Logs:If I Had Time
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 24 March, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tiriana wants Satiet's healer file. Madilla says no. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 4, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions |
  |
| The day after is a little quieter in the infirmary, but not by that much - grief doesn't exactly disappear overnight, after all, and helping people deal with it is one of those things that healers do. Mid-morning sees a fair few people around, but Madilla, standing in her usual position behind the counter, is alone for the moment, staring moodily off into the distance, one arm crossed over her body to play, with unhappy fingers, with her new knot. She's probably supposed to be filling out the paperwork in front of her, but the pen has long since, by the inkstain on her page, been abandoned. Conspicuously absent among the herd of mourners who have pressed the infirmary for information already has been Tiriana. But now, the next morning is here, and after zombie-ing through the morning's duties, here the makeshift Weyrwoman is, just coming in the door. She looks tired, haggard even, with her eyes still red, but her mouth set into a line that promises little good for the first healer she sees: Madilla, at the desk. It may not have been a sensible thing for the healers to have done, to roster the youngest, and most sensitive healer on the counter, in the wake of yesterday's events; though Madilla's face shows no sign of recent tears, it's hardly as though she looks unaffected. The sound of footsteps automatically draws her back to attention, her shoulders straightening, professionalism shading back into her expression - but before she can get any words out, she falters. Then, finally, "Weyrwoman." "I want," Tiriana begins, but she falters, too, already, as she stops at the desk and frowns at Madilla. Her hands are leaned on it, bracing herself, and she gives the infirmary, the other visitors, a brief glower before her attention returns to Madilla. "I want those records," she finally says, a request probably heard often enough in these days. "Hers--the ones from her. The Weyrwoman." Just in case that wasn't clear. Are people shifting distinctly /away/ from the entrance of the Infirmary, either by heading deeper in, or leaving altogether? Looks like. Madilla drops her hand from her knot, pressing it, pressing both hands, atop the countertop. "All healer records are confidential," she says, in a tone that isn't quite as sure and professional as, no doubt, she'd probably like. "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give out that information." "No, no. You don't understand," Tiriana corrects, her voice rising. People are definitely edging away: however much they might want to hear about their old Weyrwoman, it's not worth dealing with the new one, apparently. "You don't understand. I'm the /Weyrwoman/. It's my Weyr. She gave it to me. I need--I need--." But she can't seem to figure out just what she needs. Though Madilla stands her ground, her knuckles have turned white from how hard she grips the edge of the desk. Probably, she'd like to be edging away, too. She takes a deep breath before responding, keeping her words as simple - and unemotional - as she presumably can. "But the records don't belong to the weyr. I'm very sorry, Weyrwoman, but I can't give that information out. And..." For a moment, uncertainty, then a half nod, like she's made a decision. "I don't think they would give you what you need." "She's dead," and Tiriana's voice falls flat, hurt and angry by much more than just one young healer's refusal to grovel properly. "She can't give a fuck anymore, and you don't know a damn thing about what I need, anyway." The goldrider glares down at the girl; then, "I will come back there and get them myself if I have to." Though there might be the hint of a few tears around the corners of Madilla's eyes, she holds her ground. "If she didn't tell you, or leave permission for you to have them, then she didn't want you to. You, or anyone. She had it all planned out; she wouldn't have overlooked that." The threat only causes the young healer to square her shoulders, meeting Tiriana's gaze without flinching. "You will not." "I will," Tiriana says, stubborn and scornful. "Are you going to stop me? At least you'll know how to heal yourself up when I'm through." She casts an appraising look up and down Madilla, then snorts. "She said I couldn't fire you, in my letter. She said I couldn't fire you but I can damn well make you wish I could. I will, too." Are Madilla's hands shaking? Why yes, they are. Maybe her legs are, too, but she's clinging so hard to the edge of the desk that it is probably providing her some stability. "What would that achieve, Weyrwoman?" she asks, in response to the last comment; everything else gets ignored. "It won't bring her back. It won't save her. /Nothing/ could. The Masterhealers themselves couldn't." "I'll enjoy it," Tiriana says. Her face is flushing, either with anger or maybe those tears she, too, seems to be getting close to again. "You didn't even try. If you had, you could have saved her, I bet. You probably all just said, 'well, we don't like her,' and then they stuck some dumb apprentice like you on the case. She wouldn't just--she wouldn't just /die/ otherwise. She's better than that." "Not even Satiet can defy terminal illness," says Madilla, slowly, and very, very softly. One of those budding tears finally takes a breath and goes sliding down her face. "And I, for one, /did/ like her. She was kind to me. And I'm sorry she's dead, and would have done anything to save her," her hand lifts, shakily, towards her knot, clearly an unconscious gesture. "But there was /nothing/ /anyone/ could do." Does this count as making her first person cry since becoming Weyrwoman? Either way, that one tear of Madilla's seems to take a lot of the fight out of Tiriana, too, for she turns about, leans heavily on the counter herself. "Yeah, well. I would have, too, and she didn't even care enough to tell me. She sent me away just so I wouldn't notice," she answers. Her hands ball up, digging nails into her palms. "You people, you don't /really/ care. Somebody comes in, and if they don't make it you just shrug and say, 'oh well,' and go on with your lives." Might as well have it happen sooner rather than later. Madilla doesn't reach up to wipe the tear away; instead, she stares at Tiriana, her eyelashes brushing away further tears. "You don't think it wasn't that she /couldn't/ tell you, maybe? Can you imagine, how hard that would be? How you would have taken it?" She swallows, thickly, then adds. "And that's not true. Do you think we haven't cried, too?" More tears join the first. "So what, I couldn't handle it?" Tiriana scrubs at her face, fiercely, though she's not actively crying yet herself; just getting too close for comfort, especially in some place as open as the infirmary, in front of some kid healer. "Not like I haven't seen people die already--I mean, maybe not anybody I'm close to, just Mama, but--." She breaks off, swallows. Finally, thickly, "S'different. You didn't lose what I lost." Madilla points out, after a moment more, "I can't know what her reasons were. But you can't argue that you don't react..." she hesitates, then ploughs on, "Emotionally." There's obvious sympathy on her face at mention of 'Mama', a sharp intake of breath, and then she adds, "Does that matter? I still lost. It was still hard. I'm sorry for your loss, but that doesn't mean mine is worthless in comparison." "It could have been different," insists Tiriana. "If I had time. I could have been different." Her hand rubs over her face again, this time coming away wet; and she glowers at the scattered visitors that haven't yet fled the premise, lest they say something about her discomposed state. "And instead she goes and does this and all I get is a 'stop crying and don't fuck this up.'" "I'm sure you could have been," says Madilla, tone edging towards soothing. "And I bet she would have liked to have had more time." Everyone else seems pretty intent upon staying away, at least. And more people who start in the doorway leave immediately again; much safer, that way. "It's not a bad start," she offers, of Satiet's advice. "Something to remember. Doesn't mean you're going to get it all right, but... you'll get there." "Gee, thanks," Tiriana says, snorting. "Just want I need, Weyrwoman advice from some apprentice healer. --Sorry, /senior/ apprentice healer." She's half-mocking in the correction, but the sarcasm is half-hearted; maybe it is a little comfort still. "Not a bad start. Ha." Madilla colours pink, and her expression tightens; she has to take a long, deep breath before she can respond again. "I'm not sure it /was/ Weyrwoman advice. Just advice. But - whatever you like. Weyrwoman." Tiriana doesn't seem to notice Madilla's flushing; probably she doesn't even realize that knot's changed at all. She's kind of self-centered like that. At any rate, she swipes at her eyes one more time, and then straightens. "Right. Whatever I want," she says finally, not happily. "I'm--going home. That's what." Madilla's tears have, for the moment, stopped. Or perhaps just slowed down, though the ones that went sliding still have trackmarks left on her cheeks. She swallows, again, pushing her expression into something unremarkable. Not a smile, not a frown, not sad: just there. "Of course, Weyrwoman. And, of course, if you need anything - anything we can provide - please don't hesitate to ask." Another disbelieving noise, but Tiriana doesn't say anything. Instead, she wipes her face and straightens her shoulders, and without any goodbyes, turns to make her own exit. |
Leave A Comment