Logs:I Deserve To Be Exhausted
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| RL Date: 15 March, 2010 |
| Who: Madilla, Saliqa |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Saliqa is stressed out. Madilla tries to be helpful. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 3, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. No snow. It's cold, but people aren't /quite/ so desperate for a spot by the fire. This makes the hearth have an average amount of traffic in and out... but clearly not anything too noisy: in one of those comfy chairs, but not even that much towards the back, Saliqa is seated... asleep. There's a package that's slid off her lap, loosely wrapped papers, and her hand is vaguely over it. The other is stuck somewhat oddly at her side where she's leaned unconsciously, and she's got her legs still stretched out in front of her, neatly folded one ankle over the other. Not, most likely, a planned doze. Enter Madilla, likely in search of a quiet spot of her own, given the mostly-finished quilt slung over one arm, and the cloth bag held beneath the other. She squeezes between a few empty chairs on her trek towards the hearth, and comes to a hesitating stop as the candidate - and her position - come to her attention. Perhaps she reconsiders for a moment, but instead of turning to leave, she slides almost noiselessly into one of the other hearth chairs, spreading her work out in front of her as she fetches out needle and thread. The other girl's thoughtful entrance provides perhaps a half a minute more of rest before somebody drops a plate. Amid the clattering on the floor, Saliqa suddenly bolts upright, everything that she was barely holding onto sliding to the floor. "That sounds /so/ interesting!!" Her eyes wide with guilt, she breaks out the pleasantries before quite registering her environment. Garnering a few stares, she otherwise seems to be alone as far as immediate company; no one responds knowingly to the compliment that's probably come much too late. It's not that Madilla stares /outright/, though certainly her gaze slides immediately from her sewing to the other girl, in the wake of that exclamation. She's silently for some seconds after that, expression more sympathetic than concerned; her remark, when it does come, is gentle; "I'm sorry I missed that conversation. What was it that was so interesting, Saliqa?" There's a greeting in there, too: a smile, at least. As she anxiously rubs the arms of the chair, Saliqa comes to realize she's not surrounded by who she expects; this elicits a groan of disappointed revelation. Her hands raise to dig palms into tired eyes and, when they drop, she's blinking guiltily at Madilla. "I'm... not sure I even know," she admits, hesitating only a second on telling the truth. "I had extra shifts watching the elders," her description is more factual than trying to be an excuse, "... they were talking about 'the good old days'... oh, my. The other girl must have led them off when they saw-- I feel terrible." Madilla's reaction, though, is kind rather than accusatory; she winces in sympathy, nodding hurriedly. "You must have needed the sleep, though," she dedices, as her needle begins working through the fabric in her lap again. "I'm sure they understand. It's not as though the elders don't fall asleep mid conversation themselves from time to time, in my experience." She tips her head towards the other girl again, then adds, "Extra shifts, though? That sounds-- exhausting." "Guess I'm ready to be old, then," Saliqa teases, a note of self-deprecation to dismiss any reasoning that might get her out of being at fault. Though, she still looks grateful for it. Stifling a yawn of lingering sleep, she presses her hands to her knees. One arm wobbles limper than the other, likely cut off from blood-flow the way she was lying on it. Grimacing at the tingling feeling interrupts her smiles. Also, there is nothing too cheery about admitting: "For-- for bad behavior." She could've said someone /died/. "So I deserve to be exhausted." Madilla's eyebrows all but disappear into her hairline, as though she finds it all but impossible to believe that Saliqa is even capable of bad behavior. Her response doesn't query it, though: she says, simply, "I'm sorry to hear that. Nonetheless-- getting enough sleep is important. And from what I'm told, it's a bit like making sure you get sleep before you have a baby: if you Impress, things get messed up for a while." Another groan escapes Saliqa as she falls against the back of the chair, no longer willing to support herself. That surprise at her behavior seems to have taken it out of her. Wearily, she slouches with a dispassionate, "Things are already messed up..." Fingers pluck at her skirt sullenly. "Madilla, have you ever-- oh!" She sits up, but also forward, leaning over the arm in the direction of the other girl. "You're Madilla! Yes." Not exactly bright, but this last turn of her brain-cogs seems to have shaken the sleep away from her for good. "You're on my scavenger hunt list... if... people are even paying attention to that anymore." "They--" begins Madilla, apparently intending to offer some kind of comfort before her own thoughts are interrupted by Saliqa's realisation. Confusion lingers on her expression, at first, followed rapidly by realisation - and then, amusement. "Yes," she agrees, "I /am/ Madilla. Do you... think people are too distracted by what happened to keep thinking about the hunt?" The amusement doesn't linger after that, though she's already reached into her supply bag for one of the necessary patchwork squares. "It /did/ sound unpleasant." Saliqa squirms a bit in silence before blurting out, "It was /completely/ boorish." Her glance around the area makes sure that no one is paying particular attention to them; she still ends up leaning more towards Madilla and lowering her voice. A hand comes up in front of her to emphasize words with strict gestures to the side. "The worst part is that everyone's so busy with the story spread, no one's giving enough attention to talking about how ill-behaved everyone was that night. I wan-- it worries me. But. I refuse to act on it until I hear word that it should fall under my concerns. So. For now-- I'm a candidate, doing what candidate's do. And we have a hunt." If Madilla registers that unfinished word, she doesn't show it. She gives Saliqa a firm nod instead, the worry on her expression fading towards solemn agreement by the time the other girl has finished speaking. "I think that's a mature response to it," she agrees, sounding uncomfortable, though not with the candidate. The quilt patch is offered over, proferred in the palm of her hand. "I'm sorry you were caught up in it. That anyone was." Saliqa slides the patch to her own grip between both hands, absently admiring the fabric even while her gaze hovers mostly on Madilla. "I'm not sorry I was caught up," she offers after a moment thinking on it, "I'm sorry I didn't keep my cool about it. I may have mature responses, now, but-- well. It's in the heat of things that it matters." Perhaps she's got that higher-authority note in her voice, for when one lays out the wisdom, but the troubled nature in her eyes-- and the failure to commit to one of those usual just nice smiles-- is telling of more. Madilla, silently, considers Saliqa for long seconds, though her head begins to incline into another set of thoughtful nods before the other girl has even finished speaking. "Of course," she allows, around pursed lips. "I--" She pauses, evidently thinking, then continues, "Suppose it's easier to think clearly outside a situation. Perhaps this experience will give you insight into-- future situations. Were they to arise." It might be intended as comforting again. It's hard to tell. "I can't wait to be home," Saliqa sighs on the cusp of the perhaps-comforting; the resigning is not for long, because she remembers with exasperation: "Or to be here in a more useful capacity. Whichever-- whatever's meant to happen." Spying her things on the floor, she scoots forward to the very edge of the chair in order to get most of them within her reach. The papers are tapped against her leg to get them even with each other. "Be nice if it would just /happen/ already. You know?" "I know," says Madilla, in a tone of voice that notes intense empathy, even if, in actuality, she has no direct experience of all of this. "I think it must be worse than my exams used to be-- at least, then, there was something I could do that was useful. And it's likely to be a few sevendays still, isn't it?" Her frown turns into a rueful shake of the head. "Will it help if I say the time will end up flying by? Time usually does." Saliqa weighs her hands out at her side, finding neither prejudice nor balance with the movement. "Give or take," she expresses, shrugging one-sidedly, "I don't really know. But I hear you know when. Or they know when-- so, then, of course, /you/ know when-- I should ask." Her head turns expectantly to the door, as though contemplating doing that this exact moment. Then she drifts to Madilla once more: "Yes... exams you can study for. You know what's expected. I've asked as many questions as I can think, and this hatching thing /still/ feels like a mystery." She taps a finger against the papers in her lap; each is written on quite extensively, in moderately poor handwriting. Madilla's needle pauses for a moment, as she says, "Last time... I think we all knew the day of, so there were all kinds of preparations. I think the days before then are probably the hardest, but... I don't know." That's not helping, and she seems to know it. Her gaze tracks over those hides, then returns to her sewing, watching the needle idly as it begins to dart in and out once more. "I don't think anything could properly prepare you for it. But... it tends to work out, I think. Surely. You'll be /fine/." She administers a few more corrections to the already straight stack before accepting that this falls into the realm of dawdling. "Thank you," Saliqa responds after a second: one where she sucks in a deep breath, steadies her shoulders. "And thank you for saying the other part, too. I'm sorry I sort of... dumped this on you-- you just wanted to work, probably." There's a hand-wave towards the other caverns in pre-warning to her rising from the chair. "I should probably go and see about the elders, just incase. Don't want to be more of a bad assistant than I have been." But she smiles a cautious smile at this. Madilla's smile is undeniably genuine as she says, gently, "You're welcome, Saliqa. It's a stressful time-- look after yourself. But you /will/ be fine." She doesn't answer the rest, though she certainly doesn't seem concerned either way, stitching away without needing to take more than the occasional glance in that direction. "Have a good evening." Saliqa has the manners to look grateful instead of doubtful at the reassurances. "You as well," she offers back solely before properly gathering her things to her side and strolling off to fix her sleepy slip-up. Just as she reaches the door, however, her hand darts to her mouth to not-quite hide what is another yawning stretch of the mouth. Then she's away. |
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