Logs:Peaceful
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 28 March, 2009 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After new senior apprentice Madilla overnights at her family's hold, Leova and Vrianth take her to visit a Keroon beach. Turns out, they like different kinds of seashells. |
| Where: Keroon Beach |
| When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions |
  |
| After departing the hold early that morning, it was an easy jaunt to the, "Somewhere quiet," for which Madilla had asked: circling down towards vast plains green with new growth, themselves descending with barely a ripple toward fine sand beaches enclosing the lazy lift and toss of the gulf's blue waters. Trading news for lunch from the local holders wasn't so hard, either, with spring set in the way it has down here in the lowlands. Seven hours ahead of the 'Reaches, it's mid-afternoon here, with shade from the tall clumps of sand-grasses and, now and again, sea-avians calling to each other on the breeze. And as the tide gradually eases out, there's more and more room to wade and munch on the fish-roll and just let the crumbs fall into the water: talk about decadent. Madilla was quiet, yesterday, and has been, if anything, quieter still today, with the exception of her request, and her polite interactions with those local holders. The chosen locale obviously pleases her, though, and her shoes were quickly abandoned, her skirt tucked up into her waistband to avoid getting /too/ damp, and so, her crumbs are spread far and wide. Digging her toe exploratorily into the sand, she tilts her head back up - and then, there's a genuine smile. "Thank you, Leova. It's peaceful. Exactly what I wanted." Leova, shading her eyes as she looks over from further into the water, "I'm glad...." One corner of her mouth turns up. "...Senior apprentice," as she'd called Madilla at nearly every available opportunity when in front of her family. Perhaps out of deference to the cotholders, her pant legs are only rolled up to her knees, and she hasn't rolled up the sleeves of her shirt at all, but the beach here has such a shallow drop-off that one could wade for dragonlengths before the water reached her hems. Which, no doubt, is why Vrianth's splashing much, much further out. "If it's not too un-peaceful to ask: how did it go?" And, as she has done every single time, Madilla blushes furiously with use of her new title. "/Leova/," she complains, albeit not seriously, still smiling in the greenrider's direction. It takes her longer to answer the question, and before doing so, she turns her head away, glancing off after far-out Vrianth, the horizon beyond. "How it always goes." Though she has never been especially explanatory about what that entails. This time, she adds, "They're proud, of course. My successes reflect well on them. But they disap-- no, they see things differently. No. /I/ do, because my life is different. From what they intended. From-- what it was supposed to be." "From..." Leova turns her brimmed hat askew, then pulls it down lower, so it shades her eyes better from that new angle. And though she begins to wade along the shore in Madilla's direction, it's also at an angle that takes her further out, so the end result is a wash. "A proper wedded girl? Or if you had been placed at the Hall." Madilla leans down, letting the water wash her hands free of crumbs, then wipes them more or less dry with her skirt. Turning slightly, Leova's shifting position returns to view, and, with lips pulled in thoughtfully, she decides, "Both. But more, being a Healer wasn't supposed to change me. I was supposed to come home, bring back all my learning, and fit right back in. And it's obvious that I won't." She lifts her hand, shading her eyes with it, and adds, "I tried to talk. About everything. But I don't think they understand." An unconscious mirror of Madilla, when Leova eventually comes to a stop, it's to lean down as well: to just trail her fingers into the water, though, instead of washing them clean. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "Hard to imagine, now, that it wouldn't happen. Changes like that." "Right," agrees Madilla, running her hand idly through her hair, snarling fingers through her curls, and then extracting them, carelessly. "You'd think. Mostly, people don't leave my home, though, unless they don't intend to come back. So it was hard to know." "Suppose so." Leova trails her finger some more, sometimes circles, sometimes waves, the real waves lapping up and down her hand. Slowly, "Not that it's up to us, but: the two little girls. Hers. Would you raise them in the Weyr, where they have been? Or bring them back to the hold she came from. Where her mother lives." There's a little catch in Madilla's breath, like a broken sigh, before she can answer that question. But her answer seems certain, as though there were never any doubt: "They've already lost their /mother/." The way she says it, it's the worst tragedy that could befall a child. "They shouldn't have the rest of what they know pulled away from them, too. And if her brother stays, and they visit the hold regularly... that would be important, too." It gets a quick look from Leova, and her eyes drop to the water again, the way the light dances across it, the way her fingers cast shadows. "I don't know," she says, "If he would." And: "Would you worry about them growing up spoiled? Here. Though... though it's not as though we're unused to orphans. Or the next thing to." More softly yet, "I'm sorry." "I don't know anything about him," admits Madilla, staring off into the distance again, which might stop the tears forming in the corner of her eyes from becoming especially visible. "Except that she wouldn't let him be angry, and he wanted to be. Wants, I suppose. And he was scared of her, too, sometimes." The children, though: that's a solid topic, safer. "No. But I think they would be loved. And they'd never have to wonder about their mother." She can't answer that last comment, not immediately, and just shakes her head instead. Then: "/I'm/ sorry. I couldn't help. We left her no options." "Scared of her." It starts off as repetition, the sort that implies a question, until the lift just at the end makes it one in truth. "Not sure what you mean, either, about... wondering. About their mother. Who had options, Madilla, she did." The greenrider's fingers stop, there in the water that lifts them only to drop them, adrift. "If only to stay, and keep staying, or go while she still could." "So he said. Just sometimes. And that he wasn't allowed to be angry." There's no smile left on Madilla's face, just a blank, thoughtful expression, eyes still focused far beyond. "If they're around people who knew her. Not just family, but people who didn't have to care about her, but who did." For the rest, she shakes her head, leaning down again, the fold of her skirt dipping into the water along with her hands. "Not enough. I know. I know why, and I understand it. But I hate it, when everyone is grieving, and I just wish I could've prevented that, and I /couldn't/. And so I'm sorry." The waves are so gentle here, with their quiet rise and swell, nothing steep about them. Eventually Leova responds, "What she was like." And later yet, "Does it trouble you this much, when an old auntie dies in her sleep, at peace? Someone who wasn't... cut down, too soon. Someone everyone wasn't... counting on." Ten fingers, just under the surface of the water. Madilla stares at them, expression unreadable. "No," is her answer, eventually, leaving a significant pause after the asking. "I've had people die on me, before. Even younger people. But not someone-- the counting on, right." She recovers that phrase, puts it to use. "And because I had months. To fret over it. And now, to be blamed for it." That has Leova straightening, staring. And, at last, stepping closer again, though her feet don't lift far and never out of the water. "No one who knows you. They couldn't." Then, though it's distractedly said, "Heard about the records." "Tiriana." But Madilla doesn't seem to be placing the blame on the new Weyrwoman for that one; that one is said more ruefully, almost 'what do you expect'. "And other people. Mostly people I don't know. But not all. Healers are supposed to cure people, remember." The records; her lips twist. "Caused more problems than it stopped. Those records. But they're /hers/. Private. No one else's business." "Oh, of course." There's abruptness to how Leova flicks her fingers, wet dots darkening the fabric of her trous. Abruptness, and then a nearly as immediate wince. "Supposed to cure people, but don't know everything. Even if a body wished they did." Flick, flick, but in a more controlled fashion this time. "Would be surprised if healers didn't gossip. Between themselves." Madilla straightens again, and although one hand drops back to her side, the other reaches across her body, tugging lightly on her knot, fingers wrapping about the cords, covering them. "Should know more, though. Be better." Then, a pause, and, slowly, her head turns, allowing her to consider Leova. There's outright unhappiness on her face, and her nod is so short and sharp as to be easily missed. "They shouldn't." But they do, oh yes. Leova's mouth compresses. And then she says, ducking her head, trying to make it airy, "Could have been worse, hm? Could have come to just you, told /you/ not to tell the others. And they your journeymen, your masters." Loyalty and loyalty. Madilla's mouth opens, and then she hesitates. And then, another slow nod. "Could have." She takes in a deep breath, and then lets it out again. "I'm sorry, Leova. I shouldn't be... It's just been a hard seven. And I haven't even asked about how you're doing." Leova's eyes lift. She too breathes in all at once, but then Madilla lets hers go, and so does she. In the end, "Don't need to be on duty for me, Madilla... Madilla." She wades in a little closer, heading in the direction of shore. "Did you ever have a nickname? That you liked." "I didn't mean it like that," says Madilla, truthful and earnest. "I meant... as a friend. It's not fair, if I just-- when you're hurting, too. Must be." Her gaze focuses upon the greenrider, intent, searching. The question, answered belatedly, seems to surprise her. "My mother called me Maddie. And since... Dilly, Dilla. I don't mind. Just not... Mad." At that, Leova has to chuckle, low and brief but there. "No. I'd think not. If I ever wanted to /get/ you... that way, maybe." A few more steps in, leaving the talk of hurting along the way, and she can drop down to the sand: an easy if awkward folding that doesn't use her arms at all except at the end. "So what do you get to do, now? Now that you're /senior/ apprentice, and all." Madilla stays where she is, except to shift her position so that she can face Leova more easily, and nods - amused, suddenly. "Some of the boys did, at the Healer Hall. Because I was so different, I might as well have been mad." Senior Apprentice. Instead of a smile, this earns a low sigh. "Less supervision - more patients on my own. I'm supposed to be able to handle myself, now - or, at least, more than I was. Write my own reports. It's... going to be a challenge." "Bit of a reach, that." Leova crosses her arms idly enough, leaning elbows on opposite palms on knees. Still and all, "More patients? But not more, what did you say, pharmacy work? Or is that pharmacy patients." So confusing! "Would hope you'd have at least /something/... nicer. Too." Madilla's shrug seems to indicate she doesn't mind - didn't, or did and now doesn't? - and she says, "Boys. Teenage boys. It's what they do." She slides into a crouch again, so as to reach into the shallow water and pull free a shell. "Both. I'll be trusted to do more complicated things in the pharmacy. But also, with normal patients. Just - general patients. The weyr needs more of that kind of healer, than a pharmacist." Surprised, she adds, "Like what? I'm happy, I am. The-- it'll be good, I think. I'll be learning a lot." "Too true." The greenrider stays put, though there's a slight waver where she /could/ rock from side to side, /could/ stretch out some instead. She doesn't do either. "So if you're doing general. That'll be all right? Wanted to work with kids, I thought," and even if the reasons still escape Leova, she can still tilt a sideways smile at her friend. "Or maybe at dinner, a glass of... Well. Maybe not." Now that she has the shell, Madilla straightens again. The fold of her skirt is all wet, right at her knees which will look mighty strange once she's unhooked the rest of it, but for the moment, she doesn't seem especially concerned. Fingering the shell, turning it from side to side in her hand, she nods. "General - it's good. We don't have any specialists in pediatrics, so I'm doing some of that, too. With the children. A weyr's not really the best posting for a Pharmacist. Journeywoman Delifa took it to be near her family, but I really don't mind." She's smiling again, earnest, though her head shakes for the suggestion. "I suppose I might be allowed to, but... I don't really drink. Not much. Delifa tells me to go and enjoy myself, with people my age, but..." She shrugs. "What did you find?" Leova thinks to insert, with an eye to the healer from where she listens down below. Now and then she nods, and in the end sits back. Nearing a question but not quite making it, "And so long as nobody else is specializing in the little ones, they might as well give the jobs to an apprentice, a /senior/ apprentice! who likes them. I reckon." She adds after a moment, "You talked about marks, once." Madilla holds the shell between her thumb and one of her fingers, and extends her arm so that Leova can see it. Just a shell, not even a terribly pretty one now that it's no longer beneath the water, but in one piece, at least. "I'm hoping. That now, I'll be allowed to do more of that, I mean, more than I was as an Apprentice. We'll see." But there's a pink flush to her cheeks, faint but still visible: pure pleasure. "I don't know if I get more marks. I hadn't thought to ask. But-- I hope. They need them, at home." Leova leans, looks. Admires the find, too, with her smile and a quiet sound of appreciation. Sitting back afterward, her gaze slipping higher to the blush and all, "I hope so too. You did tell Delifa? She knows?" The greenrider's smile reappears, but rueful: so much /she/ doesn't know, about what the healers do and do not say. "Might... might ask about that too. Just, what to expect. So you're prepared." Her knees slide up and together, a pyramid for her arms to wrap around. "Not many of us get to bring marks in, I think. Instead of taking them out, as a dowry." Madilla, pleased with the response her shell gets, draws her hand back, and tucks the find into a convenient pocket. "She knows." Pause. "I think she knows. I haven't spoken to her /as such/, but..." Then, a nod determined in it's forcefulness. "I'll ask. On both accounts. To confirm." With a sandy, salty hand, she pushes away an escaped curl to tuck behind her ear, while her expression takes on a distinctly proud note. "Right. Exactly. It's very satisfying, to know I'm providing for them, instead of taking away." "Both accounts: what to expect /and/ about the pediatrics," Leova seeks to pin down, giving Madilla the eye. Which then goes cross-eyed, on purpose, and holds there in overt hope of a reaction before she lets go. Still with some of that humor, "Reckon they appreciate it." Or should. "And aren't... decorating the cothold in metals and fancy woods and pretty tapestries and such," as though one /could/ on an apprentice's salary. Madilla's sharp, decisive nod of confirmation gets waylaid halfway by the cross-eyedness, which makes her laugh. Not out loud, but there's a grin, an exhalation of breath, and it's got to be a close cousin of a real laugh. "Oh no," she says of the idea of using her marks for decoration, not quite able to take it entirely as the joke it is. "They're--" Then, more lamely, "It's for useful things. Things they can't make themselves. And dowries, for my sisters and cousins. It helps." That grin gets a pleased smile in return, one that deepens for that oh-no before fading into something like reminiscence. Leova loosens her arms at last, toys with her high-buttoned collar, but in the end doesn't free it despite the weather. Instead, she busies herself with the sand by her feet, beginning to sort out bits of rock, the odd shred of dried seaweed, a fragment of shell much more iridescent than Madilla's find but not, in the least, intact. They all get lumped together. "Imagine it does," she eventually says, and adds a smaller, smoother rock to the mix. "And next thing you know, you'll be journeyrank and can do, oh. All sorts of things." Madilla is watching, and notes that something-like-reminiscence, her expression distinctly more thoughtful for it. She takes a few steps forward, wading through the shallows towards the beach, but comes to a halt while still standing on damp sand, and leans down to inspect, idly, a bubbling hole near her toe. "Not for turns," she says, then, shaking her head. "Three and a half, at least, probably more. You have to be pretty good, to walk the tables at twenty. But those marks /will/ help." Beat. "You get fewer marks, not you're not assisting the Weyrlingmaster, don't you." She's watching again. Poor Leova, for once oblivious to that reaction of Madilla's, sitting there with that little pile she's making out of the little oddities, or at least not-like-sand-grains, within her right arm's reach. Just the ones on the surface, just now. "Vrianth's just... four and a half," she says after a moment. "But then, we don't do what you do..." A little while later, not long, and by now she's staring at a little brownish /thing/ like she's trying to figure out whether it's rock or wood or worse, "Little over half of what it was. Not counting what's for dragonhealing on top, anyhow, which was that much more reason to... Did I tell you? Passed the aide's exams." Softly, "That's a big difference. To drop, like that. What you have, after necessities." She leaves that to hang for a moment, but can't hold off for longer than that: "But-- congratulations. On passing. That's excellent news." Despite Madilla's obvious pleasure and pride, there's still something distinctly more watchful in her expression. "Thanks. Didn't talk it up, not with... everything." The greenrider hadn't immediately addressed the rest, but now she says, this while moving her little pile of rocks-and-bits atop one knee so they roll over the other side, "Necessities, though. Those I got, you know? From the Weyr. So... still send some of it back, and save some. For my window." Now she looks up at Madilla again, at last, after that so-slight defiance on the possessive. "/Your/ window," repeats Madilla, though it's not a question, and doesn't particularly request response. "Still," and this time, she is encouraging response, "it's hard, I imagine, to have less to send back, less to save." Her brows have arched slightly, but what she says next is back to a softer tone, remarked as she drops a hand beneath the low, rippling waves to press against the sand. "Nice to have things to celebrate, though, regardless, even with... everything." "The one I've been wanting a miner to carve out. For our weyr," Leova answers anyway, and this time the possessive is more complex, verging on wistful all over again. As Madilla drops her hand, the greenrider's gaze drops too, sending more little pebbles and such a-tumble. "Yes. The pleasant things. The rest?" She just lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. Tumble-tumble-tumble-roll. "Not so bad as all that. Might have spent a little more, here and there, but mostly tried to act as if I still was getting what any rider gets. Family... hasn't chided me none, with the change." Madilla's nod is ready enough, but her comment less certain, despite the words she uses, "For /your/ weyr. Of course. That will be nice: a view, from within. I still find the caverns very strange, sometimes: no windows, no natural light." She draws her hands back up, out of the water, and shakes them off, tilting her head as she adds, "That's all right, then. As long as it's not causing you problems." "L'vae has one," Leova explains after a moment. "Gave me the idea. Even if most weyrs don't." Problems. It shadows her expression, and never mind that the sky's still bright overhead, not so close as all that to sunset. With much the same intonation of when she'd spoken of them before, "Family... understands." And then she's looking up at Madilla, straight for her. "What's on your mind?" "It's a good idea," agrees Madilla, putting that comment in before her hesitation, her consideration of the greenrider turning her own expression to something less smiley, less certain. "Oh - nothing in... I suppose it's just that my family /would/. Did, even, when I started keeping just a little bit to save for myself." She speaks fast, almost tripping over her words. "I didn't mean to make it sound like a... thing." "Are you thinking," Leova asks after a moment, during which she relaxes her shoulders, the line of her hand, "That I might.... do well to save more? For my relations. Or are you thinking about sending less." "No, no," says Madilla, hasty, and now, embarrassed. "I was just worried that it was a problem, causing you a problem. It's certainly not my business, what you do with your marks." Leova settles some at that, says quietly, "Think we're all on edge, still. Some. Part of the time. Part not. Don't know when that's going to end." Madilla nods quickly, accepting this as true. "I know. We are. I wish... I hope it dies down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Leova turns her head to look down the shore, then glances back, sidelong. "Sorry too. Madilla. It's all right." She has to stop. "This is, anyway," with a wave to everything around; they are. Abandoning her pile of little things, beginning to stand, "How about we see if there's anything else we can find, to go along with your shell?" Madilla waits, hesitates, for a long moment, before she nods, and manages another smile, if one a little worn about the edges. They are. "All right," she agrees, wading through the shallows the rest of the distance between them. "I like the shells. They're - pretty. So delicate." "That one, all in one piece," Leova says, bent over to peer down at the sand a little past where she'd been sitting. "The one you found, hard to find that way." Her eyes narrow when a soft wave slips past, but it's nothing, and her gaze roams further. "Only like them whole?" Madilla ambles ahead, feet occasionally splashing through one of the waves, and sinking easily into the damp sand. "The sea breaks them, doesn't it?" Inland born, bred, she has still a sense of wonder about the enormity of the ocean; it's visible in her expression, now. "They can be broken, too. I don't mind. It just makes the whole ones all the more special." The greenrider takes it slower at first, step by step, scanning enough to exhaust what's there. Behind them, the waves are already lapping into their footprints, leaving little mirrors to reflect the slanted afternoon sun. "Funny," though her tone's more thoughtful than not, unhurried, even as she reaches down to pick up what turns out to be a fragment. She gives it a look, dismisses it with a toss. "I like them... have you seen them, when they get all shimmery, on their insides? Got one like that over my hearth. And if one's broken... means I don't have to worry so much 'bout breaking it." Madilla turns her head back as Leova speaks, watching the greenrider again. "But having one whole gives you reason to want to look after it, I think. A little treasure. I like those ones, too," she adds in, turning back around and immediately crouching to examine something sticking out of the sand. A stick, as it turns out, and not even a terribly nice one. She leaves it be, and adds, while she stands, "Or, if you /want/ to break it, if you want it to be a particular shape or whatever, then it's okay. Like having a clean slate to start with." That quick crouch gets a quick look in anticipation, but when she straightens, Leova gets back to her searching. Instead of a too-bad, "Hard to break it the way you want, I reckon. Though some people make real fine jewelry out of it..." She does some poking around too, finds a rock that she holds up to the light. No, a bit of sea-glass instead, to get stuffed into her pocket before shuffling on. "Tell you what, though. I find a whole one? I'll give it to you." Though a second later she has to add, rueful, "Unless it's just too shiny for my own good." "Probably something they teach smiths how to do," agrees Madilla, toes sinking into the damp sand and squishing around in it; she seems to take a bit of pleasure in that, lingering on each step. "Breaking them up just right, so as to make the pretty things." She's no more successful in her next find: just some seaweed, though in the sun, it did shine prettily for a moment or two. "Would you?" Her head's turning back again, smile brilliant. "Thanks, Leova." Leova's straightened from her shuffling by now, though instead of a find, it's just to rub the small of her back. And then wince, and let her arms just hang before she stretches. "Welcome," she answers the younger woman with a sudden smile of her own. "You know, the cotholders might know? If you wanted to ask. Though I don't know if they would /teach/." Madilla's expression sets into a light frown as she considers this, but, finally, she shakes her head. "I suppose they might, but I'm sure you'd need tools to do it, properly, anyway, and I haven't access to any of them. What would the point of knowing be, if you can't actually try it for yourself? I'll stick to enjoying them as they are - broken or whole." She bends again, and this time, it's to pull free an almost perfect, iridescent shell. "Perfect! Well. Almost perfect." "But, but you'd /know/ people who," starts Leova in something like dismay, only then she breaks off to hurry over and look. And then, quick as that, to laugh. "Look at that catch the light! What a find." Madilla tilts the piece of shell in her hand, positively beaming, all thoughts of shell-crafters escaping from her concentration as she examines the colours. "It's /beautiful/. Better than the whole one, maybe. I wonder if there's any more like this around; then you could have one, too." Leova angles around to try and peek a little better, but stay out of the light at the same time, "Who knows! If we find one, that would be fun. Won't be holding my breath any, but fun... You know, though. Could be real striking next to each other, this and your first one. Different." Madilla tilts it again, so that the colours continue to change, expression admiring. "Could be, too," she agrees. "I'll have to find someplace to put them. Display them. It's sort of hard, in the dorms." She turns the piece of shell over, considering it, and then decides, "Come on, we'll have to see what else we can find. Your turn to find something, I hope." "No breaking, no... running off with," Leova agrees, taking one last look before stepping away to gauge the shore somewhat better. This time, instead of looking so intently as she shuffles along, she skims the sand for anything that might catch her eye. "Found a bit of glass," she mentions, rummaging within a pocket to hold it up, eyes never leaving the shore. "Right," Madilla agrees, turning the shell over once more in her hand, before it, too, is tucked away safe and sound in her pocket. "Glass?" she repeats, tilting her head so that she can see what Leova has to show, and examines it thoughtfully. "That's kind of pretty, too." All these treasures? Who needs marks to spend at gathers, after all. The Senior Apprentice punctuates her earlier remark with a nod, then turns back to the shore, retucking her skirt to keep it from falling down as she ambles on. Stuffing it back into her pocket afterward, Leova agrees, "Like how when you hold it up to the light, it sort of glows, but otherwise it just looks rough. Like a rock. A bluish rock." So she slows, instead, somewhere between the two routes: easy to let more time pass this way, and find in quick succession more ordinary rocks and more seaweed and a pair of shells broken so it's mostly just the hinges that cling together. Could be Madilla will have better luck, but if not, at least they'll have a little more than a sunburn to bring back and remember the morning by. "A blueish rock," repeats Madilla; this somehow seems to strike her as funny, because she laughs, sounding content - and utterly carefree. And, after all, was that not the point of this escape? /Someplace quiet/. Her further discoveries, in the end, are not especially more exciting: another chewed-on stick, an old boot, a dead fish. But, in the end, that's plenty, and it's a happier Madilla that returns to the weyr for lunch, with a smile that lasts at /least/ until dinner time. |
Leave A Comment