Logs:An Illicit Escape
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| RL Date: 26 July, 2012 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova and Madilla play hooky. |
| Where: Children's Caverns, High Reaches Weyr / Southern beach |
| When: Day 6, Month 5, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, B'tal/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Milani/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions |
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| It's greenish-gray in the tunnels and gray outside, where the sun seems to have forgotten that it's supposed to be morning, hiding beyond its cloudy covers. The children may have a large cavern to play in, may have nooks with carved wooden food or dress-up materials or wagons or puzzles, may have relatively tasty food in the offing for snacks and midday meal... but little Via's still clinging to her mother's leg anyway, refusing to toddle off with the others. Leova stands there, awkward, eyes shut, like if she moves a muscle she'll wind up stepping on her child and they'll both cry. It's unusual for Madilla to be late like this: even on mornings when she isn't due immediately in the Infirmary, she tends to be here right and early. Today, however, it's Lilabet who is urging her mother on, though no sooner is she inside the cavern than she's letting go of that hand and racing off into her own world of toys. For a moment, it looks as though Dilan is about to toddle after her, but he's distracted by Via, and launches himself in her direction instead. A moment later, Madilla follows. "Leova. Via. Good morning. Dilan, say good morning." It's Lilabet's voice that Leova cracks open her eyelids to, but Madilla who gets the pained attempt at a smile as Via totters under Dilan's onrush and then frees one hand to try and grab hold of him: clothes, maybe, but noses are good, ears, whatever! "They say she's perfectly fine once I'm out of sight," but prying herself away, it's so hard. "Via, Via, careful with his hair, sweetling. Via! Shards!" and surely everyone must guess the one word that, out of all that, the girl chooses to repeat. Excitedly. And Dilan? He may not be thrilled at being grabbed like that, and certainly bleats his displeasure, but once Via is repeating that particular word, he has to join in: louder, and more enthusiastically. The glance Madilla aims at Leova is rueful, and beneath the tired, undeniably understanding. "You two should go play. Dilan? Why not take Via over and show her the blocks you were telling me about." Lower-pitched, as she releases her son's hand, the healer adds for Leova's ears: "Dilan too, some mornings. Lily was never like that." Leova glances up from her shushings, big eyes on Madilla, but the relief has to come later. There's more ritual to attend to, she's got to be patient, they can sense anxiety... but finally Via races off to try and get there first. Wherever that is. Blocks, something. Slowly, cautiously, and then at last in a quick motion Leova backs around the corner and asks, "Madilla? Tell me you aren't on shift. Let's /go/ somewhere." Though, for now, the wall's doing a decent job of propping her up. Dilan doesn't even glance back at his mother when Via races off: he's got more important things to think about, now. Madilla's got her eyes on him, but only for the time it takes for the pair to reach their destination; then, she's got eyes for Leova alone, and whether or not her answer is truthful (would she lie? Madilla?), it's in the affirmative. "I'm not. Tea? Somewhere quiet. With chairs." Better, and more comfortable, than walls. Relief again. The full-fledged version this time. "Somewhere southerly?" asks Leova, not so far gone that she can't bargain. "We'd get wet, a little, but it's such a short flight... by the time we get there, the tea would have brewed." And if Madilla's helpers aren't used to covering for her, why, they can learn to cope. From Madilla, a knowing (and quietly concerned) glance, followed by an unhesitating nod. "Southerly," she agrees. "That sounds lovely. Come on - before anyone notices us and decides they need something from us." There's a joke in her words, and in the twisted smile she offers the greenrider, rather as though she's aiming to make it sound like the adult equivalent of an illicit midnight feast. "Madilla," Leova teases for that escapade she's invoking, lighter now, though not so much that she doesn't glance back over her shoulder: will their children notice, through solid rock? But she's up for it, a quick run to grab a few supplies, nothing beyond the essentials, not leaving her friend. After all, it's harder to imprison them both if they're together. And then it's rain, rain and more rain, and then Vrianth, and then up and away and blue. So much blue. Sky, and water, and further glimpses between the rocky promontory's trees below. Madilla's older and more matronly (already - and here she is, not even twenty-seven yet) than she was when they first took escapes like these, but her response to their arrival is the same as ever: a low sigh of contentment. Chilly spring rain may have turned chillier still as a result of the journey, but it's warmer, here, and so that's easier forgotten. "Do you remember," she wonders, "When you took me to the beach that day? After Satiet died." It's ten turns, an anniversary reached not so many months ago. "It seems like forever ago," Leova has to admit, leaning back first to hear and now to reply, one arm curled about Vrianth's neckridge for stability. It's almost as though they are on that chair, though a particularly warm and supple one, with how the green takes them down in a floating spiral that barely moves at all: soaking in the sunshine and the sea air, the most gradual of progressions down towards stone. She exhales slowly, her lungs relaxing in the warmth. "Keroon, wasn't it?" Not like here, quite, Southern yet northerly enough that it has hardly any seasons beyond that warmth and that blue. Lifting her voice against the inevitable winds, Madilla agrees: "Keroon. It does seem like forever ago. A different lifetime. No weyrmates, no children." Her hand presses flat upon the green's hide, a gesture that provides both warmth and a certain amount of gentle affection for the Vrianth herself. She's in no rush - her stance is easy, now, as she turns her head this way and that to see this spot they've ended up at. No coincidence that Vrianth turns into that hand, smooth muscle flexing and so very gradually loosening into her turn. It's picture-perfect, a grand advertisement for these lands, what with the small white-saled triangles of boats far below on the wrinkled sea and, beyond them, the blockier, more deliberate rock formations of what must be a seahold in the distance, other boats docked into the cove scarcely visible from this angle. Down on that nearest boat, as she banks, miniature figures that could be their children's toys waves upward, first one and then another, and the rangy green banks in a sinuous curve to complete the S in response. It makes Madilla smile, that turn, and so does what she sees as they fly. If she sighs again, it's only one of contentment - and perhaps it's not even loud enough to be audible to Leova, though her words are clearly intended to be. "We should do this more often. Or - I should. Perhaps you do this all the time." Though she doesn't seem to think so, somehow. Her other hand, the one not pressed against the green, lifts-- a wave of her own, marking their notice. Leova's low laugh may be familiar from those Turns-ago days, but perhaps not that same quality of ruefulness that attends the shake of her head. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Or perhaps that's Vrianth's intimation, somehow perceptible as intuition confirmed, and energy. Onward they fly, tracing the coastline as though with a wingtip before curving low over the jungle, lower than any of those larger dragons should dare, lower than even some smaller than she should. From here, the greenery is light and shadow that moves beneath their wings, great rustling waves not unlike those beyond. From here, the salt in the air gives way to the warmth of vegetation. From here it's, eventually, a coast to a landing upon the coastline, rock and sand and sun and shade and yes, steeped tea. Madilla's, "Mmm," could mean a lot of things, and it's not as though she clarifies it with anything further. Even her expression is inscrutable, though that's at least partially because she keeps turning her gaze away to seek out some other new sight. It's only once they've landed, and once she's dismounted (pausing, first, to thank Vrianth), and pulled her shoes off and started to unpack those provisions, that she says anything more. "Is everything well? Leova." The greenrider's head lifts, still-ruddy hair ruffled, and she says quickly, "Didn't mean, no, we shouldn't do this more often. Sorry." And she is, more wide-eyed than the younger woman Madilla had known her as, before she gets back to skinning out of her outer clothes and into a gauzy dress, long-sleeved against the sun but ever so light. It's only eventually that she says, "It's so every-which-way, back home. Least the cold's about gone." She doesn't look at Vrianth who, her straps already removed as Leova's first task of all, is contentedly scrubbing herself against a rather large rock. "I know," says Madilla, quietly, and with a short, sharp nod of her head that confirms what she's said. The healer has clothes of her own to peel back, and having already asked her question, doesn't seem inclined to stare, or to push, or even to be an expectantly waiting companion; it's all up to Leova, from there. When that answer comes, she turns her head back towards the greenrider, studying her over the course of several thoughtful seconds. "Ah. It's unsettling." Perhaps it ought to be a question, but there's no lift at the end: her words hang. Only for a moment. "You aren't on duty," Leova points out to her, whether she likes it or not, and turns a shoulder in favor of walking to where the water froths and then deeper, letting it run in about her ankles and catch at the hem of her dress, tugging it wetly away before it returns again. But her words float back. "Isn't it, for you?" Madilla stays where she is, bare toes digging in to the sand, though her whole upper body turns to let her watch Leova at her wading. "This is friend-Madilla, not healer-Madilla, I promise," she says, letting her words follow the greenrider. "I suppose it is. I've been... I get lost in my own life, sometimes." The greenrider's smile turns up at one corner, just one, and now she's nearly to her knees in the water. "How's that? Lost." Technically they might as well be lost, here, out in the middle of nowhere... but the sun's bright on the water, surely there's no where else they could be. "Like I can't see anything beyond it - beyond work, and Lily and Dilan, and maybe stopping for five minutes to talk to a friend before I rush off to something else." It's a prompt answer, and one that holds a faint hint of regret. Time hasn't changed Madilla's propensity for long skirts, but this one bunches at her knees and lets winter-pale legs see the sun. "The work goes on, the children go on, and on and on..." Leova sighs out a breath, into the waves, and though she retreats towards the shore it's slowly. Sand clings palely to her dampened hems, even more so to her toes. They're brown like the rest of her, though face and hands are browner yet, eyes yellower and hair darker, redder, still ruffled. "And on. I suppose you always have the Hall... didn't it affect you at all, you and Delifa and the others, when poor Giorda was booted like that? Or did you have enough supplies for a siege?" "Neverending," agrees Madilla, and though there's fondness in her tone, likely enough for her children, there's weariness too. "That did," she allows, with a shake of her head. "It bothered me. Giorda's capable enough, and... it didn't seem fair. I haven't heard anything concrete about the other things she's doing, but..." Her breath is sucked in; her head shakes. "I've been trying not to worry too much about it. Delifa would like me to get more involved in the... administration side of things, but I just can't while the children are little. Is it so bad as all that?" For all that Leova's the one who had brought up Giorda, now she says, "Not that she's the most... remarkable of women, Giorda. And when you're in charge, you get to pick who's going to be your right-hand man," woman, whatever. "Just." She shrugs, one-shouldered, and leans to poke among their supplies: tea, fruit, soft bread. "Vrianth answers to Oranyuth," more or considerably less, "and Cadejoth beyond him. So that part, it's about the same. If it weren't, well. But it is." The greenrider doesn't straighten all the way, just enough to balance on one foot, the other curled to create a footprint with dabs of her big toe alone. Slowly. "She did call me in the other day, though." It's not in Madilla's nature to be wholly critical, but after a few moment's pause even she is willing to admit, "She's no Milani, I suppose. And you're right - it's not that I begrudge Iolene her choices." Although she sounds uncertain for it, and occupies herself instead with picking up a piece of fruit and polishing it on her skirt. Her dark head nods, just once, as the greenrider remarks on wings and following and-- "She did?" There's something expectant to her tone, this time. "Should drop in on Milani again," Leova murmurs, reminded. "It's been..." she hitches a shoulder: before she got sick, anyway. The awkwardness doesn't stop her from extending her balance, though, building the second footprint now, becoming an avian's with three spread toes and a claw at each end. "Anyhow. Yeah. She had sandwiches, offered me tea. Asked this and that. The future. Her wanting to change things. The way she said it, K'del doesn't like her ideas much... and you know I wouldn't be talking about it if it weren't you, Madilla." And she's still not talking about a visit to the feeding pens. Quietly, "And you know I'll never repeat any of it, not to anyone." Madilla is still polishing the fruit in her hand, more intent upon it than it really warrants, but perhaps the distraction is giving her space for thoughts. "I'd hoped, when Ysavaeth rose, that we would have Weyrleaders in accord for once." For the first time in a long time. "But that doesn't seem so. Can she change things, if he doesn't approve?" Leova's head tilts toward Madilla even as she turns, a partial turn, balancing still... and then putting her very human foot to the sand again. She knows. "Same," she says after a moment. "Reckon she can. Could change a lot. Don't know as people would have argued particularly, even, if she learned the ropes and said, well, I want my people running the caverns. Out with the old, in with the new." She hesitates. "Wish I could say I was reassured. Though I think, I think she's trying." Madilla's swallow is a heavy one, and this time she glances up, seeking out Leova's gaze with a serious, world-weary expression. "No," she agrees. "But now... it feels as though she has simply... as though she doesn't care what our ways are, and why. That bothers me. High Reaches is my home. I care about what happens to it." Her nod is a slow one, unhappy but understanding. "I wish trying were enough. I don't know if it is, do you?" "Yes." Exactly that, and Leova's got a grateful glance for Madilla before settling down at her friend's feet, her legs curled up. "If she knew better, if she knew us, I'd feel so much better. Is it wrong..." she laughs, and then again, lighter. "It feels so wrong to say, 'She feels so young.' But K'del, he had his own ideas, still didn't seem like he wanted to toss the baby out with the bathwater." Madilla's thought, after a moment is, "She feels much younger than he did at twenty. Much younger than I felt. And K'del... he picked a mentor, didn't he? He wanted to learn. I think that's important." She's picking her words carefully, apparently determined not to sound too negative despite the context of the conversation. "I hope she'll listen, at least. It's good that she did ask you." Leova's laugh is shorter this time. "Whole lot younger." That mentor thing: her eyes narrow, not just against the sun, and she shrugs: maybe? "Reckon so, anyhow. Maybe it's just as well that Milani's off and away. Don't reckon she'd have liked it too much... I haven't brought it up." But. "It's not affecting your crew much. That's good. That's good." "No," agrees Madilla. "She wouldn't have liked it, not at all. I think it would have put K'del in an awfully awkward position, don't you?" Finally, she seems to be finished with the polishing of her apple, and takes a bite out of it, wiping juice away with her hand. "Yes. We're fine. That's important - for us, at least. I'm relieved. Delifa... if she's concerned, she's not been telling it to me. Perhaps it will all turn into nothing." And this time, Leova just reddens, not laughing but something mischievous in her eyes and in the curl of her toes. "Yes. That too. I'd... well, not forgotten, but it seems less important, now, doesn't it? With her new life." More important, somehow, than his. "How is Delifa? Her health? I've wondered." Madilla's glance lingers on Leova thoughtfully for a moment, but she's only got a nod to mark whatever thoughts she might have been considering. "I suppose so," she agrees. "Everything's changing. It's--" It makes her sound old, the way she says that, even when she cuts herself short. Of Delifa, reluctantly, and with quiet concern, "She's too young to be as old as she seems, these days. I don't know why. If she knows, she won't say it." "I don't like her keeping it from you." It's sudden, it bursts out of Leova. "It reminds me.." For the second time today, Madilla invokes, quietly, "Satiet." Her glance to Leova is measured: is that what the greenrider is reminded of, too? Leova nods, briefly. Her toes aren't curled now so much as tight. Madilla's swallow is audible, this time, and her gaze drops to the apple, the one she hasn't managed to take a second bite out of. Finally, "I hope not." Leova's is quiet, little more than an exhalation. "Me too." Then, "Is there anything else depressing we can talk about. Get it out of our systems, and all." On this blue sky, blue ocean day. Madilla only has to hesitate for a moment before she blurts out: "Dilan's father is about to get married, and he'll never know that he has a son. Not that I ever intended him to, but..." Her cheeks are pink. Leova's mouth goes round, and so do her eyes, and, "Do you want to tell him?" Only that's just the start of, "Now? Ever? Do you want him to renounce his bride and rush back to you?" For all that Madilla appears to be counting it as depressing, for Leova... maybe more like exciting. If there is one thing Madilla is sure about, it's this: "No. No. No, I'm happy for him, and it was never... it wasn't like that. But I can't tell him, now. He can't ever know, and neither can Dilan." And that, it seems, makes her sad. "Why... not?" Leova has to know. "Because..." Madilla swallows. "It would make things very complicated indeed." "Would you..." Leova hesitates. "Do something? That you shouldn't. If." A low breath; a pause. "No," says Madilla, finally. "In any case, none of it matters. I'm unlikely to see him again, and he's unlikely to ever see Dilan to guess. Neither of my children have fathers, and they're both perfectly well adjusted. It's fine." "And he didn't... hurt you," Leova presses. "No!" Madilla is determined to make that much clear; her eyes go wide enough to suggest that the very idea of it bothers her. "No, no. It was nothing like that. It was one night, and that was all it ever intended to be, and now he's happy, and I'm happy for him. It's better for everyone, if he never knows." "Oh." And this is Leova relieved, and Leova not asking, even if she is leaning forward now, except, except, "Was he good?" The Madilla of now is a rather different Madilla to the one of thirteen-odd turns ago... but she still blushes furiously, both embarrassed and amused, if her expression can be properly deconstructed. "It was... nice," she says, eventually, carefully. "I'm sure his new wife will be well-pleased." "I suppose that's reassuring." Leova flattens out from her curl to her stomach, puts up her heels and rubs them together, lets grains of sand rain down onto the backs of her knees. "I'd miss Anvori awfully. Still." Madilla finally takes another bite from her apple, chewing and swallowing before she answers. "That's because you love him," she says, simply - and without so much as a hint of longing, rather as though she has given up on dreams of having her own partner to come home to. "Can we talk about cheerful things now?" "But," Leova stops there, sliding a guilty look towards her friend. "Please." Her toes flick against each other. "You first?" Madilla is determined: determined to put the depressing things behind her, and determined too to turn this escape into something more pleasant. Even so, it takes her a few moments before she can launch into a story about dreamy, imaginative Lilabet-- one that will hopefully begin shifting the mood for the rest of the morning. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Fri, 27 Jul 2012 16:43:28 GMT.
DRAMA O.O
Seriously, I like seeing the characters with history discuss things. It brings perspective.
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 27 Jul 2012 18:09:49 GMT.
*eyes Madilla* ... *eyes Dilan* ... *SUSPECTS*
But yeah, watching these two characters is amazing. Referencing all the history they've ICly lived through... like Brieli says, it brings perspective.
Madilla (K'del) left a comment on Fri, 27 Jul 2012 23:25:53 GMT.
*flails*
No suspecting! It's a SECRET. A very... blonde secret. Shh.
I really love getting to play these characters together. They've known each other for nearly 13 years, and it's really refreshing somehow. All that shared history.
(And man, such enormous changes from the newly graduated greenrider and wholly intimidated junior apprentice. Which is awesome.)
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