Logs:So What Now?
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2009 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova's grief over I'daur hits Madilla hard. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 13, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'daur/Mentions |
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| It's not /quite/ dinner time, but it's getting pretty close, certainly close enough that the infirmary has hit a quieter period, leaving Madilla more or less alone behind the counter, and the waiting area empty. The young Apprentice is keeping busy, despite the lack of patients to deal with, with a stack of bottles, a stack of labels, and a pen. Which is when one of the doors to the dragon infirmary opens: somebody's taking a shortcut. Again. Someone wearing a weyrlingmaster's coat, threaded with bronze, who walks like he belongs there... someone with a defiant lift of the chin, someone who's not six feet but more than a hand under, someone with a tangle of rusty hair instead of close-cropped silver. Someone who leans her elbows in the overlarge coat on the counter's raised edge, and looks over it. /Madilla/. She might even have said it out loud. Madilla certainly looks up as though it was said out loud, eyes suddenly wide with surprise, and perhaps a measure of discomfort. "You--" she begins, the word escaping before she can pull her wits together entirely. Then: "Oh, Leova. I'm-- /sorry/." Pink floods her cheeks, as she tilts her head forward, evidently indicating the coat, and no doubt meaning the coat's former owner. The jar in her hand, its label newly stuck on, gets set down upon the counter, the pen beside it. The greenrider's mouth compresses, and she's got a jerk of a nod that might be something like agreement, understanding, a twitch. She takes a deep breath. Starts to... no, takes another, deeper, her lungs filled with it. This time: "I could kill him." Madilla's face speaks an apology that she doesn't manage with her voice, presumably for bringing it up, and presses both hands against the counter's edge, fingers wrapping around it. "I know," she says, finally, sadness wreathing her voice. "It's an awful thing to do to people. Especially when... well. It's not like /he/ was sick." That's personal; she looks as though she regrets the words as soon as she's said them, and hurries on. "I'm sorry." Again. Not like /he/ was... But what that means to Leova is, "Did he ever turn up for that physical? Ever? He should have. I told him." Her arms draw in, her hands hold each other. Madilla can only shake her head, looking sad. "Nooo," she says, extending the vowel sound. "No. I'm sorry. He never did." "So now what?" Leova asks the healer. The question seems to surprise Madilla: her mouth opens, then shuts, then she shakes her head. The greenrider leans in, elbows hooking on the edge now, lifting her up to her toes. Her weight swings back on her heels. It's holding her up. "What?" Like Madilla's got to have answers, somewhere there, in her notes. Certainly, Madilla's gaze shifts immediately towards the notes and books on the desk, as though even glancing at them might given her /something/ to work off. The tactic appears to fail, her expression no less lost as she turns her gaze back to the greenrider. "I don't know," she says, finally, her voice not entirely steady. "Perhaps we should start forcing people to do regular physicals. Or with the mindhealers. So maybe we know when someone's thinking..." Of /that/. "Do you think," Leova asks, eyes dark but very focused, "That if someone was thinking. Of that. That they'd tell? A mindhealer." She hasn't looked down towards the notes, towards the books, anywhere but the younger woman. Madilla's gaze lowers again, skimming the bottles, the labels, the pen. "I don't know," she says, honestly. "Perhaps not. But I can't understand what would make anyone do it. So. I don't know." "/Zunaeth/," and there's a world of hurt and longing in that one name, half of a pair, all three syllables. She swallows then, dry, swallowing it all down. "I never thought, that making anyone talk, that that would fix anything? But Zunaeth didn't call out. I can't think he was surprised. He wouldn't do that to him. I couldn't." Madilla flinches, just for a moment - half a moment - at Leova's rendition of Zunaeth's name. "I think sometimes it does," she offers. "Help people. Sometimes. So they planned it, then? It..." That seems to make it worse for Madilla, because it clouds her expression again, though she seems determined to not let it linger. "It sounds as though nothing would have stopped him. Them." "I'm sorry," is what Leova says finally, and part of her even means it. "I don't know. Don't know about /planned/. Ahead. Can't ever know, now, unless something turns up, hidden, /something/... Watchrider said he. He didn't seem, didn't seem like he..." She swallows again, harder. Knuckles her eyes with one hand, one boot gone back, bracing herself. A quick shake of the head dismisses the apology as unnecessary, and she lifts her head again. "/I'm/ sorry. I know how much you respected him. Talk all you want. Please. I just wish I could say something that would help. So much /death/. I don't think we're supposed to get used to it, but..." "During Pass, anyway. That's what they said. What it takes to get by." Leova swallows all over again. "Do you have water? Wine. Old klah even. Something." "But it's /not/ pass," begins Madilla, more frustrated than anything. There's a pause, and she goes pink again, hurrying to respond, "Of course. I'll get you some. Won't be a minute." She turns, all but running across the infirmary: at last, something she can /do/. "But it happens." It's very quiet. She's very quiet, while Madilla goes, her head pressed against her raised hand. Madilla doesn't respond to what the greenrider says, though her expression, as she races off, is unhappy, and her face has gone pale. Clearly, she knows this all too well. She's more composed, on her return, offering the large mug of water up over the counter's edge. But she's wordless. The greenrider's eyes lift enough that she can take it, and she drinks, hiccups and sputters some out, drinks more and this time determination gets it down. She trails her fingers in the cool water, wipes at her forehead, her eyes. Madilla hesitates, her expression utterly mournful, but finally reaches out one hand to touch Leova, just gently, upon the upper arm. Her hand doesn't linger, and indeed, connects for only a second or so before being drawn back towards the desk. It lifts her gaze, though. A little shaky, but there. "Glacier. Have to be steady. Or else." And: "There might be a wake, still. If I only dreamed it." And later, a swallow later, two, leaning in, searching over the healer with her voice gone lower yet, "Madilla? I swear to you, if I have to, if we ever have to. There will be a note, a letter, /something/. So you know. Unless there's no other choice." And for that, Madilla manages not a smile, but a slight upturning of her lips, no less sympathetic. She has nothing to say for the first two comments, nothing but a slow nod. But for the last: "Good. No, absolutely. Good. Thank you. I think--" Another nod. "I think that would make it easier. For everyone. None of the-- not knowing. Though I would hope it would never... come to that." "Hope not too." Leova's voice makes it back into rueful. "She... I can't imagine." She gives herself a shake, full-body, what would slosh the water right out if she hadn't drunk it almost all. "Want to be together, is all. At the... Madilla? What would you do?" Madilla's nod is solemn, understanding. But: "Me? I--" She takes a deep breath, shakes her head. "I don't know that I could end my own. I'm a /healer/. We're supposed to save people. Not kill them. Ourselves. But. I'm not facing that, am I? I'm healthy. Young. Whatever it is that makes you do it, I'm not." "Do you ever think of... someday?" Leova asks, and one corner of her mouth flickers up like it could almost smile, almost. "When all the exams are over." Madilla manages an actual smile, however brief, for the exams comment. "It's hard for me to imagine. To see. When I was at home, I knew exactly what would be ahead. Now I don't. So... I don't know." Leova can nod for that, if not smile. And say, "Think I like that there are things out there, things we didn't imagine. ... Most days." "But sometimes things we didn't imagine are there, we just don't see them," says Madilla, almost certainly without properly thinking the words out, given the way her expression slips again, towards the end. "And it's a burden. For those who do. But." She breathes, head shaking. "I think I agree, all the same. That you don't know what's around the corner. It can be... exciting." As her expression alters, Leova's mouth tightens again. For the burden she murmurs only, "Would rather." See. Know. Understand, just maybe. And then at the end, she's just looking at the healer, waiting, as though the younger woman would say more. Or say, that's all. "I know," says Madilla, of seeing, knowing, understanding. "I think it's better if people... talk. Tell. So the burden isn't there. And..." She's struggling with choosing her words, and finally shakes her head. "So that people don't get the shock. But. People have to make their own choices. We can't force their hands." All talking aside... "Can't we?" Leova asks, with a tilt of her head. Madilla hesitates. "Could you break a person's trust?" she wants to know, speaking slowly. "If I thought," Leova says even more steadily, "The stakes were... that high." Her hands have tightened on the mug, braced for Madilla's reaction. That seems to strike a chord with Madilla; she nods, very slowly, taking in a deep breath, and then expelling it again. "There's patient confidentiality issues," she says, finally. She's glancing around, checking to make sure none of the other healers, the patients, are anywhere nearby. "But they are. That high. I don't... Know. But." She looks very tired, suddenly. Leova doesn't look around. She's looking at Madilla, who's looking, and drawing in a breath of her own so very slowly, it might as well not be there until she says, so very softly, "Your burden." "I shouldn't have said anything," says Madilla, in little more than a whisper, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry. It's not fair. Because it would only become your burden, and you wouldn't be able to do anything with it, and--" She breaks off again. "I didn't mean to say anything." "I'm sorry," Leova gives back to her, for her pain, quiet as before. The mug is still in her hands. "I... I think there are things we can do, there are things that can be done. As long as it hasn't ended. It can't work out only one way." Madilla's eyes open, but her gaze is lowered, keeping it well away from Leova, though she'll nod, accepting the sorriness. "Perhaps," she allows. "Though the end result is liable to be the same. I'm sorry - I should stop this before I break her trust. I need to... There are some things, out the back." To run away to. "But /how/ it happens," Leova breathes. And then she nods. Straightens away, so Madilla won't have to. "Just hope she has people with her, people who care. So it won't be lonely like that." She rubs a hand against her head, flattening her hair on that side, and drinks the rest of the water only to lower the mug. There it is, balanced on the divider, where the healer can take it if she wills. Take it back. "Thank you." Madilla nods without seeming to intend to, murmuring, "/How/. Yes." She can't manage to get the words to respond to the rest, staring into the distance now that she's safe from the need to flee, but turning back again as the mug is left upon the desk, and the thank you is spoken. "Thank you, too," she manages, letting the faintest of smiles cross her lips, as she reaches out for the mug. "I'm sorry about the Weyrlingmaster. And for--" The rest. Leova pulls the coat, the old worn coat, that much closer about her. She dips her head. And, "Good night," she says, one corner of her mouth tucking up. /Good night/, after all that. Time for dinner, but she goes out a different way, back the way she came with a slower, more thoughtful stride. "Good night," agrees Madilla, watching Leova go with a muted expression, before, finally, she bends her head back over her work. |
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