Logs:Two Turns
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| RL Date: 9 May, 2009 |
| Who: Ciendell, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla shows around a new apprentice. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 9, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Delifa/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's the middle of the afternoon on a cool, damp autumn's day, though there hasn't, as yet, been any rain. Madilla sands behind the counter in the infirmary, processing patient charts and keeping an eye on the waiting area. For the moment, there's no one waiting, and while a few of the healers are with patients, it is otherwise a rare moment of calm in the large, usually frantic infirmary. Lucky Ciendell, then, to get to walk in on such a peaceful scene. He's appropriately quiet, only the sound of the double doors opening to herald his entrance - and then he stands, just far enough inside that the backswing doesn't hit him in the ass, arms crossed as he eyes the infirmary's interior in an apparently cursory mental inventory. Check. He steps up to the counter. "Hey there. You -- uh." A faint frown of not-quite-recognition creases his brow. Though Madilla is well entrenched in her work, her ears must be trained for the sound of the doors, because she glances up immediately. Recognition hazes her expression, though her lips are set into a tight line; she doesn't say anything at all until Ciendell approaches the counter. "Senior Apprentice Madilla. Can I help you?" She pauses where she is, pen in hand, keeping her voice quietly polite. "Manila! That's right." Ciendell snaps, two-handed, as she supplies her name for him. Never mind that he got it wrong. "It's me! Ciendell. Signing in. Showing up. Whatever it is you lot do out here, you know." He accompanies it with another brief glance around the infirmary, like there might be directions written on the walls. "It's not nearly as backwater as I thought it'd be when they assigned me my post." "/Madilla/," emphasises the wearer of that name, clearly struggling with /something/ internally; her expression keeps shiftly slightly, despite being otherwise fairly unemotive. "Ciendell. Of course. I didn't-- you've been posted here?" Clearly, not the best news she's ever heard. And then: "Backwater? You would call a weyr backwater?" She sounds defensive, and her knuckles have gone slightly white. Ciendell's eyebrows go up, more startled than apologetic. "Madilla. Right." He flashes a quick crooked grin, a peace offering of an expression, before barreling on. "Yeah, I got my assignment - shells, must've been half a month ago. Took me that long to get everything sorted out. I would've thought you all would've received word by now." His arms uncross, forearms propping against the counter's edge. "And, ah. I didn't mean /backwater,/ backwater. Just - not Fort. How long've /you/ been here?" Madilla is partially mollified, by her softening expression even if her gaze remains dubious, by his words, and his grin. Setting down her pen, she notes, "I'm sure the Journeymen know; perhaps they just didn't think to inform Carobet and myself. Or perhaps just me. Not everywhere can be Fort." Her head turns, as though she's looking for someone, anyone, to take him off her hands, but everyone seems to be otherwise engaged. "Two turns, as of the summer just past. When Journeywoman Delifa," former herbalist teacher at the hall, "took her posting here. Perhaps - should I give you the tour? Until someone can induct you properly?" "Two turns with Delifa, good grief. Color me impressed. I probably would've thrown myself off a ledge by now." Ciendell follows her gaze around, though probably for different purposes. After another appraisal of the room he straightens properly, one hand tweaking a bit of wool lint off his sweater vest. "A tour would be fantastic. Looks like you all are in a bit of a lull, anyway." /Not/ the right thing to say to Madilla: sweet, loyal Madilla. "Journeywoman Delifa has been very good to me," she insists, tone cool, if not outright rude. She can't keep it up, though, and adds in a more normal tone (for her), "Mm, it's unusually quiet, today. It can be quite frantic, particularly now that we have candidates again. We'll have to go through and do their physicals, start new records for the out-weyr ones, that kind of thing." She beckons to him, coming away from the counter. "This is the main infirmary, anyway. Pretty standard, I think?" If Ciendell notices the momentary drop in Madilla's degree of welcome, he doesn't show it. He's moving around to join her, hands sliding to situate themselves in his pockets as he casts a faintly dubious glance through toward the storage room entrance over yonder. "Mmhmm. Not bad. --The whole candidate gig isn't too bad, though, is it? I mean, paperwork, but." There's a moment for a grimace, only slightly condescending. "They don't manage to do themselves too much harm or anything up here, do they?" "Just more work for us. And - well, there's always the fear of finding something that will prohibit one from standing." It's something that, from the sounds of it, Madilla has given some thought to. "But no, not too much harm." She pauses near that storage room, indicating it with one hand - "Usual supplies, through there. We don't have quite the extensive supplies of the Hall, but we have what we need." Indicating with her left hand, she adds, "Healer offices, through there." "Huh. Sucks to be those candidates." Ciendell doesn't sound particularly empathetic to that situation, but anyone who knows him probably wouldn't expect it of him. He follows along, nodding affably. "Who all is posted out here? You, Delifa, Carobet - anyone else?" Madilla, certainly, takes /that/ remark in her stride, barely even shifting her expression as she indicates each door in turn - mindhealer, weyrhealer, and so on. "Aeryn - she's a midwife." And a few others, too, all Journeymen, with varying subcrafts. "We work shifts, generally, varying our hours sevenday by sevenday. Night shifts can be difficult, but... you get used to it." The last door, she actually enters, leading them in to the work room. Ciendell casts a series of increasingly uninterested looks at each of the doors that they pass, mouth downturned, though he obediently keeps stride at Madilla's elbow. "So few of you working that many hours. Must suck," is his only bland comment, glancing over his shoulder for one more look around the infirmary proper before they're in the work room. Sigh. Madilla seems perfectly at home in the work room, indicating each bench and providing explanation of what goes done there, and the kind of things they've been working on. She's a nerd. "Oh, it's not so bad. It'll be better, with you here, too. One more person to keep the place running. At least now that I'm a Senior Apprentice, I don't need to be supervised all the time, and that helps, too. It's so /peaceful/ in here," she adds, then, sounding quite content. "And the smell of herbs; so clean." "Peaceful. Right." Ciendell sounds skeptical about that, but he doesn't offer any other commentary on that particular topic besides a slightly nose-wrinkled face following a critical sniff of the air. "I suppose it must be nice, not having half the Hall breathing down your neck all day." Another brief appraisal, noting placements and systems, before he's already thinking ahead to Not Work. "There must be plenty to do around here when you're not on duty." Madilla lingers where she is, as if unwilling to leave the cool, quiet confines of the workroom. But there's a rueful smile on her face for Ciendell's next couple of comments. "There's more freedom," she allows. "No one watching you all the time, though Delifa and the others - they make sure we're all right. There's--" she considers. "The Snowasis. The bar, I guess. All kinds of games and drinks and things, there." Ciendell, on the other hand, is already sending wistful looks back toward the door, if not yet actively edging toward the exit. "Snowasis. Ha! I like it already." There's that grin again, quick to pass though an amused quirk to his mouth and the lines around his eyes linger. "So is that it, for the grand tour? Haven't got any more -- secret rooms hidden away, anything like that?" "That's--" it, is probably what Madilla intends to say, but there's Delifa at the doorway, glancing from one to the other, and interrupting the train of thought. "Madilla? Oh, and is this our new Apprentice? Ciendell, isn't it? Why don't you come with me, and I'll get you settled." Which at least leaves Madilla free to be a sad and lonely nerd on her own. |
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