Logs:Important Work
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 13 January, 2015 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Tevara. |
| Where: Healer Hall / Down South |
| When: Day 20, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Miska/Mentions, Osvian/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Tevara/Mentions |
  |
| For a time, he'd been watching, watching Madilla go, watching the courtyard through the archway. By the time she and Tevara have finished their conversation, he and Arekoth are looking inward, though otherwise more or less as she'd left them; rider standing alongside dragon, with one hand on the shoulder that leads into that twisted leg, and eyes closed. There's no sign of conversation: no movement either in H'kon's eyebrows, nor Arekoth's wings. There's no sense of waiting. There's simply stillness. Were Madilla's thoughts less disjointed, she'd likely notice more of the stillness between dragon and rider; as it is, she approaches at a pace that aims to project relaxation and ease, though the stiffness of her shoulders and the blank horror of her expression suggest otherwise. There's something, too, in the very deliberate way she faces only forward, as if it's taking everything she has to avoid glancing behind her... or, perhaps, behind and up, at an open window set into the second floor of the Hall. "We need to talk," she says, voice brittle and sharply hushed. "But not here. We need to leave, everything's fine. She may be watching." H'kon's eyes come open in time with Arekoth's. The rider's might have a shine to them, but the wetness is residual. At least, there's little sign of anything coming from it on his face. His breath may catch, but the only proper answer - the only one that might be made out from afar - is to push off of Arekoth's shoulder, while the brown stretches his wings, and cranes his neck skywards. A tug goes to check the straps, though they've not changed from when they've landed. "Where?" "Anywhere," is the healer's answer, caught on an exhale. "Not home, and not here. Even just as far as the orchards, or the river, or-- or further, if you prefer. I don't care." She takes a step closer to the brown, bypassing her weyrmate in order to being the ascent; she's still taking great pains not to glance backwards. If Tevara is watching, she doesn't want to know. H'kon nods, and swings up to Arekoth's neck behind Madilla. Koth waits until H'kon has ensured his weyrmate is well-secured. Anywhere. Wings flap. Altitude is gained. "Between," in Madilla's ear is warning... cold... and then they're over the sea, Arekoth's flight bumpy for a that split-second it takes him to read the new air currents. There's a small island, and this time, he doesn't play over the waves. This time, he drops toward it. Any questions H'kon may have are held off by the wind, for the time being. Even with the warning, Madilla's gasping as they come out of between-- it's a stark contrast, in the end, to go from Fortian autumn, to between, and then here. She's silent, still, as they make their way down, though there's a shift in her posture: more relaxed, now, if only by a little bit. It's only as the wind begins to clear that she says, "I'm sorry. I interrupted you. It was-- she was watching you from the window and I didn't want her to see. I needed her not to see." And, "It's not as bad as it could be, I promise." Arekoth's landing is much better than his initial arrival was. He makes one noise, a vocalisation like a cough, as he settles his wings, mindful of his two passengers of course. Arekoth will feel H'kon's apprehension in the slight tensing of the man's legs. Madilla is given only a request of, "Tell me," while his hand grips a strip of leather that attaches her passenger's straps to the belt. Okay. Maybe she'll be able to sense a bit of it. "I'm to resign as Weyrhealer and accept my promotion. Administration." Madilla pauses to lick her lips, gaze focused away from H'kon; off into the distance, as if by staring, she might provide herself some equanimity. "I'm to lead a committee on healer-weyr relations. It's... important, and I wanted to help with it, but..." A heavy swallow. "I won't be healing anymore. It's punishment." That H'kon doesn't know what to make of this ought to be no great secret. He considers a wisp of Madilla's hair, brow knotted as if concentrating. "A committee," is repeated, slowly. "Long-term, then. Not just regarding Iskiveth." That hand has not relaxed. Madilla's breath catches as she confirms, "Not just regarding that. To make sure it never happens again. To... help healers understand riders better. Important." She pauses, but only for a moment; all of the words she hasn't uttered until now streaming out, uncontrolled. "I can stay at the Weyr, but I can't practice; that's what it feels like. I don't think they care who actually gave Teris the means, except that I think they guess, and so it's part punishment for me; for picking Miska, for letting my keys be... I'm glad that they're taking it all seriously, but I didn't want to be Master, or to give up my infirmary, or..." She can stay at the Weyr. It's there H'kon releases her straps, and instead sets to unbuckling his. It's better mobility, to slide nearer the woman, to, this time, reach a hand for her. Arekoth has swivelled his head around, looking back. "And you've no choice for getting it back," H'kon finishes, a frown on his voice, as he's tried to track that deluge of words, followed as many consequences as he can in such short space. Madilla shifts, now, finally looking directly towards the brownrider, her answer first shown in the minute shake of her head. She leans in, exhaling deeply, before she says, "Masters don't get posted to Weyrs. She's letting me stay because... Master Osvian wouldn't force my recall. He didn't want to do that. But that's Tevara's judgement; administration. Administration couched in something important to me, but administration nonetheless." H'kon's teeth touch together, an uncertainty there, and one without a voice. Arekoth still watches, even after his rider has worked it through, has nodded. "Your Craft," murmured, with eyes fixed neatly on Madilla, now, rather than just a piece of her hair, "without your craft." "Yes," confirms Madilla. "Exactly." And now she has no more words, only an expression that suggests deep, personal loss... and a growing sense of quiet, unhappy resignation. It's not often that there's sympathy to be seen in H'kon, but this is Madilla. "You will be at the Weyr," he offers, first. His own feelings on that tug at his mouth, straight sideways, difficult to read, but then... this is Madilla. "I doubt any healer would turn you away from the infirmary." Though that makes him grimace, allow, "It would not be yours." In the end, his hand squeezes, lightly, and H'kon himself stays at a loss of how to make this better. It helps, at least enough that Madilla can attempt a smile, swallowing hard to force back those pesky emotions that keep pushing to the surface. "Yes," she agrees, apparently forcing her voice towards evenness. "At least I get to stay at home. They're not making me leave. It's... it'll be fine. I just need to... to get used to it. I knew they'd never let me keep the infirmary forever. It could have been so much worse." It still doesn't sound like she completely believes it, but she's clearly trying. Arekoth's head turns, swivels the other way. Still watching. H'kon's eyes are still on Madilla. "You'll not need choose between two lives again," is softer, more thoughtful. His gaze wavers, just enough to look down, away, to some other consideration that he doesn't voice. There's a definite sense of newness to the question, "What do you know of this committee they will have you oversee?" "No," allows Madilla, one corner of her mouth turning up, ever so slightly. "Or work night shifts. Or watch someone die, unable to assist." The list could probably go on; she stops herself, frowning as she focuses, instead, upon H'kon's question. "I'll be working with Osvian," she says. "Craftsecond Osvian. Travelling to different Weyrs to talk to people, and... work on ways to improve communication and understanding. I expect the details need to be worked out, still." "Hm," sounds almost satisfied - of those good points, of respite from those parts of the position of Weyrhealer that H'kon has seen wear on Madilla. "It is important work, at least. Not just designed to hold you." Madilla runs her fingers through her hair, dislodging some of the carefully pinned curls in the process; this time, her smile is a little closer to genuine. A little. "Yes," she agrees. "And... they're right; I'm a good person for it. It matters to me, and I'm of the Weyr, more than most. It's just... it's hard. And I worry that they'll use it as a stepping stone; that in a few turns, I really will find myself reassigned to the Hall. But I need to look at the positives for now, don't I? I can stay." H'kon's expression wavers a moment, those fingers pressing again. "That is good," is strong affirmation - and not just strong; there's emotion there, even in his voice, even on his face, now. "And you'll always have children to run to you with their scrapes and cuts." Almost a question, but this is hardly H'kon's area of expertise, comforting with words. Comfort is comfort; H'kon is comfort, with or without the words. Madilla licks her lips and then nods. "I won't stop being a healer," she decides. "They can't stop that." She pauses, then, glancing more directly at her weyrmate. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's just a shock. It shouldn't have been, but it is." H'kon shakes his head, dismissal of the need to apologise. He considers her a moment, now, more comfortable in silence, in careful looks. "What had you been expecting?" comes of all that contemplation. Arekoth's gaze has slipped, out toward the sea. Madilla stretches, rolling her shoulders, as she places one hand flat upon Arekoth's hide; perhaps it's an apology to him, too, as much as to his rider. "I'm not sure," she allows, then. "I had a lapse in judgement. I didn't think to connect that with possible promotion." However unwanted the promotion was. "I'm glad it's over," she adds, then. "For all of us, I hope." "Hm," says H'kon again, and finally reaches for one of those dislodged curls. He's not, of course, been eyeing them this whole time, and yet... "We can hope." Arekoth's vocalisation never quite makes it to a strong sound, but there's vibration to be felt through the brown's neck. "Where do you wish to be? Now?" Arekoth's head has swung around, looking further inland. Madilla, still, watches H'kon with almost-amusement; the curls are all his. "Anywhere but home," is prompt. "As long as it's the three of us. Just for a while. I don't want to... face it, yet. Until we're home, I can pretend." Her fingertips brush over Arekoth's hide, an answer to that vibration. It's 'the three of us', perhaps in combination with those curls he's pursuing, that have an easier smile, at long last, break over his face. "We have time." Now it's H'kon who turns to look out over the sea. "The winds over the waves are..." Worth an almost-grin and a smile. "There's places to rest, inland." Focusing on Madilla once more, and finishing with setting the one curl in his fingers just where he wants it, "We know this place well." Even if, when asked, he'd not be able to say why he and Arekoth chose it in the first place. Madilla is pleased. Pleased at the placement of that curl; pleased by H'kon's smile; pleased, too, for this place they are. "Show me," she suggests. "All of it. Fly as fast and as... as enthusiastically as you wish." Flying that scares her to death when it involves Dilan, yes. But now... Now, it's as though she's ready for anything. Arekoth's wings flick out. Challenge accepted. H'kon does manage to get his belt strapped back in before the brown gets skyward. And there will be many, many more dislodged curls for him to settle after this. |
Leave A Comment