Logs:In Secret
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| RL Date: 8 June, 2011 |
| Who: Azaylia, Hypatia, Joktan, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Healers discuss the exiles and meet Azaylia. |
| Where: Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Heavy snowfall and a fierce, bone-chilling wind have made the bowl an inhospitable place to travel, today. It's about lunch time, and Madilla has been supervising Healer Apprentices in the Greenhouse - where snowdrifts have blocked out a lot of the sun, though the place remains cozily warm. Now, she leads the way back down to the lounge, where there's stew on the stove and some bread to go with it; "I don't think I want to try and get back across to the caverns, do you?" It seems many of the crafters are in agreement: the lounge is crowded, buzzing with the merry exchange of light chatter. "Not personally, ma'am," Hypatia agrees, wrapping her shawl closer around her shoulders. Her hair's back in a braid, making her look more waifish than usual, the lack of makeup only adding to that. "I'd much rather eat, if that's the option right now." She stands on her toes to get a better look around the room and the food selections. Joktan is one of the apprentices recently working in the Greenhouse, and he beams outright at the food that greets them in the lounge. "Not yet," he agrees with a scrunch of his nose as he helps himself to a bowl. Food first! "Think I've admissions desk duty later, though. Maybe the weather will be better then." Not likely, though, and he acknowledges it with a lazy shrug of a shoulder. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?" he wonders of the other crafters. Azaylia has come unprepaired. Even her unpreparedness is understated, as the young woman's been plucked from the warm plains of her home and tossed into the snowbanks of High Reaches. Layers upon layers make her movements stiff, nearly waddling as she does her best to peer over the scarf wrapped several times around her head. Height and wooly coverings a disadvantage, she nearly bumps into other crafters that are looking to find shelter- a wild herd of Healers, it seems. Suddenly frozen, air manages to escape through the scarf layers over her lips, a weak, "Excuseme. Sorry." Madilla opens her mouth to make a response, but before she's had the opportunity to do so, the onslaught of herders arrive, and hurriedly she steps aside to let them pass: first dibs on the spots closest to the hearth for those who've just about frozen. "It makes a person rather glad of their occupation, doesn't it?" she murmurs, probably loud enough for the Apprentices to hear, but definitely not loud enough to carry. "There should be stew and bread and klah, at any rate. I suppose we'll have to make the trip across the bowl after lunch: I'm on duty in the Infirmary, too. I have to pick Lily up later, anyway." Her daughter: two-and-a-half turn old Lilabet. "I'm monitoring exiles for signs of illness," Hypatia replies dryly, clicking her tongue a little. "So taking their temperatures and checking pulses and asking questions. For a few hours. I feel like I've been doing it forever, but it's something to do and I'm getting a lot of good practice taking histories." Now she's a bit brighter -- actually, she's a lot brighter. "From the ones I haven't met yet. Which is something like a hundred and five? How's Lily?" "The cooks probably have it best, but we're lucky too," Joktan considers aloud, matching Madilla's volume and shifting to let others pass. "Haven't seen any signs of illness, I hope?" A nod seconds Hypatia's question about Lily before he registers Azaylia's near-collision with a reflexive steadying of his grip on the stew bowl, followed by a friendly bob of his head in greeting. With that gesture, his head tips toward the stove in a tacit invitation. Azaylia is still stiff, though this time the cold is not to blame. Feet have all but melted into the floor as she stares at the group of Healers, rampant 'could haves' running through her head. It's not really eavesdropping if she catches bits of their conversation because the rest of her body refuses to move, right? It's Joktan's acknowledgment that helps to thaw the Apprentice, instinctively returning the nod. Oh, but what if that was too small? And so she nods again, and even once more, just to be safe. Eyes catching sight of the stove, her head bobs yet again in a mixture of silent farewell and thanks, moving to get her own bowl of stew. Madilla and her posse aren't going to get off that easily, however, because once a bowl is acquired Azaylia... hovers. Politely, of course. Sopping up gravy with her bread, Madilla answers questions - whether aimed at her or not - with easy sincerity. Her brow does wrinkle faintly as she says, "I heard there were some signs of illness in some of the exiles? A cold. But that it was taking some of them quite hard." Much more contented is her added, "And Lily is doing beautifully, thank you. She'll barely talk at all except to say 'no', of course." As she talks, her gaze takes in Azaylia again, her hovering not going unnoticed. With a bright smile, she offers, "Good afternoon! You must be another of the new apprentices?" It must be that time of turn. Hypatia has gained a bowl of stew, and she's stirring it slowly, watching the steam waft up into her face. "My brother did that, too. It's like the refusal age or something. Or maybe just an easy word to learn," she muses. After taking a spoonful of her stew, she follows the journeyman's eyes up to Azaylia and watches her thoughtfully, head tilted a little to the side. (Her braid only narrowly misses falling in her stew -- she doesn't notice.) A gleam of curiosity lights up pale blue eyes. "A cold? Maybe they could do with more spacious quarters," Joktan suggests, snagging a slice of bread to dunk into the stew. Neatly, mind. He shrugs off the logistics of living spaces and grins when the talk turns to Lily. "Soon it'll be 'why?' all the time. Fun." He seems in earnest, too. He regards Azaylia again with a easy, close-lipped smile as the journeyman addresses her. In order to eat, one needs a mouth... which means Azaylia's tugged the scarf away to reveal flushed nose and cheeks. There's a small smile on her lips as she lifts up a spoonful of stew, mouth opening just as she's spoken to. Eyes snapping to Madilla, the young woman gives a strained squeak at first. Her attempt at a response. A gentle cough is given, and she tries again, "Good afternoon, ma'am." Eyes bounce from Hypatia and Joktan, hunching somewhat at the attention. "And to you, and you." As for being one of the new Apprentices, she brings the spoonful to her mouth and gives a few little nods. "Ah... I couldn't help but, uhm... I've heard the word 'exiles' a lot today." She asks her bowl of soup. Without question, Madilla loves to talk about her daughter, and certainly, she looks tiredly amused for the soon-to-be onslaught of 'why' in place of no. But there are only so many threads of conversation she can keep up with, especially if she wants to eat, as well, so her remarks are limited to, "I don't really like it: having so many of them, so cramped together. I suppose... where else could we put them? I don't know." She answers Azaylia with a genuinely warm smile, admitting, "I think we're all a little preoccupied with them at the moment. Those poor people - it's awful." Hypatia twirls her braid around her finger, thoughtfully. "It seems like maybe we should move the ones who are actually sick before everyone gets sick? Because they're so close together. But besides the candidate barracks there's what, the weyrling barracks? And that won't work, since they're not dragons." Obviously. "Just, if they all get sick. Then what happens." When Joktan spots Azaylia's hunching, he turns his attention to his stew-soaked bread, taking a judicious bite. He nods to Hypatia as he chews and swallows. "Empty guest weyrs?" he suggests with a bit of a shrug. "Inconvenient, though. And might not make for a great impression." The higher ledges are effectively prisons without a dragon lifemate for easy transport, after all. Back to the food, mmm. Azaylia's gaze bounces from each healer as they speak, not letting her attention settle on either for too long, lest they look back at her. Half of her stew is gone by the time she pauses her ravenous bites, brows easing together ever so slightly out of concern. "Poor people?" Surprised at her own speech, she decides to look for some clarification in a breathless rush. "I mean- I keep hearing 'exiles' but I haven't really... asked what they are. Or... who?" What rock has she been hiding under all this time? Why, a little place in Keroon. Brow furrowing, Madilla admits, "I don't think I'd like them as isolated as the weyrling barracks, or the empty weyrs, if they're sick. They're not... prisoners. Not like the convicts. Perhaps we can bring some of them in to the infirmary - if we make a proper case for it." Aiming an encouraging smile at Azaylia, a definite hint of sympathy visible about the corners of her mouth and eyes, she explains, "They were found on an island far of the coast. I'm not sure why they were there, or how, but... they're staying here until the Weyrleaders can work out what will happen with them. They've lived in frightful conditions." Hypatia is thinking, so it's quiet for a second instead of filled with endless chatter. She's also begun chewing on her hair, then realizes Madilla can /see/ her and stops. "I was wondering why the sick ones aren't in the infirmary already," she says. "If I find someone with a very high fever I'll bring them over right away, maybe? Can I say I had your permission, ma'am?" Hopeful face. Surprise at Azaylia's question prompts a look in her direction. "You're a very recent arrival, then," Joktan deduces, content to leave it at that. Another sip of stew. "It's in everyone's interests to house the sick in the infirmary, really," he chimes in. He too looks hopeful. "I'm sure the leadership will see that, when you or Journeyman Delifa make our case." Eyes growing wide, Azaylia blinks several times as she tries to process the fact that strange people had somehow gone unnoticed by the rest of Pern. And now they're at the Weyr. "Are they... safe?" It's the first question that comes to mind, unfiltered worry spilling from her lips. There's been talk of them being sick, but something about her words hints at the thought of dangerous savages, rather than their illnesses. Joktan's deduction is proven correct as she glances his way, a weak "Uhhuh." answering him. There's no censure in the glance Madilla aims at Hypatia, the hair-chewer; she's rather more distracted by the actual issues at hand. "It doesn't make sense to just leave them there to infect everyone," she agrees, her brow furrowing. "I'll talk to the Junior Weyrwoman, but yes: you may say I gave permission. I'm sure Delifa will agree. I want to ask about changing the diet in there, too; our food is too rich for them." This thoughtfulness aside, her gaze settles back upon Azaylia, and again, she's going for the encouraging smile. "No, no, they're perfectly safe. A little over-awed, I think, but I'm sure we can all understand that." "People in enclosed areas are more likely to catch communicable diseases faster," Hypatia essentially quotes from a lesson, airily. And then she's back to seriousness. "What did they normally eat? And they seem completely -- fine. I mean, I got left alone with them and a couple of guards and I'm barely considered an adult. No one tried to hurt me, they just asked me questions." Joktan tosses in a guess. "Seafood?" Pause. His forehead creases as brows draw down. "I heard that the islands weren't exactly brimming over with produce. But not just seafood, right?" Spoiled by life on the mainland, he is. "I wonder what they think of this place." He mulls over this over further sips of the stew. One of Madilla's reasurring smiles finally breaks through and Azaylia returns it with a gentle curl to her lips. She nods in understanding, empathizing with those who are in awe of the Weyr. Thawed fingers break off a piece of bread to clean the bottom of her bowl with, eyes settled on the task of soaking. Hypatia's words are reassuring, so much so that she whimpers. "Scared." Head lifts, and she quickly swallows. "The exiles, I mean. Some could be scared. The weyr is so big, and... dragons. And all." Madilla's gaze rests upon Azaylia for a long moment; finally, she nods, forcefully. "I'm sure they are," she agrees, keeping her tone relatively low, though still warm. "I remember - I was. And /they/ barely know what a weyr is; what anything is." It has her biting her lip in thought, distracted from the rest of the conversation though she manages, after a moment, to add, "Seafood, yes, I suppose. Seaweed? Most of them look half-starved, to be honest. It's no wonder our food makes them sick, really. I wish we'd thought about it sooner." "/I'm/ still getting used to dragons," Hypatia admits quietly. "And I knew what dragons were before I came here. I bet gradually increasing how much food they got would help, yeah?" Back to the hair-chewing, simply because she already forgot she was trying to stop. Joktan, being weyrbred, casts a quizzical look out the nearest bowl-facing window, as if trying to gauge what might be unfamiliar. With all the snow and ice, chances are he wouldn't be able to see much, but a window is as good a place to stare as any. Less creepy than staring at, say, one of the people. "Sounds like it would help," he says to the gradual increase in food, though he glances at Madilla for healerly confirmation. "Are the exiles going to be able to get to know the place?" Pause. Would that be a good thing? Shrugging a little, he adds, "I guess they can leave for exercise, with a guard. But still." Azaylia's smile slowly gains strength, and once her meal is reduced to soggy crumbs, she peeks over at Hypatia. "I've only seen them up high." The dragons, that is. Her lips falter at the sound of the hardships that those deemed 'the exiles' are going through. Looking thoughtful, the Apprentice begins to shift, gathering up a layer or two she's had to shed from the warmth of the complex. "Th-thank you very much for letting me eat with you all. I... should go." Each are given a nod of fairwell, and Azaylia manages to make a swift excite despite her clumsy attire. Madilla watches after Azaylia, biting her lip with intensity, as though she's intent on some memory. It's only once the Apprentice is out of sight that she turns back to the healers, shifting her bowl between one hand and the other in an idle, apparently meaningless gesture. "Poor thing," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "Exactly right, Hypatia: a gradual increase, and they should be all right. I think, for now, the answer to that is no, Joktan. I hope it changes." She's suppressing a shudder, admitting, "Can you imagine going from having a whole island, to being locked up in a couple of rooms? I'm sure the Weyrleaders will do the right then and let them out, soon. They'll need to build new lives for themselves." Send them back? /That/ possibility doesn't even seem to cross her mind. Hypatia smiles, at first, simply because she's being told she's right -- and then her expression darkens as Madilla keeps talking, trying to imagine the situation. And continuing to try. And then trying again. And -- "No," she says, downing a spoonful of stew and then continuing. "I think I'd die. I feel terrible going in there and leaving without being able to let anyone out. Especially the children. They must be terrified -- they didn't do anything wrong." "The Weyrleaders will do the right thing." The words perhaps more confident than he feels, Joktan stares hard into the depths of his empty stew bowl a moment, but no, no answers are forthcoming. "It will be a difficult transition," he concludes, grim-faced as his head lifts from his scrutiny of the bowl. "But we'll do what we can to make things easier for them." Thinking some more, he adds slowly, "As hard as it is for them to be confined to the candidate barracks, it might have been good in a way. Less exposure to curious weyrfolk." Madilla's cheeks are drawn; she nods at Hypatia, meaningfully, as though she understands exactly how the younger girl feels. "It isn't fair," she admits. "You're right: whatever their ancestors did or didn't do, the young ones are innocent. The old ones, too, I should think." She's managed to eat her own food without really noticing it: she seems surprised to see her bowl empty. To Joktan, "You're right: we will. Everything we can. I think," her expression is thoughtful, "Just dropping them in the middle of all of us would have been far too much, you're right. It's like with the food: they can get used to us gradually." "There's a few who are their kind of healers." Hypatia quietly shares what she's picked up from talking to a few of the sicker exiles. "I know I got told that they had one they called their mindhealer, called Devaki, but I didn't see -- I think him. I wonder how he got mindhealer training out there." She stares at the space in front of her and then says, "Need water, I'll be back in a second -- " and heads off to find a glass. Joktan blinks, surprised. A mindhealer? "Their ancestors could've passed down their skills." Then he is quiet, waiting until Hypatia's return to add, "We should be able to find some mention of this ancestor in our -- in Healer Hall's records. Could get some idea of why they ended up on the island." Pause. "Or do we already know why?" Not up on the gossip, apparently, and he knows it. Madilla, too, seems surprised by this revelation, but the expression it brings lingers for only a few moments upon her expression. "I haven't heard for sure," she admits to Joktan, answering his question as her gaze follows Hypatia thoughtfully. "I've heard a lot of grumblings about High Reaches Hold, though. You're right, though: if there were trained healers among them, the Hall would surely have records. If we find out their names... though perhaps these things are being followed up by others." She has no idea, evidently. "I suppose they /have/ to have healers of a kind - and other things, too. You'd need someone able to deal with these things." When Hypatia comes back, it is with a tall glass of ice water. She resettled into her chair, crossing one ankle over the other. "What about the Hold?" she asks, only having caught that much of what was said. "What about--" What Hypatia says, really, so Joktan simply inclines his head toward the other apprentice, seconding her question. Funny that he falls silent when he has no need to concern himself over eating, but it is what it is. Brow furrowing, Madilla admits, "I'm not entirely sure. But I got the impression that that's where a lot of them were from, originally. I suppose that means it must have been a former Lord of High Reaches who banished them, but I haven't picked up much more than that." Her bowl, finally, gets set down and pushed out of the way. "I suppose they weren't supposed to survive, and that's why it has been such a surprise." "Water?" Hypatia chirps, having consumed half of hers already. "I can get some more, I don't mind. And I think usually that's the point of exile, but with so many people was it /really/ that much of a surprise they bred and created their own society, instead? Isn't that what people are designed to do, survive?" "It's fine, but thanks. And no, not surprising at all," murmurs Joktan, still keeping ahold of bowl and spoon in one hand. It's an absent-minded sort of hold, but he doesn't seem about to drop either one. Brows press down low. "Their starting population must have been pretty big. What bothers me is that they exiled so many people and there doesn't seem to be much of a paper trail to explain why. This sort of thing shouldn't go on in secret." Perplexed, Madilla admits, "It's the kind of thing that would be noticed. Surely." Her mouth stays open, as though she intends to something else, but it's several long sentences before she actually manages to do so. "It makes it seem like there's something more to all of it, doesn't it? I'm glad they survived. I just hope we're able to help them. Enough, I mean. Enough that they can rejoin the world properly." Hypatia shakes her head. "It's weird -- I grew up at the hold and I never heard stories about it. I can't remember hearing about much of /anyone/ having ever been exiled." Joktan regards Madilla as she seems about to say something, then Hypatia as she notes her hold upbringing. "You'd think stories of exile would stay in circulation, if only to warn other people not to follow their example." Still troubled, judging from the furrowed brow, he shakes his head and shrugs. "I guess it's up to them if they want to pursue this. All we can do is help them rejoin the world." "You would, wouldn't you? But no one's heard anything, that I know of." Madilla, too, is obviously uncomfortable with all of this, but she shakes it off to give both apprentices a cheerful smile. "That's right: we'll do our best, and support them to do whatever it is they decide to do. In the meantime, I'm afraid it's probably time we got back to work. I hope the snow has slowed." It hasn't. Frowning, Hypatia says, "Probably not. The weather's out to get us all," and stands up, collecting her dishes. "Anything you want me to ask them, next I stop in there, besides health histories and if anyone feels sick?" Joktan slides a sidelong look out the window, confirming that it hasn't. All the same, he manages to muster up a cheerful smile to match Madilla's. "Yeah, time to go bundle up again." Hypatia's question makes him think. "I'm curious about their mindhealing, but it's not all that important. Maybe ask them why they -- their ancestors were sent to the island?" He glances at the journeyman to see what she might have to add. "Probably still remnants from the storm that sent the exiles here," admits Madilla, casting a rueful glance towards the windows. "I'd like to know that, too." She's turned back about to face the two apprentices as she says that, her mouth drawn in tightly. "And if they know the names of any healers who were part of the originally exiled group? But be subtle: I don't want it to seem like we're actively seeking that kind of information." Nodding, Hypatia replies, "Yes'm -- I'll be careful. See if anyone else brings it up first, of course. Maybe I can find that Devaki fellow, too. Could be he's sick, and then I'll get more of a chance to talk to him. Not that I'd wish anyone to be sick." She looks a bit enthusiastic at the idea of getting to ask questions. "Guess I've got to actually go do it now, though." That's the hard part. Joktan nods along obediently to Madilla's words. Subtlety is key, got it. Hypatia gets a nod as well, a touch more enthusiastic. "Good luck. And, well, I guess I'll see you both in the infirmary eventually." Inevitable, really, in their line of work. Off he goes, first to drop off his bowl and spoon, then to pile on the layers in the apprentice dorms. "Perfect," says Madilla, approvingly; she bobs her head towards both apprentices, then takes her own leave. |
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