Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Nice Boy"

Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr

Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms.

Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them.

Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outsde each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves.

Early evening finds the public access storerooms still open, though perhaps not for too much longer. Madilla is in one of the outer ones, and has set the glowbasket on the shelf above the one she's standing at so as to light her work, which appears to involve rifling through a box of fabric off cuts and collecting interesting pieces from it. From the pile at her feet, she's been here for some time; at present, she's fingering a very fine piece of pale blue silk, running her fingers over it with something approaching reverie.

By the time W'chek shows up in the entrance to the storeroom Madilla occupies, he's been looking for awhile, carrying a basket of his own, and by the time he checks the next room over, he's probably audible--not just in his rifling around but in a sort of running half of a conversation that really ought to be under his breath if not actually silent, but isn't. "No, I am not coming back outside." Pause. "I'll be out soon enough and I'll let you look then but until then, would you shut up?" Pause. "No, I don't mean it like that. I just mean--I'm trying to do something, here." But that's in the next room. When he shows up in the entrance to this particular storeroom, when he sees Madilla there, in her reverie--then he's quiet, waiting for the moment to pass before saying anything at all.

So lost, is Madilla, enraptured in her thoughts, that even in the stillness of the storerooms, she doesn't notice the approach of another. She crouches, perhaps a moment or two after W'chek's arrival, so as to add the blue silk to the pile, and to finger through them in the half-dim, the glowlight not quite reaching far enough to give proper illumination this far down. Her 'hmm' is audible, as she struggles back towards her feet for another dive into the box.

It's at that point that W'chek enters properly, clearing his throat as he does in that classic hey-look-here-I-am kind of way. "Evening." If he was looking for something, all thought of that seems to have passed for just this moment, and whatever that half-conversation was, it's quiet now--silent or stopped. However famously bad his humor in recent days, it seems to have improved at least enough for him to smile at her as he steps in. "What're you looking for? Anything I can help with?"

Madilla lets out a little gasp, her cheeks turning pink instantly as the sound of W'chek's throat being cleared reaches her ears. Spinning around, her mouth opens, and then shuts again, as, she presumably realises who it is. "Oh-- W'chek. I'm sorry, I was-- distracted." She matches the smile with one of her own, taking a step away from the shelves and the box of scraps, not to mention the glow lamp, though her face remains mostly illuminated even so. "Fabric scraps," she explains, then, with a smaller smile, more rueful. "Delifa wants me to stop studying for a while, and suggested I pick up some kind of handcraft. I'm going to make a quilt; I haven't done it in turns, but I think it'll be fun."

Okay, quilting, not exactly something W'chek knows anything about--but he smiles and nods along in a way that is only a teensy bit patronizing. Trying. "Don't apologize, look at me here lurking, I really didn't mean to startle you." He steps further in, bringing his own light to join hers. "I think you deserve a break. That sounds like an excellent idea. Useful skill, in addition to being able to make something pretty." He goes to lean back against a shelf. "It looks like you've got some very nice things there already."

Earnestly, "Do you think so?" Madilla seems pleased by this, and nods her head furiously. "I've always liked sewing. I just - well, I haven't had much reason to, since leaving home." The lift of her hand seems to suggest she means because, well, there's no need to sew when there's so much pre-made in the storerooms, ready for the taking. She crouches again, gathering the fabric she's collected in both hands, and adds, "Were you looking for something in here, too?"

"Of course I think so," says W'chek, who probably wouldn't have a genuine opinion about fabric even if it were a life-or-death situation, but she did pick them so of course they must be nice. "Seems like the Weyr might be able to make better use of all this if more people did things like that, though. Imagine if we all could have nice, new quilts instead of old, threadbare ones, and all from the things that are already here. Or gloves, say, that don't keep splitting at the fingertips because nobody takes mending them seriously enough." He wiggles the fingers of his left hand as indication. "I need to find something with longer fingers, I think. I've gone through two pairs now."

Madilla's smile blossoms further under W'chek's remarks, though it falters slightly as he continues. "I suppose so. I'd not really thought about it... I'll make you a quilt. And perhaps if people see me working on such things, they might be interested in doing likewise. Comparing new ones to old." She decides this with a determined note to her voice that fades out as she adds, "Perhaps you need brand new gloves. Something made for your fingers. If that keeps happening. Perhaps that wouldn't cost too much?"

There's an almost stunned look with a dawning smile--"Me?" Like W'chek never even considered that happy possibility. Hey, this having a girl thing, this has some perks. "I'd like that," and that's got genuine feeling in it. "I don't know if it's necessary to get new. Someone else found me the last couple, I thought I'd come and actually look myself, get to actually try them on first. If that doesn't work, then new. Better to use up what's already here, after all. Use it up, wear it out... well, you know."

Madilla may be very good at ignoring - or simply not seeing - things in W'chek, but when it's something this positive? She looks absolutely delighted. She's noted that, oh yes. Her head tips consideringly, as she decides, "Dark blues for you, I think, maybe some other colours tossed in as well, but mostly that. Unless you've a favourite colour?" Though she's obviously still thinking about this quilt-in-the-making, she does add, fingers brushing over her skirt idly, "I suppose that's a good idea. Have you found them yet, the spare gloves? I suppose you haven't."

"I have not the faintest idea," W'chek admits, "where anything is around here. I should know by now, I've been down here a few times, but I just have no head for this sort of organization." It's only after that that he answers the earlier question, a moment's thought having been required. "Blue... works. I think. I don't think too much about stuff like colors." He makes a little gesture around the storage room. "I figure I'm getting close if there's fabric stuff here. I just need clothes, then, and then to narrow it down into winterwear, and... at this rate, I'll have new gloves roundabout summertime."

"Blue it is, then," decides Madilla, who says this whilst folding her collection of fabric into the pocket of her skirt, before rising again into a much more dignified position. Then, "That was a joke, wasn't it? Not having them before summertime. I /think/, though I'm not entirely sure, that the clothes are the next cavern down." Glancing around, however, she adds, "Better be quick, or they'll come lock the doors on you. Would you like a hand? I think I have enough to begin with."

Pause for effect. "I *think* it was a joke," says W'chek with a wry smile at the end. "If you wouldn't mind helping, I would certainly appreciate it." And then: "Hush, yo--" Blink. "Sorry. Zhikath," by way of explanation. "I'm sure things would go much faster with you helping. And then my poor fingers wouldn't freeze outside, and that would be much better for everyone concerned. I'd have a very hard time with training if I didn't have any fingers."

That joke? The second one? A little bit more lost on Madilla, though she smiles along anyway. Her nod is the only real indication that she's accepting his acceptance of her offer, aside from the fact that she reaches up to lift the glowbasket from the shelf she set it on, to carry it with her as she heads back across the room. "I don't think my healing skills are quite enough to detatch frozen off fingers," she agrees, and then, "What was he saying? Zhikath, I mean?"

Since she's the one who knows where she's going, W'chek follows, snagging up the glowbasket he brought as well as they pass out. "He's got this... thing that he's on. Vrianth. I think it was her, again. Must have been her, again, but he's got some idea that he needs to look at my teeth, and... yeah. Only now it's every half hour, although I've managed to talk him into being okay with an hour or so as long as I actually take the partial out, which I shouldn't be doing anyway, but..." He seems to realize just how much talking that was all at once only after the whole thing is out. "Sorry. My dragon's just... yeah. Do you think they have mindhealers for dragons? Like dragonhealers are for injuries and stuff?"

"He was convinced they were going to grow back," remembers Madilla, suddenly, as she leads them out of that cavern, and down the corridor in search of another. She certainly looks like she has some idea where she's going, though she does pause to tip her head into one room before continuing on. "He still is? Or - again? You don't have to apologise. It's interesting. For me. Knowing what they're like." She pauses, if only for long enough to tilt her head towards him, and then smile. "I don't think so. I suppose if Carobet had Impressed, she could have been. Perhaps."

"Yes," forlornly. W'chek just trundles after her. See, he's not *so* chauvinist he can't take leadership from a woman. Really. He can walk behind her and everything. They're not going to end up lost on his account. "Again. I thought we had it dealt with. And then the other day, suddenly it starts up again worse than ever, only he won't tell me why and... it's getting awkward." Pause. "Ah, Carobet. Yeah. I don't think she'd have been very happy as a dragonrider. She's so fastidious. Good at her job, though. From what I hear. Maybe I could bring it up anyway. See if she has anything to suggest."

They may, however, get lost on /Madilla's/ account - her expression tightens, and then tightens again, but then, round a corner, and suddenly she seems to know exactly where she's going, leading them straight into one of the larger caverns which does, certainly, seem to be full of winter gear. "Oh," she says, with feeling, throughout all of this. "How awful. I hope he'll forget it again, soon, then. And that no one will remind him." Of Carobet, she adds, with a little sigh: "I don't know if she would have, either. She is good at her job. I'm told. You," she tilts her head around, smiling encouragingly. "Could. It might be a good idea. I imagine she'd find it interesting, at least."

"I don't know why he won't tell me what happened," muses W'chek, a bit unhappily, as he follows her into this last cavern, and then his face lights up. "Ah, yes. Here--" Starts looking through shelves. "Hats, no, I don't need another hat." Then: "I think he's probably just covering for Vrianth again. I know Leova is your friend, but I wish her dragon weren't such a *bother*." Another shelf. "Well, these are gloves, but for kids." And, "She seems to find a lot of things... interesting. I've been talking to her, lately. Some. You know."

"It is strange," she agrees, as she hunts along the shelf that contained the first box of gloves, pulling out boxes one by one to consider their contents, though, as yet, she finds nothing. "Vrianth--" She looks wistful again, though she hides it by turning towards another shelf, and continues in a more or less even tone, "Sounds fascinating. Though I can see why you'd find her bothersome. You've been talking to Leova?" Satisfaction in her voice, this time. "I'm glad. I know you didn't have the best of starts, but... She's been a very good friend to me."

"What?" W'chek, distracted by another box, digging through it. "These might be right," he says, holding up one pair that actually looks adult size. "If they weren't both left hands." More digging. "No, not Leova. I mean, I talk to Leova. Some. Carobet. I've been talking to Carobet." He pulls out another pair, starts pulling one on, tugging on it a little extra to get a feel for it around the fingers. "They suggested it. Checkup, whatever. Then she said I ought to come back. And I thought, well, you'd mentioned how I ought to have someone to talk to."

Madilla turns pink, at the correction; "/Carobet/. Of course. Well, I do think that's a good idea. Lots of people see the Mindhealers, and most of them aren't actually crazy or anything." She pauses, as though she's suddenly decided that that came out not entirely right, and then hurries on, "Not that I think you are. Just... someone to talk to. Yes." Beat. "Those still look too small, maybe? And there's wear about the cuff." She's turned back towards him, though her gaze is on the gloves, not W'chek himself.

"Oh, no. Of course, I'd never think you'd say such a thing." He'd never think she'd think he was crazy. And she'd never think he'd think--no, that way lies the crazy. W'chek does seem to agree with her estimation about the gloves, however, pulling that one off and rifling through again. "She doesn't hate me. Maybe it's just a professional thing, that she's not allowed to. That's nice, having someone who isn't you who doesn't."

Madilla's relief is visible across her expression; he doesn't think she'd think he was crazy, good. What she says, though, with her basket lifted so that they both get some decent light on the box of gloves, is, "I'm sure no one hates you, W'chek." It's not /chiding/, and yet... "No one hates you. Particularly not Carobet, who /cares/ about her patients. But not anyone else, either."

There's a sigh, as W'chek stops looking for just a moment. "I know you don't want to think so, but I'm not a popular guy, Madilla. Especially not lately." Not that there could be a reason for that. Finally he starts picking through again. "I'm not the same as they are. And I knew that was going to happen, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with."

Madilla and her blindspot. Madilla and her optimism. Madilla, who shakes her head, insisting, fervently, "You may not be /popular/, W'chek, but people don't /hate/ you." There's an unhappy note on her voice which seems to suggest something along the lines of 'why can't you all just get along', though she doesn't put it into words. "It /will/ get easier. Not... what you're saying. You, and them. Friends. If you just... keep trying."

Another pair of gloves out, and W'chek tries them on in silence, as though this one pair, this warrants intense concentration. "Well, okay. They don't hate me." He says it with a sigh of acquiescence. "But they don't like me, either, and I'm not excessively fond of them, and I'll just be happy when this is all over." Pause. "B'tal isn't bad," like an afterthought, like an appeasing offering. "Except, well." Only he's not going to elaborate, because if she hasn't heard already, this is definitely not the sort of thing one talks about in polite company.

Madilla is silent for as long as W'chek is, and then while he speaks, too. Finally, "B'tal is very nice. He can repair clocks; I think that's very clever. You could spend more time with him?" She's going to ignore the rest of it, all that negativity. She fades off into silence, even, after her words, except, finally, to add, "Those are nice." The gloves.

"He seems like a nice kid," says W'chek, ambiguously, still focused on these most recent gloves. "But I don't think he's exactly appropriate company, either. Although I suppose he's no threat to you, anyway." Beating around the bush, W'chek's specialty. "They are nice," he agrees, of the gloves. "And I think they're long enough in those fingers. These could work out very nicely."

"Threat to me?" repeats Madilla, clearly surprised by this possibility of this. "No, of course he's not a threat to me. Why should he be? Or anyone?" She seems to have forgotten the gloves, focusing her attention directly upon W'chek. "What are you talking about, W'chek?"

A throat clearing. Another flexing of the fingers in the glove, and then pulling it off. There's only so much stalling W'chek can really do, here, but oh, is he going to do all of it that he possibly can. Because this, he really doesn't want to actually come out and say this. Not to Madilla. Not, of all people, to Madilla. Still, in the end? No helping it. "Homosexual," he practically spits the word out. The explanation. There. "Fuss about it in the living cavern, no less. It's fine. This is the Weyr. After all. But I certainly don't think it'd be appropriate, my spending all kinds of time around him."

"Oh," says Madilla. It's a surprise to her, but not, from the expression on her face, which trends more towards thoughtful, an enormous one. "Well." Pause. "He's a greenrider, I suppose that's not... Unusual." Another pause. This time, it's longer. Then, in a rush of words: "Maybe it isn't entirely proper, but he /is/ a nice boy, W'chek. I don't think he'd try anything; they're not like that. Not... from what I've seen. Not proper. But. He's nice." It's kind of a lame finish. She's staring at the ground, now, rather than at him, the gloves, anything else.

Awkward pausing, now, because W'chek very clearly isn't entirely sure what to say here, torn between reassuring and where he ends up, which is a harder place entirely. Maybe because on this, there's nowhere else he can go which is safe. "I've certainly met the greenriders who *are* like that. I have no idea how he'll be, but I don't want to take any chances. You're--well, you're a woman, aren't you? Of course a man like that isn't going to try anything with you. Which is good. Fine. No need for you to worry about him."

"B'tal /wouldn't/," insists Madilla, and this time she's lifting her gaze to seek out W'chek's, determined. "Do anything. I mean. To anyone who didn't want him to." Oh look, she's gone pink again. She breaks off from further words to take a deep breath, and then asks, "Do those gloves fit all right? Will they do? They'll probably come around and lock up, soon."

So, what does W'chek say about that? He could turn to her, here, and ask: What if I wanted him to? He could do that. And maybe for the tiniest flicker of a moment there's a look on his face like he might--but, no. It's not that at all. Instead, it just passes by. "Yes," he says. "They fit fine. Thanks. We should probably be going, and Zhikath is going to raise holy hell if I can't get out there for him to see my teeth, soon."

But Madilla misses that, too busy looking earnest at him, and then, outright relieved at what he has to say. Too much, maybe, the conversation, despite the fact that she didn't run screaming. Or anything. "Of course," she breathes, nodding rapidly. "I'm glad I could help - at least a little. Good night, W'chek." She clasps her hands together, still looking at him, managing, despite her relief, to be smiling, even warmly.

"Good night, Madilla," W'chek tells her back, maybe a little more formally than necessary. After all, it's been how many months now? He could be a little familiar sometimes. But not this evening. "Good luck with the quilt," then, with a little more warmth, even if it's obviously a little tough. And then he's off, out to his dragon with the dental complex.

Madilla hangs back, at least long enough that they don't need to walk together. Not a /fight/, but the look she sends after him is thoughtful. An odd evening. Really.