Logs:Just One Answer
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| RL Date: 18 January, 2012 |
| Who: Hypatia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: A long time ago, Hypatia asked a question. Someone finally got around to answering it. |
| Where: Healer Hall |
| When: Day 20, Month 10, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
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| "Do you know it's been almost an entire turn since I asked for this information?" Hypatia demanded as she sat down at the senior journeyman's desk, looking nothing if not incredibly peeved. While she had herself mostly in control -- entire body tensed so as not to snap even more -- it was just as obvious she was having some considerable trouble actually keeping that control. Hypatia never had much of a temper, but she was also never one to keep her feelings to herself. And it had been a very long time since she'd sent that letter with the request of what she wanted. It had been so long that no one was likely to even remember. The death itself (as no one at the Hall referred to the event as a murder) was so long ago it didn't really matter to anyone anymore. For a long time, the exiles hadn't mattered a smidge to her, either; it was the fact that one of them was killed right on what felt like her turf, no matter how short a time she'd been there, that made all the difference. Months later, their goldrider -- High Reaches' goldrider, too, she had to remind herself, for no matter how unusual it was Ysavaeth was Iovniath's daughter -- had asked her about it. Actually asked her, an apprentice, like she knew. Funny thing was, she knew just enough to know who to ask, but her former mentor had definitely let her down. And Hypatia wasn't about to just let him get away with it. Petros, on the other hand, was smiling thinly, unsurprised by her reaction entirely. He'd known her long enough; he wasn't her initial sponsor, wasn't the one who had taken her under his wing at the Hold, but he knew her. They had similar interests, though his took to generally even more morbid than hers. If an autopsy was done anywhere on Pern, odds are Petros had some involvement with it. He at least saw a report. Which meant he'd known what she wanted all along. Or at least that's how Hypatia saw it. "I did compile it for you," he pointed out, smiling at her thinly and not bothering to sit down. He stood behind his desk; she remained flopped in the visitors' chair on the other side of it and drummed her fingers on the table. "It took some time, yes. But that was because I had to dig through a lot of old --" "If you had written it up in the first place, it wouldn't have been so old!" "Do you have any respect for your superiors?" Petros snapped, and Hypatia drooped a bit. The answer, of course, was that she did, but in moments where she thought they were wrong, could she really hide it? The only appropriate answer, though, was a meek: "Often." That, at least, got Petros to laugh. "It took time, Hypatia, because these things take time. Especially things that are considered -- largely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Yes, there was a murder in your Weyrleader's weyr, but there was never any clear determination on who did it or why or why the victim was even there, and further information wasn't really pressed for through the right channels at any point. I didn't perform the autopsy. Someone did, but it wasn't me, all I could do was read it over and make conclusions from there, and there are only two conclusions I can really properly make." "And it took you," Hypatia said in a low, even tone that made it very clear she was trying not to snap, "almost a turn to make two conclusions?" "I have a lot of other things to do. And I think you do know the systems involved in figuring this sort of stuff out," Petros showed his lack of interest in formal language there, "it includes volunteers, and models, and time. And money. Doing a favor for an apprentice, even if she is also a friend, is sort of bottom of the barrel." "I know. But --" "But nothing. Do you want your answer?" She said nothing, just stared straight at him, one eyebrow just slightly raised upwards. "Your assailant," instead of killer, of course, this was Petros, "was definitely taller. We're assuming male based on -- well, based on everything, there's absolutely nothing female about this. Except possibly the hair, but that would still be extrapolating and I don't know much because it was, again, not my work." He paused for a second, and added awkwardly, "The autopsy. Not the murder. Though I don't think I'm tall enough to fit the conclusion anyway, and you know I wasn't even there -- anyway. We can also assume dominant hand based on the wound tract not being a gigantic mess of itself, although mind you I never saw the wound. I'm working with sketches, here, Paysh, and that's not exactly an art." "Yes it is," Hypatia pointed out, unable to resist a tiny laugh -- it got Petros grinning, too. Point to her. "Okay. You're right. Sketching is an art. I mean it's not exact. I never saw the body. But," he said, and pulled a folded piece of paper from, of all places, his pocket, "here, anyway, is your report." It was a creased, messy paper, but it did hold everything she needed to know. The question Hypatia had to ask herself, though, was: why? What difference would knowing this make to her life? Would those who had wanted to know back then still care now? She had promised to try, but made it clear it might not work. She'd known who to ask. He had come through -- but after so long, what difference could it truly make? And what difference did it ever make to her? "Thanks, Petros." Still with more questions than answers, Hypatia returned to the Weyr. |
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