Logs:Uncle Whit
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| RL Date: 24 May, 2010 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla's baby gets an uncle. Sorry, G'brion! |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 11, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions |
| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. The sun is high in the sky and there is not a cloud in sight. There's a breeze that tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. By High Reaches standards, it's warm for an autumn afternoon, which doesn't mean that Madilla doesn't need the coat she has pulled tight about her shoulders. The healer is perched on one of the boulders down by the water's edge, legs hanging down loosely, while her arms cradle the now unmistakable curve of her pregnancy. Despite the clear skies and relative warmth, there aren't many people down by the lake today, and for now, no one in her immediate vicinity - but even if there were, she seems utterly lost in her own thoughts, and the sun-dappled water she stares at so resolutely. It wasn't W'chek's idea to be down here, whatever the weather, but there's that dragon that follows him around, who seems to have decided that this warmth was adequate for bathing, and as W'chek is stuck down here rather than in his own weyr--the place he'd more normally be holed up on any afternoon he wasn't working, of late--there he is, walking, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Whistling, no better than he ever has, which is not well, that generally unfailing sign of a good mood, which is probably why, instead of taking the long detour around those rocks, he instead meanders in the direction of a familiar (if these days, from a distance) face. "Hey." Charming greeting. Zhikath is off fairly deep in the water, not attending in the least to this. Surprise tinges Madilla's, "Oh!" in no uncertain terms; the healer drops her arms, straightens her posture, and seems genuinely lost for words for several moments at least, as W'chek makes his presence known. Finally, her words taking on an urgency, as though this will make up for perceived rudeness in her initial response, she adds, "Good afternoon, W'chek. I hope you--" She pauses, glances out over the lake, narrowing in on the bronze, "You're both well. You look--" her hand waves an uncertain conclusion to the sentence: he looks well? Happy? Content, at the very least? She smiles. "Well," W'chek finishes her sentence, manages a smile. Eyes very firmly on her face. On another sort of guy, that could be taken as a compliment. The smile might be a little thin, but better than plastered-on fake. "I'm well. He's well. I think. Told him if he wanted to swim so bad we could go south this afternoon, but he prefers here. For whatever reason. Might as well indulge him now. Once the snow flies--" A shake of the head. "You... look well yourself," is slightly more hesitant. "He's a High Reaches dragon," says Madilla, as though she knows about such things, and even as though it makes a difference. She sounds approving, though, smile undaunted-- and undeniably genuine. "I'm glad you're both well. It's good to hear. I am well. Thank you." The way her hands shift, either side of her thighs, she's probably itching to wrap her arms back around her middle; she restrains herself, though, focusing instead upon W'chek. "I suppose it won't be long now, before the snow does fly, I suppose. It's nice to have a few nice days, before then. I'm going to miss the warmth, I think." Such as it is. Gaze casts out towards Zhikath, who cannot be said to be frolicking in the water, but who is certainly being thorough about getting wet, anyway. "He is indeed," W'chek agrees. Smiling more, now. Then he eyes the rock. "You mind if I join you?" Old habits die hard; despite the question, he moves close enough that, short of actually sitting, there's not much more he could do to prove he assumes the answer will be yes. "Never is long. He'll be three, when the snow flies. Always think of it that way. Some turn it'll snow at the end of summer and throw me off but good." The answer is yes, shown first in the way Madilla slides over to make room, and then in her, "Of course-- please do." Her skirts get re-smoothed over her legs, an action that keeps her hands busy, as she stares off into the distance in silence for a few moments. And then; "/Three/. It is easy to combine events like that. Mental associations, I think. It feels like-- three feels like a long time." Silence again, and then, "If it ever snows at the end of the summer, I suspect we'll all be thrown off, in various ways. Brr." Like an echo, but with more finality: "Three." W'chek sits, braces his hands on his knees. This way, sitting beside her, it's easier to look out over the lake than to look at her. And that seems to inspire considerable more relaxation. "Three. Time flies. We walked out here, in the fall. It... does feel like a long time ago. Like in a story. A long time ago, somewhere very far away. Only not so far away." Madilla's breath catches with a little sigh of remembrance - nostalgia? - that gets matched with her quiet, "Sometimes, you'd even hold my hand as we walked." Which, from the sounds of it, she remembers with fondness. "It's like another lifetime, but there it is, still... sitting there. Like another person between us." She sneaks a glance at him, watching his expression with a guarded look of her own. There's a slight grimace for that, but not the full-on pained look it would have gotten, once. "Yeah," W'chek agrees. "I don't think I ever thought about making it this far. I don't know what I thought would happen. That the world would just end in... fire and rocks falling out of the sky, maybe." Which turns into a bit of a smile as he finally looks sideways back at her. "Thought he'd leave. Thought I'd--I don't know. I thought I had f--screwed up everything. And he still hasn't gone." Madilla matches (and then some, admittedly) his smile with one of her own as he looks at her; she keeps her voice soft as she tells him, simply, "He loves you. But you know that already." She doesn't answer the rest, but her head tips forward just barely, not far enough to be considered a nod, and yet-- "You belong together." "I still can't take him home, of course." Maybe it's not overt agreement, but at least it's tacit acceptance of that. Let her be the one to express feelings on W'chek's behalf. "I suggested that if we put him in a dress, he might be able to pass for a girl, but I don't think he liked the idea." Wry smile. It's a joke. Sure. Right! "And I don't dare let them come here, in case somebody says something. But I go home and I play dutiful uncle and nobody bothers me too much." It's enough: it's enough that Madilla looks pleased, with a smile that grows wider at his joke, though she doesn't outright laugh. More serious is the remark that follows, coming as it does after a heavy swallow; "I wish it wasn't like that. I understand, though." Deeply, from the way she speaks. Personally. "I haven't even been home in-- a long time. But we make do. With what we have. Nothing's ever perfect, but-- it's enough." That, somehow, is what gets a laugh out of W'chek, that seriousness. "Shouldn't our families be proud? The unwed mother-to-be and the homosexual." He pronounces all the syllables of that last very clearly, like it was five separate words instead of one, the middle drawled out long. Way longer than his family, rural or otherwise, would actually allot it. "We make our own home, I guess." The previous reference to 'home' gives that a bit of the lie, of course. "Or we try." A pause. "I think I'm pretty good at it. The... uncle, thing." Meaningful, with raised eyebrows at her. Though Madilla's cheeks turn pink, she looks faintly amused at W'chek's references to their various failures as proper, holdbred children. She holds back her response, though, and perhaps wisely: letting him finish leaves her wordless and wide-eyed, her expression unreadable at the first, and then-- "Truly?" 'Delight' may be an understatement. Kind of abashed, in the face of all that delight. "Yeah, well," says W'chek, looking down and picking a little at a slightly worn spot on his trousers. "You make do with the life you have, right? And the family you have. Such... as it is." He clears his throat, pauses, does it again more firmly like the first time didn't really work. "Such as it is," again. "He's really happy about all this. And I--" He stops, shrugs wordlessly instead of completing the sentence. Normally, that kind of reaction might well destroy - or at least dampen - Madilla's enthusiasm, but she's too pleased, and maybe just too hormonal, to let it bother her today. "I'm /glad/," she says, firmly. "I want-- family is important. And if my child can't have the kind of family I did, then I want to make a family that counts." For more, even. You know, the kind of family that doesn't shut out their child. "Thank you, W'chek." Doesn't, hopefully. W'chek will surely find something or other to be disapproving of. Someday. But for right now? "Family is important," he agrees. And as the large bronze presumable member of that family is on his way out of the water, the rider's eyes follow him, but he's not going to go doing anything so silly as approaching while there's water being shaken off and sunning to do to dry off. "Might not be traditional, but it's still family. Not just... strangers in the nursery." /Hopefully/. Madilla's gaze follows W'chek's in turn, watching Zhikath silently for a few moments before she turns her attention back, to agree. "I think it would be sad, to have only that. To grow up without-- I don't want that." For her child, presumably, the one who - finally - gets the embrace of his or her mother's arms. It sends a jolt through her, and then a laugh; "It kicked! So maybe that's approval." Or gas. "Must be approval," says W'chek with absolute certainty. Besides, what does he know about pregnancy? Probably not much. Might as well take her word for it. "Can't imagine you having any dumb kids." He does finally stand up, though. "I'd best start getting those straps back on. S'posed to meet Bety back home when he's off for the day." There's finally one lingering look at her midsection. "Is there anything you need, or want? I mean, around here, I can't imagine there would be, but." Madilla looks pleased - very, very pleased - with all of this, and tracks W'chek's progress to a standing position with her eyes. "Must be," she agrees, warmly. "You'll say hello to B'tal for me?" Presumably, she sees him quite a lot these days, but-- it can't hurt. "I'm fine, though." It's a promise. "B'tal asks the same. Between the two of you-- but no, I honestly do have everything I need. I appreciate it. For that, a chuckle. "He's... considerate." Thankfully, W'chek does not elaborate on this point. "Of course I'll say hello for you." He does a little brushing off, as though sitting down on a rock is likely to get one particularly mussed. "And I'll see you around. Soon, I mean." As opposed to 'eventually at some point under duress'. Progress! "Take care of yourself." Then he heads back towards the mostly-dry bronze on the shore. Madilla's easy nod, and matching smile, are a good indication that, oh no, she's not thinking anything past the very obvious on that statement. "He is. And-- good. I look forward to it." If she has specific suggestions for when they might see each other again, well, they will have to wait. For now, she watches him go, letting out a low sigh of contentment. Under her breath; "Uncle W'chek. Uncle Whit." |
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