Logs:Tea for Two
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| RL Date: 9 December, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia has gifts, and questions. Madilla has company, and ideas. |
| Where: Madilla's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 6, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions |
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| The sweet breeze follows Azaylia in, though the sunshine is forced to remain outside the Infirmary. Some warmth is carried in the weyrwoman's darkened complextion, smile small and polite as she makes her way towards the Weyrhealer's office. Madilla's office. Her sundress is a light blue fair, somewhat plain but well fitting. A basket is nestled in the crook of her arm as she pauses in front of the door, giving it a gentle knock. "Miss Weyrhealer, ma'am?" She may be teasing, but there's a certain amount of genuine respect, similar to that of the healer apprentices scurrying about. Has Azaylia been in this office in the past? It's different to how it was-- since Madilla took residence, much of the furniture has changed, and the arrangement of what's left, too. It's cosier than it was, and very like the Weyrhealer herself -- who is presently sitting at the desk, working through a stack of what are probably patient files. Her dark head lifts at the sound of the other woman's knock, and the words that follow. Her, "Azaylia," is entirely genuine, and accompanied by a faint flush. "Or, should I say - Acting Weyrwoman, ma'am. Come in - please." Azaylia gives a groan that all too quickly turns into a giggle. "Oh, please." For her title, not for the invitation which she promptly accepts. "Half of an Acting Weyrwoman, really. Don't, uhm... really know where my better half is." Brieli has enough trouble with nosy folk, as it is. "I should've been here the day you were promoted, but..." Rather than make any excuses, she places the basket on Madilla's desk. It's got a bottle of wine and various cheeses, as well as rich sweet things that would go well with the drink. "Congratulations." She offers gently, smile growing as her empty hands fold in front of her. "Can we agree to skip the titles, then?" asks Madilla, amused by Azaylia's reaction to her remark, and inclined, now, to rise from her desk. She's distracted by the basket, flushing prettily as she acknowledges it - and the accompanying explanation. When she glances up again, her expression is caught between a grateful smile, a blush, and a mostly-hidden note of sadness, the last of which disappears quickly as she says, "Oh, Azaylia. Thank you. It's not - not even remotely necessary. But I appreciate it. Do you have time for tea? Is it too early in the day for wine?" Azaylia gives a guilty little nod, "Alright." She can't very well tease Madilla, what with having her own rank to poke at. Once the healer has risen, she's eager to take the few steps needed to wrap her arms around the other woman. Her hug is firm, but not overly so this time. Mmph! "You're welcome. And it is. You deserve more than just a heaping of paperwork to go with your new position." Pulling back she gives Madilla's hands a squeeze before releasing them. "I would love a cup of tea. I was about to ask if you had some time to talk. Though, I might want to make an appointment from now on." She laughs, bright weather and good company certainly making it easier to smile. Madilla is apparently delighted to return the hug with a warm squeeze of her own, smiling delightedly at the other woman's warmth. "Unless I'm with a patient," says the healer, firmly, "my door will always be open to you, Azaylia. I rather think that that is part of my job-- and besides, I've always had time for you, and I always will." She indicates the little seating area on the other side of the room with a wave of her hand, then turns to put the kettle on over the hearth, which burns only very low given the warmth of the day. "I hope things are settling down for you, now? As much as they can." Azaylia is understanding, that a healer's patients come first, "Of course." The weyrwoman doesn't mind being second place, judging from her brightening expression. "The same goes for you, too. And I don't even have patients." She muses, walking towards the seating area and making herself comfortable, hand smoothing over her skirt. "They are, in a way." She answers truthfully. "The work is a bit intense, so that takes some getting used to. We've gone from four weyrwomen to two." Very quickly, at that. "How're you, though? You seem to be handling 'Weyrhealer' rather well." With the water set up above the hearth to boil, Madilla turns back around, but makes no move to actually join the goldrider. The tip of her head that follows is one of knowing sympathy. "I can only imagine," she says, quietly. "It must be a great relief to have each other, at least. It is-- a shame, that Lujayn elected to leave. Though understandable, in a way, I suppose." Of herself, she can only shrug her shoulders in an easy gesture and say, "I'm doing the best I can. If the pair of you can run this Weyr, then I must be able to do this." Azaylia takes in a slow breath, a sign of her weighty words to come. "I don't understand it. I thought that maybe I had done or said something to make her feel unwelcome. But then, there are murmurings about how she might be upset about not being Weyrwoman?" She doesn't quite slump, but confusion weighs her shoulders down. "I only wish." Given she doesn't have Lujayn's luxury of being out of the running. It's easy talking to Madilla. Freeing. With a soft laugh, "I'm sure you're doing wonderfully. If you were really worried, you could send a request for an assistant of somekind..." Or however healers might go about it. "It's the third time she's missed out to someone younger," says Madilla, gently. "I don't know that she necessarily wanted to be Weyrwoman, but I imagine it weighs heavily on a person. I know people looked at her, sidelong. Over--" Svissath, presumably, but the healer doesn't finish the thought. "I'll be fine," she continues, reassuringly. "It's not a position I wanted, but if I am to have it... We do our duty. It's all we can do." She glances back at the kettle, though it can hardly have boiled already, and adds, "Others have done our jobs before. If they can manage, then so can we." Azaylia considers that aspect of Lujayn's transfer, thumbnail lifted for a thoughtful bite. No chewing, as the hand soon drops to let her speak, "Right... I can't imagine anyone blaming the dragons. Or, Lujayn." For what happened, because of one sick boy with an agenda. "If you don't want it..." The question dies before she can really voice it, giving a soft laugh at her momentary lapse. They're very much in the same boat. "Yes. We have to do our duty." The weyrwoman shifts, legs tucking together and crossing at the ankle, sitting all proper and sidesaddle. "I've also heard that... uhm, it's not really gossip, but. Do you believe that the crafters here would appreciate having more of a say? You all live here too, after all." She looks to Madilla, openly curious. Madilla has no direct answer to the question of Lujayn, only a gentle shake of her head that gives no further insight to the question. Instead, she's caught short by Azaylia's next question, and if she turns her back to the goldrider in the wake of it, it doesn't seem to be because she's avoiding answer: she fusses with the kettle and says, carefully, "I imagine many of them would. It's human nature, I think, to wish for greater influence. I don't know that... having a voice is one thing, perhaps, but I would be careful of... there would be a danger in allowing anyone to believe that they could have too much influence." There's a shift in Azaylia's posture, a little more stiff as Madilla turns away while answering. Worried. "I just... I don't mean asking the Crafthalls, or even the Masters. I meant the folk who live here, in the Weyr. People who consider this place their home, just like I do." Her hands find the edge of her skirt, gripping and twisting it a bit as she's suddenly nervous. "Maybe I heard wrong." Is something like an apology, not wanting to upset Madilla. "I was hoping for a way to help... I don't know. I just want people to be happy. If I'm able to do that as a goldrider..." Since she is far from the type to use her rank for personal gain. "Oh, Azaylia, no," says Madilla, suddenly heartfelt and turning around again. Her expression is earnest. "Of course you do. And of course-- not the crafthalls, just the people who live here. I think you're right; I think people would like a voice. A... formal avenue, at least, that they know they can take to have their thoughts heard." The water isn't boiling, but she steps away from it anyway so that she can draw up alongside the other woman, and then settle into a seat across from her. "I think it's wonderful, that you want to make sure people are happy." Azaylia continues to fidget, though she watches Madilla approach with those gentle, curious eyes. "W-would you? Is there something that you feel you need? That Healer's need as a whole?" She relaxes some, at having the older woman sit across from her, hands releasing the edge of her skirt. "Maybe have a formal form written up, for crafters? Or maybe, they could elect someone they feel has their best interests in mind, to speak to us weyrwomen?" None of her ideas sound very solid, tossed into the air to perhaps see what the weyrhealer thinks of them. She leaves them there, "It's so good to see you. I'll have to make it a point to visit more often." Her smile wavers some, perhaps doubting their increased duties would allow more frequent talks. Madilla looks, for a moment, as though she's about to speak up - but Azaylia is still talking, and the healer waits until she's finished. Her cheeks are flushed in a very subtle way when she says, then, "Delifa and I used to meet for tea, one evening every seven. I am quite sure you and I can manage something. Which - I'd like." Her smile isn't shy, not exactly, but quietly, restrainedly, warm. For the rest-- she considers, looking thoughtful. "I suspect if a representative was chosen for all the crafters, there would be consternation: is their craft favoured. Perhaps..." But she trails off, apparently no better at coming up with a good solution. "Perhaps you could set up official hours in which a person with a problem or a suggestion could meet with someone. And thus leave your doors open to all, in a limited sense." The kettle is finally boiling - she rises, but doesn't move away. "Once a seven... I certainly could manage that, I think." Azaylia agrees, although slowly. It takes some time to ensure that she's got enough free time, what with paperwork, meetings, and the occassional (stubborn) Glacier drill. "I'd like it too." It doesn't take Madilla long to find fault in one of her ideas, though there is some improvement upon it. "Oh. That sounds smart... I would like to know what the people think. The non-riders." Particularly, the crafters. "I'll see what Brieli thinks." The young woman gives a soft, tired sigh. It's the first sign that so much responsibility does take its toll. Still, her smile is a grateful one. "Or," says Madilla, who gives Azaylia a warm smile before wandering back towards the hearth to fetch the water, "we could aim for once a fortnight. I meant only that-- it is possible, to fit things in. I wouldn't want to take you away from other things, not more than I need to. But it helps to have someone." From this position, Azaylia probably can't see the way Madilla's expression shifts, rather as though she suddenly regrets what she's said, and can't think of a way to explain it better. Instead, she says, "I know that people would appreciate that. It isn't as though you would need to listen to everything... but to know that one may say a thing. It's important." Now she returns, carrying two mugs with her, one of which is pressed towards the goldrider. "I admire you both, in the work you're doing. I do." Azaylia considers both options, "We'll see which work best?" With a non-commital laugh, despite the fact that she is in favor of what they're planning. "For now, once a seven works. But if I add on extra meetings..." The sort they've been talking about. She may not see Madilla's expression, but the words certainly hit home just the same. Leaning back into the couch she closes her eyes, "I have Hraedhyth." That's someone. Misunderstanding aside, she looks to the older woman with some of that momentarily frustration banished, "Thank you." For the tea, as well as the admiration. "O-oh. It's... Hm. I can't say it's not important. But I'll say it's probably no more important than the work you do." So there. "Whatever you have time for," agrees Madilla, evenly, as she returns to her position across from the other woman, mug clutched carefully between her hands. It's a blended tea: chamomile, and something else, something a little less floral. "Of course you have Hraedhyth. And - many other people as well, I'm sure. Including me, as friend as well as healer. Which-- part of my job is to make sure that you're coping. That you're not working yourself to death, or over-stressed, or-- I hope you'll remember that, if you have need of me." Her chin lifts as she speaks: she meets Azaylia's gaze squarely, as long as the other woman doesn't glance away. And as for the last of what she had to say? Madilla smiles. "I've been a Journeyman for the better part of a decade, and I don't know if I feel ready to be in charge. I think that is where I admire you the most." Azaylia brings the mug to her lips and blows a bit, peeking over at Madilla when her dragon's name is mentioned again. "I do have friends. Which is why it's so silly... maybe selfish, that sometimes I still feel alone." Except for Hraedhyth, of course. "I have so many things to be thankful for, I shouldn't complain." Quieting herself with a sip, she isn't allowed to pull her gaze away from the weyrhealer's. Not when she's looking so serious. "I'm not going to call you only when I need you. You're my friend. Someone I..." Complexion not willing to allow her to blush, she can't quite get the words out. "I-I care for. So, I'll just have to make sure that you're not overly stressed, too." Because that's what friends are for. Her eyes widen, just a tad, voice matching the surprise, "I'm certainly not ready. I can't imagine... it's what I have to do, but I don't know if people are ever ready." A sip, and she gives a lofty sigh, "Probably Brieli. She seems ready for everything." Envy and admiration all at once. Gently, "It's not silly." Though Madilla's expression has turned wistful, somehow, and it's something she needs to blink away before she can continue. "I think we all feel lonely, sometimes. And I care about you, too, Azaylia. I'm so glad that we can be there for each other." Her smile is genuinely warm, and though she drops her gaze a moment later so that she can consider her tea, and adjust the mug so that the heated ceramic is not overheating her hands, it doesn't seem to be because she's avoiding Azaylia's gaze. "I don't imagine even Brieli is ready, however competent and confident she seems. No - you're right. None of us ever are. But we do what we need to. I refuse to let Delifa down." Azaylia tries not to get misty, or perhaps it's the steam of her tea wafting up to ticker her eyes. She sits up a bit straighter, balancing the mug on her thigh with one hand as the other reaches to touch Madilla's arm. "Always. If you need a sitter, or want to hide away in my weyr- I can do that for you." After she shooes a certain squatter out, that is. The touch turns into a comforting squeeze, "And I refuse to let you, or the people of this weyr down." To use the older woman's strong, mature words as her own. She'll linger, before easing back and returning both hands to her drink. "Speaking of sitting... How are Lilabet and Dilan? Does she still want to write stories?" Her smile is larger when bringing up Madilla's two children, particularly the spunky little girl. In response to that touch, Madilla moves her hand, aiming, instead to grasp for Azaylia's - squeezing gently for a moment before releasing it. Her smile says more than her words probably can, though she does her best with the latter, too. "Thank you, Azaylia," she says. "I believe you. This Weyr is in good hands. Lily-- oh yes. Honestly, I've no idea where she gets it from. Her father and I--" Lily is like them both, but it's obvious Madilla has trouble seeing that. "She has so many ideas. Dee's still shy. A thinker more than a doer. I only wish--" She breaks off, smiling ruefully. "I worry that they see less of me, now. I'd hoped, perhaps, to have another, but-- two is a good number, isn't it?" Azaylia returns the squeeze, "Of course." As the conversation turns to the precocious Lily, there's a brightness to words and mood. Dilan, or Dee, will be properly cooed over, because who doesn't love a shy little'un? "Two is a good number. But... well, who knows what might happen in the future? You might end up with a whole flock." Which has the goldrider smiling even more, perhaps teasing the woman a bit over their cooling mugs of tea. She might stay a bit longer than is appropriate, given both of their duties, but even Azaylia can't feel terribly guilty about it when she does end up leaving. Madilla doesn't further explain her reasons to assume that there really will only be the two children - she's easily shifted into happier topics, and always more than happy to talk about her children. She seems reluctant to break up their conversation, when the time does eventually come, but her good mood is unmistakable: the break has done her good. Hopefully both of them. "Until next time," she says warmly, before shooing the goldrider away so that they can both get on with their (very important) jobs. |
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