Difference between revisions of "Logs:Interlude"

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.

>---< Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr: Glance Long >--------------------------<
  NAME           SEX   AGE    HT  BUILD        HAIR        EYES         IDLE
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Leova           F     26  5'5"  concealed    rusty       amber          4m
    Short hair, smoky voice, medium skin tone, curves usu. concealed.          
  Madilla         F     16  5'7"  average      brown       green          8s
    An awkward adolescent, with curly brown hair in an untidy plait, and      
    pale green eyes. 'Interesting' rather than 'pretty'.                       
  Satiet          F     35   5'3  thin         raven       ice blue       0s
    Striking, slight, slender, with glossy dark hair and ice blue eyes.       
    Typically knotless at home Weyr.                                          
>-------------------------------------------------------------< 3 people >---<

It is a winter night, 22:00 of day 2, month 3, turn 19 of Interval 10.

It's not so late yet, which may be why a Glacier bluerider has cornered Leova against the wall. Or rather, the Glacier bluerider's daughter has, the tousle-haired girl giggling and the mother standing right behind her. It seems Leova has been manhandled into a game of pattycake.

Madilla's arms are full of books as she heads into the Nighthearth, heading directly for the nearest table, where she sets them down. Part-way through seating herself, the healer pauses - it must be the motion from the wall, or perhaps the giggling, but something attracts her attention in that direction: her expression positively melts. An extended exhalation of breath follows; she hesitates, watching.

"...roll it with a Z, and put it in the oven for Zeelah an' me!" What a chant. Practically in unison. And of course the girl /would/ have to be one of those adorable tykes that's going to be hell on wings when she's older. Leova gives over to slapping must-be-Zeelah's hands back, that much more carefully for her exuberance, her smile a little strained but she's... trying. And there! A vision, out of the corner of her eyes! "Look!" she says, because even for this Leova can't or won't manage an /ooh/. "Healer Madilla!" It's practically trilled: Madilla must be a wonderful, wonderful person!

Madilla, utterly charmed. And if her cheeks go pink, well, it's only because she's plainly utterly thrilled, taking a few steps forward as she's noted so. "Hello, Leova," she says, in a warm voice, and is that a knowing smile for the greenrider, before she glances at the child again?. In a softer, tone: "And who is this, then? Leova's-Friend, who chants so well?" Her books? Abandoned.

The exuberance of a child's glee beckons Satiet into the nighthearth from the hallway outside, just on the heels of Madilla's arrival. It's either that or insomnia, whichever seems more likely, that makes her stand there, in that entreeway, leaned into the upward curve of the archway, arms crossed over chest. Looking thin and tired, particularly in the wrinkles and shadows about her pale eyes, the weyrwoman takes whatever moments of unobstrusive study she can get to turn her gaze onto Leova with her charge and then, with a stiffened set to her shoulders, to the Madilla as the greenrider's attention refocuses there; inevitably, she'll be found out.

The child's mother turns, her stance gone protective with one hand unnecessarily brushing back the girl's curls. But then it /is/ Madilla, sweet Madilla, who would surely never steal a little girl away, and she smiles. Kindly. Leova smiles. Gratefully. Zeelah practically beams. "Zeeeeee-lah," she tells her, instant delight no doubt due to the young woman's pink-cheeked charm, in addition to whatever instinct tells her that, yes, /this/ could be a way to stall past her bedtime. But she's still clinging close by her mother's legs for the moment, not off to say hello, not yet releasing Leova to do more than look beyond. And yes, all of a sudden, look startled: yes, found out.

Madilla is so intent upon the child that she does not, at least at first, not the presence of another not so far behind her. She gives Zeelah's mother another of those warm smiles, as she makes her way close enough to sink down towards the girl's level, grinning. "Zeelah? What a /lovely/ name for a lovely little girl." In such a position, her attention so focused, she remains oblivious, even to Leova's startled expression.

Without being addressed, Satiet can fend off that inevitable - startled looks not counting tonight, though surely, /surely/ she must have seen. From Leova, those pales eyes pin to the back of Madilla's head and then drops to the child once more, an indescribable look flickering in her gaze and one of her hands begins rubbing along her upper arm. Goosebumps. For the briefest distracted moment, the dark-haired head turns, looking back elsewhere into the hallway.

Zeelah is lovely, isn't she? Adorable. Adored, even, her parents' darling, at least when she isn't stealing cold ashes out of the hearth to "decorate" walls. And flight jackets. And floors. And sheets. And then there's what she gets up to in the lower caverns during foster-time, which is most of the time, but the nannies get to take care of that. In any case, her mother pats her shoulder encouragingly, and so she eases forward with surprisingly-clean hands held up so Madilla can maybe pat them too? Yes? Oh-so-wide-awake, not-at-all-sleepy eyes say /yes/. "Bedtime soon," her mother notes, and the girl tosses a look over her mother's shoulder before she's all smiles for, "Healer Mad-il-la," again. Leova? Makes like a spiderclaw and scuttles along the wall, though not without an amused look from the bluerider: saw you. The greenrider has to shrug, hands up: caught, confessed, kill her later. And then she's walking towards the hallway, or rather, the woman who's standing so near to it still.

Madilla's got a subtle nod for Zeelah's mother, as if to say 'don't worry, I won't keep her', and then lifts her own hands to begin the game again. But: "Just once, though, sweetheart, because Mamma wants to cuddle and kiss you /so/ much, and we wouldn't want to keep her from that, would we?" Leova's escape gets caught from the corner of her eye, and her head tilts just slightly - not enough to destroy the flow of the game - to watch her go, though not quite far enough to catch sight of the greenrider's target.

A look is easy to ignore. An approach harder, but made easy as Satiet's still looking down that darkened hallway, to whatever lies beyond those stone walls, distracted so much so that when that 'oh right' moment hits and she returns to Pern, Leova is nearly upon her. The pale, paler than porcelain features startle visibly, her rubbing hand halts abruptly, and two blinks bring large eyes upon the tawny-skinned woman so near. There's no greeting or smile, merely a drop of her chin that acknowledges Leova's presence, but the focus of the night remains the healer.

Zeelah's mother recognizes the gesture with a relieved smile that's well over the little girl's head, just before the girl announces that she gets to see Mamma almost every day and Mamma can wait. That's when the bluerider glances away, a muscle working in her jaw, but the little girl gets into the game, oblivious. Leova's stopped short too, but it's from Satiet's shoulder that she's looked back. Not walking past. Not walking away.

Madilla has to bite back laughter for /that/ response. "You don't want a cuddle? I wish /my/ Mamma was here to give me a cuddle. I think you're really lucky!" As the game ends, she draws her hands back, promising, "I bet there'll be lots more time for games /tomorrow/. Maybe even--" and now, her head turns, and she notes, finally, the presence of Satiet, and of Leova beside her. "--Well! Maybe Leova will play with you again tomorrow. Or perhaps I will." Some of the sunshine has gone from her face; she looks honestly concerned.

The slight woman's jaw works as she listens in on the exchange between healer and child, for what's said, and that glance again casts back over her shoulder, avoiding Leova. This time, it returns far more quickly than before. "Don't let me interrupt." It's the first thing she's said, the weyrwoman's attention fleeting across Zeelah rather than the girl's mother. "Don't," to Madilla, Satiet smiles thinly in an expression that doesn't trace in her tired eyes, "Let me interrupt." Though she also notes, in more pleasant, practiced 'talk to a child' tones, "Good night, Zeelah."

"We don't always need to be sick to see the healers, sweetheart," the bluerider murmurs, leaving her wingmate out of it for the nonce in favor of scooping up her protesting daughter like so much firestone. "Maybe, if you're good, I'll take you to see her just for fun... if she's not too busy right then." Ralah meets everyone's eyes deliberately, see-she's-all-right, although Satiet right there like that shakes her composure. "Good night, Healer. Leova, bright-and-early. ... Weyrwoman," deferential as she whispers into her daughter's ear. "Good night," Zeelah dutifully parrots, the last words she's allowed before she's slipped out. If there's any why-does-she-have-such-big-eyes-Mamma, it's for Mamma's ears alone.

"Not at all, Weyrwoman," says Madilla, rising to her feet now that Zeelah is safely back in her mother's care, although she waggles her fingers after the little girl, smiling brilliantly. "Good night, Zeelah!" The Healer follows the bluerider and child far enough to join Leova and Satiet, then comes to a halt, all eyes on the latter of the two; she hesitates, then, though her brows are just slightly lifted - a question, unspoken? Then: "Good Evening, Weyrwoman. Leova."

Satiet maintains her adopted stance, leaned casually against that archway with the sudden awareness that all eyes in the room are now on her. At any other time, this might bring her proud little chin up and an easy, sly smirk to her lips, but today, tonight, with this audience before her, her hand merely resumes its goosebump-chilled rub of her upper arm. "It feels like snow tomorrow." Awkward much?

"Bright and early," Leova parrots in her turn, though it's more of a murmur as Ralah goes. Five by five? She's got the slightest shake of her head for Madilla, a curl of her fingers on Satiet's far side: please. "Should cover up the brown melty glop, then." No more helpful.

Madilla's wide-eyed glance crosses between the two women, marking her hesitation in response, hands clasped suddenly behind her back. "Every time," she begins, finally, her words uncertain, "You begin to think spring might be coming... There comes the snow again." Pause. "Would you like to sit down, Weyrwoman? Perhaps near the hearth. Or something to drink?" She's biting at her lip - a sure sign of her discomfort.

How much more mundane can this get than weather other than seeing to the Weyrwoman's comfort. Forceful, "/No/." A pause brings a breath and composure. "No, no," the triple negation quicker and dismissive along the final two. Her thin hand even waves, the discomfort that descends the room with the awkwardness of her presence finally sending her two steps back. "I was just on my way to the nursery. I'm fine." There's the faintest emphasis on the last word, with an overly casual look glancing over Madilla's features. It's almost as if Leova isn't in the room, the amount of attention Satiet pays her, but as she turns to leave, a large-eyed blue look shoots the greenrider's way. "Good night, Leova."

Quick negation, quick indrawn breath. Leova starts into one step forward, but Satiet's second step back halts her, amber eyes flicking from the woman to Madilla and back again. Her hand flies to her mouth, stays there for a moment before it falls in slow, deliberate motion to her side and her shoulders square. "As you say," and she inclines her head so slightly. "Good night."

Madilla looks as though she might like to sink straight into the floor at the vehemence of Satiet's refusal, though she stands her ground, her expression managing - after a brief moment of unhappiness - to maintain the concern imprinted so deeply into it. "Of course, Weyrwoman. Enjoy your time in the nursery - and good night." At least she manages to keep her tone steady, though her gaze flicks, unhappy again, towards Leova, and hesitates there a moment before it returns.