Logs:Redecorating
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| RL Date: 20 November, 2012 |
| Who: Madilla, Tajent |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tajent has some redecoration ideas. And some things to say that don't quite go down as well as planned. |
| Where: Weyrhealer's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 4, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Delifa/Mentions |
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| 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. By some measures, Taj has waited a decent amount of time before traipsing into the infirmary with slate in hand, and if it was one of the higher-ranking headwoman's assistants that stopped him from doing so sooner, that's not something Madilla needs to know. "I'm here to see the Weyrhealer," he says to the journeyman on duty, the one who is not Madilla. Meaningfully. "There was an appointment." The journeyman on duty - a man probably a turn or two older than Madilla, and one of those who has been biting back his own ambitions without pleasure, after recent events - fixes a lengthy glance on Tajent, rather as though he's making his mind up about something. Rather as though-- but he stops, and shrugs, and indicates the open-doored office with a tip of his head. "She's all yours." Taj is all bright brown eyes and a cheery smile for being looked over like that, or maybe it's overlooked. "Thanks, sir," and that smile lingers for a warm moment after he's gone, cheshire-fashion. Into the office, then, looking around: at the woman, yes, but also the bones of the place, the fixtures, the opportunities. Madilla is sitting at that desk that used to be Delifa's, and though she's taller than the former Weyrhealer was, and rounder, too, she looks a little like a small girl playing make-believe. Only - she straightens as Tajent enters, glancing up from her work in order to follow his gaze with her own, and then: "I'm sure everything is still in good order, really. Truly. It's--" But she breaks off. "Hello." He breaks off too, to focus on her, very intently. "Weyrhealer," Taj says for Madilla herself this time, in tones of discovery. After a moment, that smile eases out, even stealthily so as though from behind some great rock of formality. "I'm Taj, of course. Tajent," so she'll remember one or the other. "Good order, I don't doubt it, but how would you like it?" "Madilla," she corrects, and it's with a quiet little smile, one that encourages his words for all that her brows are still knit in thoughtful contemplation. "I don't-- to be honest, "Tajent," her mouth twists, rather as though she's amused, for her own use of his name, "I've never decorated a room before. I thought perhaps I'd hang one of my quilts, but..." For the rest, she's clueless. "It's fine, really. As it is." That smile turns distinctly cheeky. "Ma'am," Taj confirms, and sees what she'll do with that. "A quilt," he agrees to that too, only with a little, almost infinitesimal pause in between. "Is it really what makes you comfortable, ma'am? Oh, not so comfortable that you fall asleep! But still, more... you. If nothing else we'll clean the walls, the floor, but really." Can she see it through his eyes? "There are so many possibilities to really make this space your own. What sorts of work do you do here?" He's been leaning on the back of one of the chairs, but now he gives her a deferential glance before sitting: he's doing her a favor, really, making it easier on her neck. Madilla is a mother, Tajent, and despite her warm nature, she is not generally inclined to take cheek from anyone. "Madilla," she repeats, fixing a steady glance on the young man; a meaningful glance. Being firm on that gives her a few seconds to attempt to unravel the rest of what he has to say; she seems almost bewildered. Still, a half incline of her head encourages his move to sit, and then: "Like... how?" And, "It's an office. Paperwork and planning, of course, but I also see patients in here as required. Meetings, on occasion. Tell me, Tajent. What you would suggest." Taj bobs his head, yes, already, fine: his own mother put a little training into him, at least, even if he has lapsed somewhat since arriving at the Weyr. Not to mention becoming a teenager, Turns before that. Just for that, there's a squirm in his chair that's his almost slouching before he must remember that he's supposed to be, he is an adult now. At least he listens closely enough, and now he takes several moments to look around further before deciding in a suddenly-steady tone. "Upholstery that's in one piece, that's the easy one, in colors that suit you, and the whole place with a stronger push towards multi-use. I'd wager there are some patients that you want to, uh, comfort, and others that you need to instruct. The chair has, has, has to be comfortable, too." For all of that, Madilla's brow wrinkles, a sure sign of unvoiced apology that reaches her eyes and has her glancing away a moment later. Still, there's no question that she's paying attention to his suggestions, and analysing them for potential beneath the calm exterior of her expression. It's that mention of 'comfort' that shifts her expression all over again, rather as though she's remembering something - but none of that stops her from nodding. "I suppose that makes sense," she agrees, cautiously. "I suppose this room has been much the same for as long as I've been here." Fashions have changed. Even such cautious agreement... Taj is leaning forward. But that's not where he goes first: rather, "You're right. Also, when you work for a while, is your back ever sore? Your neck, your eyes? Adjustments can help with that, of course, even of seemingly small things." Surely she knows that, and isn't it just as plain as plain can be on his face that he knows that too, but he brings it up anyway with, this time, a self-deprecating smile. If Tajent is self-deprecating, Madilla is rueful, and - for just a moment - almost sad. "Yes, of course," she agrees, striving to keep her tone event. "I've always tried to make sure I don't sit for too long, get up and move. But..." Even an active, patient-focused healer like Madilla can't abandon her new responsibilities. "It sounds as though it would be wise for me to agree to some adjustments in here for my own health, even ignoring the more... " she gives him a quiet smile, "cosmetic considerations." "Eminently reasonable," Taj says with some relief. He's not above pointing out, "Many things can be made new, but even with those who need to be replaced, there will be others grateful to have such things handed down; they surely won't go to waste. And the weavers, wouldn't they enjoy the chance to use finer materials, upholstering chairs designed primarily for a weyrhealer's bum rather than for any man-jack that comes along?" "And the cost?" Madilla has nodded along to all of this, seeing reason in explanations and possibilities, but there's a tentativeness to her voice, now, as she asks the question. "I'm so sorry, it's probably a stupid question. I'd never thought of it before, but if there are things being made new..." "I don't pretend to be privy to everyone's pay, what they and their crafts have bargained for," Taj admits, his hands spread. "If you wanted particularly fancy carving, you might need to work it out with the woodcrafter. But otherwise they're High Reaches chairs, aren't they? You aren't going to try and take them off and trade them. No, best if they're good quality, so that they'll last. And if they last, best you find colors that you like, and that you'll still like even if you spill klah or, or redwort and it doesn't come out. Do you even use redwort at your desk? Maybe it's not an issue. Walls shouldn't be an issue, so long as it's something that they know how to use." Madilla's expression is tentative, but the lines around her eyes show a hint of relief - and her nod, certainly, is approving. "I suppose that makes sense," she confirms, cautiously. "I don't imagine I'd want anything fancy. Just--" She can smile about it, at least. "It would be nice to make the space more my own. Pretty, but still practical, if you understand what I mean. For patients, as well as the healers." And Madilla herself, of course. "Of course." Madilla smiles, and of course Taj smiles, for who could resist a Madilla smile? Especially when she's agreeing with you. "Perhaps a wall hanging where you might see it from your desk," he offers. "Somewhere you enjoy being, that helps you feel relaxed. It would be a good time to examine furniture and so forth elsewhere in the infirmary, too." He leans in, glances at the door ot the outer infirmary, and murmurs, "I hope it hasn't been too awkward, being so much younger than that journeyman out there... if it isn't too forward of me to say so. He gave me such a look when I came in." "A wall hanging," repeats Madilla, and it's entirely possible to see the way she's imagining that, given the way she regards the wall in question so intently; the idea obviously pleases her. Nonetheless, she snaps her attention back to Tajent, opening her mouth to begin a remark, and then closing it again with obvious hesitation. "Sometimes," she admits, carefully. "I feel awful. I didn't ask for the position. I certainly don't want anyone to feel... I'm trying." He's still leaning forward, his hands folded about the slate that rests on the desk's edge, his head tipped to listen. "That sounds awfully difficult," Taj says in low tones, but it's all sincere. "My father would say to consider them, but don't bend over backwards to appease them, remember you were picked for a reason. But he's a steward, of course, not a healer." "I was picked," points out Madilla, and she speaks it as honest truth, not intended to be self-deprecating, "Because I was Delifa's protege. Which makes it all sound terribly nepotistic, doesn't it? But - " she allows the crooked line of her mouth to curve into a crooked smile. "Here we are. I'll do my best. And you? Do you see yourself in the Headwoman's shoes one day, Tajent?" "Clearly she recogniz...es talent," and it could have wound up smarmy, though there's just such transparency with which Taj trowels it on so thick. "I'm sorry," he admits then, genuinely apologetic. "Everyone says we were lucky to have her for so long, and not have her posted elsewhere once we got used to her, though I didn't really know her myself." Madilla's face doesn't fall, exactly, so much as morphs: she's caught between so many conflicting emotions that her expression can't seem to keep up with what to display. "We wer--" She swallows. "We were very lucky, yes. She was-- is a good healer, one of the best. I can only dream of living up to her." Beat. "Thank you." Tajent can't very well say she's /welcome/, so he settles for bobbing his head awkwardly. "Well," he says finally. Way to leave her on a good note, Taj! He clears his throat. "We all wish her the best. And," he doesn't actually uh but there's a pause there where one was stifled. "Why don't you get back to me on what you'd like, and if I don't hear back from you in a couple sevens, I'll get back to you." This next pause? That's where a 'ma'am' would like to go. It rather looks as though there's something Madilla would like to say in response to that well-wishing, but it would no doubt be uncharitable, and clearly beneath her ('all the best in dying?' may nonetheless come to mind). But she chases that expression away and manages a firm, solid smile for Tajent, and a nod to go with it. "I'll do that," she confirms. "In here, and in the infirmary itself, too. I appreciate your time, Tajent." Taj certainly continues to look embarrassed about it, but he tries to meet her gaze when he nods, just before he gets up and backs his way out. Of course, then he has to keep himself together so the other journeyman only sees that everything's fine, so fine, and then some more down the hallway, but at last when he reaches his tiny broom closet of an on-loan office he can bang himself over the head with the slate a few times. Because that'll surely help. And Madilla? Once left on her own, she stands up, walking around the desk as though even the mere effort in that will give her something else to focus on. It doesn't, and she sighs. But then she squares her shoulders, straightens her stance, and gets back to work. The show must go on. |
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