Logs:Something Conversational
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| RL Date: 22 September, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: W'chek comes to say hi. They talk, and things are weird and awkward. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 10, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Delifa/Mentions, Delvana/Mentions, Leova/Mentions |
| 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. It may not be the kind of thing people talk about at length, but nor is it a big secret that, at the moment, the infirmary staff seem understaffed and overworked, more likely to push patients through quickly than to linger with them. This may be true, but dinner time has brought a lull to the infirmary, and the waiting area is, for the moment, empty. Thus, Madilla, on duty at the desk, is left alone to pick through her own dinner in a relatively leisurely fashion, her head lowered over the papers she's reading through in between bites. No serious medical problems evident as W'chek enters--no blood, joints at odd angles, sickly pallor. Well, not any more so than W'chek usually looks when he's nervous about something, anyway. He lingers just near the entrance for entirely too long, almost turns around to leave entirely, but finally turns back to cross to her desk with determined steps. "Madilla. Hi." And stand there like an idiot, with his jacket draped over his arm still occasionally dripping, mouth moving like he meant to say more but can't really come up with anything that might follow the greeting. Madilla may be entrenched in her reading-- indeed, she almost certainly is, mouthing the words as she goes in her usual fashion, head bent so studiously, but the sound of footsteps draws her attention away instantly, and her chewing hastens. She doesn't have time to swallow before W'chek speaks, which leaves a silence in the wake of it before, finally, eyes wide and expression visibly concerned, she says, "W'chek? Is everything all-- all right?" Her fork gets set down. "Well," W'chek starts off, "I mean, it's pouring rain outside and has been all day and that's kind of rotten weather to be out in. So there's that. But mostly, um." He leans forward, just idly peers at her papers, taking them in as a collection rather than anything specifically, then draws away again quickly when the first drop of water splats on the desk. "Er, sorry. Sorry. I just thought I'd come and say hello. Only I didn't really... exactly think about what came after that point." Given that it's pretty obviously very soon after W'chek starts saying all of this that there is nothing actually /wrong/, Madilla's expression softens, big eyes lifting to consider him carefully as he finishes speaking. She doesn't seem to mind the water, head shaking just slightly; instead, she swallows again, crossing one hand atop the other, and finally offers, "You could say hello, Madilla, how are things. Or perhaps..." She hesitates. "I miss talking to you. Something conversational. And then I would be able to say that things are all right, but busy, and ask how things are with you." Beat. "Aside from the rain, of course." The jacket finally gets draped across the back of some convenient chair. W'chek comes back to the desk, tugging at his damp sleeve, and chances a shaky smile. "Right. Uh. I mean, I do miss talking to you, but saying that sounds not like the sort of thing I'm supposed to say." Deep breath. "Aside from the rain it's all right. Sure. Graduation coming up. Wings. Exciting time. Hard to imagine a year ago I was a candidate. Lot of changes, for a year." "I meant more..." Madilla trails off, head shaking. "Never mind." Her fingers twine against each other as she considers W'chek across the desk, and then one draws away, so that she can reach for the half-eaten bread roll on her plate to tear off a chunk, and draw it back towards her mouth. Before eating it, she says, along with a nod, "A lot of changes. Are you looking forward to graduation, W'chek? Do you have a preference for which wing you get sent to?" "Leova's... implied that there are some I shouldn't want." Well, no, she said that outright, but W'chek will skirt that. No need to say anything too worrying here, right? "But I don't think it can be that bad, can it? It shouldn't be. I think I'll be fine." A dismissive shake of the head to these concerns. "But the rest of it all feels very... same. There's no Thread to be particularly concerned about drills as far as safety goes. If B'tal and I--I mean, if we got the same wing, then I guess maybe it'd be nice to be on closer schedules, but I don't know if they'd even do that, and it's probably not a big deal anyway." Rushing through the last of that, as though already regretting bringing it up. A slow dip of Madilla's head marks her understanding of the implications at stake here; she even stops chewing to consider it, concern visible in her expression for a few moments. "I'm sure you will be," she agrees, eventually. "I'm sure they wouldn't put you in a wing where it would be a problem." Once she's finished chewing, her hand goes back down onto the desk, lingering there aimlessly. Of B'tal, she adds, "That would be nice. Having the same schedules, I mean. How is B'tal? Things are still... good?" She looks hopeful, as though she desperately wants things to work out. Wincing, it's obvious enough that this wasn't the topic W'chek wanted to wander off onto. But he does manage to say, "Yeah. Things are still... good. I guess. He's fine. Everything's fine." He pauses, chews on his lower lip for a moment, then instead of finding some nicely un-awkward subject, instead asks, "Are you still..." Well, starts to ask. Takes another try to get the question right: "Have you met anybody nice, I mean? That kind of thing?" As long as it's already awkward, might as well indulge the curiosity. Madilla looks genuinely pleased at the response to her question, head nodding enthusiastic, her face lighting: good, good! Before she has the chance to say at much, though, W'chek's question for her draws a reversal of expressions, her face falling. She hesitates, draws in a breath, and then shakes her head. Awkwardly, and in a weak attempt at a joke; "Unless you consider my Journeyman's month old daughter nice..." "Oh." Pause. "Ah. Well, I mean, hard not to be nice at that age, wouldn't you think?" W'chek tries for a smile, nearly gets there. "Either that, or I guess you could say hard to be nice at all at that age, since they don't really do all that much..." Which is obviously getting somewhat off-topic, but it lets him get away from the face-falling business at least. A little more work into that smile and he gets there, genuine or not. "But still. That's real nice, a little one around. She's... not a very young woman, is she? Remarkable." Madilla can't help it: even this barest mention of babies draws a contented, beatific smile to her face. "I would say that they are nice, even if they can't /do/ much. I prefer to think that everyone is nice until proven otherwise." His smile only seems to encourage her, except for the faint shift of concern as she adds, "No, she's not. Not... it's been very difficult on her. But Delvana is healthy, despite everything, and she's /beautiful/." Beat. Awkward one. "I've been too busy, of course, to do much else of late. Delifa's still not back on her feet, of course." A good excuse. "Nice until proven otherwise," repeats W'chek, and actually laughs aloud. "Yeah. That's good. Real nice. I'm sure Delifa will be back to herself again in no time, being all--" Pause. "Delifa-y." Okay, so he's always sort of made it a point to avoid her. Makes it hard to be specific. "But it's no wonder you're busy, then. And a very good sort of busy. Surely they'll have to notice all this hard work you're doing, back at the Hall, right? Good will come of it in the long run." The laughter seems to be slightly confusing to Madilla, but not enough that she stops smiling. And for the rest? "She will be, I'm sure of it. I know it will be nice for her, too... she's hardly been able to get out of bed for months, and I know she finds it frustrating not being able to help with Delvana." Poor Delifa, says Madilla's expression. Poor, poor delifa. "I /hope/ they will. But." She gives a helpless little shrug. "At this point, even walking the tables early would only be... so helpful." Unfortunately, even healers can't reproduce asexually. No matter how hard they believe. Mothering is not precisely a subject to which W'chek can speak for the most part, so he avoids that, sticks with the uncomfortable-but-familiar subjects. "Oh, well. But, you know, then you'll be Journeywoman Madilla, not Senior Apprentice Madilla, which sounds much more adult and independent, so there's that. And, uh..." Grasping at straws for small comforts. He rubs the back of his neck, sighs. "I don't know. I wish I could just go back and... I don't know," again. "Be different. Make things turn out different. If I could help, but what can I do? Only brother I got not married already is the younger one who's a complete a...ahhh, not very nice person. And anyway, that'd be... I don't know if I'd be comfortable with that, myself." Adult and independent: these points do seem to weigh in the favour of being Journeywoman, because Madilla does straighten every so slightly, her eyes lighting. Before she can comment on this, the rest of what W'chek says cuts any of her thoughts off short, expression going confused, then drawn. "No," she says, softly, and then again, more firmly: "No. No, W'chek, it's not your responsibility. I wish things were different, but they're not, and that's the way it is. I'm sure I'll work out it." She looks so determined it's not hard to believe, either: she'll do what it takes, whatever that means. She's prepared. "Maybe not," W'chek allows for with a nod. And then, a tilt of his head. "But I care, you know. I didn't ever want you to be unhappy. You deserve all the nice things. Someone else doesn't recognize it, that's just because the world's totally and completely f...ouled up." He turns to retrieve the jacket off the chair. Mostly dry now. Not even too much of a puddle there. "Just don't want you to settle for somebody as isn't going to take the whole business seriously. Too many of those types around here." Madilla's voice is very quiet as she says, "I know you care. I know." She can't look at him, now, turning her attention towards her abandoned dinner, the stack of papers she was looking at, her entwined hands: anything, as long as it isn't W'chek himself. "I don't have any expectations, W'chek. I know how the world is. Chances are... if I have to do it alone, I will." 'Alone' as much as it can be done, of course. "I'll take things as they come. That's all. All I can do." Jacket shrugged back on--W'chek obviously intending to truly head out, not just head for the living cavern or something. "I should run. Zhikath says the rain's let up a bit, I'd like to get back home before I have to get drenched to the skin to do it. Need to get some kind of stove up there, something by winter, I think. Never stay warm and dry otherwise. Anyhow." He nods towards her, then turns away to head for the exit. Only then to turn back for a moment. "You're not going to be alone. Will figure something out." Or 'we'll', maybe. Then he's on his way out. "Of course," murmurs Madilla, while W'chek's even still speaking, her gaze finally lifting back towards him. "Yes - you should. It will get far too cold, otherwise. You need to... look after yourself. Keep warm." She watches him go, expression unreadable, except perhaps that she might seem relieved at his lack of response to what she's said. His last comment, before he goes, only gets her drawing her lips in, teeth resting on top. "Good night, W'chek," she says, after his retreating back, her head shaking just slightly. If she believes him, it certainly isn't visible in her expression. |
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