Logs:People Not Getting Along
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| RL Date: 24 June, 2009 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova eats while Madilla sews; they talk, mostly about people not getting along with other people. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 1, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Unfinished. |
| 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 not that it's /late/, but at a good couple hours after dinner, it's late enough for a greenrider to be easing herself cautiously down onto a bench before a plate of leftovers. There are still people around, mostly washing up in the kitchen, but it's a quiet noise without much clink and clank for once. Much less, crash. There are those who use the kitchens for a late meal, at this time of the evening, and those in search of something else entirely: the quiet. Madilla appears to be one of the latter, entering from the Inner Caverns cautiously, as if determining the merits of this locale, before her more certain passage inwards. With a cloth bag slung over one arm, she crosses towards one of the nooks, and then pauses, turning about as Leova catches her attention. "Leova." Warm. Amber eyes roll up, short of focus for the moment it takes to find her friend. "Evening," Leova greets. Warmly, too. Tiredly, not at little. But some spark of mischief returns for, "Look like you're up to something." Madilla's altered path carries her towards the greenrider, though she lingers nearby rather than presume to seat herself. "The common room gets really noisy, and the nighthearth, sometimes. Kitchens are cozy, though. I've been," indicating the bag, "teaching myself to quilt. Again. I'd forgotten, I mean. You've been working late?" "/Have/ you." Leova surveys the bag a long moment, as though expecting it itself to be the object of Madilla's lessons, and then raises her gaze again. "From when you were little? And do you have plans, or will you sit? Yes, for the late. Or: late enough." She'll even scoot in some, so it's more like she's apt to stay instead of staying perched on the edge of the nook's bench, though where there's really room is across the way. There's not much to see on the bag itself: it's plain, neatly sewn, but otherwise not remarkable. But Madilla sets it down on the table as, with a smile, she takes a seat on the opposite bench: much more room that way. "From when I was little," she agrees, as she settles. "Journeywoman Delifa suggested I have another hobby." Other than study. "The weyrlings are keeping you busy, then. If you're eating so late." "What's your first hobby?" Leova has to ask, elbows going down on the table's edge before, not a moment later, sliding down so she can get back to actual eating. And doing it at least a little more politely. "Busy enough. Though more of a rhythm now, you know? Just..." She cuts her meat. "More wearying right now." A rueful smile; "I should say, /a/ hobby. She was complaining about my studying too much." Madilla does seem to have taken to the quilting, though: from out of her bag, she draws a few patchwork squares, finished, and another in progress, to which she turns her attention. "I imagine the first little bit is an adjustment for everyone," she supposes, in listening. "But why more wearying, now?" The greenrider's brows go up, classic aha! moment. Then, "Don't suppose you could stitch some of your notes into it?" she teases. "That'd show /her/." Only then she lifts a shoulder, awkward enough to have strained it in some days-ago ache: "Just. Uncomfortable." Her eyes steal down to her plate again before she catches them, lifts them back to Madilla. "People not getting along, is the thing. When they used to. Back when, anyhow." Madilla gives her squares an appraising glance at this suggestion, teasing or no, but breaks into a smile anyway. "Right! Then I could sleep at night, dreaming about my notes. Though," she adds, drawing a needle and thread from out of her supplies, "This one is for W'chek." The work doesn't stop her from meeting Leova's gaze, a frown settling onto her face. "Oh. I'm sorry. That would be uncomfortable. And there's nothing you can do about it?" "Then /he/ could dream about your notes? Or would you rather stitch other things for him." It's not that Leova looks at Madilla through her lashes, being busy eating with only pauses here and there to talk, but the waver of that dark fringe says that she /could/. Back to another brief glance at the younger woman, she admits under Madilla's gaze, "Tried. Went south. Could ask Meara for advice, but feel like I ought to be able to handle it myself, hm?" Leova gets a blank glance in return, and then, several seconds later, a faint flush, her expression stiffening. "I'd rather make him dream about trying harder to make friends and be tolerant of people, but I don't think I can write that." More important, it seems, is this other topic, because it's a much more earnest answers she gives to that, between stitches, "We can't always handle things ourselves. And it's got to be less than ideal, working conditions-wise. For the weyrlings. As well." Speaking of being tolerant of people: "Pretty much. /Try/ to... well, try to be business as usual. You know? Ignore it. Not get fussed." Leova gives Madilla a rueful look. "Likely I should stop, 'fore I hang out too much of the laundry, hm? Anyhow. Could you maybe stitch something for him 'long the lines of... Peace? Or even just Sleep. Especially if it isn't the easiest to read, so he doesn't guess, but it's in there anyhow." Madilla threads her needle through, nodding along with Leova as the greenrider speaks, though her lips tilt upwards slightly and she shrugs, at the concept of too much laundry. "It's hard, though. Ignoring things. Not getting fussed. I hope it all works out" She sounds sympathetic, earnestly so, though she leaves that to add, "And that was a good idea. Peace. Or Sleep. /Something/. Maybe a different word in each square." Her squares get an appraising, thoughtful glance. "Thanks." Leova inhales audibly, slowly, only to push the air out in a puff. Shrugs again. Eats some more. "Like the sound of that," she says. "The different words. And it would make it interesting, hm? For you, I mean." She peeks over her plate to get a better look at the fabric and thread Madilla's using to begin with, while she's at it. Madilla's watching the greenrider, closely, at that inhalation and the exhalation that follows, her expression trending towards the serious, though not quite so far as to be outright concerned. "It would," she agrees, but that's to the last comments, said lightly. "Though I've always liked sewing. I'll have to think of more words." She's using scraps of fabric, mostly in varying shades of blue, cut offs from this and that, sewn together with white thread. Chewing absently on the end of a carrot, Leova watches Madilla stitch and stitch, and then finally she pushes her plate sideways along the table so she can put her elbows back on it, too. Folds her arms. Rests her cheek on them, head tilted correspondingly, and gives the blue scraps a squint-eyed look. "Like it," she says. And, after a moment, "Does he have any other friends? Whit. I wish he did." Madilla keeps most of her attention on her stitches, glancing up every so often; she doesn't exactly work fast, but she's methodical. "Thank you," she says, sounding pleased. "I think it's going to look really nice. I-- no. I wish he did, too. I thought maybe B'tal, but he's decided that it isn't suitable. Appopriate. Because B'tal is..." Flush. "Because B'tal is..." Leova winds up repeating. It must really have been that long a night. Only then, her voice gone suddenly quiet but not at all soft, cheek still there on her arm, "Surely not. Because he rides green." Looking pained, and still blushing profusely, Madilla explains, "Because he... likes men. W'chek says. I don't... he seems like a /nice/ boy. And then he went on about how it was okay, I'd be safe around him. Around B'tal." The words come out slowly, and with a note of uncertainty that becomes more pronounced as she goes on. "Oh." Leova's eyes shut, so at least she's not witnessing poor Madilla's expression any longer, and she sinks back enough that she can roll her forehead this way and that way on the back of her arm. Muffled, "/Like/ to think that none of our weyrlings would do anything you didn't want." Her head lifts somewhat, though her eyes are still partially downcast, a little unfocused. "And he's got to learn to get on with people." Madilla, all of a sudden, looks abashed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be--" She's speaking faster this time, embarrassed and awkward. "You're not on duty. You don't need to..." A breath. Then, more slowly, "I don't think any of them would, either. I said that W'chek. And that B'tal wouldn't do anything to him, /either/." Despite this, there's still a note of defensiveness as she adds, "He does /try/. I've had longer to get used to the ways the weyr is different. He /will/ get used to it. Better with people. I think." Hope. "He's not going to get into trouble, Madilla," Leova's quick to say, as reassuringly as she's able. "And you're not talking to me official-like, hm? Just... personal. And no. /Don't/ reckon B'tal would either. More apt to hide out from his own shadow... Not scared, so much. More, staying out of problems like that. And yes, this time: hope he will too." She stretches her shoulders again, looks briefly pained. Madilla's slow nod doesn't make her look entirely reassured, though it's a start, at least. After a low breath, exhaled, "I suppose. I just don't want to add to your worries." Her needle gets tucked into the fabric she's working with, which, in turn, gets spread beneath her hands upon the table. "Poor B'tal. He doesn't seem to have too many friends, either. W'chek... will. He will." She sounds determined, loyal. "No, no. Don't worry about that. I can /do/ something about that," Leova reassures all over again. "Maybe not right away, maybe it takes time, but it's... something to focus on, instead." She wonders after a moment, "Think you could? Be a friend. To B'tal. Don't know how much you've talked, and then, they /are/ busy." This time, Madilla's nod is more sure, relief flooding into her expression. She pauses, after the greenrider's question, and then, she has another nod: firm, certain. "I think so. We've only... a few times. But he does seem /nice/, and he's not... pushy. I'll try and seek him out." Pause, and then, she grins. "Delifa will be delighted." Leova's smile shows up all over again, at that. "Even better. And good for everyone all 'round. Delighted, Deli-fa..." She does the shoulder-lift again, only it's not a shrug after all because then she does the other side, balanced-like, bringing her back to: "Delifa seeing anyone, by the by? Always hear stories from you about her-as-teacher, run into her sometimes myself, but now that I've worn her knot... Makes me curious." Madilla matches the smile with one of her own, seeming quite pleased with this, all up. For the question - after a short laugh for the wearing of the knot - she frowns, head shaking. "Maybe? She had plans for turnover, and wouldn't tell. She's been smiling more." It makes her look thoughtful. "I hope that means yes." "Sounds like she's happier now, anyhow," Leova says after a moment. "Not that she ever seemed unhappy, before." Her glance to Madilla is questioning, even so. And then she leans her head on her hand again, elbow on the table, only this time it's propped up instead of slouched down. "Funny how... extra-happy... can sneak up on a body like that." |
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