Logs:Between Kills
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| RL Date: 14 June, 2011 |
| Who: Madilla, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene has a few questions now that the infirmary isn't over-extended. She makes Madilla cry. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jaques/Mentions |
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| After weeks of hectic busyness, the Infirmary has quietened down, with most (though not all) of the exiles having departed, in one way or another. Early evening, dinner having just been cleared for those still in residence, finds Madilla lingering about the admissions desk, clearly on duty - but not, for the moment, terribly busy. Instead, she's quilting, sewing together patches of fabric with a lazy concentration that has her glancing up every so often to survey the room, missing little. Iolene's approach to the infirmary halts just within the entreeway from the inner caverns, her bare feet hesitating on the threshold. She does this odd little dance as she makes one step into the room and then abruptly returns it before doing it all over again. Indecision writes all over her features from the shift of her eyes to the nervous pull of her lip corners. Finally, finding courage somehow in watching Madilla quilting at the admissions desk, rather than being all healery, or worse, friendly, the once-exile crosses both her feet over the entrance. "Hi," she begins. It's possible that Madilla is studiously avoiding looking at Iolene - that she's aware of her presence at the doorway, but is trying not to pressure her. It's certainly true that when Iolene finally speaks, the healer glances up without surprise, setting down her needle so that she can give the younger girl her full attention. Cheerfully, with a smile, she says, "Hello there. Can I help you with anything?" There's something in the cheerful smile that elicits the smallest cringe out of Iolene, and it doesn't really go away all the way, just gets tucked behind a more determined look. "I-," the voice, once so velvet and smooth, cracks with both hesitation and recovered-illness. She tries again, this time a hand dropping to the table, as if it might help her steady her vocal chords. "I had a question if you had the time, ma'am." "Madilla," says the healer, toning down that smile though it remains determinedly in place. She picks her sewing back up, though only, it seems, to secure the needle safely through the fabric; it gets set down again after that, as, her gaze squarely set on Iolene, "I've plenty of time, I promise. What's the question? If I can answer it, I promise I will." Standing, Iolene shifts from foot to foot. Her second hand finds the table to splay her thin fingers across, the tips of them drumming a silent piano; as if playing the piano. "Really? It won't be a bother at all?" The dark blue eyes shift to the rest of the infirmary, as if some magically traumatic case might pop up and steal Madilla from her. Maybe, there's even a glint of hope in those eyes that something will come up where she doesn't have to talk to this Other. Silence, for a moment, as Madilla considers the islander. /Her/ gaze doesn't shift; /her/ attention remains focused. "You have my full attention," she assures her, then, her brows raising lightly though her expression holds nothing but that same warmth otherwise. The infirmary remains unhelpfully distracting, with not so much as a cough to stir the healer's attention away. "What is it?" A little sigh escapes from Iolene's parted lips, her body shifting to lean heavily on those fingers that then fall to rest upon her palms. "When Evie- When Evie lost her baby, Jaques said something about being told about between." A teenager's face should probably never look as careworn and old past the facade of youth, as Iolene's does at this moment. First, looking for confirmation, her gaze lifts from where her fingers and palms lie, to find Madilla again, "It's where we were between the island and here, isn't it? Between?" A haunted look appears in Madilla's eyes at mention of Evie and the baby. She wasn't the healer involved in that situation, but she clearly knows exactly what Iolene's talking about. It takes her a moment to respond, a deep breath sucked into her lungs and held for a few seconds before she can draw her thoughts into words. "Yes," she says, finally. "That's right. The nothingness - the cold. It lasts for a few seconds, and then you're somewhere else." "It's cold," Iolene's voice confirms by repetition, a wonderment hinting in her words. "It really is, but it doesn't really feel cold like the winter outside or the coldest day out on the island. It's-, it's a more empty feeling I think." But enough with ruminations, a slight, abrupt shake of her head refocusing her attention onto Madilla. "What- what did between have to do with anything? Jaques said that he was told he should've know about between." Which isn't entirely true, but in this game of telephone, verbatim doesn't always happen. "It's not an easy thing to describe," admits Madilla. "Or to feel comfortable with." But Iolene's question has distracted her from that, and stiffened her shoulders; her expression is stiff, hinting at pain that she's trying very hard not to actually express. "Sometimes, Between is too-- hard on an unborn child. Particularly very early and very late in the pregnancy. It's the shock, I think. It makes a lot of women miscarry. I suppose, in everything... no one realised." Iolene takes note of Madilla's changes in demeanor, from her body to her face and then, ultimately, her words. One of those hands lift from the table, leaving a damp palm print in its place, and reaches across the table to try and pet the other woman's shoulder. But the hand never makes it as the islander realizes just what she's doing and snatches her hand back. "I'm sorry. I forgot... you're not-, you're not one of us. It was presumptuous of me. If this is too hard for you to speak of I can ask another healer." A flush spreads over Madilla's cheeks and she looks heartily embarrassed, ducking her eyes from Iolene's gaze. "No, no," she murmurs, followed by, in a stronger voice, "No, it's fine. I'm sorry; I get really emotional about these things. That poor woman." She tries to glance upwards again, after that, though her expression remains awkward and at least partly guarded. "It wasn't presumptuous. It's-- you don't have to think of ourselves as separate, you know. If you do forget." And there. Right there. What Madilla says melts Iolene's demeanor further and the teenager's own tender heart doesn't stop her hand from reaching out this time. Nor does it stop her from rounding about the desk to drop to a crouch at the healer's side. Looking up, with her hand on the quilt in Madilla's lap and presumably the knee below, she begins, "It's ok to be emotional, isn't it? It's what makes you," a one-shouldered shrug syncopates her words, "You." She confesses in a low, wry tone, "I cry a lot too. Mostly when people aren't looking." Flush aside, Madilla seems genuinely touched by that move of Iolene's, and presses one of her hands atop the girl's: a gentle squeeze. "Yes," she agrees, quietly. And, more firmly: "Yes. Exactly. You have to be willing to feel things; otherwise, what is there? Even when it's hard." Her mouth curves into a rueful little smile as she admits, "I try and cry less than I do, but I can't seem to help it. My masters always said I felt too much." For the moment, Iolene forgets about her own concerns and her own determined reason for crossing the threshold of death. "It must be even harder for you, in the position you are. Being a healer never seemed easy on the island and there weren't as many of us. When you tend to-," her free hand waves about the entirety of the Weyr, "It must be much harder. I'm sorry." The sudden apology precedes a flood of words that stumble over each other, even as Iolene looks earnestly up at Madilla. "I came in here expecting to hate you for everything that's happened. I wanted to cause you're supposed to help us. You're healers. Healers heal, right? I- but it's not your fault Evie's baby died and my grandfather died and Jaques has lost everything and we've lost so much. I'm sorry, I came in here to blame you for everything. I mean, you all. Not just you, but... you." Madilla can't seem to help herself: as Iolene talks on and on, a tear slides out of one eye and down her nose. She looks heartily embarrassed for it, and lifts her other hand to wipe at her eyes, ineffectively. "Oh-- no. It's hard for us, but I can't even begin to imagine how it must be for all of you. I'm so sorry. I wish we could have done more. There's-- it hurts. To know that we've failed so many of you." Flushed now as well, Iolene's words halt in an embarrassed silence into which Madilla speaks. "There was no one else to blame," says the girl finally, quieter now that the flood of words and blame have receded. A weak smile emerges on her lips. "I'm not usually allowed to talk so much. You haven't failed us. Well, I don't think you've failed us. You're a lot... more genuine than I thought you might be. Real. Grans always said that you can always take the measure of someone not by what they say but how they say it. I- I won't bother you anymore. Thank you for your answers, ma'am." "I understand," says Madilla, genuinely, letting her gaze fall to Iolene's squarely. "I'm-- glad." She draws her hand away, then, letting it drop towards the quilt itself, fingers smoothly lightly across it. "It's not a bother; truly. If you ever ne-- well." Her interrupted trains of thoughts end in a final, hurried, "You're welcome, honestly. I'm always happy to answer." There's a flicker of gratitude in Iolene's too-thin face. "You'll probably regret that offer when I take you up on that." But the weak smile strengthens for the pseudo-joke she cracks. "But I hope I never have to come in here again. No offense," she's hasty to add. Who knows if these mainlanders understand the same kind of humor. They could all be just like Raum. "I just needed to know." About between. About Evie. About these people who cared for her grandfather. It could be a toss up of a myriad of things. "Thank you." She rises slowly, one last reassuring squeeze for Madilla's knee, and turns, but just as she's about to cross that threshold back into the world of the living again, she pauses, pivoting at the waist to offer, "I'm Iolene, by the way." No offense taken, clearly, from Madilla's expression, but she answers in a mock-grave tone anyway, schooling her smile away: "I hope you're never in here again, either." She can't keep herself from smiling again, though, lips twitching until it finally blooms into something warmer and brighter again. "It was nice to meet you, Iolene. You're welcome. Have a nice evening." |
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