Logs:Instinct
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| RL Date: 4 March, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla disapproves of H'kon's black eye (and how he got it). She's rather more tolerant of H'kon. |
| Where: Lower Caverns / Weyrhealer's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 2, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night. The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze. The Lower Caverns are as busy as ever, today, particularly given the forceful, cold rain that's been pouring down outside for most of the day. Inside, it's relatively warm, but the cleaning crews can't seem to keep up with the mud being tracked in through the corridors; it's a regular hazard. Not far from the Infirmary, Madilla can be found leaning down to kiss the foreheads of the two small children that belong to her. "Be good for Delinda," she says, ruffling Lilabet's hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, after classes." The woman they're with is in her late thirties, mousy-looking, but friendly; she squeezes Madilla's hand once, then attempts to draw the two children away. Moving along those dirty floors, drawing mud up to his boots and pantlegs with each sharp-heeled step, is H'kon, who himself - his face, his neck, his forearms - is quite clean. His hair's even still damp. Jacket over one arm, carefully manoeuvring around the crowds, the man is in full pensive brow mode, moving, watching, and not much seeing. It's familiarity that draws his attention, has him dwelling on a wingmate here, a Madilla there. A Madilla's children. Feet follow gaze, and he's started a slow, unconscious veer toward the infirmary before he remembers himself - remembers the swollen eye, the original route - and tries to turn his head midway through what is a nod to the weyrhealer. Poor H'kon. It's not his fault Madilla's gaze is turned roughly in his direction, now that her family is moving off towards the residential corridor, small hands clutched in Delinda's larger ones. His abortive nod does not go unnoticed, and nor does the swollen eye; it's very certainly the latter that has her abandoning her post near the Infirmary door to walk right through the crowd (it's amazing how it parts for her, just so, when she's in such an official stride) to grab for his chin, if she can, to get a better look at that eye. "H'kon." She sounds... disappointed, but also concerned. H'kon's attempt at keeping his face away from Madilla is about as abortive as that nod - and as effective at hiding his badge of... disgrace. With chin grabbed, he barely resists the inspection, pressing against Madilla's hold only so much as is required for a properly tail-tucked, "Madilla." The jacket is brought up against his stomach, and his mouth twists into an inwardly disappointed little frown. He knows. Manhandling brownriders, even in the name of her craft, is not something Madilla tends to make a habit of-- and now, after only a few seconds of examination, green eyes looking down at H'kon with an intensity of expression she makes no move to hide, she lets go again. "You should have come and seen me," she says. "Or one of the other healers." Clearly, she knows he hasn't. She would have heard. "What happened? Will you come in, and let me give you some salve, at least?" Once released, H'kon swallows. That jacket stays drawn up against him, though he's good enough to have his eyes drop from the healer as acceptance of the scolding. (It is, of course, a more obvious move of acknowledgement of guilt in the non-swollen of the two.) "The kitchen hand offered me a cold slab of meat," is not so much an attempt at defense as it is... a fact. Head lifting, he glances about the area, and nods, once, curt, answering both her questions with only a light point of the hand not occupied by his coat. "In the infirmary?" It would be out of character for Madilla to sniff disapprovingly at mention of that meat, but there's certainly something in the way she breathes in at that moment, and the twist of her mouth. "My office," she says, answering his question with a tip of her head, as she leads the way back across the caverns and towards the Infirmary doors. "I'm off duty, but no one else uses it. It wasn't Taikrin, was it?" Beat. "No, don't answer that. Not here." H'kon's chin all at once raised, and expression set to something much less apologetic. "Not here," is firm agreement. His jaw pushes forward when he presses his tongue against his front teeth. "I will explain," comes a moment afterwards, keeping in step with the healer, and happy to keep his head down - figuratively, at least - for the rest of the trip. The healers who are on duty glance up in surprise when Madilla leads the way into the Infirmary, but her glance in their direction is quite unbothered, and perfectly friendly, and that seems to be enough to stop them staring. Much. Madilla's office is down the back of the cavern, a surprisingly spacious room with a couch and chairs down one end, and a desk at the other. It's towards the former that Madilla directs H'kon, closing the door behind them. "Tea?" she asks. And for all H'kon's attention is drawn toward many of the lookers, he manages not to do more but glance occasionally, and otherwise follow dutifully after Madilla, shoulders square, even, as he goes. He moves toward the couch and chairs, as directed, though doesn't sit immediately. "Yes," has a bit of a strange sound to it, almost a question, even though it's an answer. His forehead gets a line. And only after a moment of watching the healer does he sit, as far to the end of that couch as he seemingly can. Madilla is in motion towards the little hearth well before H'kon answers her question. His answer, such as it is, earns only a momentary glance; she busies herself at the little hearth, filling the kettle and then hanging it from a conveniently placed hook. It's only after she's done that that she glances back for a second time, breaking her silence. "I'll get that salve." Which she does, fetching a little jar from one of the cupboards near the desk. "Does it hurt?" H'kon is left with little but to watch, linking his hands before him idly, elbows braced on his knees. Waiting. "It was not Taikrin," is called after Madilla as she goes toward the desk. Hands unclasp just as quickly with her next question, to press the area near that eye testily. "Only when pushed. Otherwise it is just... thick." Frown. "Puffy." His one hand falls to where the other waits for it, and they link once again. One deep breath, and, "There is a man, who stays with Azaylia. I believe he works in the greenhouse." Madilla's "Hm," is a neutral enough statement, one that doesn't give much indication as to her thoughts, though it does come with another glance back towards H'kon, and, this time, a little nod. "Bones," she adds, confirming, now crossing back towards the couch, where she hesitates for several moments before taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch to the brownrider. "I don't spend quite so much time in the greenhouse, these days, but - I certainly know of him. He hit you? Whyever for?" She offers the little jar, hand stretched out across the expanse of the couch. "He did," H'kon confirms, head giving a little dip. His teeth press against one another, muscles at his jaw bulging faintly, gaze distracted. It's a moment before he realises the jar she has held out, and reaches for it, leaning in until he can get hold of it, and then righting himself again. The jar is turned idly between his fingers. "I had..." Eyes that were on the jar lift to Madilla briefly. His forehead gets another line. "I thought it important that she also act as weyrwoman. I believe he took exception to what I said. Or her reaction to it." Grimace. "I've never had a salve for something such as this." And here he even indicates that eye. "Have you had many such injuries?" is Madilla's question-in-answer, now that she's withdrawn back to her side of the couch, fingers knitted together in her lap. It's not a wholly serious question - she's smiling, if only for a moment. A smile, while she works through the rest of it. "I understand he's very protective of Azaylia. But--" Her brows knit, too. "Even if what you said upset her, he shouldn't go around hitting people. I understand she's been doing more Weyrwoman's work, of late." Some word or other catches in H'kon's throat, and, for the time at least, he simply answers her question with a vague sort of nod. It's the second that gets a much better reaction, a flash in his eyes and a snarl on his face, if fleeting. "No he should not," is quick, but sharp enough the words don't run together. Some excess energy is spent in opening that jar, and, much without thinking, he gives the contents a light sniff. "Indeed." The jar is then lifted, a call for the healer's attention. "How often?" "He's--" But the healer doesn't really know the gardener in question, and she's far too polite to make more focused judgments; she lets it go with a twist of her expression, and a shake of her head. "I'm sorry it happened." It's very clearly not a personal apology; there's no sense of guilt. Even so, it's quietly genuine. "Two or three times a day." The salve smells unsurprisingly herbaceous, but not in an unpleasant way. "It should reduce the swelling, and help with the bruising. You'll have your eye back in no time, I promise." She looks at him, intent and intense... and then abruptly stands up again, turning towards the hearth. It's more the suddenness of it, than anything, that has H'kon so alert, all at once, as he follows her movements. The jar is lifted up to his nose again, for a longer sniff, though he makes no move to apply it, nor does he look to the jar. He's still watching the healer. Watching her, and starting to bother at his tongue with his teeth while his eyebrows move. With her back turned, her attention focused - at least outwardly - on the kettle that is now boiling, and the need for mugs and tea leaves and a strainer and all the other accoutrements, Madilla's remark is quietly thoughtful. "For a man who managed some ten turns in quiet obscurity, you can't seem to stop ending up in-- conflict, can you, H'kon?" It's affectionately said, though, and when she turns back, she's smiling readily enough. "I suppose we should be grateful he didn't break your arms." H'kon closes up that jar again, leaning down from the couch to place it near his boot, but hopefully not within accidental kicking distance if he should shift. "Perhaps it took Arekoth his ten turns to come of age," is quite dryly. "Perhaps," is repeated, this time with a bit more emphasis, "I should also be grateful for the rest between his weyrlinghood and this." And, almost an afterthought, "Can you manage all that?" Accoutrements. "Hopefully none of his offspring will be as difficult as he was," Madilla says, levity balanced out with a quiet thoughtfulness that she can't quite escape, as written into her expression as it is audible in her tone. It's likely she has a few more things to hope for, given the way her mouth stays just partially open, as though she has more to say, but H'kon's question is a distraction; she shakes her head. "I'm fine - stay there. There's a tray. Are you going to use that balm, or are you just accepting it to make me feel better?" "Hopefully," does not sound entirely convinced that this will be an actual possibility. Still, it does bring some sort of an almost-smile to the man's face, private, reflective, a bit fuzzed by draconic influence. "Oh." And he looks down to the jar, then leans to pick it up. "I had thought- yes." H'kon is opening the thing anew, though he spends some time prodding around his eye before he digs a finger into the salve. "Do you hope to attend? When they hatch?" That is a look Madilla knows well - the look of a rider thinking of their dragon - and though it's wistful, her smile is truer, now. Evidently, she doesn't feel the need to actually observe his use of the salve, despite her words; she busies herself with the tray, bringing it back to rest upon the low table in front of the couch. "I hope to, certainly. The children won't want to miss it; I won't, either. Do you suppose they will all hatch together?" H'kon is instinctively cautious not to get it -in- his eye, but the puffy area around, at least, gets treated, as does even a bit of the upper lid, before he's re-capping the jar, all with the applicant-finger extended so as not to mess it up. "I would think so," comes as he works. "Why should it be different than one egg deciding to hatch, and the rest following? I imagine it will be like dragons all airborne together. They will know." And there's a certainty to that which seems almost to settle the brownrider. He leans back into the couch, finger still held carefully away from anything. Madilla's expression is thoughtful as she considers this answer, though evidently it makes sense to her, for she gives a firm nod of approval. Glancing back at the brownrider, her mouth twists at the sight of his finger; she reaches into the pocket of her skirt, drawing out a clean white square of linen, embroidered around the edges, which she offers to him. "Do you take sweetener in your tea? I've always liked the idea, that the dragons know. That... everything is as it should be. It's comforting, somehow." H'kon accepts that linen with a nod, first dealing with the residue on his finger, and only then considering the embroidery around the edges: letting his fingertips brush at it, pulling the material straight, the better to examine it. "No," said quickly to the sweetener, the glance up only a matter of politeness, "thank you." He nods at that handkerchief. "There is a good deal of instinct in them, I think. It is likely us who complicate things." Which signals the end of his tugging and toying with that square, and when he holds it back out for her, he's looking up at her properly. "Or... the things that otherwise might be solved in that way." Tiny herbs and flowers decorate the linen; Madilla's own work, if the tiny 'M' in the corner can be believed. She nods, accepting his explanation of things as she accepts the handkerchief; in return, she offers him a mug of the tea. "I've always thought there was a simplicity, to their method. The short-term memory seems, I think, to change a great deal." She sits on the floor, now, rather than the couch, and seems quite content there. "I often think we're trained out of our instincts. It's a pity, but that's society for you." H'kon accepts that mug with another of those nods at which he's so practiced. "I believe you are right on that," H'kon agrees at her mention of memory, lifting the mug to smell at it. And then switching hands, to the one that had not had that salve, and attempting to take in the aromas of the tea again, this time, unmasked. "There are parts of it that -are- important. We can think on a different level, and so we must. Must do it well. Else we would be animals." The tea is sipped, and he does his best to hide how hot it is, even when sucking some air over it with an awkwardly-canted and open mouth. "Dragons are somewhere in-between all that." It's herbal tea, unsurprisingly: peppermint and liquorice and something fruity. Madilla doesn't even try and sip from her own mug, though she leans down to blow thoughtfully over the surface of it. "That's true," she agrees. "I don't imagine society would work terribly well, if we left everything to instinct. There's-- something to be said for order. We don't function without it. But a balance, yes." She considers him, glancing up over the rim of her tea, view only slightly obscured by the steam. "In the abstract, it's a strange thing, a very strange thing, that the leadership of the whole Weyr is determined by-- biological function. And yet, I don't suppose a Hold is all that much different. Lineage." Although apparently recovered, H'kon does not go for another sip of tea. Not yet. He does lean forward over his knees, elbows resting again, so as to be more in Madilla's vicinity. Although, for all that, "Hm," is the most she will get out of him for some time, fingers pressing idly at the top of the mug, then releasing when the heat starts to come up through it and get too far into his hand. Finally, "Perhaps. But it is a thing the dragons accept. Except when it goes awry. It seems errors can occur even in something so... basic." It's got the sound of disquiet, but it's not a thing he pursues. Madilla presses her lips together, looking thoughtful, for all that she acknowledges H'kon's words with a nod. Finally, softly, she says, "Instinct can still be flawed, I suppose. Biology. How often are people drawn to the wrong person, sometimes with disastrous results?" She pauses - and then laughs. "I have a terrible suspicion I am completely contradicting myself. I do suspect that thinking too much is not necessarily ideal, but it's clear that errors are always possible if you reply on instinct alone. Such a mess!" Her smile is amused. "Doomed, clearly." H'kon does manage the beginnings of a smile, though it loses itself in thought quickly enough. He's watching the steam roll off the surface of the tea when he decides, "A balance of parts." This time, when he attempts a sip of tea, it's less disastrous, if still clearly a bit on the hot side. At least his intake of air can be saved until the end, after he's swallowed that liquid down. It might be the warming in his chest, or the swelling in his eye, that prompts both eyes to close shortly thereafter. But certainly, "I regret having left," is little to do with either of those things. "The other night," comes on its tail, a specification he feels necessary. Madilla's smile is tempered by H'kon's closing eyes, although aside from an almost imperceptible exhale, she has no other physical reaction to his admission. Her, "I told you to go," comes a few seconds later, said very quietly, although it's very definitely said with some understanding, or assumption, of what he means. "But I would not have objected, if you hadn't." H'kon's eyes remain closed, though his sit changes from a simple lean to something more attentive, ready. He's turned his head faintly, an ear pointed neatly in Madilla's direction. Her words are given a nod, while his fingers press at that mug, now without alternation. "And now?" takes some time, though comes in that same steady voice he's so good at it. It's only after that he opens his eyes once more. Another low exhale follows H'kon's words, though it's no sigh. It's after he's opened his eyes again that she says, quiet, but sure, "I'm not telling you to leave." She pauses, then apparently changes her mind. "Better: I'm asking you to stay." Her chin lifts, green eyes watching him carefully. She probably hasn't realised that her brows have raised, just slightly, very nearly turning her words into a question. Or that her cheeks have turned faintly pink. H'kon has seen all these changes. This time, the nodding is barely there, barely a motion. He leans farther forward, mug now in one hand, and that arm extends until the bottom is placed squarely on that little table. That final settling gets only a flick of a glance in the process, and then he's looking to Madilla again, black eye and all. And finally, the brownrider extends his hand slowly toward her. Madilla hasn't even touched her tea, but it joins H'kon's on the table a moment later all the same - though she does it without letting her gaze leave his (luckily, she sets it down without incident, because that really would be a mood breaker). That same hand reaches to meet his, warm from the mug and very slightly clammy, but sure, at least, in the way it squeezes. She climbs into her knees, using her free hand for balance. H'kon shifts again, turning a bit more toward Madilla, a stronger position, and a closer one, halfway to a kneel between couch and floor, where the hand that closes around hers in return can guide and support as required. That much is accomplished with certainty. But there is also a tug, something of an awkward smile that comes in time with a quick exhale. He gives a steady pull to the hand he's got, and has to fight a second nervous smile before he's ready to lean to bring his lips to hers. The free hand, the one Madilla was using to balance herself, is no longer required for that purpose in this position-- a position that has the healer smiling with probably an equal amount of nervousness. Nervousness, but not trepidation: she's sure enough to meet his lips halfway, and as she does, that free hand comes around, reaching so that she can rest her fingertips at the back of his neck, both holding on and touching, just for the sake of touching. For H'kon at least, this first kiss is a careful one, more a matter of closeness than anything. For all his one hand is trying to bring hers - and the woman at the end of it - nearer him, his other is left floating, the backs of his fingers finally grazing the edge of that little table, a marker of sorts. He breaks that kiss to only to push forward, a look to pressing his cheek to hers instead. "Where," comes a bit later, an afterthought, once his eyes have opened up again. Madilla seems to be of a similar mind, as far as kisses go - this time, at least - and the breath that escapes after it ends is very audibly a contented sigh. Her fingertips trail upwards, running through his hair, and around his ear: a subtle exploration. Eyelids fluttering, she presses her cheek back against his, apparently quite content to simply be, except that there's words, finally, and words that require thought at that. "My rooms are all the way across the bowl," is an apology as much as it is a welcome. It's the fingers through his hair that have the brownrider giving the slightest rub of his cheek to hers, learning the feel of her in that way, while the one hand remains solid with hers, the other, marking his space against the table. It's another breath out at first, another press of his cheek to hers. "I enjoy walking with you," is a bit longer in coming, and brings a turn of his head to brush his lips to her skin. "Arekoth," is much more belated. After he's had time to feel all that. "Then," she says, though she doesn't seem immediately inclined to move away, or stop touching (and there's a low sigh of contentment in the middle there), "We should walk. Let Arekoth stay with his eggs." Now she does pull her cheek away, but only so that she can place another brief kiss to his lips, before, finally, dropping her hand. H'kon may even have the slightest bit of red to his own cheeks by the time her hand has dropped away. He nods in time with a low, "Hm," that serves both as agreement, and warning for his getting to his feet, the hand still linked to Madilla's pulling up faintly, then bracing, ready. It's surely sign of something that the man has forgotten entirely about that little jar of salve. But not all more practical considerations. "Your children?" Madilla's smile verges on shy, and yet really isn't: she otherwise seems quite sure of herself, although she, too, has forgotten about the salve. Using H'kon, she pulls herself back to her feet, her free hand dropping to play with the length of her skirt, the other holding fast even now. "Delinda has them for the night. I have to go to Southern in the morning." Whether or not the train of thought between those two sentences is obvious, she seems pleased with it: events conspire in their favour, hurray! H'kon nods, this time a slow thing, an unconscious thing, rather than some attempt at communication. Once all has fallen into place, his free hand finally seems to wake, reaching out toward her face, maybe even managing the lightest brush with that same part of his fingers that had taken note of the placement of the table. Just as soon: "Come." And he starts toward the door, though his hand will slacken when they draw near it. They do still have to go through the infirmary, right? Madilla watches him, silent and waiting, but far from impatient, as that hand reaches towards her; this smile is less shy, and more... endearingly sweet, perhaps. She's quick to fall into step alongside him, and though his hand slacks first, hers draws away, opening the door that lets them back out into the infirmary, where the evening staff are still at work. It's not busy in there, not now, but that just gives those healers more time to consider the departing pair-- though Madilla does nothing more than smile serenely at them, as she leads the way through towards the dragon infirmary, and the bowl beyond. And H'kon... well, his face always looks like that, doesn't it? Minus the shiner. He keeps a few steps back of her through the infirmary, hand closing on nothing but itself, and swinging that way at his side. It's not until they're well clear that the brownrider even tries to come alongside her, though once that's done, it won't be easy to shake him through the rest of the journey. Conveniently, Madilla doesn't seem to want to shake him. Not through the rain-soaked bowl, nor the dim corridor of the craft complex, past evenly spaced glows all the way down to the end. There's no one in the corridor, at least: no one at all to run into, until they're safely behind Madilla's closed door, where it's cozy and quiet, and thankfully child-free. H'kon has had the whole stretch of the bowl, when not offering up the occasional words, to work his way through any remaining cautions left him, to anticipate. Come that closed door, there's hardly any time spent familiarising himself with his surroundings. It's Madilla with whom he's concerned, and the short step to close the distance between them is taken readily. This time, that hand reaches to snug around her waist. This time, the kiss will be different. This time, Madilla lifts both arms, wrapping one around his shoulders whilst the other runs fingers through his hair. The glows are dim in here, too, but even if they weren't, Madilla's eyes are closed as she returns that kiss; even so, she's comfortable enough in her surroundings to walk them backwards, one distracted step at a time, through the little living area and into the smaller of two bedrooms beyond. H'kon is content to have her lead the way, trusting in her sense of the place. He kisses, touches, with a courage buoyed by a long lack of this sort of contact. Sex isn't unfamiliar to the dragonrider; and even once they've got to that smaller room, and he's looking to loosen those skirts, that quiet, reminded whisper of all the rest, coming simply in the form of her name, keeps him from becoming too lost in pent-up frustrations, too separated from the moment. Madilla is, no doubt, less experienced, but she's also perfectly comfortable in this, and everything that follows. "H'kon," she says; she's got him. Or he's got her. Or both. It works. |
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