Logs:Different Dinner Company
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| RL Date: 11 May, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, Isziyo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla's hoping for Whitchek's company at dinner. She gets Isziyo, instead. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: W'chek/Mentions |
| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed. The caverns are beginning to fill pretty steadily, as the weyr's inhabitants - at least those who keep regular hours - make their way in for dinner. Madilla must have arrived earlier than most, because she's already settled in at one of the tables which still has a couple of seats free. Between careful bites of her meal, she lifts her head to scan the room, as though she's looking for someone. Done with the buffet line at long last, Isziyo takes his two plates - yes, that's right, two plates - heaping over with food towards the nearest free table. The nearest free seat at said free-spotted table happens to be next to Madilla, and the looming stablehand-turned-candidate pauses politely a step off. "Mind if I join you?" he questions, nodding with his chin towards the empty seat. Madilla, in the midst of the eating segment of her cycle of eat-and-look-around, darts her head up in an instant as she's addressed. Isziyo is - no surprises there - not the person she's been looking for, and it shows in her expression for a moment, just the faintest sign of disappointment. But she smiles, indicating the seat with her free hand: "Of course, please do." Isziyo holds back, however, with an easy smile for the youngster. "If you're expecting someone, I can sit further down," he offers, tone quiet and polite; his gaze tracks down the table, scanning for the next free seat. Madilla shakes her head, hurriedly, cheeks turning quietly pink. "No, no, it was more of a - just in case? It's quite all right, really. Sit." Her expression is encouraging, at least: genuine. She adds, as she forks a piece of pastry and meat, "Please." "Well, if you'll tell me who I'm looking for, I'll keep an eye out as well," Isziyo gently states, "And I can be just keeping his-- or her-- seat warm." He settles down with all the careful, deliberate motions of a man of his size, the two overlapping plates settled down first, his oversized mug of cider following. "Wouldn't be the first time," he states placidly, though the gleam in his eye as he considers the food in front of him is anything but restrained. /That/ only serves to make the young healer's blush more pronounced. "Whitchek," she says, after a glance at Isziyo's knot, marking it with a nod in that direction. Another candidate, then, if they've not met. "But it really is-- we just eat together, sometimes. Not always, and we don't have to." She eats the dainty amount of food on her fork once she's said this, lowering her gaze away from her new dinner companion. Isziyo chokes on his first bite of food. Ahem. Madilla's expression instantly turns alarmed: "Are-- are you all right?" She draws herself to her feet, ready to leap in and, no doubt, smack him on the back if that proves necessary. "Whitchek?" he manages after hacking up a lung. "Mister I-hope-all-of-you-weyrfolk-people-die-and-rot-for-the-next-hundred-turns Whitchek?" His voice, marked with the drawling vowels of a High Reaches native, is a bit strained. He's still getting over inhaling a piece of bread. Really. He waves her concerns over his health aside with a gesture of the fork in his hand. Madilla waits, until she's /absolutely/ sure he's not going to expire in front of her, before sitting back down again, a little awkwardly. "Um," she says, of his question. "I-- I suppose there's probably not another Whitchek, so that must be him? It does sound a /little/ like... I don't think he'd really mean that, though." "He told me he didn't care that my mother died," Isz flatly states to the girl. Gentle-giant, retiring from conversation Isziyo gets all worked up over Whitchek, apparently. "And apparently he thinks that if you're not related to the entire area that you live at," and here he may mutter something about incestuous country bumpkins, "--you cannot possibly understand family." See the nostrils flare? Isziyo shuts himself up by shoveling a large mouthful of food into his mouth. Cue stolid chewing, which makes a scowl impossible. The flush slowly, albeit deliberately, disappears from Madilla's face, leaving behind pale cheeks and an expression set with confusion and discomfort, big eyes trained on Isziyo's face. As the tall candidate begins to chew, she takes a deep breath, and says, finally, in a low, gentle voice, "He comes from a very different kind of life. Like I did. It's-- a very difficult adjustment." In her loyal brain, no doubt this makes up for everything. Lucky Whitchek. Isziyo continues to chew. When there is no food left to chew, he refills. Chew. Chew. Chew. There's a ponderance to his method of eating, like a draft runner with tough hay; he notably doesn't make a sound or even glance towards Madilla, though his silence isn't awkward or even particularly deliberate. Madilla's silence, though? Hers is awkward. It takes her quite some time of watching Isziyo before she seems to gather that she's not going to get a response, and then, with a little exhale, she turns back to her own food, and eats it, instead, keeping her head lowered firmly over it. Silence it is, then. Isziyo eventually forgets. He has the memory of a goldfish. Washing a bite down with cider, he leans back, his plates halfway cleared, and seems to finally relax back against his chair. "So, who are you, again?" he questions towards the girl, tilting an eyebrow upwards. "I'm Isziyo-- call me Isz." His expression is amiable enough, considering the previous statements flying between them. Madilla exhales again; this one is something like a sigh of relief. Her smile is warm, though, and her gaze, as she lifts it back towards the candidate, is equally so. "Madilla," she introduces herself as. "Senior Apprentice Healer. And-- Isziyo? Isz. It's a pleasure to meet you." Most of her food is gone, now, and with the resumption of conversation, her shoulders lose some of their tension. "Madilla," he pronounces her name carefully, as if the word is a delicate egg in dire danger of being broken; "Well-met, Madilla." He nods, once, to his seatmate, and sops up an errant puddle of gravy with a half of a roll. "Been at the weyr long?" Okay, now he's /making an effort/ at conversation. Whitchek's earlier provoking of him must have lubricated the dry parts of his brain that are responsible for conversing with other people-- this is more talking than he's done in turns, except to his close friends. Madilla relaxes into the conversation, as she cuts into pieces the last of her pie, though, for the moment, she refrains from actually eating it. Her smile remains warm as she says, "A little over two turns, now. And a turn and a half at the healer hall before then. You-- you're weyrbred, I assume. And a candidate. Congratulations. Will it be your first time on the sands?" "Yup," Isziyo confirms. "Twenty-four shardi--" his voice chokes on the word, "Ah, I mean, twenty four turns old, and never once has a dragon even looked sideways at me," he all-but-rambles. Making up for an earlier bad impression? Just maybe that explains it. "And then Emilly tracks me down as she did..." his voice trails off. The language doesn't make Madilla flinch, which is something, though the soft-spoken healer does look pleased for the correction, a smile curving about her expression. "How strange," is her remark. She lifts her forkful of food towards her mouth, before adding, "I wonder what changed. But. It must be exciting? And to have a dragon..." Isziyo mutters something about a haircut. What? Weirder things have been known to happen. "N'thei doesn't seem to think I have much chance," the young man quietly, introspectively states, before focusing solely onto his food. Madilla looks confused for the mutter, or what she catches of it, but laughs at mention of the former Weyrleader. "I don't think N'thei likes many people, from what I've seen," she tells - reminds? - him, soothingly. She chews and swallows another mouthful, and then adds, "And no one knows, right? Not until the eggs hatch. So you'll just have to see." Isziyo nods, silently, working diligently on cleaning his plate. The silence he lapses into is nearly companionable, and the clinking of silverware against his plate is the only sound from his side of the table. Clink clink clink. Madilla seems to be more comfortable with this silence - at least, she's smiling, and not staring, or looking awkward or anything. She ends it herself, this time, after eating the last few bites of her meal, to conclude, "I should get to my books. But - it was nice to meet you, Isziyo. And good luck, okay?" Isziyo pauses in his eating, mouth still full, to offer a close-lipped smile to Madilla, looking all for the world like a very cheeky - literally - chipmunk. He waves a fork, and after washing his current mouthful down with a long dredge of cider, comments, "It was very nice to talk to you, miss Madilla. Thank you," he offers, "And have a good night." Polite! He really is polite. Except when it comes to Whitchek. Madilla doesn't rush her departure, although her dishes are gathered together well and truly before Isziyo responds to her words. She gives him one last smile, nodding her head rapildy. "And you, too, Isziyo. You were a lovely dinner companion, thank you." Then, taking her dishes with her, she hurries back across the caverns. |
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