Logs:A Healer for a Reason
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| RL Date: 26 April, 2008 |
| Who: Aeriste, Emmi, Madilla |
| Involves: Healer Hall, Harper Hall |
| Type: Log |
| What: Attempting to study late, Madilla ends up in the Harper Hall's kitchen for a drink, and there runs in to Emmi and Aeriste, with whom she shares some light conversation over pastries. |
| Where: Kitchen, Harper Hall |
| When: Day 28, Month 2, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| Kitchen, Harper Hall The very stone of the kitchen walls seems inbued with the fragrances of turns of food preparation. Enticing aromas drift from the direction of the large hearths built into one wall. Constantly fueled, even in the height of summer, they provide the radiant heat for the two ovens inset in the wall close to them. Large wooden tables, gouged and nicked by multitudes of zealous drudges hard at work under the watchful eyes of cooks, take up much of the floor space. They almost groan with the effort of supporting a burden of produce, herbs, spices and other foodstuffs in various stages of preparations. Large cupboards contain utensils, pots, pans, and other items needed to keep the residents of the Halls full and happy. Off in a fairly secluded alcove are several worn-out, beaten-up looking, but immensely comfortable, large chairs where apprentices gather to talk and complain. A staircase to the northwest leads up to the dining room, making food service convenient and rapid. A stairway to the northeast leads you back to the courtyard and a short flight of steps to the west leads down to the lower hallway. 'Places' can be seen in the alcoves that tuck in around the edges of the room. It is evening, and it is winter... really, what better thing to do than curl up in the warm kitchen with a hot mug of klah? Emmi's doing just that, in her favorite overstuffed armchair in one of the alcoves, a well-worn blanket draped around her shoulders. A mug of klah and a plate of untouched pastries are on the small table in front of her; in one hand is a sheaf of hides, the contents of which seem to have enraptured her attention, and the other hand taps out a beat against the chair's wooden arm, keeping time to imaginary music. Madilla's head pokes around the edge of the door from the Dining Hall before the rest of her body comes in view, surveying the kitchens cautiously. Apparently satisfied with whatever she was looking for, the Healer Apprentice steps into the room, and begins to make her way towards the klah pot, from which she serves herself a steaming mug. In one hand, she carries a slim roll of hide, held possessively up against her chest. Emmi is beautiful in a unique, unexpected way, with a highly sculpted face, an aristocratic nose and high cheekbones. Her dark, wavy hair has been cut bluntly to her stubborn chin, and her eyes are a bright, piercing blue. It is these eyes that are the surest barometer of her expression, as even in joyful moments, she rarely smiles; if anything, the very corners of her mouth turn upward in an odd, quirky, Mona Lisa smile. Emmi's alcove offers a view of the door to the dining room, and the entrance of an unfamiliar face catches her attention. She sets down the hides she has been looking over and rises, going also to the klah pot to refill her own mug. Once she approaches, a glance at the girl's knot gives the harper a guess as to her identity: "Madilla?" It's a question, but said with enough surety to nearly sound like a statement-- and quiet enough to barely intrude on the silence, so as not to startle. Madilla appears to be quite entranced in the process of pouring her klah, so much so that she doesn't notice Emmi's approach until the woman speaks, at which point her whole body turns, her head raising. She puts the pot down, then executes a hasty bobbing sort of curtsey, her eyes immediately shifting from the woman's face to her knot - "Yes-- Craftmaster?" Her voice trails off at the end, as if she's not entirely sure she's got the rank right, but is putting it out there anyway. "I'm Madilla." "That's Master Emmi," chirps a voice from the entry-- Aeriste, with a sheaf of papers in his hands, and a curious gaze for the girl whom he hasn't met and her healer's knot. "Is someone ill?" Emmi, never one for all that rank foolishness, smiles reassuringly. "Oh, good. I didn't think there'd be more than one Healer Apprentice finding herself in the kitchens this late. Welcome to the Hall-- ours, that is. I'd heard you'd be joining us." She pours her mug full again, wrapping both hands around it for warmth. It's then that Aeriste enters, and Emmi's name in his voice causes her to turn her head. "Evening, Aeriste. Everyone is well, as far as I'm aware. Madilla, here, is going to be joining in on some of the Harper apprentice lessons. Am I correct?" A glance back at the healer, double-checking her own words. Madilla flushes slightly, looking a little over-awed, and nods in response to Emmi's words. Her eyes dart rapidly towards Aeriste, as he enters, as she reaches for her own mug, holding it on one hand while she continues to clutch her hide in the other. "Yes, Craftmaster," she agrees, eyes shifting from one Harper to the other, her voice a little firmer now that introductions have been made. "I need to improve on my education, so I can keep up with my healer classes," she elaborates. "Evening, Master Emmi... And I was wondering," Aeriste states quite frankly, folding his arms, "What a Healer would get out of learning how to lash a drumframe together, or singing with perfect pitch. The possibilities seemed rather alarming." His gaze is quite inquisitive. "But at least you can read?" "It always seemed there was a reason Harper and Healer found themselves so close together," Emmi observes, slightly wry. Aeriste is cast a warning look, but she continues lightly. "I'd imagine many of the more general archival skills would be very useful to a Healer. In any case, perfect pitch is born, not made. I'm sure if that was Madilla's talent, she would be wearing a different knot." And her small smile, reassuring once more, is turned back towards the visiting apprentice. There's a message in her expression: never mind him! Madilla flushes deeper under Aeriste's gaze, and clutches both mug and hide more tightly than ever. Emmi speaks before she has her thoughts in order enough to do so herself, however, and the apprentice nods, confirming the woman's words, her expression clearly relieved. To Aeriste she says, however, "I don't think it really matters /what/ you think - nor would it matter what /I/ think. My Masters suggested I take classes here, your Masters agreed. So here I am." Her confidence apparently found, the apprentice takes a first sip from her mug. "I don't know," Aeriste remarks. "I'm not good at anything besides Harpering. Now, I love to sing, so that's fine for me, but if I was good at something like saving lives... It's respectable, to turn down fame and glory for a life of service. Who'd we have to sing about if nobody did? I'm glad I don't have to, but someone does." Has he taken the warning to heart? Madilla's retort just makes him blink. "Of course it doesn't." But, though one might expect the sentence to be snarky, it's quite sincere. "Well, maybe what /you/ think does. But not me." "Harpering isn't about fame and glory," Emmi points out, an almost knee-jerk reaction. "It's about passing on and preserving knowledge. It's about memory as much as it is about music. The three of us represent two equally respected crafts, and I doubt one would be much without the other." She takes a sip of her klah, as nonchalantly as if she was discussing the weather, not expressing opinions about her craft. "In any case. I was sitting in that alcove. Would you two like to join me?" And the Master crosses the kitchen to the alcove, towards her armchair and warm blanket. Madilla pipes up, after Emmi speaks, nodding quickly, "We valued the Harpers an awful lot, at home. Some of the only news we got, plus the teachings and songs. We didn't see them often - but it mattered a lot, when we did. That's a kind of service too, I think. They're both vital." She seems to have forgiven Aeriste his curiousity, because she smiles at him as she turns to follow Emmi across to the alcove, accepting the Master's offer without another word. Aeriste takes a step closer, but then turns to pour himself klah, his cheeks flushed and his movements awkward. "Have I said that any of that would be mutually exclusive, Master Emmi? I must really sound like a prat, if that's how it came off." "Not exactly," Emmi allows, responding to Aeriste before she's fully crossed back to the alcove. "I simply thought to clarify your words, the way I understood them." But there's nothing in her tone to indicate she's upset with the apprentice. Once at her chair, her blanket finds its way around her shoulders again, and she settles down in her usual manner: legs folded underneath her, skirts arranged modestly, petite frame dwarfed by the large chair. "Where's that?" She asks Madilla, once this ritual is completed. "Home, that is." Madilla sits on the edge of one of the big chairs, feet primly placed upon the floor, though she does set her mug down, now holding only that hide of hers. "A little holding a ways north of Peyton Hold," she answers Emmi. Aeriste, klah and then a big plate of pastries collected (his hides are tucked securely under his arm), moves to sit down, too. He sprawls sideways, legs dangling over one overstuffed arm of his chair and his head pillowed on the other-- and wordlessly holds the plate out to them both. "Different from here, I take it?" Emmi asks, as Madilla reveals her provenance. She shakes her head politely at Aeriste's offer, gesturing to her own untouched plate of pastries on the table. She moves the score she had been reading earlier off to one side, carefully away from where anyone might set down their klah, and then sips at her mug, taking a moment to inhale the warmth and aroma. Madilla hesitates, and then accepts a pastry, looking, if not exactly guilty, then certainly greedy - and bobs her head in thanks towards Aeriste. "Very," she tells Emmi, before she takes a bite. "Everything is so big here. And there's so many people. And," she glances down at her pastry, and grins, "There's loads more, and better, food." Finally, then, she takes a bite, chewing in obvious pleasure. "Why," Aeriste asks curiously, looking pleased as at least one pastry's accepted, "Did you decide to become a healer? Academia, or altruism? Or both?" He swings one danglng foot gently, idly, back and forth, back and forth. And nibbles at a pastry, one absolutely coated with cinnamon and sugar. "Plenty for all," Emmi agrees, looking a bit like a pleased mother hen as the two apprentices partake of the pastries. "How long have you been an apprentice?" she asks, adding to Aeriste's litany of questions. "Adjusted yet, or still getting used to everything?" Madilla finally sets her own hide down, gingerly, at the foot of her chair, out of the way of falling icing sugar, and picks up her mug. With two questions at once to answer, she hesitates for a few seconds, takes a deep breath, and plunges in. "I didn't really do the deciding. My parents encouraged me to learn herb lore from my Aunt, and she decided to convince my Uncle that I should come here, instead of just getting married. And eventually he agreed, and I came here. I'm glad, though: I like the learning, and the helping people. I've been here since soon after turnover. I-- it's still strange, and it's hard because I'm behind on a lot of things, but I like it." All this said, she finally takes a sip from her mug, and sets it down again. "In a few Turns," Aeriste remarks quietly, "It might just be as if you've never been anywhere else." "It takes time," Emmi says, nodding in agreement to Aeriste's words, "But soon enough, it'll be home just as much as your Hold was. It's good to hear that you seem to be adjusting well. I know some apprentices are terribly homesick upon arriving." Her klah is nursed for the moment, handwarmer more than beverage. "That's a strange thought," admits Madilla, uncomfortably. "For someplace other than home to be home." She takes another bite from her pastry, white sugar sprinkling over her lap, and then adds, tone curious, "Did you both come from far away, or near here?" "I came from a cothold not too far from here." /Not too far enough,/ Aeriste's tone implies. "Marriage wasn't the issue, it was land, they wanted my allotment to add to the holding. But I was too much of a pain, and can you imagine /me/ trying to farm? So they let me come here. It was better for everyone, I'd've driven them madder than they already are -- and they're pretty mad -- I'm sure." And he smiles cheerfully. His pastry is already gone, so he eyes his own fingertips, because they look delicious, too. "From here," Emmi says simply, then explains, "My parents are both Harpers. It was never a question of whether or not I would take up an apprenticeship, once I'd proven myself to have a fine voice and that I could manage simple pipes. I wouldn't have been forced into it if I hadn't wanted to, of course, but I was raised on the idea that, one day, I'd be a Harper, too." Madilla nods, understandingly. "A couple of my brothers left. After Thread started again-- it was better, if we had fewer mouths to feed. Better we all do something we're good at, so we can be useful. Though I still intend to get married, in a few turns." She's a slower eater, if not all that tidy, and takes another bite of her pastry, chewing carefully. She considers Emmi thoughtfully, then smiles. "A bit like Daegan, then. He's one of the healer apprentices, with me, and his grandmother is a Master. Only I'm not sure he really does want to be a healer, really. But maybe that's just the age he's at." Aeriste can't resist. The cinnamony sugar calls to him! With a singular lack of manners, he licks his fingers clean, though with, mercifully, no icky smacking noises or anything like that. "Wouldn't marriage interfere with your studies?" "Maybe he'll find his passion for it, eventually," Emmi says of Madilla's description of Daegan. "Once you reach journeyman, I suppose?" Is her own question regarding marriage. "It's certainly possible to be a crafter and have a family. My parents are a good example of that, I think." Wistfulness in her tone? Only the most astute might be able to pick it up, but it's there, despite best efforts to cover it in her Harper-trained way. She remembers her klah, then, and takes a long gulp. Madilla looks rather more amused than horrified at Aeriste's finger licking, though she refrains from doing likewise as she finishes her own pastry. "I hope so," she tells Emmi. "Once I reach journeyman, yes," she agrees, answering both at once. "Or if my family send for me to come home." She misses Emmi's wistfulness, continuing blithely, "I'd like to have lots of children." Aeriste's attention flicks to Emmi. He leans forward-- to pick up another pastry, this one dusted with sugar crystals, and berry filling. "Is it a girl thing, the wanting the families and husbands and such?" "Not all do," says Emmi, "But for many, yes. I'm one of three, and my sister has three children herself. I could see it being wonderful, having lots of children. Of course, I have my nieces to dote on, which is nearly as good. And endless apprentices." She pulls her own pastry plate nearer to her, but merely flakes off the crust of one of the croissant-like ones, eating a bit from its point. Madilla's words come after Emmi's, thoughtful and quiet. "Maybe. Daegan seems to think girls are disgusting, and he's older than I am. But my brothers all want wives and children, so maybe it's the way we're raised, too? I do miss having all the little ones underfoot. There were always little ones, at home." "I was raised that way," Aeriste informs Madilla, with a shudder. "That's not what I want at all, though my brothers did." And to Emmi, he tilts his head, and opens his mouth, and then carefully ponders his words. It's written all over his face: should he say it, shouldn't he. He takes a prudent bite of pastry instead. "I think it is, partially, how we're raised. My mother grew up in a Hold before she apprenticed, and always passed on some of those sensibilities to her daughters. Just like she taught us how to sew and mend, the way she was taught. Although I'm sure, by now, I've forgotten." Emmi's pastry is forgotten, klah once again being the more appetizing of the two. To Aeriste, she comments, "Of course, we can also decide that the way we were raised isn't for us. What do you wish for, then? A life of bachelorhood?" Madilla opens her mouth to respond, but stops, nodding, instead, to what Emmi says, though she looks increasingly thoughtful as she does so. Lifting her klah again, she sips, then says, "I think I'll be what I was raised to be, whatever happens. It's who I am." She goes silent to wait for Aeriste's response, gaze shifting towards him curiously. Aeriste looks sidelong at both Emmi and Madilla, somehow, and then finishes his bite. His cheeks are just a trifle pink. "Everyone gets silly about love, don't they? Mooning all over the place, sighing at nothing, their faces look all funny. I don't know if I want to do that." It's not precisely an answer. "Not everyone," Emmi says decidedly, as if an expert on the subject. Which, given the topic of the majority of her ballads, she sort of is. "Everyone experiences love differently." To Madilla, she nods. "It's wise to be true to yourself, no matter who that may be. But you seem to know that quite well, already." She continues to take sips of her own klah, close enough to her face to feel the warmth of the still-warm liquid. Madilla's nose wrinkles. "I won't," she declares. "I just want a husband, and some children, and a stable, happy life. The rest of it is a waste of time. I hope I do," she tells Emmi, nodding her head. "But, at any rate, it's hard to go wrong if you just follow what your superiors tell you. They tend to know better." She finishes the last of her klah, setting the mug back down, and wipes her hands on her apron. Aeriste ponders what they've both said. "You know," he ventures, "Children do a lot of screaming and running about and chewing on things and such. I'm not sure that they're very stable." Bachelorhood may well be in his future, at this rate. To Emmi, he just says dubiously, "If you say so. I've heard all the ballads." And he flutters his hand against his chest, after checking to see that it's not too sugary, and tosses his head back. "Oh, Raemund, I shall move the skies and the earth to be by your side, carry me away from-- ...you know, a lot of moving things goes on in those songs, I'm surprised they have time to study. Or work." "They grow," Emmi reminds, just in case it changes Aeriste's mind about children. "I've always wondered what the people in ballads do beside fall in love and live happily ever after. When I was an apprentice, I would make up stories for them in my mind while running through the duller parts. How the girl had a favorite runner named Spotty, or something." And the young woman blushes ever-so-slightly, at admitting the embarrassing fact. "I hope your superiors tell you to think for yourself," she adds, to Madilla. "It's the most important part of your education. If they haven't already, then I'm adding it in now!" "They're /adorable/," says Madilla, of children, smiling serenely. She looks intrigued at Emmi's admission, but it doesn't seem to rate more than a passing thought - instead, the girl flushes deeply. "Of course! But... I like that there are rules, and timetables, and lessons. It makes life easier." This misses the point, somewhat, but either Madilla is unaware, or she's avoiding it. "They get worse as they grow!" Aeriste disagrees cheerfully. "Look at us lot, you can't tell us we're all little darlings." And he holds out both arms expansively. "Nor that we're all stable." Evidently, he's Exhibit A. To Madilla, he muses, "I suppose that they might be adorable, though, to a healer, since you're used to goshing fluids and noxious substances anyway, right?" And he then pauses, and turns back to Emmi. "You know, that might be an interesting assignment. Have everyone compose a song about the things you didn't hear about the people in your favorite song." And he warms, perhaps, a little too much to the idea. "Maybe she has lumbago, or he has crooked toes. Maybe she's got an Old Auntie who likes ovines a little too much, or he's got an Old Uncle who likes his girl too much. Maybe he really just had a peculiar smell and she couldn't smell a thing, so it was true love!" "Well, I think I turned out pretty well. But then, I was an absolute darling when I was a child," Emmi says-- facetiously or not, it's up to them to decide. "I'll have to remember that idea, Aeriste. It sounds like a wonderfully creative exercise. And you know, Madilla, all the tables and rules will only help you as far as you know how to apply them, and when. That's where thinking for yourself comes in." She taps her temple with a finger, demonstrating. "It's easier to be told what to do, of course. But the true challenge is telling yourself." "But most mothers aren't healers, and they still cope. I think it's probably just motherly instinct. The men at home certainly tended to not have much to do with the little ones," concludes Madilla, thinking this over very seriously. She doesn't have anything to say about the ballads, even now; the whole concept seems to fly right over her head. Of the rest of Emmi's words, the apprentice merely nods, head ducking down. "I suppose so," she agrees. "At home, my Uncle, or my Aunt, told everyone what to do. It's different, here." A yawn, unbidden, springs towards her lips, and, reluctantly, she stands. "I should head back to my Hall. I meant to do some work before bed. It was--" she smiles, head ducking again, "Nice to meet you both." Aeriste sits up, his feet thumping on the floor with the abruptness of the movement. "Well met," he chirps to Madilla. "And good luck. If you need any help with your studies here, I'll be glad to help, though I /am/ a tyrant." "And it was wonderful to meet you, Madilla." Emmi downs the rest of her klah and rises as well, collecting the score from the table where it was carefully placed. "I suppose that should be my cue to return to work as well. Plenty still left to do this evening." Madilla looks grateful for the offer from Aeriste, telling him, "Thanks. I may take you up on that. I have--" she hesitates, then grins, "An awful lot to learn." She leans down to pick up her hide, holding it tight to her chest again as she reclaims her mug. She smiles warmly at Emmi, head bobbing, then turns away, depositing her mug with the dirty dishes, and then heading for the door. You pass by the metal doors and up the stairs to the courtyard. |
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