Logs:Warmth
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| RL Date: 5 June, 2012 |
| Who: Madilla, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia manages to sneak out while Hraedhyth slumbers, and Madilla offers her special brand of healing. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. As chilly as it is, the lack of snowfall is enough to coax Azaylia out from the warmth of the barracks. This time, she's sought out fire and hearth, different and yet so similar to that of the slumbering young queen. Rather than a chair, the young woman is draped across the ground, stretched out on her side and absorbing as much of the heat as she can. Borrowed tunic and trousers are a touch too short, arms extended above her head and along the floor, hiked fabric displaying the clean bandages of her midsection. Still kept decent because of it. Next to her head is an empty though thoroughly used bowl, and a half-filled mug of tea. Madilla is still wearing her apron when she enters from the caverns, a likely indication that this is only a break in her shift - the lack of children certainly encourages this idea. She gets a good distance across the room before Azaylia's presence is noticed, and even then the weyrling is not verbally acknowledged until she's closing in upon the hearth, at which point she says, just quietly, "There must surely be more comfortable ways to get warm. Cozier ones. Are you all right, Azaylia?" "The floor is warm..." Azaylia whispers, almost a moan, eyes still closed and not seeming at all uncomfortable. Her movements are slow as she rolls onto her back, arms still outstretched above her, eyes half-lidded but not at all unkind as they look up at Madilla. "Sitting takes too much work." Not really a joke, despite the gentle curl of her lips, "I'm fine. Last night and today," Since Tiriana's banishment, "Have been really hard. How're you?" Asks the sentient rugwoman. Madilla's expression is instantly sympathetic, not only for the sound of Azaylia's words but the implications of the words themselves, too. She pours herself a mug of klah carefully, turning her back to the weyrling only briefly as she does so; when she's finished, however, she sinks into a nearby chair and says, finally, "I understand. Of course-- they've been hard for all of us, but for you... I'm well enough, thank you. Do you need someone to talk to?" Beat. "Or, rather. Someone to listen?" The pouring of klah reminds Azaylia that she's still got some tea left. Reluctant to rise, she only half commits to it, propped up with one elbow as she reaches for her still warm mug and takes a sip. "For Hraedhyth." She corrects, though it sounds more like an agreement with what Madilla's said. Cup is balanced on her chest, hand there to keep it steady as she looks towards the Healer, "Uhm. I dunno..." Bashful or ashamed, she's hesitant and yet desperate to give the older woman something. "I guess I feel guilty." "You don't need to," reassures Madilla, leaning forward in her chair so that she can see Azaylia from a slightly better angle. Her mug is balanced on one skirt-covered knee; the other hand rests quietly to one side of her legs. "Only if you think it will help." But Azaylia has spoken, and the healer, it seems, can't ignore it. "Ah," she adds. "Guilty? Why so?" Usually so scared, so against dampening anyone else's day (or night) with her troubles, Azaylia can't help it now. Human interaction that doesn't include apologizing for her lifemate is latched onto, "I keep upsetting her." No need to guess as to the identity of that one. "I'm the one Hraedhyth trusts the most. All of the people on Pern, and I can't... be strong enough for her." Defeat weighs heavily on the weyrlings tired expression, but there are thankfully no tears. "I keep getting scared, o-or sad. It makes her angry." Eyes trail away from the bandages to Madilla's face, brows pinching slightly. "There were other girls on the Sands, ones who could probably stand up to... for.." Against? With? "...her." For a moment, it looks like Madilla might launch herself out of her chair and at the weyrling, all the better to wrap her arms around her, and make everything all right. She doesn't, but perhaps that's only because she stops herself by force of will - that hand at her side? It tightens, twists, draws fingers in to fists. "No," she says. "Don't ever think that. Hraedhyth picked you because she needs you; that's how it works. You're allowed to be overwhelmed. You're allowed to be scared, and sad, and anything you want. Hraedhyth will learn. So will you." Her voice shakes only a little, and only, most likely, from barely-restrained over emotion. Azaylia can't bear how much Madilla cares, gaze dropping down to the mug in front of her face. Once again overwhelmed, it's a bit more pleasant this time as she smiles, "Sorry. I mean, if I upset you. I-it's not so bad." A half-truth, quickly quieting herself by draining the last of the tea in her mug. It's placed to the side, next to the bowl as Azaylia eases back onto the ground though her head remains turned in the Healer's direction. "I know. I mean, I should know. Everyone's been so nice, says it's okay. But..." She haults, teeth worrying at her lower lip some. "Don't be sorry," says Madilla, wry smile set deep into the gentle lines of her face. "I feel too much. It's always been true." She shifts her mug from one hand to the other, mostly, it seems, so that she can push a tendril of hair back from her voice. "I can't imagine how daunting it must feel," she concludes, a slightly different tack. "To be honest, I think I would be more worried if you weren't feeling a little overwhelmed with it all. And no one anyone says will really help, I suspect. Not for a while." Azaylia folds her hands on top of her stomach, the only pressure the weight of her hands together. "I like that about you." She offers, gentle and genuine. "I like knowing that... you actually care. It makes me want to care back." Lips escape from her teeth in order to turn up in a soft smile, this time managing to reach her eyes. "I don't even... I haven't even tried to think about being an actual weyrwoman." Lowercase, of course. "Or about the Crafthall, or anything else but Hraedhyth." Her breathing has visibly picked up, and she looks helpless for a moment. Eyes clench, she concentrates on ignoring those worries as she has been and slowing her breath. Madilla is clearly pleased by Azaylia's words, for all that she doesn't reply to them: her smile is gratified, her cheeks faintly pink. And the rest? "And nor should you, not yet. I've been here enough turns, Azaylia, to see plenty of weyrlings, and it's almost always the same: all of that can come later. Focus on yourself, for now. And Hraedhyth. There's months and months, turns if you need them, to prepare yourself for everything else. At least..." And she smiles, brighter and warmer and somehow amused. "You'll be learning under Lujayn, not Tiriana. When the time comes." With one last inhale through the nose, she's calm enough to open tired brown eyes and find Madilla once more. "Yeah." Then there's a flicker of doubt, whether for the Healer's words or for herself. "Except only a few have been goldriders." But the months and months seems to help with her anxiety, giving the young woman permission to resume just lying there in fire-warmed bliss. "There's that," Lujayn rather than Tiriana. "But..." Worry creases her brow ever so slightly. "I didn't even know they could do that. We." She corrects. "We could do that." "Only a few," agrees Madilla. "But enough. You'll be fine, Azaylia, I promise you will." Confusion clouds her expression at the last of what the weyrling has to say; she tips her head to one side to consider, frowning faintly. "What do you mean? Do what?" "Kick out..." It sounds so simple, enough that it makes Azaylia sick for a moment before she tries again. "Banish people. Banish Weyrwomen." If there was ever a title to be thought untouched, that was one of them. Her arms stretch once more, folding atop her head as she palms each elbow, cheek squished against her bicep as she maintains eyecontact. "I... It makes me feel like, if I'm not good enough." The weyrling's words are slow, deliberate, trying to make absolute sure that she doesn't get upset. "That if I c-can't stop Hraedhyth... if she hurts someone like Tiriana," A steadying breath. "That they'll kick me out too." This time, Madilla can't stop herself from climbing off that chair, setting down her mug and dropping to her knees directly in front of Azaylia. Her expression is firm, one part horrified and one part deeply, deeply sympathetic. "They won't," she says. "No. No. With Tiriana-- you could never be like that. You, of all people, no." Her arms tentatively raise, but she seems wary to actually reach out and wrap the other woman into a hug; they hover, instead. "You should talk to Lujayn," she suggests, quietly. "She's approachable. Or K'del." Azaylia watches Madilla's descent, first confusion and then worry playing across the young woman's face. She drops her arms, pushing up to at least join the healer in the upright position, brown eyes wide and waiting. "I don't think..." But then the other woman is lifting her arms, and the weyrling is all to eager to scramble and fall into them. She's almost feverishly warm, but with the obvious explination crackling behind her, unashamed in snuggling deeply against Madilla. "K'del has enough problems." Her voice is muffled, head turning to peek up at the healer, "Maybe Lujayn. Maybe." A pause, and a snuggle. And then, confused, "Why not Iolene?" Madilla is soft and cuddly: the perfect shape for hugging, really. Her arms squeeze tightly around Azaylia's shoulders, clasping her close to her chest as she rocks, just gently, back and forth. "Well," she says, after a moment. "Iolene's not a weyrwoman, as such. She understands a lot less about how these things work, I think. But you could certainly talk to her, too." Azaylia will take advantage of Madilla's soft figure in more innocent ways than most men would like to. Arms circle her, careful not to put too much of her weight onto the woman but greedily soaking up the comfort that's offered. "Mmmm." The first happy sound of the evening, hum leaving the weyrling as she nestles cheek against shoulder. "Oh." She'll utter, "That does make sense." Any doubt in Madilla's words are dashed away, eyes closing as she gives the healer a bit of a squeeze. It's probably a good thing no one walks in on them, like this - even if it is entirely innocent, a simple gesture of comfort between two women. Madilla's smiling, and there's probably relief in her expression, now, even if it's not immediately visible to Azaylia. "Good," she says. And soon she will turn the conversation onto lighter topics, and hopefully, by the time she excuses herself (or Azaylia does), everyone is happier and more relaxed. |
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