Logs:Stunning
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| RL Date: 19 August, 2008 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla rolls bandages, and talks of family, future and unhappier things with Leova. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 7, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. Barefoot, with a basket of bandages beside her, some rolled, some unrolled, and one in her lap that's halfway between the two, Madilla is staring off into the distance as she works, enjoying the last rays of sunlight, and the encroaching indigo of twilight. She's settled on the iron bench, her shawl slung over the back, discarded. There are footsteps behind her, footsteps that would be soft too if those feet were bare instead of booted, and instead are merely quiet. And then there's someone leaning behind her, with an eye toward fingering that lovely shawl. And silence, before the woman's voice says, "Evening." It would be, too, anywhere more southerly where the sun had bothered to set. Madilla doesn't stir at the first sound of footsteps, not until there's that sensation of someone behind, at which point she looks up, and then around, her fingers never stilling in their relentless winding. "Good evening, Leova," she greets, smiling. "And a beautiful one, isn't it?" The evening, presumably. The greenrider has a glass in her other hand, near-clear liquid that's who-knows-what, and a slight curve of a smile when she meets Madilla's eyes. "Did you knit this? Or did a loved one." Fingertips graze just the surface of the wool. They appear to be quite clean. "It is. Quite a view from up high, too." "My mother. It was hers. I never had any talent for knitting, but she gave it to me when I went away," explains Madilla. Although her gaze is held upon the shawl, and Leova's fingers, she doesn't seem concerned, still rolling, rolling, rolling those bandages, with feet stretched out upon the sun-warmed, though growing chillier, stone. "Mmm, there would be," she agrees. "I'm still not keen on the idea of this place covered in snow, but the summer is lovely." "Do you remember her making it? Once upon that time." Leova traces the stitches, searching out their pattern, idle in her repetition. She still hasn't touched her drink, the glass's mouth bearing not even a fingerprint, much less that of her lips. "And it is cold. But at least, mostly, I'd guess you should be able to stay inside, hm? Might be the odd rider holed sick up in a weyr is all. S'trun was laid up for a sevenday once... wasn't so bad until he got on the mend, enough to be cranky about it again." A nod, from Madilla, and a dreamy look to her eyes. "When I was very little. Five or six, maybe? Before Thread came back. My father was away, some kind of business for my Uncle, and he bought the wool at a gather somewhere for my mother. It was the softest, finest thing I'd ever seen." Her lips quirk with the memory, her head shaking, as she sets down another completed bandage roll, and starts a new one. "I suppose I should be able to, yes; better than you lot, I suppose - sweeps and drills and everything outside? Most people get cranky when they start getting better. It'd be lonely, all the way up there on your own, and feeling miserable." She looks up as she speaks, eyes grazing the bowl walls above. Leova says very softly, "You'll be able to be the one bringing things back, now. If you want to. As well as the marks." She brushes her fingertips across the shawl again, as though it could invoke that distant mother, and the father who had brought it, and then leaves it be. "You're right, though. All of that. Standing watch. Fall, when it fell at all, and when it wasn't so cold as to make crackdust. Can be lonely the wrong time of Turn when you're not sick, too, holed up that way." "I was thinking about that," says Madilla, evidently pleased with the idea. "It was mother's prized possession. I should give her another, to take it's place. And my cousin. She'll marry the man I might have, probably." She's got her gaze back on the shawl, nostalgia, and quiet longing, clearly evident in her expression, though she keeps her hands where they are. "And now, with no 'fall? Still drilling, keeping watch?" "Would you knit it yourself? And do you... mind. The man. Would she mind. Your cousin." Leova's quiet for a moment, but there are more questions. At last she drinks, not deeply. "Still drilling. Still watching. Fewer drills now, but there they are. After last time." Madilla considers, head tilted to the side, her plait bobbing against her neck as she does so. "For the sentimental value, I might consider it, but - as I said, my knitting is not very good. Good wool, really good wool, wants proper knitting, I think. She'd want to redo it, probably. I don't mind," she continues, utterly blase. "I didn't really know him. Neither will she, until she marries him. It's her good fortune: a good match." Still tilted towards consideration, she nods. "Of course. No more surprises. But - longer term?" "Sounds as though she'd probably enjoy it," Leova murmurs. "Your mother, enjoy the knitting of it. Does she like colors as well? But this, this goes with so much." The greenrider has a nod for the description of the cousin, of the match, and that's when she rounds the bench, choosing to sit in whatever room there is, however scant. "Pleasant when these things work out. Longer term, for the wing? I imagine we'll have to still ride over the land. There are other ways to help. And we'll have to keep making our presence known. My wingleader isn't concerned." Though perhaps she is. Madilla moves her basket out of the way, politely, as the greenrider comes round, nodding. "I think she probably would. We never really wore much by way of colours, but-- she probably would. Blue, or red, maybe. With her dark hair." Another bandage joins the basket, end tucked in tidily, and as she reaches for the next, Madilla nods. "There are always things to be done, I'm sure," she agrees, though by her tone, she has no idea what, as such. Dubious. "But it'll be better than thread. Safer. Less work for me, too." She grins. "Does she have your eyes, too?" Leova leans to look, but she's brief about it, turning to look out over the Bowl. "Much. Much safer, I hope. Much less work for both of us. Except for the people who can't abide not having something to fight." Madilla shakes her her head. "Hers are brown, rather than green." Nodding, gaze sliding back towards the work in her lap, she asks, "Is it boredom? Or-- just getting used to a different kind of pace?" "Your father's are green, then, or did they skip?" Leova says idly, though not disinterestedly, beginning to rub a fingertip around and around the edge of her drink. The glass is not wet, and it makes no noise, or nearly none. "I think it can change. Some. The rush of it. Some. Not feeling... useful, now." She lets silence begin to fall along with the long shadows, beyond, that have begun to dissolve into the deepening dark. Might not have gone on, but this night she does. "The man I... think I told you about? Back at the Hall. With the old injury. It's like that, I think." "His are green," confirms Madilla, not quite equally as idly, but close, gaze off in the distance, now, staring over the darkening bowl. "I remember," she says, of the man with the old injury, nodding. "No one likes not to feel useful. Or, at least, most of us don't. A hard sell. Did you end up talking to the healers here at all, about that?" "Green," Leova repeats, more to acknowledge than anything. "Glad that most of us don't. Just wish that he could /see/ that he /is/. Or could be, again..." but it's increasingly old frustration, and she keeps it low, to the point of swallowing it there at the end. "I did. Somewhat. Not enough. The first step is his wanting to, they say," and there goes that frustration again. Madilla's hands still, for the first time during the conversation, and she turns her head to look at Leova, watching, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," she says, with sincerity. "I-- I hope you can get through. Or someone can." "Hope so too." She has breath for much more, controls the exhalation to keep it down, keep it slow. Finally remembers to say, "Thank you." And then, with a sidelong glance, "Suppose I should call Vrianth down. Something cheerful, though, before I go?" "Of course." Madilla's voice, calm and collected, through the dim. And an encouraging smile, too. "Suppose. I should get these in, too. Only supposed to come out for a little while." A pause. "Something cheerful? I can see the moon over the lake - look, see? Stunning. The world is pretty beautiful, isn't it?" Best she can do, apparently. "Have a pleasant night." And Madilla's best may be more than she realized, for Leova's smile appears all of a sudden, clear and full. "You're right," she says. And, "She's been /waiting/." Standing, she walks backward, a dance step that turns into a skip. "Good night." Back around, just in time to find the steps and take those steps, take them down and over to her dragon. Down into the darkness, just long enough to get to climb up again. Madilla looks momentarily perplexed at the effectiveness of her words, but eventually manages a smile, head shaking as Leova disappears into the night. |
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