie a shot to avoid the nasty stuff. Madilla doesn't have a lot of sympathy for this kind of thing - but her standards of not a lot and those of any normal person are pretty different. "Now, Rhaelyn," she says, pushing the glass towards the exile again. "Do you want to stop coughing or not? It doesn't make you sick; it's helping make you better. I can give you some juice, afterwards." Real juice! Doubt sketches a dark look across Rhae's brows as she takes the cup with the medication measured out, "It hasn't--helped yet." Because she's still coughing right? A ragged sigh passes her cracked lips and she nods he rhead about the juice. The medication isn't taken yet though, watching Madilla to see if she's going for the juice. More waiting and then she tightens her jaw and takes down the syrupy stuff, shuddering. Having turned the medicine over, Madilla turns to go and get that juice: evidently, she trusts her patients enough to not try and get rid of the stuff (though there's not actually many places it could safely go, anyway). When she returns a moment later, it's with the promised glass of juice: "Drink up. You'll feel better soon, I promise." Rhaelyn trades the empty cup for the juice with greedy fingers. She's silent, sipping the juice, looking troubled. "What...what if I don't?" She presses the cool glass to her sweaty brow. "Lots of others haven't." Putting the empty cup down, Madilla settles on a chair that's conveniently not far from Rhaelyn's bed. For once, she's not wearing her face mask - whatever that means. "You're young and strong," she says, after a moment, folding her hands together on her lap as she considers the girl. "/I/ think you're going to be okay. I really do. I think you just need to rest, and take your medicine, and in time, you'll be as good as new." Rhaelyn measures Madilla with that steady look of hers as she sips her drink, as though she could read any mis-information from her look alone. SHe has, afterall, been here long enough to pick out a certain tone used on the old-folks who have faded away. Her head nods after a moment, "I don't feel very strong." For the most part, Madilla /seems/ to be relatively genuine, though there's no question that she's pushing positivity as far as she can. Sympathetically, "I'm sure you don't. And compared to a young woman who has grown up in the weyr, you probably aren't. I think you have the will to get better, though. And you're certainly in a better position than some of my younger patients - and some of my very old ones." There aren't many of them left, by now. Rhaelyn's gaze drifts away for the moment at the reminder of the familiar old-folks, like her father, who have passed on. There's no tears or emotion though, even as she looks past Madilla at the other empty cots. At least there are not so many sick as a week earlier during the worst of the outbreak. "How do you do it?" It's a strange question, and what could she mean? For a moment, Madilla's brows knit, as though she's not sure what Rhaelyn is asking. After that, whether or not she's really interpreted the question correctly, she gives the islander a quirked smile, sadness visible about her eyes and in the low sigh that precedes her words. "Deal with watching my patients die? It's hard. This is the first time I've dealt with it in such numbers, and it never gets easier. Our former Weyrwoman was my patient, once," she admits, a little misty-eyed for the memory. "There was nothing we could do. It hurt. But you eventually have to accept that you're doing the best you can, and that not everyone /can/ be saved." The healer's show of emotions draws Rhaelyn's interest but only in the narrowing of her eyes, curious. "Our leaders have been your patients too." Many of those old people? Elders. She watches to see if it registers that they have as high regard for her fellows as the Weyrwoman does for the healer. "It must be difficult. I do not think I could do it. Carry that burden." "I know," says Madilla, who is still working hard to keep the emotion in her voice from being /too/ much; she aims another thin smile at her patient. "Death takes us all, eventually. Elder or Weyrwoman. Healer or-- anyone else." She smoothes down the line of her skirt, then, adding, "I suppose it isn't a career for everyone." Her cheeks have gone pink. "We all have our strengths, right? And the greatest thing we can do is to find work that allows us to use those strengths." Rhaelyn presses the glass to her other cheek and then after cooling herself, she finishes off the juice and sets the glass aside with a shaking hand. The weakness makes her scowl unhappily for a moment until she can slump back into her pillows. "We all have our...strengths." The breathless little voice agrees at last, nodding her head to convince herself. "I wonder, what sort of work you will allow us." With an encouraging smile in place, Madilla nods. "We /do/," she agrees, firmly: she genuinely seems to believe it. The latter remark has her turning faintly pink, her gaze sliding away from the bed and towards the floor. "I'm sure all of that will be worked out in time," she murmurs. "I have no doubt that once you're all well again, things will be sorted. I know our Weyrleaders: they will work things out." Rhaelyn doesn't look too eager actually, to find out how things will shake themselves out along with the sickness. She gives a tug at the sheet, higher to her chin, "And what sort of people are these weyr-leaders?" Not judging, just curious. "I don't--even think I know your name. You are always here but..." obviously she's not always aware between her medications to be this talkative. Like her chart says, "I'm Rhaelyn." "Madilla," says the healer, warmly. "It's good to meet you properly, Rhaelyn." She rolls her shoulders, stretching, as she considers for a moment before answering the question. "I think Tiriana cares about this weyr more than almost anything else. She can be-- difficult," she puts in, finally, being polite, "as a person. But she cares about this weyr. K'del came into his position very young, perhaps your age, so he's grown up to it. He cares, too; I think he worries too much about what people think of him. But they're both-- I trust them to make the right decisions." "Different." Rhaelyn lets the word roll around in her mouth as she thinks over what that might mean, so many flavors of different. "I see. And have they come to see the sick?" Not judging, but it does help her measure the quality of these faceless leaders. That the leader was her age makes her eyes widen, surprised, "How does that happen?" Madilla twists a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and shakes her head. "We're not really allowing visitors - as much as we can. Obviously, some families, but... We're trying to restrict the spread of this any further." Of K'del, her mouth twists ruefully, her cheeks turning pink again. "That-- is a very complicated question." "It would be nice to meet them. To see what they are like in person." Rhaelyn says quietly, "You and your--people," healers, "Are not afraid of being amoung us." But she doesn't press the issue, just stores the information away. The pinkening of Madilla's cheeks makes her so much more curious, her head tipping to one side, "Is it? Why is it complicated?" "This is our job. Caring for you. We've been wearing masks for much of the time," but evidently, for reasons Madilla does not expand upon, they aren't doing so now. The healer swallows, and sucks in a breath thoughtful before she answers. "Well. It's just-- a little strange? Leadership in a weyr is decided by the dragons. By who they mate with." Rhaelyn's eyes round. First at the very idea that leadership is selected by dragons. "Really." And with the next information her mouth opens in surprise, "Selected by...by sex?" A water smile follows, surely Madilla is pulling her leg, it sounds too far-fetched. "Surely no." But no, Madilla looks entirely serious. And entirely awkward. "It's-- when dragons mate, they do so by flying until they get caught. I think the idea is that the strongest bronze will win, and thus, his rider becomes the Weyrleader. It's--" She breaks off. Her smile is a little embarrassed. "A strange concept to get used to, I'll grant you. I'm from a hold, myself. In some ways, that's easier: your leader's son becomes leader in his turn. Easy." No sex. "What if the dragon is fine of body but it's rider is....not a good leader?" Rhaelyn is learning so much more today than she has since she arrived. Madilla is good source to pick information from. "You all trust that these beasts know better than people do?" A particular sharpness comes into her eyes, "What if...the people don't want to do what the dragons want?" "Golds and bronzes tend to pick those with leadership ability, I think," says Madilla, scrunching her face up as she thinks: these are clearly not questions she's used to tackling. "What - do you mean, what if a bronzerider doesn't want to be Weyrleader, but his bronze catches? I think a lot of them try and stay away when the queen is ready to rise. I don't suppose K'del truly wanted to be Weyrleader at seventeen, but he probably felt it was his duty. Things seem to work out." Beat. "You'd probably be better off asking a rider these things, though." "Perhaps so. E'dre has been....very 'helpful'." The little smile Rhae flashes is a little too sweet. "It is very confusing. I am sorry to ask so many questions. I only...I want to understand. I want to -know- how things work here in this strange place." A thought comes to her and she puzzles over it in silence before asking, "Why do some people have dragons and some do not?" Madilla's response to that is polite: "I'm glad to hear it." If she's noticed the over sweetness, she's certainly not going to remark on it. "I don't mind answering questions," she continues, genuinely, in a low voice. "It must all be very intimidating. I remember what it was like for me, and I--" knew a lot more. The last question turns her expression almost wistful. "Not every person is suitable to Impress a dragon. Don't ask me what makes a person suitable, because I don't know the answer. Beyond that: there aren't enough dragons for everyone. We have clutches every few turns, and there are never more than fifteen or twenty to go around. Besides: where would the weyr be if there was no one to do all the other work?" Rhaelyn's chin lifts, "I am not intimidated." She might be balanced on deaths door for more time than most other exiles, but fearful is not an emotion she wears outwardly. Madilla's answer is met with silence and it's a troubled sort of silence as the girl watches the healer. Does she pick out the wistful expression? Most likely for she asks, "Do you want to have a dragon of your own?" Madilla is silent for a moment, as though weighing up Rhaelyn's claim. Whatever she decides, she lets it drop, instead tackling the other question with pink-tinted cheeks. "Not-- I'm perfectly happy with my life. I love my work. But there's /something/ about the idea of having a dragon, I suppose. A friend for life. Someone who is always there. I don't want to be a dragonrider, no, but I suppose I would never have turned down the possibility of a dragon." There's an expectation that Madilla might counter her claim of bravery and Rhae's shoulders relax when she doesn't have to prove anything. A small smile slips out instead, victory. "Interesting. Perhaps if you had that...a friend forever there, you would regret it." She taps the side of her head, looking amused at the idea, "No way to be alone again?" But because she doesn't know, her nose crinkles, "Can they? It is such a strange, strange idea." "Oh no," says Madilla. "Someone who understood everything about you? No, I think I would like that." She hesitates before continuing, twisting her hands idly in her lap. "I'm told you can shut off some of your thoughts. But that, most of the time, you don't /want/ to. I don't know that I really understand, but it seems like it would be wonderful." She gives Rhaelyn a cheerful glance. "Perhaps it's not for everyone, though." The concept is strange and interesting, but this other world is so beyond the ill Rhae that she can only smile helplessly. "What do you think of us exiles? You have been around us so long, would you speak will on our behalf once those who can be healed, are healed?" The question draws a lengthy pause from Madilla, her gaze sliding away from Rhaelyn and towards the other beds that line the walls, the other healers beyond. She looks deeply thoughtful, and perhaps mildly uncertain. Finally; "I don't believe you ought to be locked up." There's a pause; another hesitation. "My word will matter little, though. I'm just a healer. I /do/ believe they will make the right decisions." Rhaelyn doesn't hide her disapointment that Madilla doesn't carry weight of making some choices for the weyr. "I see." A series of coughs shake her, leaving her breathless and weak all over again. After a time she whiseprs, "Who, can we .... talk to?" There's gotta a map to the correct people to bend their ears. Madilla's expression doesn't change much, though she's obviously seen that disappointment: what can she say? She holds her peace during the coughing, concern written upon her expression until Rhaelyn can speak again. "Well," she begins, thoughtfully. "The Weyrleaders themselves. Teris or Lujayn - Teris is one of the people in charge of you, so she might be a good choice. And I think I heard that V'teri is taking some responsibility, too? Though from what I hear, he doesn't have much sway as such." Her brow furrows; she's thinking. "You .... said they..." the weyrleaders, "Would not come here. Afraid...sickness..." Rhaelyn's smug about that almost, or amused maybe. Leaders too afraid of the sickness dooming their prisoners. "We...should have someone to talk to who has authority. I would like to speak...my peace." Before she dies maybe, because these coughing spells do set her back. Madila's cheeks have gone pink again. Pinker. "I'm sure they have the situation in hand, Rhaelyn," she says, gently. "Those of our council who are still well enough to do so, and others." She's trying to be nice about it, plainly, but the truth is written in her face: why would someone come and talk to the average person over something like this? "You'll be well enough to rejoin the others before too much longer, I'm sure of it." Rhaelyn watches Madilla right back, one lower-level-person to another and then she smiles, not going at this problem directly, nope. The prodding questions have given her just enough information that she needs for now. Then there's more of the rattling cough that cancels out any of her remaining strength. Damp-eyed and gasping she turns onto her side, trying to get comfortable, "I....will be well..." Firm and angry that she can't defeat the illness with force of will. Madilla hovers a few moments more, but then draws herself from her chair, moving on to her next patient. Presumably she doesn't spend quite so long with /all/ of them. |
Leave A Comment