Difference between revisions of "Logs:Stitch Up"

Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr

A passageway hewn into the rock and heavily patched with cement leads a short distance in to the bowl wall, with a door on either side. Lit by regularly spaced glows, the white-washed walls have been covered over by colorful tapestries, wall hangings and pieces of art made from metal and wood. To the left of the entranceway, just a single step inside, a spiral staircase opens out of the wall, leading upwards through the stone. Further down, a doorway opens to either side of the corridor, while at the far end, there is a hewn-stone staircase leading up to the residential quarters, wreathed by two final doors to private quarters and the bathing room.

The door leading to the east opens into an expansive room that seems to provide both general working space - with long, bare benches and chairs - and a cozy lounge complete with over-stuffed sofas and a few fuzzy armchairs. Three tall windows are carved into the stone, and offer air and light when the heavy wooden shutters are left open, though the lounge area has to make do mostly with glows. A hearth at the back of the room provides both heat and basic cooking facilities. The white-washed walls are bedecked with decoration - from quilts, to tapestries, to wooden carvings and metal sculptures.

The western door leads into another passage, off of which the main workrooms have been built. The loading dock is at the northern end, leading back out into the bowl, with the rest of the rooms leading deeper and deeper into the wall.

The shutters in the complex lounge have been flung wide open to let in the breeze; it's a beautiful afternoon, and those crafters who can have taken their work outdoors to enjoy it. Not included in their numbers is Madilla, who is camped out on one of the over-stuffed sofas, pinned down by the three-turn-old girl whose head is buried in her lap, fast asleep. The healer glances down to consider her daughter, then shakes her head, turning her attention back to the stack of reports she's got set out on the table in front of her.

It seems these days they'll let just about anyone into the Weyr, if the latest arrival is any indication. R'hin's dressed in rough looking clothes, at least a couple of days overdue of being washed. There's a particular scent that comes with him, too -- a subtle fish-and-salt-water scent that'll quickly be familiar to anyone whose spent time near the sea. Pale eyes flicker quickly around the lounge, and as soon as he's spotted Madilla he's striding towards her, arms crossed over his chest. "They told me you would be here, doc," he's already saying as he approaches, filled with his low-throated chuckle as he adds, "I could've gone to Rastiel but then I'd miss out on the delightful scolding you always give me." His eyes settle on the girl in the healer's lap, consideringly.

Those reports are plainly determined to be ignored; it's just that kind of day. Madilla's gaze lifts immediately as R'hin approaches, taking him in with a quick up-down glance. "You're a bad mark," she says. "You just keep turning up. Do I even want to know what you've been doing, where you've been? And why you need a healer?" Her voice is low, but above a whisper: Raija, it seems, is pretty firmly asleep.

"You made a serious error of being too' competent," R'hin says in an equally quiet tone laced with wry humor, as he unfolds his arms, pushing up one sleeve. He's made a rough bandage out of torn material, but it's already starting to soak through; a short but relatively deep cut. "I was gutting fish -- normally I'm quite good at it, since Satiet taught me," his low-throated chuckle is amused, "But it was raining and..." he shrugs, allowing a hint of embarrasement. The fact that the position of the wound on his arm makes it defensive rather than self-inflicted is probably obvious to the healer, though he seems pretty set on his story. His eyes on Raija, he asks, "Will she wake if you move her? I can come back."

Madilla's eyes widen as she catches sight of that injury; the glance she gives R'hin himself is dubious, though she's too polite to question his story. "If you've got fish guts in there, it'll need to be properly cleaned," she says, neutrally. "No, you can't come back. I won't have anyone running around with a dirty, bleeding wound. Can you watch her while I fetch some supplies? You should sit."

"It'll be fine," R'hin reassures her, "I managed to down a whole two mugs of beer before I came down here." He's probably joking, given his light tone and amused curve of lips, but then with this bronzerider, that's not always a certainty. With a shrug of shoulders at her insistence, he seems to give in. "I think I can manage a single three Turn old. Besides, she's asleep. It's when they're awake that they're trouble," he grins, half to himself, pale eyes still on the girl, not yet moving to sit.

"Alcohol and blood loss. Charming." Madilla's tone is both chiding and resigned; she shakes her head as she says it, carefully, sliding her way off of the sofa. Raija squirms, trying to hold on, but after a moment of silent and pause, seems to settle again. "I can't imagine you with children," muses the child's mother, considering R'hin again. "I know you have them; I've met them. But it's difficult to imagine even so. Sit down. I'll be back in a few moments."

"I figured you'd appreciate that," R'hin says, laughingly, though he keeps it pitched low in deference to the girl's presence. "Mm. You're not the first to say that," he says in response to her comment about him as a father, voice abruptly neutral. While he waits, he shrugs out of his flight jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair, before he settles down on the arm of the one Madilla recently vacated. He drops his non-injured arm down, reaching to smooth some of Raija's hair back until she's still.

Despite her comment, Madilla's expression softens at the sight of R'hin and Raija; softens enough that she's quick to turn away, as if to hide it. She pads away, bare feet slapping upon the polished stone of the floor, in between the rugs that soften those footfalls. Raija doesn't stir while she's gone, nor when she returns a few minutes later, carrying with her a bucket of water and a small bag of supplies. "So," she says. "You've been gutting fish."

It doesn't seem like the bronzerider notices the healer's expression, and the gesture ceases soon enough. While she's been gone, R'hin's slowly unwrapped the bandage, leaning over to examine the wound. "Mmhmm," non committal response to her statement. "I thought about going to Jinja, but you know know -- public enemy number one in Monaco and all," he murmurs, casually, shifting his position to rest his arm against the leg he's drawn up underneath him. Pale eyes lift to study the healer, as he murmurs, "I touch base with her now and then, if you wanted to -- you know -- send a message or something."

Madilla sets down her bucket of water, dropping a fine cloth into the water as she does so. "I'd like that," she says, not much above a murmur of her own. "Although I wonder if I might be better placed to send a message than you. As far as I know, the Healer Hall is entirely neutral as pertains to Monaco. How is she doing, though? I worry about her. I know she's capable; she's just very young." The cloth gets picked up again, and lifted, now, so that she can examine the wound - and with slow, careful movements, begin to wash it.

R'hin snaps his fingers, as if the thought has only just occurred to him. "You're right. You probably are. In fact, maybe you should send things for me as well," it's said with a hint of humor, though pale eyes are definitely fixed on the weyrhealer to judge her reaction to that. "From all she's said and all I've heard, she's loving it. Like you said -- healer is neutral, and thus not subject to the vagaries of an ill-suited Weyrleader." There's a little wince there, though whether at the words, at her ministrations, or both is difficult to discern.

Madilla lets out a snort, half-muffled into her shoulder, though she's quick to turn her gaze back to R'hin, dark brows raised. "I begin to think I just walked into something," she says. "Will you have me write in code? 'The fishmonger sends his regards and wishes for you to...' well, whatever it is you pass back and forth. I'm glad she's well. I suspect she's better suited to there than here. It was a good piece of work." Green eyes lower to her work; to cleaning the wound.

"The fishmonger? Oh, no, I'd definitely be her Master. Maybe even the Master -- think I can pull of Tevara?" R'hin straightens to strike his best Healer Craftmaster pose, which of course serves to pull his arm, albeit briefly, out of Madilla's reach. His expression is an attempt at authoritative and knowledgeable, but mostly just comes down to a furrowing of his brow. "I'm glad you recommended her," he adds, with sincerity, as he gives his arm back to the healer's care. "Actually, speaking of recommendations... can you recommend a good mindhealer? Discrete," he says, as if to imply they aren't all.

Her hand hovering in the air, now without a target, Madilla raises her eyebrows and just looks at R'hin. When his arm returns, she takes hold of it with her free hand, as if to secure it for herself; no more running away, R'hin. "I'm sure you'd make a lovely woman. You're both skilled with knives; it's a perfect match." Some of that is bluster, used to fill in the silence that might otherwise result from his question. "Journeyman Sulliel. He's posted at Honshu; he's good. We were apprentices together. I can make an introduction."

"As are you," R'hin notes, with a low-throated chuckle, allowing her to recapture his arm without any protest. "My, my. That was almost a threat. You, dear healer, have been spending too much time with undesirables." A gesture of his free hand indicates himself amongst that cast. "Sulliel? Mm. Yes," with barely a pause, "I'd appreciate that. I ought to pay my respects to Lujayn, too, while I'm down there."

"I can't help that they seek me out," retorts Madilla, eyes glinting with amusement. She presses her cloth firmly over the injury, applying pressure; her eyes are half on it, and half on the bronzerider himself. "You should. I'm sure she'd appreciate the visit. Did you ever know her, while she was here?" Pause. "No - that would've been after your time. There's no point me asking why you need a mindhealer, is there?"

"Must be the perfume you're wearing," counters R'hin. When she applies pressure to the wound he goes silent, jaw tightening briefly. After a few beats, "No, not while she was here. I'kris always spoke well of her, though, as did others I knew." A twitch of lips, at that last. "I do have boundless issues, as I'm sure you've no doubt deduced. So," with a glance at Raija, "How is your other daughter doing? I'm sure I saw her at a harper concert a couple of months back. She seemed happy."

"Numbweed and lavender oil; a winning combination." Something about R'hin seems to bring out a more cheerfully sarcastic side of the healer; she laughs, now, apparently conscious of it, though there's something tired in it, too - perhaps that's because of that reference to I'kris, or the rest of what the bronzerider has said. "You're a complicated man, that's certainly true. Yes, Lilabet's an apprentice with the harpers, now; she's very happy. It's all she's wanted for some time now. My son is at High Reaches Hold, with his father."

While R'hin seems well aware of the reaction to his mention of I'kris, there's certainly no apology. Instead, when she calls him complicated, he grins. "Why, Madilla, are you hitting on me?" Which of course he's well aware she's not, and yet he seems to find perverse pleasure in it all the same. "Is he?" With a note of surprise, although a glance at his expression might well determine he doesn't look that surprised. "I'd imagine there's plenty going on at the Hold to keep him busy," a casual observation.

"You're lucky I'm not the vindictive type," says Madilla in answer, though she's grinning as she says it, and lifting the cloth, now, so that she can apply some of the aforementioned numbweed. It keeps her busy for a few moments, though not so busy that she's not still paying attention to the bronzerider. "He likes spending time with his brother," she explains. "And I'm sure his father is glad to have the chance to show him the other side of his heritage." She sounds, perhaps unsurprisingly, less impressed. "I'm just glad we're talking High Reaches Hold and not... well, Tillek."

"Tell the truth, I'm kind of disappointed you're not," R'hin tries on, though he can't really keep a straight face as he does so. There's a subtle exhale of breath once she applies the numbweed, as if he can let go of his posture marginally now that the pain subsides. It's probably why there's an expressive uplift of brows as Madilla refers to her son's heritage. "I'm curious about that, too. Next time he visits, I'd love to meet him." Her son, presumably, and not the father. He grunts at her mention of Tillek, though pale eyes are keenly fixed to her. "Why Tillek?" he asks, lightly.

Madilla snorts, the corners of her mouth twitching up with merry amusement. "The bleeding is slowing," she says. "But I'd like to put in a stitch or two, just to make sure it holds together and heals cleanly." It's a side comment, mentioned almost idly before she says, "You're curious about my son's heritage. Bastard sons are of interest to you, are they? I'm sure he'll visit again soon." She sinks into a crouch, reaching for her bag of supplies while still holding the cloth in place. "Tillek, because it seems that that's where the problems are, now. It's difficult, when there are tensions between here and and the hold. Awkward."

R'hin simply nods to her suggestion, apparently content to go with her recommendation on that score. With a shake of his head: "No. I'm curious about the exiles. I've spoken to a few here and there, but they're guarded about their history, and that only piques my interest." A beat, as he reaches out touch Madilla's arm just before she crouches, voice pitched low: "The twins are bastards too, technically. The Hold's view doesn't apply to us." Us as in weyrfolk, presumably. He releases her arm, and leans back, though his gaze follows her while she reaches for her bag. "Yes, there are some... problems. What's the latest rumor about why Edeline shunned the hatching? I haven't heard..." which seems unlikely, but then he does look interested.

Madilla opens her mouth to say something, and then stops. The hand on her arm stills her; she turns her gaze back up towards R'hin and nods, just once. "I just worry that he'll see-- never mind. It doesn't matter. I worry for my children. It's what we do as parents, isn't it?" She gets out her needle and thread, rising back to a more stable position to hover over the injury. "The kind are suggesting that perhaps she's pregnant; or worse, that she's recently had a miscarriage. Others... I heard something about the Weyr insulting Tillek, but no details. Will they tithe?"

"He's weyrbred; that never even comes into play. Besides, he's a boy; we don't worry about the same things girls do." There's a grin, and a kind of fondly reminiscent sort of grin from R'hin. He leans forward, holding his arm steady, waiting for the first touch of the needle. There's a brief nod at her relaying the rumors, though his pause and slow answer to the last is perhaps telling, "Hard to say. It depends on what the sentiment is by the end of the Turn. Holders, in their own way, are beholden to their people. They already blame the missing ships on the Weyr--" he trails off into silence.

"I'll take your word for it," Madilla says, wryly; she might laugh, but she's aiming for more seriousness, now, especially when she's got a needle in her hand, more numbweed to apply, and finally, some stitches to make. "And the Weyr hasn't shown any proof of... fixing the problem. And whatever it is that has upset Lady Edeline..." Madilla breaks off, quickly. "I try not to get involved in politics, but one hears things. I like things better when they're quiet, and no one outright hates us."

R'hin's silent while she works, watching closely. Finally, he says, "It's hard for them not to be resentful; they feel we have the means of fixing the issue, and we are not -- we are making it worse." He sounds distinctly sympathetic, though, "Part of that is perception. We always ride to the rescue in healer's stories. It's, in a way, a trap of our own making. We made ourselves the heroes, and we are forced to live up to that standard."

Madilla chews at her lip, holding off on any answer until after she's tied off her stitches, and started winding a fresh, clean bandage about the arm. "I suppose it would be too much to ask, for us to actually be able to live up to that standard," she says, with a wry little laugh. "I know it's never that simple, and most of the time... we're damned if we do, damned if we don't. But I worry." She glances up, attempting to meet R'hin's gaze squarely. "Just avoid slipping with your knife, mm?"

"Too few people with the right qualifications," is R'hin's response to her comment of living up to it. Once she's finished with the bandage, he flexes his arm a couple of times to ensure he has enough mobility, making a contended noise. "Thanks, doc. And," humor is visible in pale eyes as he meets hers, "I promise. Or... I'll try my best, at any rate. And if not, well -- you get another nice bottle out of it." He glances down at Raija, then, deliberately, as if to draw attention away from himself and back to the girl.

"Time to start developing the right qualifications, then," murmurs Madilla, withdrawing her hands, now, and carefully rinsing them in her bucket of water, drying them upon a towel. "You'll try? I suppose that's as much as I can ask. You're welcome, R'hin." Having made those remarks, she allows her attention to slide back to her daughter, who has lifted one hand to her mouth, shoving as much of it as she can inside, though she's still - surely - sleeping. "I like that Dilan is building bridges with High Reaches Hold," she murmurs. "In theory. And that Lilabet is learning to educate and inspire. One way or another, we can all do our bit, isn't that right?"

R'hin's reaction is somewhere between grimace and chuckle. "I always try," he responds, with enough forcefulness that suggests it's not untrue. When she looks at Raija, R'hin looks at Madilla, his expression rather more thoughtful. "We can do our bit, and hope that life is better for our children." Lifting his arm briefly, there's gratitude in his gaze as he rises. "I'll come and see you in a seven about this, shall I? And the other things." Jinja, and the mindhealer, presumably. He starts to step away, and halts for a moment. "You should take her to the greenhouse later. Let her play in the dirt. Maybe she'll become a farmcrafter, and we'll have no more need for Holds," his tone is amused and light, and he's walking for the exit even as he finishes.

"Mm," says Madilla, beginning to pack up her things. "Yes - please do. Keep those stitches clean, if you can, and if anything... but you know what to do with it." It's not as though he's never had a wound before, after all. Of Raija, she only laughs, abandoning answer in lieu of simply watching R'hin as he leaves. "Stay safe," she murmurs, though it's probably too quiet for the words to carry.