Logs:Who wouldn't want to be your friend?
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| RL Date: 30 June, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla and W'chek catch up over dinner. They talk about the future, frustrations, and suitable friends. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 1, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, Leova/Mentions |
| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. The living caverns are all hustle and bustle at this time of the evening, with the dinner hour in full swing, and the kitchens aren't much better: people coming and going, bringing out more dishes, adding food to the serving table. Even the nooks are mostly full, though the only Madilla has settled herself in is otherwise empty. The apprentice reads as she eats, conveniently able to completely ignore the world in favour of her notes. Dinner. Yes. That thing W'chek, as weyrling wingsecond, is probably supposed to be eating with his fellow weyrlings as some kind of bonding thing. And yet there's W'chek, coming in from the inner caverns instead of the living cavern, dodging servers and cooks as he weaves through the kitchen, snagging a plate and a healthy quantity of various items to fill it up with, and then at the end of the gauntlet neatly sliding the plate in across from Madilla. "Studying again?" Despite the amount of attention Madilla is giving her book, she's actually able to respond to W'chek without starting, and even without glancing up - at least not immediately. "I can't sew while I eat," she explains, still scanning the page. "And whatever Delifa says about my needing hobbies, I still /do/ need to study." Then, looking up, with a warm smile in place: "How are you, W'chek?" "I--" It actually takes W'chek a moment to finish the answer to that question. Because he's sitting down, and taking a bite of his food, and chewing, and not at all because he has to think of an answer, really. "I'm doing pretty well, actually. Passed my history this time around, you'll be happy to know. You're not the only one who can study." Or else get really lucky and have all the questions turn out to be exactly the few he remembered the answers to, one or the other. Though Madilla's gaze lingers on W'chek while she waits for his answer, she doesn't seem impatient, at least - and she continues eating, chewing carefully, swallowing, before she responds in turn. Earnestly, "That's wonderful! Good for you, W'chek. Truly. And now it's out of the way, so that's good, too." A few sharp nods punctuate her words, not to mention that beaming smile. A grin, then, something so rarely seen on W'chek's features of late. "And on to much more interesting things. They're starting flying, now. Just by themselves, of course. And I'm wingsecond for the month." More bites of food in between sentences. "Not that it's particularly interesting stuff. Wake people up. Do drills. That kind of thing." Pause. "Zhikath likes it, this whole thing. Getting to help lead the others in exercises. It's very orderly. He likes that. And flying. Very nice." Quite a lot of talking for W'chek, like he's unwilling to let more than a moment go by unfilled with someone saying something. "/Flying/," says Madilla, emphasising the word with delight. "And Wingsecond!" She's grinning, too, clearly delighted by the enthusiasm she's getting from him in all of this. "That must be exciting. I suppose you'll be flying with him before too much longer, then? From what I hear, that's one of the best parts of being a rider, for most people." She keeps eating while she talks, too, adding after another swallow, "He must be getting big, now." "No, not too much longer. Yeah, he's--what, probably nearly ten feet at the shoulder, now. Big. Better than half the size of the full-grown greens already." W'chek jerks his chin upwards at 'big', as though in indication. And then--nothing. Silence. Stretching out huge while he tries to fill it with chewing, out of anything else to say in the way of pleasantries. He takes a great interest in his plate, brow furrowed as if in concentration. Madilla might, normally, have plenty of nothing to fill that silence with, but it's a pretty heavy silence, and something in that seems to-- stop the words. She waits. She picks up her fork again, poking it at the remains of her dinner, then more actively forking up a mouthful. When she does speak, there's a querelous note to it, a wavering. "Perhaps, once you're allowed to, you'll take me for a ride on him? I've never been on a dragon bigger than a blue." It's something, anyway, so W'chek is quick to seize on it. "Absolutely. I'm sure he'd like that. Well, I'm sure he'd like any excuse to get into the air, period, but especially with someone so nice." And that just sounds absolutely ridiculous by the end, but never mind that. "You should come see him again sometime. See how big he's gotten. It's been quite a while, he was pretty tiny at that point in comparison. Well, not that he was ever really tiny, exactly." Someone so nice. Well. It may sound ridiculous to normal people, but Madilla doesn't /seem/ perturbed by it: she just smiles and smiles and smiles. "I will," she tells him, setting down her fork as the last of her dinner disappears. "He looked pretty small in comparison to other dragons, at least. When I saw him last. You're... about a quarter through weyrlinghood, now? It seems very fast." A vague sort of frown as W'chek tries to calculate. "Bit more than that, I think. A third?" He shakes his head. "It does seem very fast. There's talk that they'll be moving us out in the next couple months, once we're flying with them, can you imagine that? Of course, it also means that the behavior is starting to get looser, and that--" Pause. "Well, that's not exactly a blessing. Start allowing a little vice in, and it just all goes... downhill from there." "A /third/," says Madilla, shaking her head. "It seems very strange, that it takes only a turn to become a fully qualified dragonrider, when it can be six turns - or more - to become a healer." But that's a side comment, idle, made while she considers W'chek seriously over the rest of what he has to say, her hands folding on the table in front of her. "Oh. Well. I suppose it's to be expected, really. I'm sure it will be nice, though, for you to have your own space! I don't know what I'd do with a whole room to myself like that." "Obviously," W'chek assures her with another smile, "it's much harder to be a healer than it is to stay put on a dragon. And the dragons... well, I guess they're bred for it." He shrugs and regards a piece of potato on the end of his fork. Not trying to swallow when she says that. Thankfully. "Yes, well." Pause. "Mostly good just not having to listen to everyone else and the snoring and whatnot." Pause, then a grin. "I'm sure you'd fill it up with pretty things like a magpie." "But you'll still probably earn more than I will," says Madilla, though the smile doesn't leave her face; money is one of those Issues with her. Apparently. "But. You're right, of course." Her nod for the rest of what he says is earnest, though she turns slightly pink at the last. "I wouldn't! I don't have many pretty things. The snoring, though, I can understand wanting to be away from that. And you'll probably have an incredible view. I imagine. I've never seen a rider's weyr, but I would guess so." "You also," W'chek points out, "don't really have a space of your own, yet. Hardly the place for such things, in a dormitory. I think so--well, I mean, not that I'd know." Of course not. W'chek, in a rider's weyr? Never happened. "But I'm not particularly picky about a view. I'd sleep in a storage room at this point to get away from some of them for awhile. Considered it, a few times. Figured I wouldn't be able to get back in time for wake-up call, though." That first comment? It makes Madilla laugh, though all she says on that is, "Perhaps." That W'chek has never been in a rider's weyr either only earns a nod, and then, "It wouldn't be very comfortable. Sleeping in a storage cavern, I mean. And cold. But. I understand. The girls in my dorm... they're quite distracting sometimes. Still, like we said, not so long before you can move." Pause. "It's a strange idea, though, not being able to go to breakfast without your dragon. Because you can't fly." His nose wrinkles a little. "It is. Don't really care for that part. I mean, not because he's inconvenient, but have you seen the weather out lately?" W'chek shakes his head quickly, not negation but distaste. "Might have to arrange a stash of food just so that I don't have to brave blizzards just to get something to eat. Having a hard time imagining that they can keep them from being drafty, too, in the worst weather. But, I'll take what I can get." "It would be difficult during a blizzard," allows Madilla. "Flying into that. They can't be too drafty, though, or cold, or there'd be more complaints, surely." She lifts a hand to twist a stray curl behind her ear and then adds, "I suppose you'll just have to see. When you get one." "Suppose so," W'chek agrees reluctantly. "Of course, we're bound to get the worst of the lot, at least to start with. But I'd imagine they at least can't be dangerously unsound. And at this point, long as I don't have to keep waking up in the same cavern as the rest of that lot, I'll be pleased. Well, most of the rest of 'em. A few folks are less obnoxious than others." He sets back into his food again, before it can get completely cold. Madilla, with enthusiasm, "I'm sure, however bad it is, it can be fixed up. I'm working on your quilt - that'll help, I'm sure." Earnest smiles all around. There's a slower nod for the last of what the weyrling has to say, and then: "I'm glad you think that. Truly. I was saying to Leova, and... she commented about you. And friends. And B'tal, too. Suggested I befriend him, too." So. Good. This is progress. W'chek thinks some people are less obnoxious than others. Oh, how low can the expectations get. "Not sure I like the idea of women talking about me behind my back," he says. Casual. Emphatically casual. So determined to be casual. Smiling, even. "That's... an idea. Being friends with him. You could be a good influence, I... suppose." Choked here and there like he just swallowed some kind of large wriggling object, trying to swallow it down each time. "I'm sure there are more suitable friends for you. Girls." Madilla has the grace to flush, having outed herself as the kind of girl that talks about men behind their back. Not that it lasts, because she ends up sitting there, brows furrowing, at his reaction to her mention of B'tal. "You don't think I should have male friends? Would that be inappropriate? Even if..." They're safe. And all. "We didn't say anything bad about your or anything," she adds, then. "Leova and I. Truly. I never would. I just... like talking about you." The plainly obvious answer is that no, W'chek doesn't think she ought to, but he manages to swallow that answer, the first reaction, and replace it with something more moderate: "Not... none, I'm not saying that. I mean, I'd be far happier if there weren't any others like you and I are friends, of course." Tries for a smile. Mostly fails. "But it's just better to avoid the appearance of impropriety. I think." Only now he's sort of gotten himself into a corner, because, well, "Not that B'tal seems likely to create any appearance of impropriety." Madilla looks... confused, actually. Honestly. "Oh," is what she says, finally, after he's finished talking, her brow still furrowed and her tone thoughtful. "It's not as though I'll ever be /alone/ with him, or anyone else," she says, slowly. "I'll be careful. I promise, W'chek. I wouldn't want to do anything that causes a problem. For me - or for you. I just think B'tal could use some more friends, from what Leova said, and... It's all very complicated, isn't it?" "Very complicated," agrees W'chek with a sigh. "But... I guess I can't say that would be wrong." He frowns, though, and chews thoughtfully, far longer than a piece of stew beef really warrants. "He's... not a bad kid. B'tal. Have to work with him, this month. No real getting around that. He's been... not too bad. Not like some of them. The greenriders, the men. I just worry, that's all," he admits at last. "I don't want anyone thinking you're the sort of girl hangs out with... well." Relief, then, from Madilla, who manages a warm, if restrained, smile for her dinner companion. "Good," she tells him. "I'm sorry, I don't want to worry you. I'll be... very proper. I'm sure there won't be a problem." Beat. "He may not even want to be my friend, after all. So he's the Wingleader this month?" It's a slight segue, probably intentionally. "I know you said being Wingsecond wasn't all that interesting, but I'm curious anyway." "Who wouldn't want to be your friend?" The way W'chek asks it, it's a real, if puzzled, question. He peers at her for a moment, then goes on, "Yeah, it's him and me. It's not like... anything big. It's like being seven and your teacher putting you in charge of class for a day, letting you lead the songs... it's not real responsibility." His tone musing, not heated. "You aren't really in charge of anything that matters. It feels like a placation. A way of making us feel important when we're not." Again, Madilla flushes. "Plenty of people," she tells him. "But I'll take that as a compliment." She seems thoughtful as she listens to his explanation of what being Wingleader is like, nodding occasionally throughout it. "I suppose. Still - it's a good idea. Giving everyone a chance. And sharing the responsibilities, so that no one has to do it all the time. My teachers at the Hall did a bit of that." "And they want us to bond. As a group." Ah, so much for W'chek-the-agreeable. There's still enough of the other one there to make that idea seriously unpleasant to him, look on his face like the thing caught in his throat earlier turned out to be a giant slug and he's just swallowed it. "But. Just a matter of time. One third down, roughly, that means two thirds to go. And then... free." Pause. "Of course they do. You're spending this much time together... of course they want you to bond, so that you can put up with each other, work with each other. I imagine it will be the same when you're in wings, too." Madilla manages not to sound outright chiding as she says this, but there's a measure of it anyway, and certainly something in the way she looks at W'chek. "No one's ever free, really." He was eating, at once point. W'chek really was. But now the food seems to be forgotten, and for a moment, he closes his eyes. "You don't think I know that? Of course we're never going to be really free. But more than we are now." Then he opens them again, puts on a resolute smile. "But we'll all manage, I'm sure. Somehow or other." Coping mechanisms. Those sorts of things. He has them. No matter what they happen to be. Madilla, instantly, looks apologetic. Of course he knows that. Of course. "I'm sorry. Of course - more free than you are now. Of course." Hastily, awkwardly. "Of course you will. It'll be better, when you're not a weyrling. All those restrictions and rules and structures... Of course. Only a few months to go. Be glad you're not an apprentice, I guess." "I don't mind rules. I mind the company that we're required to keep." But W'chek manages, at least, to say that without snapping, to say it with just that air of quiet resignation. "Once we can get away a bit, maybe that'll help. Not have to see the same faces all day, every day, and then fall asleep with 'em at night and wake up with 'em in the morning..." He pushes his fork around his mostly-empty plate, now, scraping up the last of what's there. "It'll be something, anyhow. But I'm managing. Managing just fine." Madilla is quite still and very silence throughout the bulk of what W'chek has to say, this time, her hands pressed against the tabletop, her expression one of thought, but not, for the moment, concern. "Of course you are. You're managing beautifully." Right. Because she wouldn't say that /regardless/ of anything. Really. "It's... not that much longer," W'chek adds, finally, softer, and he leans forward to put an arm across the table, a hand on one of hers. "Things'll... get better. Promise." Kind of a hard thing to promise when he sounds so unsure of it himself, but it's at least a good try. "I'd best go... bond with people or something." An uncertain look is cast towards the living cavern exit. A good try. "You have a good evening?" Ends it like it's a question. Madilla's hand turns over, so that her fingers can touch his, not quite like she's edging to hold them, but just - slightly closer. "I know," she says, sounding as though she believes it wholeheartedly, however uncertain he is. "Of course. You, too. Bonding or no. I'll see you soon." There's a little squeeze before W'chek pulls his hand back away, uses it to pick up his plate. "Just a little longer," he says again, like it needs repeating, and then he goes to stack his empty plate on a percarious number of others and head out to the living cavern, where those others await. "Just a little," she agrees, warmly, as she draws both of her hands back towards her lap and watches him go. Once he's gone, she goes back to her book, expression placid. |
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