Logs:A Pretend Honest Conversation
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| RL Date: 11 December, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'kon and Madilla have an open and honest conversation about the whole baby issue. Except for the part where they really don't. |
| Where: Deliciously Shadowed Nooks and Crannies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 7, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dilan/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, Y'rel/Mentions |
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| Deliciously Shadowed Nooks and Crannies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr The entrance to the weyr is straight and narrow, a dragon couch taking up most of the space there. Once past the couch, the room opens up incredibly to reveal a truly odd bit of artistry. This part of the weyr is a nearly perfect circle and actually quite small. The cathedral ceiling is domed and appears twice as high as the ones found in most rooms at High Reaches. The unusual stonecutter that designed this weyr certainly had his own sense of style. A gigantic glow basket has been hung in the center of the doomed ceiling, though the light it spreads downward are like gloomy fingers grasping from above. A rope runs from the basket through a series of loops along the side of the wall, tied off where it can be easily reached to lower the glows for changing. The dim light of the weyr washes over the walls, revealing tiny glints and sparkles here and there. All over the wall of the cavern from about five feet off the ground to about twelve feet overhead, hewn nooks have been left. The lower ones contain odd bits, mostly hides filed away in accordance to some system known by the weyr's inhabitant, some pens, some small trinkets, a bottle or two of good whisky. The higher nooks are more eye-catching, each containing a glass bottle or dish of some sort which causes the eerie glittering. What little floor space there is is taken up by carefully placed furniture. A loft frame, once a bed, now serves as storage space for several trunks and few dishes, the mattress laid out on simple wooden risers below. Opposite the bed, a small, round table sits surrounded by three chairs - one small, two large, all without cushioning and armless. Kept to the side is a folding wooden stepladder, rungs smoothed and lightened by regular use. The colours in the sky have faded well beyond the rim of the bowl; it means Arekoth has come back down to settle himself in his couch, no doubt with many comments on the lazy evening unfolding in the Weyr. H'kon has ignored him, with only the slightest making of faces, while moving the whole affair of wine and glasses into the weyr from the ledge. The final touch, of course, is refilling the cups; and this, he does without so much as a questioning glance to Madilla. There's something to be said for comfort. "Thank you," says Madilla, which must be automatic: she's not even looking at the cups or even at H'kon as she says it, but instead clearly enjoying the sensation of stone beneath her bare feet, while her gaze lifts higher to the domed ceiling. "I always wonder why your weyr ended up the way it did. It's so... most of them, from what I understand, are so much simpler. I wonder why I especially noticed it again tonight." "You're welcome," is just as automatic, as must be the head-dip that goes along with it. H'kon more watches her as she inspects the weyr than following her gaze. All at once, a smile tugs the corner of his mouth. "You're looking up, tonight." He wraps his fingers around the cup, slowly, deliberately. "Most others are simpler. Arekoth laughed nearly three days when we were assigned the tall one." With a glance down that, in a more tense environment, would be sheepish, "Though I believe I've told you that already." A time or two. "Once or twice," she agrees, abruptly turning her attention back onto H'kon, her smile shared between mouth and eyes. "But it stands up to retelling, I think. I wonder if Tiriana - or whoever it was, making the assignments - was being deliberate about it. I'm glad, anyway. It's interesting." Now, she returns towards the table to take up her own cup and take a careful sip from it. H'kon lifts his own eyes up, briefly, when Madilla moves for the table. "I'd not be surprised if she did. When there is one characteristic that stands out- or not, I suppose..." It makes the brownrider wrinkle his nose, and lean against the edge of that table, looking to the woman near him. "But it feels open, and quiet. Welcome, in so crowded a place as the Weyr." "She liked her little jokes," Madilla remembers, briefly serious, as if talking about someone dead and not simply banished from her home and now living safely down at Ierne. "But you're right. It suits you, I think. The openness. I found living in the caverns difficult, at first, because I wasn't used to being so closed in. But now..." She smiles. "At least the Weyr feels a little less crowded, now, with so many of the refugees leaving." "I'd not easily be relocated, if offered someplace else. Part of that may simply be a sense of home, but still." He shrugs. As to resettled refugees, "Now that is a good thing to see," H'kon agrees, going so far as to lift his glass, nearly a toast, before the sip. "No least of which, with the influx after the camps... I was not certain how orderly things would remain. Desperation is never a good quality in men." Madilla's glass is lifted after H'kon's, but it's his first comment she replies to, first: "And why should you? Home is home. I still miss the little room I had, when I first walked the tables. And the one after that, in the complex. But we need the space, so." Her smile is easy and unbothered. "But it seems... to be going well," is clearly in response to that later remark. "Positive steps. They seem cautiously pleased about Lady Tevrane, from what I hear, and still glad to have Rone gone." Her glass is tentatively lifted. "She may want to thank you, you know." Something in that must make H'kon uncomfortable, the bit of a frown that creases his forehead, the shift of his grip on his glass. "She may. It would need be a cautious thing, if she were to approach the Weyr at all... though less uncertain as if Ienavi had taken the helm, I suppose. Still, the impulse for the main breaking of Rone's camp was Y'rel's." When his eyes wander up to the ceiling again, it's a more thoughtful, "Yours are good quarters, now. That they would answer the needs of a family." Deserves a nod. "They are," Madilla agrees. "And we're very comfortable there. In a turn or two, Dee won't know what to do with himself, with a room all of his own." Although she comments on that part of the conversation, it's obvious she's still thinking about the other, and still considering H'kon's reaction to it. "I'm sure Y'rel will be glad to be recognised for it, in whatever way. In any case... it's all fine. All settled. Alpine did a good thing, and now it's done with, for everyone involved. Nabol goes on." "In the end, it was good," H'kon - even H'kon - is willing to admit. "And with Rone gone, Y'rel has been less intense. Thanks might at least fully legitimise the Weyr's intervention, if there are doubts remaining. Still. It's not something that sits perfectly at ease. No foundation to rest upon, perhaps. Hopefully no 'next time' to have been laid for, either." And if she can follow that, well. H'kon takes more from his cup, eyes finding and resting on Madilla by the end. Again. "Do you know what you might do with yourself, once it's just Dilan, I wonder?" Madilla's silence lasts a few seconds two long, though it's hard to tell whether it's Nabol she's thinking so intently about, or her family. In the end, it is the former she remarks on first: "I hope not. Surely, from this, everyone will take some kind of lesson." Even so, there's something wry about her smile, a definite suggestion that she's conscious of her own, perhaps misplaced, optimism. Then, sighing: "I have no idea, to be honest. And even then, it will only be a few more turns before it's just me. One hopes it will be a few turns more before there's any chance of grandchildren." It's that wry smile of hers that's reason for H'kon to lean out, and brush the backs of free fingers at Madilla's arm. "Fortunate it settled as it did," is, perhaps, something of a closing comment. It's certainly something of a familiar one by now, used regularly enough for Nabol, whether generally or in personal specifics. The man is back to his staked piece of table thereafter, and keeps his arms well to himself by the time Madilla is considering grandchildren. He's wordless for some time, and even once he does speak, it's a halting, "Not just you," that surely isn't as comforting as he might've meant. A smile answers that brushing of fingers-- though it fades, leaving her looking just a little awkward, by the time he's replied to her later comments; she flushes, sets down her wine, and then crosses back towards him, reaching to try and take his hand into hers. "I didn't mean it like that," she says. "No, not just me. I... rather hope it won't ever be just me. But it will be different, when they're gone. I'm thinking ahead of myself, of course. Anything could happen, before then." "I was not taking offence," H'kon offers up softly enough. His hand is given without hesitation, though there is a moment where he might tug at Madilla's arm, turning at the torso to deposit his own glass behind him, on that table. H'kon's intake of breath is metered by the time the second hand has gone to join the first, with hers. "Could," repeated. "Perhaps." That line is back on his forehead. "But thus far..." Madilla's gaze has dropped towards their hands, but lifts again, now, hesitantly. "But thus far," she says, then, "it's not something I've given a great deal of thought about." It may or may not be the truth. It may or may not be a selective interpretation of the truth. In either case, she smiles. "We'll just take it all as it comes, right? Whatever Lily and Dee do. Whatever we do." H'kon is watching her carefully, his jaw working back and forth (clicking once), but not so much for purposes of talking. He shifts one hand, better for covering hers, leaving the thumb to rub where it lands, little aftershocks. "As it comes, yes," he agrees at length, taking time enough even after that for thoughts, certainly, on what Lily and Dee might do, even if they go unvoiced. What doesn't: "Though my impression had been you'd been... careful." Madilla opens her mouth, stops, and then exhales, giving H'kon what must amount to a somewhat guilty glance, as far as such things get for the healer. "I have been," she allows, finally. "Which is... not thinking about it, in a way. Or not addressing it actively, at least. But 'careful' doesn't mean... I suppose I'm simply saying that it isn't impossible. I'm not against the possibility. I just don't know, and it's not something we've talked about." H'kon is far too busy being uncertain how to talk about all this to look at all accusing. If anything, the guilt in Madilla's look really only serves to further complicate things for the brownrider. So he squeezes a little at her hand, and turns his gaze down to their fingers to admit, "No, we've not." Still watching fingertips: "I might have asked. On several occasions." That grimace might be his attempt at guilty, sort of. Releasing a held breath through her teeth, Madilla doesn't seem to entirely know what to say, after that - which is probably why she eventually just laughs, even if it's only a little short of uneasy. "Look at us," she says, "both avoiding the topic, more or less. We're probably lucky it didn't just happen. I... didn't actually mean to bring it up, even now, H'kon. I don't know what that says. If it... did happen," she's hesitant, watching him with wide eyes, "would it be a... problem?" H'kon can't quite laugh along with her, and the awkward smile he does manage is not so much a release of tension. But he keeps hold of her hand, and gives his head the slightest shake that somehow ends up with him sending a look to Arekoth's couch before he focuses in on Madilla again. "I..." have no idea how to respond? "You've seen the time I don't have. Especially recently. Is that- would you want that?" Sobering, "Prefer that?" Madilla, watching as closely as she is, can see, and read, a lot into that reaction. Her exhale, however, doesn't seem outright disappointed; merely thoughtful. "No," she says. "Not at all. I know your duties come first, and..." She twists up the corner of her mouth, though her expression remains serious. "I think I'd rather have what time you have for me, not shared further. So." "Then there it is," H'kon says softly, quietly. And there is disappointment in that, in his shift of his weight. The smile that breaks for just a moment is awkward, and the serious, and maybe a bit sad, look left thereafter, gets turned back up to the ceiling. But at the same time, he's nodding a little, and drawing her hand in nearer to him. Madilla's mouth opens again, half as though she's about to argue, based on H'kon's reaction-- but instead she inhales deeply and nods. A moment later, she's stepping in closer, aiming to drop her head towards his shoulder as her free hand wraps about his waist. "There it is," she agrees, sighing. "I'll keep... being careful. As much as I can. It's better this way." Being sensible wins, apparently, but yes, she still sounds wistful. H'kon doesn't nod or anything to give his assent; but when Madilla steps in closer, he does manage to rather smoothly disentangle his hands from hers, bring both arms about her, and even press his lips up to the side of her head. That embrace holds tightly for a good moment. "It's the reality of a dragonrider," he decides in the end, maybe not sounding entirely convincing himself. When those arms finally ease, however, H'kon does offer a more easily sincere, and admittedly more uplifting, "Now of course, this will make bringing you to my bed tonight a loaded thing." The embrace must be soothing, in its own way, because although Madilla is clearly not wholly convinced by H'kon's words, she doesn't argue them - and, perhaps more to the point, she manages a genuine laugh for that later remark. "Worried about tempting fate, are you?" Beat. "Though," and she's glancing at him again, now, straightened back to her full height though still standing close, "it would probably be in keeping with my past history, if I were to... but no, it's quite safe." And, more determined: "Bring me to bed." Now, please. H'kon lets both hands fall to her waist as Madilla straightens, happy enough to look up at her. "Quite safe," he answers back to her, and this time the smile doesn't look entirely painful, and doesn't fall off his face the instant it shows. He runs his hands along her sides, looking her up and down, and then it's to his feet, standing properly straight. No need of more words, surely, when there's been so many already. It's not two steps in when the look on his face has gone from obliging to a determination all his own. Thankfully, the bed isn't far. Haven't they, after all, said everything that needs to be said (don't answer that)? And besides, regardless of anything, Madilla seems pleased. To bed, then. |
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