Logs:Small Talk
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| RL Date: 8 June, 2008 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: Healer Hall, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova's explorations of Healer Hall lead her to the Lounge, and Madilla, who provides klah and sometimes awkward company. |
| Where: Lounge, Healer Hall |
| When: Day 2, Month 9, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| Lounge - Healer Hall A relaxing atmosphere permeates this room, where healers can come to relax and socialize. A long couch lines one wall. It looks comfortable, inviting you to sit. Every hour, a drudge comes in to replace the snacks and klah sitting on the table in the corner. Glows hang around the room, but are subdued and easy on the eyes. Aunty Bess, Healer Hall's source of information, sits in a large old wooden chair, which is often a favorite place for hall firelizards to perch on. A recent addition has been placed in the central part of the lounge, a large tapestry, which can be seen in greater detail if you look closer. Usually, early autumn is still warm enough around here that most Apprentices take their study outdoors, before winter shuts them in, but the weather has conspired against them - and the rain has been pouring down steadily for days. Being mid-afternoon, many of the Hall's students are in classes, but the lounge is still far from empty, apprentices scattered upon couches, chairs, and the floor in front of the hearth. Madilla is one of these, having found a perch near the door, her head bent over a piece of hide upon which she is laboriously writing something. And when a greenrider with unexpected time on her hands goes nosing from door to door, this is just the next one to open. Her short hair's dry, the shoulders of her riding jacket damp, her bootsteps only moderately quiet. Madilla's not, apparently, as engrossed in her writing as she might appear at first glance, because as the door swings open, her head lifts, her expression turning surprised at the entrance of an unknown. She pauses, lips pursing. Then: "Are you lost--" a quick glance at the rider's knot, a frown, "-- Greenrider?" With the younger woman in brown reading that much of Leova's knot, she leaves off the Weyr with her, "Duties. Not exactly." Either she takes that as tacit invitation or doesn't worry about it, for she crosses the threshold for a few more steps, looking attentively around before returning to the crafter who had actually addressed her. "Just waiting for a package to bring back. Hope you'll forgive my lack of bleeding." A few of the other apprentices glance up, but most are too entrenched to pay too much attention. Madilla smiles, head shaking. "Blood makes such a mess... I think I prefer visitors who don't have intentions of messing up the floor, or causing a scene. Duties to your Weyr, of course," she adds, hastily tacking it on to the end of her statement. "Can I get you anything, while you wait? The klah pot was refreshed not long ago." "Please do." Leova gives the chair nearest the apprentice a look-over, perhaps watching for stray needles in the upholstery, before dropping into it. "If you add some cream and sweetening, I'll forgo any ideas about a scene. I'm Leova. Vrianth's." Madilla sets down her pencil and hide, pulling herself out of the overstuffed and sagging seat in which she's been sitting, and laughs. "Cream and sweetening it is. Couldn't have a scene. Too many mindhealers about. Madilla - Junior Apprentice, here." She gives Leova another smile, promptly heading for the hearth, and the klah pot. "Well met," Leova says, stretching out her legs and watching the apprentice go, only to pull them back a few moments later with something approaching decorum. Not that it helps the rest of her posture any. She waits until the girl approaches again before asking in a lowered tone, "Speaking of. Think mindhealers are any good? Do they have some symbol, like a scar on their foreheads, so's you can spot them from a dragonlength?" Madilla carries the mug back gingerly, in both hands, her entire attention focused upon making sure it doesn't spill. "Hm--?" She begins, registering, at first, only that she's been spoken to. Then, as she comes to a halt, offering the mug - "Oh. Um. No, they don't, and maybe they should. Seems... /wrong/ to me, to mess with people's heads. At least bodies are, you know, /obvious/. Someone's throwing up, or having a baby, or bleeding." "Or both," Leova says with a straight face, accepting the mug with both hands as well, her glance lifting to the apprentice's face before dropping to check its contents for color. "Hopefully not all three. Thank you, Madilla. Now that you have reassured me about the messing with heads, what got you wanting this Hall?" Madilla's bland smile, as she returns to her own seat, mug delivered, seems to suggest that she hasn't entirely followed Leova's train of thought. "You're welcome," she says, honestly, and then, attempting to sit primly despite the saggy state of her chair, "Oh-- my Uncle decided to send me, so I came. I did a little helping, and some herblore, back at home, and my Aunt thought I was good enough that maybe it'd be worthwhile, getting me trained. I like it." So Leova drinks, eyelids half lowered, and listens rather than rephrase. "Glad it worked for you," she says mildly. "Good enough doesn't always mean it's a good fit, some places. Don't know about here." "I'm good at herbs," says Madilla, uncertainly. "But I have a lot to learn, in other things. A lot. But I think it's going to work out fine, in time." She gives a sharp little nod, to punctuate this, and adds, "My friend Daegan was a Candidate, but it turns out that he fits better, here. Now that he's back, he's really working at being a Healer. I guess that's the same kind of thing." Leova's eyes lift again. "Really working at something. That means a lot, I figure. Maybe especially if it don't come easy... Which Weyr? Know he wasn't one of ours, is all." Madilla nods, fervently this time - she's confident of this much. "Yeah, it does. I'm helping him out, a bit, and he's helping me. Because he's in the infirmary, still. He was at Telgar." "Telgar." Leova repeats it with a slight crook to her mouth, though then her eyes narrow when she thinks the phrasing over again. "Working in the infirmary? Or was he. Well. Heard a kid got clawed." Madilla's head bobs several times fast as mention of the kid that got clawed. "That's Daegan," she explains. "Only Healer on the sands, and he's the one that got hurt. Which seems a bit ironic, to me, I guess." Leova drinks again, half-smiles over it. "Guess it does. But. He going to be all right, then? Guess it couldn't be too bad if he's working, but beyond that." Madilla does the rapid-fire nod again, smiling this time. "He's going to be fine, eventually. Just-- he's stuck in bed until things heal more, and his Gran is fussing over him like nothing else. It's boring for him." She pulls her hide, and pencil, onto her lap again, but otherwise, makes no move to stop the conversation. "You're from-- High Reaches? I've never been there." "His back, was it? Did you see it happen?" Leova leans back, mug in only one hand now, leaning the other elbow on the arm of her chair. "The Reaches, right. Never was anywhere else before I Impressed either. Other'n Tillek, I mean." Just one nod this time, followed by a shake of her head. "His back. All down it. Pretty bad. I was supposed to get to come and watch, but my name came up to observe and help with a baby being born - so I couldn't." She looks interested at hearing about Leova, leaning forward slightly. "So you're not /from/ a Weyr. Huh. I thought most people who Impressed were. All the people I know, from Holds, didn't." "Healers still haven't found ways to make sure babies show up at the right time, hm?" Leova says it jokingly, at least passably so, and then lifts a shoulder. "Did you know many? A few of us're holdbred. A friend of mine from Tillek, got Searched at the same time even. Others, different places. Though Laylia, she's sister to the Weyrsecond so dunno if it exactly counts the same way. Actually, Cesaira was a healer, don't know if you knew her?" Madilla laughs, head shaking. "No, not yet. One day, though... Oh, there were a few, at Telgar. Three that I sort-of knew." She crosses her hands in her lap, still prim, though obviously listening intently. "No, I don't think so," she notes, of Cesaira. "I've only been here since just after turnover. So she'd be before my time, I guess. It must be... different. Weyrs, compared to Holds, I mean. Even big Holds. The Hall is different to my home." "She would that," Leova agrees. "Might ask her if she ever drops by. Don't see her so much, though," but her rueful glance, just shy of a roll of the eyes, confesses it's no great loss. "Different. Can't argue there. Guess posting's quite a while away? And where you from, anyway?" Madilla merely nods, neutral again, either through solidarity with her former craft-member, or obliviousness again. "Turns and turns away, probably. I do get sent places on study visits, though - so I've seen some things. A turn ago, I'd never even really left home." Beat. "Near Peyton, here in the Fort area? Little, little Hold." "Who knows, maybe you'll turn up at the 'Reaches someday," Leova says amiably. "And it will turn out that you and Cesaira are close cousins only she was going by a different name, an alias they call it, and then I'll have to get the taste of boot leather out of my mouth. But. Peyton. Think we were there once, on delivery, but nothing more of an outlier, sorry." When the door opens, it has her looking up, but it's brief. Not for her. Madilla looks surprised at this kind of possibility, and laughs. "Unlikely," she tells the rider, very seriously. "Since all my cousins live at the family Hold, except a few of the male ones, who left when things got a bit tough a while back. So you should be safe. From the boot leather." Shaking her head, she adds, "It's not terribly excited. Peyton, maybe a little more than our family hold, but still, not much. And we're a ways from Peyton, even so." Her gaze, too, shifts towards the door, then back again. Leova swishes some klah between her teeth, just in case, before swallowing and turning that into a remarkably unstained smile. "Tough?" she has to ask. "With-- Threadfall. Coming back, unexpected and all," explains Madilla, frowning at the memory. "It was easier, with fewer mouths to feed." And there goes that smile, gone just like that. "Bet it would be," Leova says. "Hope they found a place." Madilla nods, quickly, expression serious. "They never wrote home, but-- I don't think that means anything. I'm sure they did. They were good workers." "Always a place for those," Leova agrees. She glances again towards the door, this time without it having opened first, but it's brief. "Haven't had Fall in about three months, in our territory. For what it's worth." "I thought so, too," agrees Madilla, looking pleased. "There's always work to be done." This time, she doesn't turn as Leova glances at the door, though her gaze shifts to consider the woman from a different angle. "I heard that," she agrees, still smiling. "I don't think there's been any in this area, either, lately. You must be relieved, I think?" "Of course." If there's ambivalence in Leova's low voice, well, either Madilla missed similar things earlier or was being polite. Either will serve. "Everyone must, after all." Madilla nods, seriously, reaching up to push a strand of her dark hair away from her face. "Yes, of course," she agrees. This said, the girl lapses into silence, her expression neutrally polite. The klah's almost drained. Leova tips her mug, this way and that, the better to dissolve any lingering sweetening or just occupy her hands. After a little while, not looking up, "What is it?" "What's what?" Madilla wants to know, glancing up again, frowning. "Was I rude? I /am/ sorry. I haven't really-- I'm not very good at small-talk. I never know what to say." "Weather's a standby," Leova says. "Though we covered that. Or, no. That was Vrianth, about the rain," and her smile's hopelessly happy despite it all. By the time she looks up it's receded at least slightly. "Well. What's on your mind, then? That's not small talk. Keeping in mind that package that's bound to turn up, anyway, though she first said a quarter-hour." And look where they are now. Madilla frowns, as if attempting to keep up with Leova, and the list of potential conversational topics. "Does--" Hesitant pause, "--Vrianth? Like the rain, or not like it? I suppose it's better than the snow, but... only barely. Me?" Another furrowing of the brow, the apprentice looking surprised, and uncertain. "They often take longer than expected. They try-- but it's busy. Especially with the rain and all. Autumn colds." "Vrianth." It's confirmation and pleasure wrapped up into two smoky syllables. But Leova must realize, for a moment later her tone's back to where it was before. "Not so excited about the rain. No. But it's not sticky rain, pools down properly rather than hovering to get you to breathe it in. And." Who knows how autumn colds brought her here, suddenly looking more closely at Madilla. Hopeful, even. "Actually. Don't mind talking shop? Know anything about dealing with old injuries? Old aches. Old scars." Madilla mouths the name again, without saying it out-loud, now that it's been confirmed, nodding as she does so. "Autumn rain, not summer rain," she agrees. "Just wet. Oh--?" Another nod, as the question is asked, though the girl looks a little surprised, and hesitates before answering. "Aloe and hyssop are good for scars. And... for aches, um, maybe rubbing with oil infused with lavender and chamomile? You'd probably be better asking a healer with more experience, though," she adds, frowning. "Probably I would," Leova agrees, reaching inside her jacket for a thin roll of hide and a charcoal-filled stylus. "But you're here. And I wander into our infirmary without one of those bleeding wounds we mentioned, people start wondering about whether I'm going for some wink-nudge-nudge sorts of reasons, see? But maybe I should anyway. Ask about, don't know, exercise or something too. Here." Oil. Lavender. Chamomile. Aloe. "Hiss-what? Warm oil, cold oil?" Madilla cracks a smile for the infirmary comment, nodding. "I see," she agrees. "And herbs are one thing I'm pretty good with. Hyssop," she adds, repeating the name for the other rider. "Don't know how to spell it, but-- healers will know it. It smells sort of like mint, but a bit different. Warm oil, though, definitely. Cold oil isn't good for muscles." Madilla adds, after a moment. "Put arnica in, too, actually. Good for aches. Gentle pain relief." She's still thinking hard on this. "Doesn't sound so bad," Leova guesses, sliding to the edge of her seat, setting down the mug so she can do a better job of it. Though Madilla's mention of spelling gets her a lifted, questioning glance, in the end she goes on to give it a solid try. Hiss-up. "Not like fish oil, anyway. Arnica, we used that on the runners sometimes. Anything else? Any, what you call them, key phrases to say to our healers? The words you stick together so they know for sure what you mean." Madilla looks momentarily guilty. "Education wasn't a strong point, at home," she explains, though adds, hastily, "But I'm catching up, now. I memorise things, instead. Er - yeah, most of this should smell okay. Not like fish oil." After a moment's consideration, she shakes her head. "They might add other things, when you explain what you want. Just-- you want a soothing oil to aid, um, with scar reduction and ache management." More writing. Leova's is very functional, with the sort of rhythm that suggests it's readable to one familiar with it, and about as fast as it gets with the tools at hand. "Good. Scar reduction. Ache management. All right. Flexibility, would they call it that? Range of motion?" "Both are good terms," Madilla says, after a moment's consideration. "Increased flexibility, and wider range of motion." Beat. "Try 'Physical therapy to improve flexibility, and allow a wider range of motion." Leova glances up. Looks down. Keeps writing. At this rate, Madilla should hire her for lectures. "Improving flexibility? Allowing a rider range of motion? Are those actually different, or ways of the same thing?" "I think they're pretty much the same," admits Madilla, "But sometimes using two terms for the same thing makes it sound like you've done a lot more thought, and are doing your best to get your point of view across clearly. Or, at least," she goes slightly pink, "That's what I've been noticing." Her hands are now distinctly covering the malformed scribble on her own page, nestled on her lap. Leova's gotten to laughing there, low and under her breath. "Does take up space. Lets them know it's not just repeating what someone said, if you can say it in your own words. But. Sorry about the laughing, hm? It's just, we got taught, to get it as simple and straightforward as possible. Get it easy to read and read fast." Her eyes track Madilla's hands, linger for a moment. "Can you read all right? Or is it more than just writing that's hard." Madilla's cheeks go pinker still, and while she manages to crack a smile, eventually, she's obviously still a little embarrassed by it. "No, no, I know," she says, hurried, nodding rapidly. "I'm," she begins, hands staying where they are, consciously stiff, "learning, still. Better than I was. Getting extra lessons at Harper, to help-- and it is. Helping, I mean." "Good. If this goes anywhere, and don't count on it because it could take Turns, I'll send you a message. And is that one l or two in Madilla? Guess, at least with this Interval, it /can/ take Turns." Then Leova admits, "Speaking of getting somewhere. Better go check. Got more rounds to make." Madilla looks amused at the idea of it taking Turns, but nods quickly, evidently pleased to have been of some use. "Two," she answers - then, grinning, "That much I /do/ know how to spell." With a few more hasty nods, the girl begins to half rise from her chair. "Yes, of course. They may just have gotten distracted, from bringing it. It's been-- have a good afternoon, Greenrider." Leova sets her writing materials away. Picks up her mug, drains the last of it, grounds and sweetening and all. Rises. "Where should I set this? Thanks back to you, Apprentice Madilla." She aims to hold the apprentice's glance for a moment, and give her a nod before heading to pass through that door herself with that same renewed, focused energy. "I'll take it," says Madilla, quickly, of the mug, holding out her hand, and smiling at the rider. "Quite welcome," she adds, still in her half-standing position, as Leova leaves. Then, she sits back down, to finish whatever it was she was scratching out on that hide. Leova pushes open the swinging doors and goes out into the hallway. The doors swing shut behind her. |
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