Logs:Friends? Really?
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 4 July, 2009 |
| Who: B'tal, Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla and B'tal make friends. Then W'chek joins them. Then B'tal leaves, and Madilla and W'chek talk some more. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 2, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Z'yi/Mentions |
| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. The day almost got warm, comparatively, but melting snow doesn't really make B'tal want to be outside anymore than frozen snow does. That and it's dark. Oh, and he's been hanging out in the Snowasis in the evenings lately anyway. Tonight he has a mug of beer and some hides that are in front of him but not drawing too much of his attention. The surface of the table at the booth where he's tucked away has most of that. Madilla's not a frequent visitor to the Snowasis, not that anyone would really probably expect her to be, but for whatever reason, tonight is one of those nights when she does wander in, a cloth bag slung from one arm, a book clutched between arm and body. She looks... distinctly out of place. Nonetheless, as her gaze sweeps over the room and B'tal gets noted amidst it, a new determination can be visible in her steps, as she heads directly towards him. With a smile, earnest and somehow very deliberate, she says, as she approaches, "Good evening, B'tal. Do you mind company?" It's the voice that draws his attention up from the surface of the table and B'tal stares at Madilla for a moment while his brain processes her presence. It doesn't even have anything to do with the beer since the mug looks largely untouched. "Uh," he says, then sits up a little and gestures to the other side of the table. "No. Of course not. Uh, please." It's ungracefully polite. Jeibeth's still working on that. The moment is long enough for Madilla to look, just briefly, like perhaps she's decided this was a bad idea after all, but B'tal's recovery seems to soothe her, and she nods, smile resuming a warmer setting. "I didn't want to interrupt anything, but..." She seats herself, placing her book and bag on the seat next to her, then tilts her head to the side, glancing back at the weyrling. "You did look very intent. So I thought it might be a bad idea, but... but I'd wanted to come and say hello again. For a while. So." B'tal watches Madilla as she sits and situates herself. He pushes the hides he wasn't paying attention to off to the side and draws his mug closer in front of him. "You're not interrupting anything," he offers a small smile that's probably supposed to be reassuring but might just end up looking a little uncomfortable. "I was just thinking is all. Do that too much anyway." He takes a sip of his beer. "For a while?" Madilla, with her babbling? Looks a little uncomfortable too. Not uncomfortable enough, however, not to flip open her book and place it on the table, and then dig out some fabric scraps and a needle, and begin work. "Good," she tells him, sounding only slightly relieved. "I can always sit here and work, if you want to go back to the thinking. If you want. I know what you mean about thinking too much." There's a pause, and then, awkwardly, "I felt bad. That... that time, before my exams? I got awkward on you. And I'm sorry, because I think you're a nice boy, and... I'd rather be friends, than not." B'tal glances at the book and scraps of fabric, his beer, then his eyes come back up when Madilla uses one word in particular. "Friends? Really?" he sounds almost hopeful for a brief moment, then falls back into reality when that moment is over. Stupid reality. "You're nice. I'm not-- I don't think everyone thinks I am." Thoughtful again, but he tries not to linger in that state. "Shouldn't have felt bad. I was, too. Awkward." Still is, apparently. The hopeful is enough to make Madilla's smile blossom, and stay that way, throughout the rest of what he has to say. "Friends. Of course! My Journeywoman is always saying that I need more friends my age, and W'chek--" She pauses. Then, more carefully, "I don't think he thinks it's a terrible idea. But you are nice. And it would be nice. Having more friends." Throughout this, she sews, though the book doesn't get so much as another glance. Finally, "I don't like feeling awkward. It's uncomfortable. I wish I wasn't. It's just difficult sometimes." "You talk about me? You and W'chek?" B'tal asks, sounding a little bit uncertain that, like maybe he's not comprehending her words properly. "I don't think he'd really like it," he decides, glancing down at the table again. "But having friends would be nice. I don't really... know if I have any." It might be an odd thing to say, but he doesn't seem to know how else to put it. "You'll get better. I think I'm better. A little. Just be yourself." "Sure?" agrees Madilla, sounding slightly uncertain. "Just a little. I thought... I thought you two should be friends. Because you seemed nice, and I know he needs friends, and if you do, too..." It's terribly babbly, not all that like the healer, generally. "Well. Anyway. You have me, now." That's more certain, made with a warm smile as she glances up from her work again. They're sitting in a booth, talking while she sews. "I'm trying. It's difficult, when who I am isn't something that most people seem to really appreciate." "We get along all right," B'tal admits. "Better than others. I mean, we're doing the thing together." Which is probably more vague than he means to be, but he doesn't notice. "But I have you now," he echoes and a smile dimples his cheeks for a moment. "If you don't mind me asking too much- Who are you?" There's a certain sympathetic quality to the way he says that. He understands it. In his own way. "I really appreciate who you are," assures W'chek, there just in time to catch only that tail end, recognizing that voice out of all the voices there, not recognizing right until he gets to the table who she's sitting with. "Ah--B'tal. Wingleader," after the latter's reply. "You two are talking. Terrific. That's just... terrific." Did he mention it was terrific? At least he's managed not to look in danger of imminent aneurysm. He's getting better at this. "The thi-- Oh, Wingleader and Wingsecond." Madilla recognises this just in time for W'chek to confirm it with his arrival; she blushes warmly at what he says before that, though it's a somewhat belated recognition of it all. "Join us? Yes, we're talking." She turns her head from W'chek back to B'tal, so that she can say to him, a little embarrassed, "I'm Madilla. I'm seventeen, I'm a senior apprentice healer. I blush at everything, I like studying, and quilting, and... " She frowns, trailing off, apparently unable to distill herself much further. B'tal blinks and turns his head to look at W'chek when he appears. He looks a little uncomfortable with the presence of the bronze weyrling. Here. While he's talking to Madilla. But the greenrider decides to give him a weak smile and murmurs a, "Hey. Whit." He scoots a little ways over on his side of the booth and returns his gaze to the apprentice. His voice is careful when he continues, like he's thinking before he says his words, "I think you sound great. I can't think of anyone that wouldn't appreciate any of that. And you're nice. Don't forget that." The interloper slides in next to Madilla, then. Grinning easily enough. "Me," W'chek suggests. "You like me. Don't you? I'll be terribly disappointed if you don't. And you like--" Pause. Okay. He's known her this long, he should be able to come up with some things. "The smell of lavender. And children. Er, in general, not just the smell of them, that would be kind of creepy." A beam at B'tal, all proud. "I'm just... not into drinking and partying and kissing lots of boys, is all," explains Madilla, though she's looking - and sounding - frightfully pleased at what B'tal has to say, not to mention W'chek. Also, embarrassed, but that's hardly unusual. "Of course, you," she adds to W'chek. "And-- all of those things, yes. Of course. What about you, B'tal? I know you like fixing things, like that clock of Milani's. And... Jeibeth, of course." "I'm not really into drinking," thus his mostly untouched beer, "And partying. But I don't think I'd mind kissing lots of boys." B'tal pointedly does not look in W'chek's direction and he even looks a little wistful. He doesn't blush, at least. "I like fixing things. And Jeibeth. And Z'yi." Here he does glance briefly at the bronzerider, just a casual inclusion, then back to Madilla. "I also like studying and learning. I don't really like this wingleader business, though. Not really cut out for it. What about you, Whit? Who are you?" Too long a pause before W'chek answers that question, to long that deer-in-headlights 'um' look, but he manages something, at least. Very decidedly not looking at B'tal, which means he gets to look at Madilla instead, summoning up a fond smile. "Well, I like Zhikath. And Madilla." And--no, not going to say that. "I like getting up early." And--no. "I like morning exercises, especially the laps, although I don't like it as much when the weather's awful." And--still no. "And--" Yes? "Um. My family, I guess. I don't know if like's the right word. They're important to me. And... doing the right thing." Irony alert. Though Madilla blushes at what B'tal has to say, what with the whole kissing boys, and Z'yi, and the rest, she doesn't look away, doesn't /seem/ like she's horrified or anything. "I don't think I'd like the wingleader business, either," she notes. "So I can understand that. I just want to be good at my job, and that doesn't mean needing to be... a leader. Important." She dutifully turns her attention towards W'chek for his answer, expression as warm as ever, needle still working dutifully through the patch she's working on. "I didn't know you liked laps." B'tal snorts out a sound before he can stop himself. But he realizes it immediately and coughs instead in an attempt to cover it up. "Sorry," he says, lifting a hand to cover his mouth and turn away to cough more properly. Goodness. "You'll be good at your job," to Madilla when he recovers, then to W'chek, "Weren't you complaining about laps the other day?" Maybe that was someone else. B'tal looks thoughtful and takes a very small sip of his beer. "I," W'chek says pointedly, almost proudly, "have been getting up to run every morning the weather wasn't abysmal since I was thirteen. Not so keen on having to do it even when the weather *is* abysmal, but that's a problem with the weather, not the running." He drums his fingers idly on the table. "I don't think I'm minding being wingsecond as much as I thought I would, except--well, not important, anyway." He shakes his head. "I'll be glad when it's all done with, anyway." Eyes wide, Madilla turns to frown at B'tal as he snorts and then coughs - but it's mostly concern; she doesn't seem to suspect anything else. "Are you all right? Do you need some water or something?" She adds, then, "I hope so. I like my work. I like being able to make people feel better." W'chek's almost pride makes her smile again, more firmly; utterly fond. "When does your month end? And who is wingleader next, do you know?" "I'm fine," B'tal reassures. "Just a tickle in my throat. Sorry." A pause. "I'll be glad when it's all done, too. Or at -least- when we have our own weyrs. We have about a seven left for us, I think, then it's Iabri's turn," he answers, trying not to watch them smile at each other. "Whit gets to be 'leader with Z'yi." There is a small hint of jealousy in his voice but he's not looking at the bronzerider. That gets a grimace. "Z'yi. Yes," says W'chek, a factual agreement if not an emotional agreement. "Who isn't going to listen to a word I say, which is going to make that month just a barrel of laughs. At which point we should all be flying *with* our dragons, too, so it only gets better--" But Madilla is sitting right there, and so W'chek swallows the rest of that. "Well. Anyway. Be glad when this month is over to give it up to someone else, even if I do have to deal with it again the next month." "Seems like you're all looking forward to your own weyrs," says Madilla, not /quite/ as though she's envious, and yet... "You'll get to try being Wingleader, too? I'm sure... if you work hard. And be nice. Maybe it won't be so bad? Z'yi doesn't seem /too/ bad, though I haven't spoken to him much." She shifts the patch of cloth she's working on, examining it, and then adds, "Being wingleader later means you'll actually get to /do/ things, right? Lead drills properly, or whatever it is you do?" B'tal smiles a little bit as he listens to Madilla. "She's right," he says, presumably to W'chek. "Isz isn't so bad and you'll actually get to -do- stuff. And weyrs! It will be nice. I wonder who decides who gets what weyr. If it's the Weyrwoman at all, maybe I can ask really nicely for a nice one. Or Milani. I think I about have her clock ready. Need to make sure it's holding time the way it should." Babbling. Make it stop. "Not too picky about a nice one, personally, just as long as it doesn't have anybody else living in it." And the moment that's out of W'chek's mouth, he does have a sheepish look for Madilla. "I mean, not another weyrling. Anyway. I guess we should be doing air drills by then? I don't know. I wish it weren't me, but I guess there's no helping it. We'll manage it somehow." Go, optimism! "You get along with the Weyrwoman well enough that she wouldn't yell at you for being nice?" Madilla sounds-- not /awed/, but still, not that far off. "Milani, though, she's lovely. I'm sure she would give nice people nice weyrs." W'chek's comment, and the look that follows, just makes her duck her head, half amused, half embarrassed, but either way, not upset. "You'll be brilliant. I'm sure of it." B'tal lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, looking more awkward now than he has yet tonight. "I don't know if I'd say that. But she doesn't yell at me very much, at least. "She doesn't seem so bad as some make her out to be. I mean. A lot of people don't like Whit all that much either, but I like him just fine. And you do, too." Maybe that just says something about B'tal's judgment. He takes another sip of his beer. A small one. Then glances at W'chek and pushes the mug toward him slightly. "Do you want this? I don't think I like it." "You're always sure," W'chek says gently to Madilla, smiling, "and that's why I like you, even if I'm not nearly so confident. It's good to have someone who believes that." And B'tal--yeah. W'chek gives him a sharp look, but takes the mug. "No point in letting it go to waste. Not sure what I think about Tiriana, anymore. She's impulsive. "You're always sure," W'chek says gently to Madilla, smiling, "and that's why I like you, even if I'm not nearly so confident. It's good to have someone who believes that." And B'tal--yeah. W'chek gives him a sharp look, but takes the mug. "No point in letting it go to waste. Not sure what I think about Tiriana, anymore. She's impulsive. But I think she could be managed, if someone made some attempt to manage her. Doubt it'll happen anytime soon, though." "I think she still thinks I deliberately let Satiet die," murmurs Madilla, sounding uncomfortable with the idea, not to mention unhappy. "Which isn't true. I avoid her, now, when I can. I'm only an apprentice - beneath her notice, anyway." She has a slow nod for the rest of what B'tal has to say, then adds, her smile returning, if a little less warmly than it was before, to W'chek, "Of course I'm sure. I know you." "She's not a runner," B'tal says to the bronzerider, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You can't just... manage people." But he offers a small smile to Madilla, then glances down at the table as though he's lost his confidence in the conversation. A hand moves to pick up the hidework and he starts sliding toward the edge of the booth. "I think I'll give you two some alone time," he says as graciously as possible and rises, offering them both a small smile without quite looking at either. "People manage people all the time. That's what leadership is," W'chek points out. "Management. I don't mean she ought to be *beaten*, for Faranth's sake." But he raises the mug in B'tal's direction, and maybe a little hesitantly, says, "You don't have to go. But if you like--I'll see you later. Hm?" Vague quirk of the brows, like a question. At the same time, a hand goes out to rest on Madilla's shoulder. "You shouldn't have to worry about her. What does she know about being a healer?" Madilla is silent, awkward, as W'chek and B'tal exchange words on Tiriana, keeping deliberately out of the conversation. "It was lovely to talk to you again, B'tal," she tells the greenrider, earnestly. "We'll have to do it again." Friends, remember? She turns her gaze back towards W'chek as that hand rests upon her shoulder, and smiles at him, head shaking. "It's never quite that simple. No one likes to trust healers, when something has gone wrong. I feel sorry for her." B'tal smiles more directly to Madilla, expression softening, but it tenses somewhat when he looks at W'chek. The other weyrling gets a small nod and then B'tal is turning to leave toward the caverns. "Well, that was--" W'chek watches after B'tal, the mug still in his hand, and then he finally drinks from it. "Nice." Right. Eyes the beer. "You don't--mind, do you? If I have this? I'm not going to take anything stronger, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Get a little sick of all the klah, even if it is frozen out." "It /was/ nice," insists Madilla, warmly, smiling fondly after the departing greenrider. "He is nice. Mind?" It's that that turns her attention back towards W'chek, then, she shakes her head. "Of course not. Do - drink it. It's better than just wasting it, and... I don't think there's anything wrong with a /little/ alcohol." W'chek does drink, then, which gives him a moment to get a little better collected. Not that he needs to get himself collected. Obviously. "Wish he were a little less... obsessed with Z'yi. I mean, bad enough, being--" Hand wave. "You know. But Z'yi? Obnoxious prat. Can't believe that of all people, I'm going to be stuck with him. If it weren't for that, maybe things could go okay. With someone who didn't already hate my guts." Madilla sounds a little uncertain, aware as she is that she doesn't actually know much about this, but says, "I suppose people can't help who they-- feel for. And if it's unrequited... That has to be difficult." Pressing her lips together, as she folds up her sewing and sets it down, she adds, "I'm sure you'll manage, regardless. If you both want to do well, then you'll want to work things out, right?" "I think," W'chek says thoughtfully, "that Z'yi and I may have very different ideas of what 'well' constitutes. Guess we'll see. If he talks to me at all. We tend to... just sort of keep separate. Which is fine by me, as things are." He looks at the mug, takes another drink, sets it down on the table. "Anyway. It's just a... self-control thing," he says, although it's pretty clear his heart's not in it. There's visible concern in Madilla's gaze, for this concept of W'chek and Z'yi keeping apart, not talking to each other, leading in such a fashion. But she doesn't voice it, instead pushing a smile back onto her face, and nodding. "I suppose so." It's neither here nor there, this agreement, vague somehow. That leaves things to lapse into silence as W'chek drinks and tries to dredge up something else to say. And in the end, the easiest thing to do is to take the conversation back somewhere else entirely. "So. This quilt. How is that coming? I've been terribly curious. I know those sorts of things can go quite slowly sometimes, but is it coming along as well as you'd hoped?" During the silence, Madilla doesn't seem outright uncomfortable, but she doesn't go back to her sewing, either, or to the book that sits, untouched, beside her. "The quilt? Oh - it is, yes." After those initial words, she begins to sound far more enthusiastic. "I've got a lot of patches done, but there's still a lot of work to be done, and I only have so much time to work on it. It's coming together beautifully, though. I think you're going to like it a lot. I'm enjoying working on it, at least." Ah, here we are. Back where things ought to be. W'chek relaxes, even smiles, now. Genuinely. "I'm glad to hear it. It should be a long-term project, really... you don't want that sort of thing to get done too quickly. It's the time that makes it meaningful. If you could make it in an afternoon, it would still be lovely, but it wouldn't mean nearly as much." "That's true," agrees Madilla, fervently. "Truly special things take time. Effort. 'Sweat blood and tears'," and she's quoting, there, rather than using her own words. "So I won't rush, trying to get the quilt done instantly. But I hope it won't take /too/ long, nonetheless. I do like the idea of you having it, when you have your weyr." "Well, yes," W'chek admits, looking down at the table briefly but the corners of his mouth still turned up. "That'd be nice. Just--do the best you can. That's the important part. I want this to last." He pauses, looks from the mug on the table to her, suggests, "You know. To be able to show it to--our grandchildren. That sort of thing." 'Grandchildren'. That brings a blossoming smile to Madilla's face; once gain, she nods, eagerly. "I'll do my best," she promises. "To have it done, and to do it well. It's... nice to have a project to work on. Something to work towards, that isn't just... study." The scrap of fabric she was working on gets glanced at, and then, with a rueful smile, she notes, "I should get back. I've things to do, before bed." And that smile, that makes it all worth it, absolutely. W'chek nods to her, though, reaches over to touch her hand for just a moment. "It is nice. Yes, the time--well. It was lovely to talk to you, Madilla. And I'm glad you and B'tal are making friends." He even manages to sound genuine about that. "Have a good evening." Her other hand reaches over to rest on top of his, just for a moment. "B'tal seemed... very pleased, when I suggested we be friends. I'm glad." But even as she says that, she's drawing away, taking with her her bag of sewing supplies and her book. "Good night, W'chek. You, too." And then she's gone. |
Leave A Comment