Logs:Moving On
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| RL Date: 16 July, 2011 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Another kind of good-bye. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 3, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions |
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| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. It's evening, a couple of days After, and with the main meal in full swing out in the Living Caverns, the kitchens are relatively quiet. Madilla has one of the little alcoves to herself, and has holed herself up in the corner - right out of the way. She eats with methodical precision, her gaze downcast, though aside from her pinched and too-pale face, she might just be in a hurry to get back to something, her mind elsewhere. Though his face is pale and hollow like this might be his first meal in days, when W'chek comes into the kitchen, he is in fact dressed appropriately, shaved, hair in some semblance of order, looking for all the world like a fully-functioning human being. He doesn't manage to get much onto the plate he snags from those intended for the main cavern, but there is at least a bit of meat, some bread. His steps at first head in the direction of one of the empty alcoves, but in the end somehow where they end up is paused right beside Madilla. And then the bronzerider is sliding in opposite her as though this is the most natural thing in the world. Well, it might be a bit more natural if he actually said hello, which seems to go forgotten. Madilla's eyes go wide and searching as, glancing up, she's met with the bronzerider's presence. She takes it all in: the pale, hollow face, the shave, the clothes, the hair. It leaves her silent for several moments longer than is probably polite before she can manage words - and even then, just one. "Whitchek." It's such a subtle difference, the old name compared to the new - it seems to escape without her even realising it. "/Whit/." Having said that, however, she seems stuck for anything else to say: she sits there, watching, her mouth open but no words coming out. At the name, he smiles, a smile so long practiced and still so obviously false. W'chek doesn't comment on it directly, though. Instead, he breaks a bread roll in half in his hands, glances down at the two halves and then looks back to her. "I have a box for you. Been sorting through things. Sadly not a whole lot in it so far. Some things I imagine he'd meant to give her later. I don't think she'll have much use for clothes. There are a few books. Not that I expect her to read them now or anything, but you know, for when she's older. I figure, no use keeping everything around cluttering things up." He just seems to go on and on, not really getting around to this business of eating anything. "I imagine they'll expect me to move somewhere smaller. Free up the space for someone who needs the room." Without words of her own, Madilla can do nothing but sit through all of W'chek's in silence, though the knotting of her brows is a good indication that she's worried and unhappy. She has to clear her throat before she can actually say anything, though when the words come out, her tone is relatively even. "I'm sure they'll let you take your time. There's no-- no rush." Her eyes entreat him, though the specifics are impossible to read from her expression. "Thank you. I know she'll want things of his, one day. I don't know if she'll remember--" She has to break off, the words finally catching in her throat. After swallowing, "Do you need anything? I know nothing will really help, but..." "There's no reason to dawdle about it." Except the whole laundry list of reasons why this is probably not healthy at all. W'chek does finally manage to start actually chewing on his bread as she goes on, although he seems to have a hard time actually swallowing it at the end. "No. Nothing will help." Then after a moment of leaden silence, he goes on, talking a bit too quickly: "She probably won't. I don't remember my mother, not really. But it's a kindness, in a way, easier when you're younger. And this simplifies things, doesn't it? You know, you're not too old to marry. Properly." Then he suddenly clamps his mouth shut, as though realizing this is probably a bit too far. "I'm sorry. Not right away. I didn't mean that." As though it's her feelings that need to be preserved, here, and he's just some stranger. There's every reason to dawdle, and Madilla opens her mouth as though she intends to say as much, but doesn't, in the end, get the words out. Her complexion goes even more ashen, however, at the rest of what he has to say, until she's shaking her head rapidly: no, no, no. "No," she says, finally, into the space after his words. And then: "No, it's all right. I know what you meant, but it isn't going to be like that. I can't." She doesn't explain it, but she sounds pretty confident. "No one will ever replace him." Beat. "Are you going to be okay?" "You've found replacements before." W'chek's tongue runs over his lower lip, and he adds quickly, "I mean--plans change. There's no reason not to make the best of things." After which he actually laughs a little, sort of, or at least that was possibly what that choked noise was supposed to be. Not that his face betrays anything out of the perfectly ordinary. "I'm going to be fine." That old familiar word again, pronounced clearly. "He was always going to leave. One way or another. Six years. I had six years. It was more than I ever deserved, and you know that as well as I do. I have to be thankful for that. And move on. So, I'm moving on." 'Replacements' makes Madilla wince, but aside from that, she only nods uncertainly, her expression betraying a mass of conflicted emotions that don't make it into words. Instead, her words are quiet and sad, but still manage to be firm. "Everyone deserves happiness, W'chek. I wish yours had lasted a lifetime; I do. I hope you won't be a stranger to us. I think--" She swallows, thickly, not on the verge of tears, but still holding back emotion. "I think he would like that. I know I can't really say that for certain, and I know you knew him far better than I did, but-- I know I want her to know the people her father loved." After finishing what little food was on his plate, W'chek regards the empty circle of it, takes a napkin and wipes his fingers on it almost primly. "It was hard enough to look at her before, Madilla. I don't think I could do it, now. I'm sorry. Find her a proper father. Give her some brothers and sisters. A proper family. She doesn't ever have to hear about me. He loved her. I can't." He slides himself out to stand, picks the plate up. "I tried, once. It probably would have made him happy, yes. But he always thought better of me than I really deserved." The smile this time is smaller, less even. Still not genuine. "You two had that in common, I guess. I'll bring that box down once I've finished sorting things." Madilla doesn't seem to know what to say to that, though her expression says it all: she's not begging, but she's not far from it, cheeks flushed with emotion. Finally, however, she manages a nod. "I'm sorry," she says, in a tiny voice, barely louder than a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I'll-- thank you." She bites her lip, letting her teeth linger there for a long moment before she can add: "Look after yourself, W'chek. I mean that. And if there's ever anything-- I know there won't be. But if there was, you know where to find me." Resting the plate on the table for a moment, W'chek reaches his free hand over, brushing against Madilla's hair in a way he surely hasn't done in years--in a way familiar enough that he maybe didn't even do it then. "I should have said no," he says, then, quieter than any of the rest of it. "She should have been mine. And--*fuck* what anybody else thought of it." Sudden, unbridled viciousness in that one sentence, reined back in as quickly as it escaped. "But he turned out to be so good at it. So maybe I would have just been shit, after all. I'm sorry, dear. I know all you ever wanted was to help. You'll figure it all out." He wouldn't have talked like this then, either, of course. He pulls his hand back away, and then he turns to go off and balance his plate on top of the growing pile of dirty dishes coming in from the cavern. That touch surprises Madilla, and probably the words that follow it, too: her gaze lifting towards his as best it can without her moving her head; she doesn't seem to want to dislodge him. "You would have been wonderful," she says, though of course, it's easy to say that, here and now, when all of this is hypothetical. "Our children would have been wonderful." She tracks him across the cavern, murmuring something else only once he's far enough away that he'd probably never hear it: "I'm so sorry. For all of it." |
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