Logs:Not A Bitch
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| RL Date: 2 September, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tiriana and Madilla... get along? Bond? Is the world ending? |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 8, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: R'uen/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions |
| Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients. About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like. Today, when Tiriana arrives, many of the healers are getting their lunches, their patients settled for the time being. Her errand to the infirmary once again doesn't seem to be related in any way to her health, because when the woman on duty at the desk questions her, the Weyrwoman shuts him down and, rather than see a healer, hovers near the desk to await the return of a certain young apprentice. Madilla's return to the infirmary comes a few minutes later (probably a few very tense minutes for the poor woman on duty). She's in the process of retying her apron as she walks, though Tiriana's presence lifts her head, and then, causes her to falter on both the walking and the tying. For a moment, she looks as though she's deliberating on something, and then, quietly, "Good afternoon, Weyrwoman." At which point she'll start walking again. There's really no good way to reopen this conversation, and Tiriana just frowns at Madilla for several very long moments before she comes up with the highly original, "Hi." Another beat of silence, and then the Weyrwoman takes a couple of steps toward her. "Hey. How are you?" Probably, Madilla intended to say hello and then move on; she may have had an inkling as to why Tiriana was here, but chances are she wasn't going to assume it. So, once again, her footsteps falter, and this time she has to stop outright and actually, properly look at her. Awkwardly, after several moments of visible hesitation, she says, "Fine." Beat. "That is-- as well as is to be expected. Thank you." "Considering," Tiriana adds that one word to Madilla's statement, frowning in the process. She chews the inside of her cheek a moment, about as hesitant as the healer girl for this one moment. Finally, "Meant to come by, see if you'd, you know. Figured it out, for yourself." Considering. Madilla's head bobs, perhaps unintentionally, in response to that addition. Considering: yes. "Figured it out?" she asks, expression shifting to a frown. And then, "Oh. W'chek found me, after I-- he admitted to it. So. I've been," her hands twist around the edges of her apron as she struggles to find the right words to continue with. "Re-evaluating, I suppose. Working things out. I'm sorry I said you were lying to me." Tiriana, nodding once, agrees, "Yeah. Got the note." And she stuffs her hands in her pockets. Then, "Re-evaluating. So... what are you doing to do to him, then? I mean, he's ruined, anyway, as many of us hate him--and for good reason, too. But there's gotta be something else, to finish the job." Madilla's head ducks, at mention of the note, cheeks faintly pink, though why... who knows. But for the rest: she shakes her head. "I don't want to hurt him," she tells the Weyrwoman, head lifting so that she can meet that gaze squarely. "In some ways, that would make me worse. He hurt me, but it wasn't because he was intending to. If I did... I would be." She hesitates, and then, "I don't hate him, either. He hates himself enough already." And that, that just makes Tiriana stare. "You think he didn't mean to? He led you on, knowing full well someday it would come out and screw you up like this. And you want to go easy on the bastard," she says, shaking her head. "Doesn't make you worse. Makes you even. You telling me you don't want to? Not even a little bit?" The staring makes Madilla cower just a little bit: there go her eyes, sweeping the floor again instead. "No," she says, though, voice wavering, though it's stronger as she continues that sentence. "He really wanted a family. He thought maybe he'd 'get better'. He was deluding himself, not just lying to me." She has to swallow hard before she can add the last bit; "I don't know. I'm not like you. I don't think that way. It wasn't-- it was never about /passion/." "People don't change," says Tiriana with a wave of her hand. "And I don't know what the fuck his problem is in the first place." But W'chek takes second stage to the conundrum that is before her: Madilla. Disdainfully, Tiriana leans back against the check-in desk, which sends the healer stationed there--already edgy--scurrying to find somewhere else to loiter. Tiriana ignores her, continues eyeing Madilla. "Well," she snorts. "I guess why bother getting mad when it's all just business?" Madilla blushes darkly at Tiriana's final comment, though her hasty response to it is firm enough: "I still cared about him. /Care/. I still care. He-- seemed to want the same kind of life I did. It was comfortable." But under this kind of scrutiny, it obviously makes her feel distinctly awkward. "All I've ever wanted is to be able to have a family. Having him was-- better than just trying to do it on my own." Another shake of her head, and Tiriana declares, firm herself, "If all it is is comfortable, then you've got it damn wrong. It's not supposed to be /comfortable/, Faranth." She rolls her eyes, as though that's about the stupidest idea she's heard. "It's supposed to be about--fuck. You don't get it; you're not going to get it. I guess if comfortable's good enough--." Madilla takes a deep breath, letting her hands loosen the apron they've been holding for so long now, and drop back to her sides. "What's wrong with comfortable?" she wants to know, frowning. "Understand, I've got nothing against-- passion. All of that. I've just never experienced it, and truthfully, I /will/ be content with less than that. I'd've had no choice at all in who I married, if I was still with my parents." "If you'd be content with that, go back," Tiriana says, bluntly. "Probably got enough training now to do whatever healing they could ever need. You can go home, marry the yokel from the next hold over, and have a dozen kids. And be comfortable." A shrug. "You think you're ever going to experience it, this way?" "I don't want to go back," says Madilla, earnestly. "I don't. And I don't know if I'll experience it... But I'm not going to sit around and wait desperately for something that may never happen, when ultimately, what I care about /more/ is getting to have a family. Aren't weyrs all about having freedom? To make choices? Isn't that allowed to be my choice?" Her voice quavers at the end of that, as though standing up for herself is more than a little terrifying. Perhaps it is. "Anyway. It doesn't matter, now, does it? He's-- like he is." "Yeah, and you act like you're still there." It earns Madilla a hard look, Tiriana's lips pursing. "Some freedom. You want to get knocked up, go do it. Not like it's hard, around here. --You know, I think you used him about as much as he did you. Guess it's a good thing he didn't really care about you, either." Madilla's face falls utterly, then goes blank. "I did care," she says, after a moment, though she's addressing the wall now, her gaze shifting away from Tiriana. "I still care. Maybe it's not the same kind of caring that some people have for their partners, but... I care." Beat. "Was there something else you needed, Weyrwoman, or should I let you get back to your duties?" The words are emotionless, brittle and clipped. There's a long moment there, when Tiriana's mouth threatens to curl into a sneer. But in the end, she just releases a breath, tense though it is. "I'm not being a bitch. I'm just saying--. Fuck. I don't know. There's other stuff, better stuff, out there. Than comfortable." What Tiriana says seems to surprise Madilla enough that she frowns, her whole posture changing as she does so. "I do believe you," she says, finally, after a heavy pause. "I do. It's not that. I've just never felt it. And-- that doesn't mean I don't want it. I just don't understand it." "And that's... some kind of excuse?" Honest befuddlement creeps into Tiriana's voice, and her expression is less accusative than just confused. "You think anybody feels it before they find it? You think anybody ever gets it? Fuck, I have R'uen and I damn well don't. It just--happens. Uncomfortably." Madilla, pink cheeked, hesitates. "I suppose," she allows, evidently giving it some thought, her left hand drawing into a light fist, like some reflexive gesture. "I just... I don't know. At first, it was that it would be wrong, to just ask someone to give me a baby. And then... there was W'chek." Pink shades even darker, to outright red. "But... uncomfortably?" And for once, Tiriana actually looks a little uncomfortable herself, reaching up to brush at her hair. "Well," she begins, biting her lip. "I mean, me and Rev--R'uen. It wasn't supposed to end up like this. Weyrmates, babies... /normal/. I don't do normal." But Madilla's expression doesn't note the uncomfortableness, whether or not the girl actually does. She tilts her head to the side, just slightly, thoughtful and considering. "But if it feels right... does it matter whether it's normal or not? /Are/ you going to have babies?" It makes her smile. "I've seen R'uen. You'd have lovely babies." "Er--" That's a turn in the conversation Tiriana doesn't quite know what to do with. She sinks back more heavily against the desk, rubbing her neck. "No--well. I mean, yeah, sure. Someday. Eventually." A frown, a shrug. Then, "And of course we'd have pretty babies. Have you /seen/ us?" Madilla's lips draw together, apologetic, but she doesn't verbalise it, and really, she's too visibly interested to care /too/ much. "You've plenty of time," she agrees, evenly, not that she's managing to keep a note of longing out of her own voice. Just one. A small one. "I know. They would be beautiful. Will be. One day." "Plenty," Tiriana agrees, very very firmly. "I mean, I'm not even twenty-three. Next week's my birthday, so... yeah. Plenty of time. Though--I mean, with him being here, now... surprised he's not going about it all the time." A beat, and then she wrinkles her nose up, though her mouth quirks rather fondly despite herself. "Used to, he was all going on about wanting a dozen. I said two, maybe--maybe!--three, and then he's all, 'I'd've settled for just one.' --So why don't you get on it already, too?" "Happy birthday," says Madilla, promptly, with a smile. "Mine was two weeks ago. Month eight must be a good month for them." For the rest, her smile goes crookedly amused, particularly given the fondness. "Perhaps it doesn't seem quite so pressing, now, because you are together. You'll know when the time is right." She pauses, then, looking hesitant. "Apprentices aren't allowed." Sadly. Tiriana smirks, just a little bit. "Rev's, last week. It was a good one." And that makes her smirk broaden further. As for the last, "Maybe. I don't know. Not gonna remind him, anyway." A shrug. "What would they do, kick you out? Send you back?" Earnestly, "I'm glad. Happy birthday to him, too." Madilla grins outright at the not-reminding, like she's holding back a laugh, and promises, "If I should ever speak to him, I won't mention it either." She wipes her hands on her apron, an idle gesture, as she adds, "Kick me out - probably. I suppose. Perhaps they'd just recall me to the Hall, but I doubt it. You can't be an effective student, with a baby. I'll have to wait until I walk the tables. Two more years." "I don't get that," says Tiriana, with a vague gesture. "I mean, not the kicking-you-out part. The... desperation. Who really /wants/ kids like that? To puke on you, mess up diapers. Ruin every time you want to just be alone--let alone with somebody else." Madilla turns pink, but she speaks in a quiet, honest tone. "I do. I always have. They love so... unconditionally. I can't explain why I feel so strongly about it." But it makes her frown, clearly, thinking it over. "I feel empty. It would be easier if I didn't, but... I do." Tiriana frowns, too, just eyeing Madilla. "And then they grow up," she finishes. "And they realize the truth about you and they don't love you any more. That's what kids do. You don't want to go back to your sick fuck parents, I don't want to--that's just what kids do. And you want that." Madilla flinches, just for a moment, at the term 'sick fuck parents'. And she swallows, before she answers, twisting a strand of hair behind her ear, and then, finally, shrugging. "I do. Maybe they'll do that. But... I don't know. It's important. Do you wish your parents had never had you?" "Do I wish I'd never been born?" The reworded question makes Tiriana just eye Madilla. "Of course not. What kind of idiot question is that? I just--I mean, it's not like we're close." She shrugs, lips pursing. "Me and Momma, even before she died. Or Daddy, since... Well. I grew up, too." "It was rhetorical," says Madilla, hastily, after looking somewhat aghast while Tiriana speaks. "I only meant... someone has to have the children. So it's good that someone wants to." And then, with a purse of her lips, "Parents have trouble, when their children... step away. See things differently. I hope I can remember that. To be accepting." And Tiriana just laughs, though far from cheerily. "That's not my daddy's problem," she tells Madilla flatly. "You'd have to notice to get pissed off about it. He just--he makes you want to do like him, but he never really... Stuff doesn't get to him. Not like the rest of us." The thought makes her mouth quirk unhappily, but after a moment she pushes it away and straightens up, off the desk she's been leaning on for so long. "Anyway. Kids are still trouble, that's all. So not exactly jumping at the bit to go get knocked up. And fat. And all." Madilla's eyes are focused intently on Tiriana as she talks about her father, cheeks drawn in, but she only nods, albeit uncertainly, in response. In the end, she says, simply, "There's nothing wrong with that. Not that you were saying there was, of course. I don't think it matters-- whether someone wants to, or not. So long as they're happy with it." Her gaze turns away, as she takes a deep breath, noting, "I ought to be getting back to work. Not that... I've enjoyed talking to you, Weyrwoman." Tiriana glances once toward the door, makes a face before she nods. "Yeah. Yeah, me, too," she concedes, unenthusiastic. "Should go. I'll see you around, and... good luck, I guess." Madilla watches that face, empathy written, if briefly, on her own. "Thank you," she says, quietly, but with a smile. "I'll see you around, yes. Have a... good afternoon." |
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