Logs:You're WHAT?
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 25 April, 2010 |
| Who: G'brion, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: To say that G'brion does not take Madilla's news well would be... well, an understatement. |
| When: Day 28, Month 7, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions |
| 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. Beautiful afternoons like this one? Usually best spent outside, particularly when summer is as short as it is at High Reaches. Which doesn't explain why Madilla has secluded herself in the nighthearth, though on the other hand, the place is otherwise deserted for the moment, and this /seems/ to be a good thing. The hearth has burned down a fair amount, making it cooler in here than it might usually be. The healer looks a little pale, and has even gone so far as to set down her quilting to wrap her arms around her legs, which are drawn up to her chest; she stares at the wall intently, concentrating as though her life depends on it. "Quilt problems?" comes G'brion's amused voice from behind Madilla. He didn't sneak up on purpose, but he wasn't walking very loudly either. He looks tired and drawn, but he's smiling at least. "It seems like ages since I ran into you," he observes as he pulls up a stuffed chair with one hand, the other clutching a steaming mug of tea. The expression Madilla turns towards G'brion, surprised, clearly, at his arrival, is perhaps equally drawn, and she has to swallow several times before she manages her - admittedly, beaming - smile in his direction. "Ah-- no. I just needed a moment." She smoothes her skirt more carefully over her knees, but doesn't draw them down again; her arms end up back in that position, wrapped around tight, as soon as she's done. "I suppose it has been a while. You've been busy. So have I. How's Pterath? Things in the barracks?" "Oh, we're fine," G'brion says a little too quickly. "She's learning to fly. That's exciting." It is, despite the hint of uneasiness in his expression. But he turns the conversation back to Madilla. "Are you okay?" he asks her. "Not sick or something? You looked like you were about to hurl." He's spent enough time in the infirmary to know the look, and perhaps not quite enough to acquire the tact to avoid mentioning it. Madilla is not quite so unwell as to miss those hints of something-not-right, and her expression narrows, brows raised, to note it. Perhaps she's just too polite to ask, or perhaps his questions about her are just a little too distracting, though, because she abandons that to promise, "I'm not sick. It-- the nausea passed. It usually does." Then, softer, and with the hint of a smile, "I'm pregnant, G'brion. It's normal." "Oh, all right," Gabe says, relieved for half a second before - wait a minute. "You're.. wait, /what/?" He looks stunned. "I didn't hear you'd -- not with W'chek?" He looks close to horrified at the idea. Not /exactly/ the reaction Madilla was hoping for, perhaps. Her gaze lowers towards her knees, and she concentrates on them for a moment, breathing carefully. "No," she promises, not without a twist of ruefulness. "B'tal." And one more time! Gabe says, "Oh," looks relieved for half a second, and then absorbs the import of Madilla's words and does another double-take. "Wait, /who/?!" He stares, flabbergasted. When Madilla's head lifts, this time, she looks actually sort of /hurt/. She meets his gaze squarely, though, and repeats herself: "B'tal. We're having a baby. I'm due in third month, next turn." G'brion just looks at Madilla with his mouth open for a very long time, every bit as flummoxed as if she'd hit him upside the head with an axe handle. Finally, he closes his mouth, and now it's his turn to look as if he might throw up. "Right," he mutters quietly, as he half-turns so he's not looking directly at her anymore. "Right. Well, then." He closes his eyes and takes a deep drink from his mug of tea. Again, Madilla turns her gaze away, hugs her knees tighter. Some of the warmth has gone out of her voice as she asks, "What's wrong with you and Pterath?" Maybe that translates to 'why are you in such an awful mood?', which may be the assumption on her part. Or maybe it's genuine, moving away from this topic that obviously is now making her unhappy. "Nothing's wrong with us," Gabe says flatly, with just enough emphasis on the last word that it could translate to 'What's wrong with you?' He curls both hands around his mug and stands silently for a moment, just breathing. Finally, he says, "Good luck with that," and turns to leave, abruptly. "Ga-- /G'brion/." Madilla doesn't seem to know what to stay, but turns to watch as Gabe starts to leave, her legs sliding back down, her whole body twisting to follow. "I don't--" Understand? Know what to say? Mean to hurt? G'brion stops but doesn't turn around, his head down and his shoulders bowed as though under a great weight. "What?" he asks shortly. A deep breath from Madilla. Then; "What's wrong?" She sounds genuinely confused. And hurt. Like maybe she's going to cry. G'brion looks over his shoulder, just briefly, and there's hurt and anger and disbelief in his expression. "You really don't know?" He shakes his head. "You really don't." Boggle. He turns back again, holding onto his mug for dear life. "Well, it's not my place to say anything, is it? It's none of my business who you have a baby with. Sorry. I'm sorry I ever said anything in the first place," he concludes, bitter. Actual tears begin to fill Madilla's eyes and run down her cheeks. She doesn't seem to know what to say to this, her mouth opening and closing several times without any words coming out. "I'm sorry," is what she finally manages. Followed by, "I thought you'd be happy for me." G'brion spins around, looking even more irritated at the crying. "Oh, for the love of Faranth's first egg, Madilla," he says impatiently. "You thought that? Really? You /thought/? /Did/ you think? ...you couldn't have picked /anyone/ else? I mean, anyone else in the /whole weyr/ and sure, I would have been happy for you. I mean, I guess I am, if this is what you want but - how could you?" Now he's angry. "I got my nose broken so you wouldn't have to have a baby with someone who hits his weyrmate, so your kid wouldn't have to be around someone who does that, so /you/ wouldn't have to be around someone who does that. And now you go and have a baby with his weyrmate? Seriously - what the shell /were/ you thinking? Because why don't you go on and explain it to me." He crosses to the table and thumps down his mug so he can put his hands on his hips. "Were you looking for the one way you could slap us /both/ in the face? Because you found it, I guess. Shards." Madilla doesn't cry prettily, and G'brion's outburst just makes her cry more, so it's not a good sight. Again, she doesn't seem to know what to say, though her gaze lifts to meet G'brion's, hurt and horrified and upset. "I didn't--" she begins, finally. And then, "Not everything has to do with /you/, G'brion." And actually coming out with that? Starts the sobbing. Oh, lovely. Probably, she can't believe she said something that mean, or something. G'brion snorts. "No," he agrees, still angry. "No, you're right. Not everything does. I was just trying to look out for you. But they're right, I should have kept my nose out of it." With a dismissive shrug, he collects his mug and turns around to leave again. This time, Madilla doesn't have anything more to say, and perhaps doesn't even /want/ to stop G'brion for leaving. It's impossible to know. What she does do is watch after him, miserable, wrapping her arms around herself and squeezing, as if by doing that, she can hug it all better. |
Leave A Comment