Logs:Old Truths And New
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| RL Date: 28 March, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Leova and Madilla escape for some R&R. It... doesn't quite work out that way. |
| Where: Waystation, Nerat Area |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, B'tal/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions |
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| About fifty miles from Nerat Hold, the view from the little waystation's roof is fantastic: the setting sun over the foaming, breaking waves, the shirtsleeve-warm air... and the illicit thrill of climbing, even if it's nearly a decade since Leova had been welcomed by the family running the place. The orange roof-tiles radiate the sun's warmth even through the blanket that softens their bumps, and Leova glances over to Madilla with a sideways grin that's so much more relaxed than it had been when they'd left. "Finally, hm?" There's also a faint whiff of something else illicit in the air, but mostly there's the aroma of spices from that buttery fruity cake they'd brought up with them. Once upon a time, little apprentice Madilla only ever watched as her classmates climb trees; now, the all-grown-up version doesn't even blink at this prospect of roof-sitting, though no doubt the ladder is welcome. Now, she stretches, posture straight despite the lack of backrest, returning that sideways grin with one of her own. She's lost some tension of her own, somewhere along the way, though even with her face tilted towards the last of the sun, there's visible tiredness, there. "Finally," she agrees, with a contented exhale. "This is perfect." That grin only widens. Somewhere, up there, Vrianth's spiraling up and up and up, joyous. Still, her rider's content enough to lean back on her elbows and not talk for awhile, watching the sky shade into reds and golds. Eventually, though, "Pants, Madilla. How does it feel?" And then, even more teasing, "I wasn't sure that you owned a pair." Silence is not something that bothers Madilla - Madilla, who presently seems quite content to stare off into the distance and just be, her arms gathered around her raised knees. There's no disguising her flush, not even in the pink-and-red of the sunset's light, when that remark does come. It has her turning her head, smile self-conscious but also amused, just barely twitching at the corners. "I've never worn them before," she admits. "Not without a skirt on top, at least. If the children see me like this, I'm not sure they'll recognise me. But I'm trying to be open to new things." "Living on the wild side, you are," but Leova's teasing is warm, companionable, familiar. "Cake?" She steals a square piece from the shallow basket, then passes it over: They'll have to eat with their hands. After a little while, contemplatively, "Almost joked: do you want Lilabet to think it's all right to wear pants, not just something she can get away with once in a while. But. It's a hard thing about being a mother, hm? Having to think of things like that. 'Stead of just, 'Do I want to wear pants today.' We shouldn't always have to." Madilla grins, abruptly, fingering the sturdy fabric of her (relatively shapeless) trousers with one hand, as though she's still attempting to get herself used to the sensation. Cake, however, requires hands: she accepts a piece without hesitation, dropping her legs now into a more cross-legged stance. "Mm," she agrees, eyes on the cake, and the piece of it she's presently breaking off. "It's nice to have the luxury to say 'no, I won't be around tonight, but I'll see you in the morning', too. Of course, I have to let Lilabet pants occasionally. Otherwise, Dilan wants to be just like his sister and wear a dress." Her mouth twitches, just slightly, and this time, it's not with a smile. "It is," Leova sighs. She nibbles. Up in the sky, Vrianth's found another dragon, or let it find her. The greenrider glances up without particular concern, or at least, not until Madilla continues. Even replying, she's quiet. "Don't want him to wear a sarong, like down South?" The cake's resilient, softer against the fruit it incorporates, airy elsewhere. It hardly scatters crumbs at all, even with less than careful bites. "It's more--" Madilla stops, evidently intending to try and rework what she wants to say, her brow wrinkled in thought. "I don't know. It isn't really a problem, I suppose, and it's not-- I know he just wants to be like Lily. He always does. I'm simply unused to such things." She stops staring at her cake in order to glance back at the greenrider, and now, there's something uncomfortable in the line of her shoulders. "Do you think it would lead to his being like... B'tal?" Leova, quizzically, and that much more gentle for it. Madilla's, "No," is, at least, certain. "No, it's not that. It wouldn't bother me if he were. I'm not... I've been at the Weyr far too long to be bothered by that. I hope he'll be comfortable as whatever he is. Both of them." She's silent, then, but only long enough to eat a piece of her cake. It's afterwards that she says, "I have to tell his father about him." It's surprisingly matter-of-fact. "Same here." Though Leova adds with a touch of hesitation, "I hope. Don't know that Anvori would be." She watches Madilla eat, a hint of breeze stealing her still uncropped hair across her cheek before she pushes it sharply behind her ear. "Guessing that's why you came by." Part of it, at least. "Only-- part." Madilla's hasty to reassure Leova of that. "I don't want you to think I only want to talk to you when there's something-- you know." Though it embarrasses her, at least a little. "I suppose most men would prefer a son who-- I suppose most parents would prefer it, in general. I don't know. I've never had to ask." She takes a breath, exhaling lengthily, and then says, "I tried to go see him yesterday. If there's one thing I am sure about, after everything with-- no more lies. Or evasions. But he's at Tillek." Leova's, "Madilla," is nearly as quick. "Didn't think you did, truly." Something about what Madilla says does have her looking briefly pained, even so, less a jolt than a hollowness to her eyes. It passes soon enough. "Tillek. What's he doing there? Here and you'd gotten yourself all set for it. Not that it's a Gather canceled on acount of rain." Even in her present state of distraction, Madilla notices that brief look, teeth momentarily resting upon her lip in reaction. Still, she seems more inclined to file the thought away for future reference, because after that, she only sighs, shaking her head. "The guard said something about arranging a wedding. He wasn't sure. Closer ties with Tillek. I was so-- worked up. Disappointed. Now I keep wanting to put it off again. Does he really need to know? Surely it can wait. But it shouldn't." "Not taking after Fax, I hope." It's under Leova's breath before she can quite hold it back, and she winces, glancing at Madilla in apology. "Why shouldn't it? At least until he gets back, at least. You shouldn't have to chase him across the planet." Though she pauses. "If you want to, though...." They're in. Madilla's head shakes, a wordless indication that she's not taking offence. More to the point, "I don't know who he is anymore. What he intends. I know he didn't kill Seani, but... that's all I know." Another deep breath follows before she can explain, "It doesn't seem fair to keep it from him. I'm afraid I'll lose my nerve. I don't know. I've never even put it in words, not outloud. Maybe I should wait. I wasn't even one hundred percent sure that you--" Her mouth twists. She listens. She nods. "You... don't have to. But you can, you know, if you want," and Leova leans over to offer the other woman, the other mother, a tentative hug. It's not without crumbs. As a parent, no doubt Madilla is quite used to crumbs - and even crumby hugs (though the good kind, not the this-is-a-bad-hug kind): she leans in against Leova, taking in several deep breaths before she draws back again. "It would have been easier, four turns ago," she says. "That's the problem with secrets. "It's fine. I'll... tell him, and then we can work out what happens after that. I don't feel as though I need to... stand up in the middle of the living caverns and tell the whole Weyr. But there are some people who ought to know." Leova takes her weight, strokes her hair gently, just once. "Who else?" She doesn't say, his wife. Madilla swallows. She's not teary-eyed, though she does purse her lips together, teeth biting at the insides of them before, abruptly she exhales again. "I think Delifa guessed. Not much got past her. People I'm close to, who know the children and spend time with them. And... I-- I've been seeing H'kon." The admission makes her shy. Leova gets a one-cornered smile at that last, one she can't let out too freely, one not unalloyed. "Of course she would," and now the greenrider glances at her friend, only the glance turns into a look. "And she wouldn't have been fussed by your not telling her, either." Now she can ask: "H'kon, hm?" "She understood, I think. She understood most things." Madilla's wistful sadness might last longer if she weren't being looked at like that. It's hard to combine that many emotions at once. "H'kon," she confirms. "For... a little while now." She's blushing, unsurprisingly, but seems... happy. "So you like him! What do you like about him?" Leova's sideways smile holds just a little mischief, as though she's quite aware how girlish this sounds, perhaps the more so for earlier's contrast. That makes Madilla laugh, the blush receding as merriment takes over. "Are we fifteen again, Leova?" she teases... though at fifteen, this was hardly a conversation she would have been able to have. "I don't know. I just... do. We understand each other. I can make him smile, sometimes." Fifteen. Leova flinches, drawing back. After a moment she laughs, but it's rough. "Well. Good on you. Glad someone can." And after another, "Let's stick with fourteen, how about that." And since it's out in the open now, since more than that is, "Fifteen wasn't so great." Madilla's eyes widen, abruptly, an apology written into her features in the space of an instant. "I'm sorry," she says, putting it into words, quiet and sincere. There's no 'I didn't realise', or similar, though, and if her brows knit, it's not to push for more information. There is a faint, barely visible, nod. "Fourteen, then. Fourteen was when I met you, anyway, I think. Half a lifetime ago." "You remember?" But then, "Of course you would, related to other things." Leova could laugh, but now she doesn't smile. Instead, as carefully as though the tiles beneath them were made of ice, their lingering sunset verging towards twilight while still Vrianth flies and flies, "I told the father of my firstborn. But he has a better father, a real father now." Madilla answers with a nod, though it's a subtle thing, and no doubt unnecessary. She's silent, after, except for the sound of her escaped breath, that long, low sigh. "I'm glad," she says, quietly, allowing her gaze to slide from the greenrider to the distant horizon. "It's better, that way. Blood doesn't give you claim. It's being there, that does." She swallows, once, as of a fresh-caused bruise. "As you say. He has a better mother, too." A fresh-caused bruise, directly atop the old one. It's become such work to take in a breath, and she can't quite let it out. Madilla lets her breath out, instead, only it comes out as a word, and an apology, all at once: "Leova." This time, she's the one reaching out, aiming to draw the other woman into a hug. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean-- I'm sorry." The greenrider's tenser than the other woman had been, and can't seem to change that, but at least she can lay her head against Madilla's shoulder. "It's all right." It's a lie. They both know it. "Most days it is. But then I feel guilty for that too." Madilla squeezes, her heavy sigh escaping only after the greenrider has finished speaking. "I know," she says, answering the lie with one of her own (answering the truth, too). "Of course you do." She doesn't follow it up with platitudes, though the way her lips move suggests she's got at least one lurking on her tongue. Instead, "Nothing's ever that simple, is it?" "If it is," Leova makes herself straighten, but it's a slow thing, and only leads to her folding over herself. "Not for very long." There's a crumb on her knee. She picks it off. She breathes in, so that's something. She breathes out. That's another. "Do you think he'll try to take him?" A laugh escapes from Madilla's lips, but it's a rueful one, only barely escaping a tendency towards bitter. "I won't let him." That's a certainty, with all the force of a mother's protective instinctive behind it. "I won't let my son became a half-Blooded bastard, never quite good enough. He has his own son. He doesn't need mine." "Good." This time, when Leova breathes in, it's deeper. "Good," she repeats, glancing at Madilla. "Feel like there should be some, some analogy towards that and the Weyr, all of a sudden, but I don't want to look at it too close." "I'd rather not think too hard about the Weyr," admits Madilla, the corner of her mouth twisting up into a smile. "Let's assume there is an analogy, and it makes us both think, but just skip to the part where I say 'tell me something good that's happening in your life'. Or maybe... 'more cake?'" "Cake is good," it's Leova's turn to be making an admission, and this with definite relief. "Let's make it happen." And when she reaches out, for the basket or just a piece makes no difference, she meets Madilla's eyes. "Cake is always good," answers Madilla, though the words are definitely secondary to the look, eyes meeting eyes. There's a nod, too, just the tiniest fraction of one.
CommentsAishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 29 Mar 2013 23:21:31 GMT. <
I love you guys. That is all.
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Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 29 Mar 2013 23:21:31 GMT.
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I love you guys. That is all.
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