Logs:Digging Up Dirt
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| RL Date: 24 April, 2011 |
| Who: V'teri, Milani |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Milani makes good on the favor V'teri asked of her. He gets some confirmation to his thoughts which makes him a little... well, mixed in all his emotions. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: R'hin/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It's dinnertime for most of the Weyr, infirmary included, though of course it's highly likely the food being served in the living cavern and the Snowasis is a lot nicer than standard infirmary fare. Milani arrives as the dinner rush in the caverns hits its peak, bearing a covered basket, a book tucked under one arm and is dressed for comfort and practicality in a simple blouse and trousers. She pauses just inside to make an inquiry of the apprentice on duty and proceeds onward with a purposeful stride to find V'teri's cot, humming cheerily under her breath. It's been over a seven since his unceremonious introduction to High Reaches' latest Weyrwoman, the histories of which he's heard quite a bit and how have verified to be true. Propped up in his bed with bandages now around his torso rather than a brace, V'teri appears to be in good spirits, and /awake/ more importantly. No more fellis-induced sleepiness or drug-induced dreams. And because he's awake, he's at what his pretty, but not quite bright head seems to love best: records. Specifically, maps and paper and charcoal to draw with as he traces over maps feverishly and seems to be trying to measure things. He even has those Smith-crafted protractors and compasses to help him out, but damned if he can figure it out. But, that's not as important as how cheerfully he tackles his work. Whistling. Laughter sounds as Milani reaches V'teri's space and all its accompanying work-clutter. "Well shells, and here I thought you'd be /bored/ sitting in here by yourself," she declares brightly and pulls up a chair alongside, sits down without waiting for an invitation. "Are you sure that line is supposed to go like that?" she asks, pointing to something he's measuring, something teasing in her voice though it's clearly friendly. "No," is V'teri's unrepentantly good humored response, one that's tacitly followed up on with a lift of his chin and a grin for Milani. "Gosh, you're a sight for sore eyes. Where've you been? I could've sworn I told that red-headed healer lass to send you over for some comfort ages ago." The bronzerider shifts some of his papers around to clear up a spot along the side of his cot. Seems he can move now without evoking a painfully girlish reaction from his throat. Milani bursts out laughing again at that response and leans forward to reach for his hand, gives it a friendly little pat. "And here I am. With comfort food and comfort reading, if you're interested. I have some things I found in records that might or might not be interesting too, but nothing's really leaped out in the 'off' category," she notes of the mission given prior. "Mmm. Food always somehow seems to get a lot colder by the time they bring it here. Are you sure they're from the same kitchens?" V'teri reaches out eagerly for the bowl first. Reading can come later. "I swear they underseason our food and it all tastes a little bland. And mushy. Oh /Faranth/," exhales the man as an aromatic waft of a chicken pot pie equivalent makes it up his nostrils. "This is about as good as a good looking broad tryin' t-," a beat. A blush. "Sometimes, I forget who I'm talking to." Which brings him next to, "Tell me about yourself. I realized I asked you a large favor and we don't right know each other all that well yet. And look at you, all kind and doing it for me anyway." "Unless they put in a whole new kitchen just for the infirmary when I wasn't looking ..." Milani trails off with a grin and uncovers the basket to pass him the bowl it contains. "And there's treats too. But you have to eat dinner first," she says, passing the bowl over to him. That abortive sentence draws renewed laughter. "Don't worry. I'm not offended." Milani leans back in her chair, sets the basket down on the floor and sets the book she brought in her lap. "Okay, if you'd rather, I can talk about me rather than reading /this/," she taps the book's cover with her knuckles. "Adventure stories," she remarks of the contents. "You didn't seem like the type who'd want to read philosophy." "Yourself," insists the young man with a smile, or it might have been just been a really wide opening for the spoonful of pastry and delectable chickeny bits to be shoved into. At least he has enough manners to not chew with his mouth open, and shortly after, swallows. He eats like a starved man. "I like hearing real people stories cause I feel like I grew up on fictional ones. My great-gramma," he shares, "Would tell my dad stories, and then he told them to me. It kind of got old after a while," the last added a little pensively. "But! Tell me about you. The Milani story." V'teri even highlights it with two hands splayed in the air like some marquee title, if Pern had those. It's hard not to smile back at V'teri. He's cute and he's charming. "Okay, but I want /your/ story, more of it anyway, in exchange, how's that?" she returns and considers him for a moment. "So ... is it that /all/ made up stories bore you, or just hearing the same ones that you heard over and over from your dad?" Her shoes are kicked off and she folds her legs up onto the chair, knees pulled to chest and chin propped on top, the book gets sandwiched in between, out of sight for now. "I love stories," she offers over as a perhaps-start to "The Milani Story". "Though I didn't always used to like to read so much." "Deal. You tell me your story. I tell you some of mine. I'm not much a reader," V'teri confirms her earlier remark, "But there's something about real stories that just hit you right here." No, he doesn't press a hand to his heart, it's more to his gut. "Like, you realize people actually lived before us and did things and that's how we got here." Enough gushing. More eating. Which also means he can look a lot more attentive to Milani now that he's not talking. The bowl is now tucked near his chin so he might shovel its contents all the more effectively. "Okay. And you'll tell me if you start feeling pain or tired too," she warns. "Because I promised Madilla that I'd be good company, but not damage you," Milani adds with a little grin. "I was born and raised right here at the Weyr," she starts. "When I was a kid, I ran around a little bit wild in the caverns with some of the other kids. So ... well I know the caverns here /really/ well. Like, back of my hand well. I've always been good with numbers, but didn't do the reading thing so well until a friend helped me out. Good thing too because you kind of need to be able to read /and/ figure if you're going to be an assistant headwoman and my mother, she's a greenrider here, she helped me get a job working for the headwoman when I was fourteen." "Fourteen, huh?" This time, V'teri forgets to completely swallow before speaking, which results in a crimson-cheeked, mouth-full apology. "Sowwy." Swallow. "That's really young. You must have been pretty amazing even if you ran wild." "I did say I'm really good with numbers right?" Milani says laughingly. "But really I think it boiled down to my mother sticking her neck out for me, to be perfectly honest." Her shoulders lift and drop. "Some people, like the Weyrwoman who put you in here, might even say that I /still/ run wild," Milani jokes a bit more and reaches over to give those bandages a light poke. "What the heck did Tiriana /do/ to put you in ... traction anyway? Which, by the way, I'm glad you're out of." "She shoved me off a stool and I wasn't," V'teri begins with a chagrinned look, "Expecting it. I think if I had, it wouldn't have been so bad. Could've caught myself or something. But I wasn't really thinking much at the time. It was," he has no decency to look embarrassed by this part, "Something I would still do again. Her face was just- I guess you had to be there to see just how funny it was." There's even a little bit of a chuckle for the predicament he's in. "A /stool/, shells," Milani says, round-eyed and shakes her head. Her head cocks to the side though as he makes that claim about lack of regret. "I ... think I can imagine. I've had -- well let's just say that Tiriana and I don't get along. Kind of made for a /weird/ dynamic when I was headwoman still and she was Weyrwoman instead of Satiet." Briefly, something flickers in her expression at mention of that last name, it's not grief, but there's a hint of reverence, or at least respect he could possibly pick up on. "Anyway. I can picture the face. Kind of. Maybe." And she does an impression of outraged Tiriana. "That one?" The mention of the prior Weyrwoman and Milani's reaction is watched with interest, but no comment is made thereof. Instead, when the recordskeeper's face shifts, V'teri laughs and then doubles over a bit as it shakes his torso a bit too much for his bandages' liking. "Oh. Oh. Yes, but funnier. It was worth it." Once a boy, always a boy. Relishing in reliving that moment, the bronzerider gazes off into the distance until the smell of food draws him back to reality. "So, what happened then?" is asked even as another spoonful comes up. "Figures," Milani says with a wide grin. "So did you hit on her? Or suggest her father was a wherry?" she queries, joking evident in her tone though she eyeballs that doubling dubiously. "Don't break anything." Beat. "Well. Anything /else/." Breath out. "Well, the former headwoman, Hayda, she retired and I got the job. I served under Satiet and Tiriana and I'd like to think I did a pretty good job at it. Had some problems after I had my second kid. Nik. Nikalas." And her voice shades silly-fond for her son. "Long story short, I had to step down. Went away for a while and had to leave Nik here. That's probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. Other than standing up to Tiriana and some other people with serious tempers." "R'hin mentioned that. That people here are-, ah-," V'teri muddles for a word, his spoon lifted in the air and circling as if it assists his thinking process, "Special," is what he ultimately decides, punctuating the decision with a jab of his spoon into the air. "I figure any Weyr led by him must have been all sorts of special. He was my mentor at Monaco." The man's slate eyes slant to Milani a long moment. "You miss your job, don't you?" he speculates. "I mean, other than standing up to people with serious tempers," is an additional tease, followed by yet another with a side-grin, "But you miss being Miss Bossypants, no?" "Mmm, special that's a good word for it. Very diplomatic," Milani says with a quiet snort and plunks her chin down atop her knees again. "I miss dealing with people and solving problems all day long," she says thoughtfully about her former occupation. "But that's also part of why I'm here. I volunteered to come bring sunshine to the infirmary. Help with people. That's also something I'm usually good at." Pause. "Unless we're talking about some of the 'special' people here at the Reaches. Because at least one of them started yelling and throwing things when I came to cheer /him/ up in the infirmary. That was a while ago though." V'teri laughs again, forgetful of his back and pays for it with a wince, but no more real damage. "Oh, I really have to remember to not do that, but it's. So. Hard." Each word is enunciated about grit teeth that's paired with a face that can't tell whether it wants to cry or laugh some more. It takes him a knuckle-whitening moment to regain his composure and rest himself back again, only to find his chicken pot-pie done. While he sets the bowl aside on the nightstand, he comments, "So that's the Milani Story. I only hope the Van Story will be as succinct but interesting to hear. Some day." Impish, that last, one slate eye disappears behind a wink. "I am, sadly, not above fishing for more visits." Milani unfolds and bends down to fish the basket up into view. Promptly drops the book she forgot about. "Dessert," she says playfully and offers the basket over. In the bottom, little pies. It's summer. There's berries. "You don't have to fish for the visits. I'll be coming back. Though I might have to add 'don't make V'teri laugh' to the list of promises." "Which might be a hard task to actually follow through on," notes the bronzerider, merry in voice, if not in body. He's learning, slowly but surely. The pies, however, gain a dubious look. "They look like one would fit into my mouth without blinking an eye." How can this be dessert? Aren't desserts made of excess?! With such a look of askance sketched on his face, he looks to Milani. "How many are there for me?" He's not about to lean forward to start counting. "And how many should I share to be considered a gentleman?" "I'm kind of getting that," Milani says with a laugh and a little nod, then she reaches into the basket and draws out four pies. "They're /all/ for you silly. I've already had two. And I can tell you're /not/ a gentleman. But that's not a bad thing. Gentlemen are boring." The pies are lined up on top of the basket with its lid flipped closed. "Oh? Are they?" He speaks with his mouth, but his attention and those eyes are clearly, greedily latched onto those pies. With the joy of a two year old boy who may have discovered his first chocolate chip cookie, V'teri reaches for one and then another, holding one in each hand. As aforementioned, he does manage to shove an entire mini pie into his mouth and chews with gusto. "Mmmmm. I haven't had something so delightful since the ale I spilled all over myself when the Weyrwoman shoved my stool over." But with the pies now, his belly's satiated, he's heard her story, and so he leans back and considers Milani all over again. "So... what could you figure out?" "Yes. They are," Milani confirms and her head ducks, shoulders shaking with laughter for the double-fisted eating. She bends to retrieve the no-longer needed book and sets it in her lap again, but doesn't fold up on the chair this time. "Oh no, the Snowasis has good drinks. That's a shame," she says sympathetically for the spilled drink. "Not much so far," Millie says with a shake of her head. "I copied a couple of things for you and bookmarked some others in things I couldn't take out of records. For /those/ you'll have to get better so you can come look." She leans a little to the side to slide a hand into her pocket and draws out the copies. "Here. Some kind of delivery records that just ... they seemed weird to me. Out of pattern." V'teri, for all his protests of being too stupid to know much about records, stretches forth his non-pied hand and reaches for the copies Milani draws out. A 'may I' look is spared, but is mostly a formality as he pulls them to him regardless to peruse. A studied eye glances down the list, a brow arcing at one or two particular entries before he exhales quietly. His tonal quality isn't quite on the subdued level, but compared to the joviality of before, it's a marked contrast. "I. See. I see." He purses his lips, teeth set on the very edge and studies Milani now, with the glazed expression of thought. "How weird? In what way?" Milani gives V'teri a 'please do' kind of gesture and look as she passes over the copies. They're for him after all. She studies him first while he gets all eager about what she just gave him, taking in the sudden shift in his manner. Absently, she catches at a strand of her own hair and twirls it while he's contemplating oddities in record-keeping. "If you compare how things were tracked in other columns for the same time period, these ones stand out, because they're very different," she tries to explain. "Mostly, it's because it's a pretty obvious discrepancy if you know what to expect from this kind of record." She considers him for a good long moment then blows out a breath. "V'teri ... what're you really looking for? You're not ... hm. I mean this is long ago enough, this isn't about digging up dirt or making Reaches look bad, is it?" Her voice is quiet, sincere with the concern, for all she so readily did help him out. What Milani asks, in all its sincere-but-still-possible accusation, causes V'teri to blink out of his reverie. "No," he starts off slowly, the vowels elongating as he thinks further on this. " No. But I think-," the young man's words halt abruptly and he shakes his head. "I think, if anything, this makes me believe someone at High Reaches was trying to do something good." Attempting a smile while still trying to sort through his thoughts creates a very mixed looking expression, something in between a smile and pensiveness. "Thank you, Milani. Really. I wish I could tell you more, but even I don't think I quite understand it all other than that..." He skips a beat and then ventures another question, rather than completing his thought, "Can you tell what items have discrepancies?" Milani chews on her lip a little, waiting on V'teri's answer and what he ends up at eases some tension out of her shoulders, breath released all at once. She musters a little smile for him and nods. "I've marked them for you," she points out and reaches over to show him where she's underlined, starred and so forth. "If anything is confusing, we can go over it when I come back tomorrow." The empty basket is retrieved and the book slipped inside it. "I need to go pick up my kids," Millie explains apologetically then she leans over, intending to drop a kiss to the bronzerider's cheek. "If I find anything else, I'll either bring it along or let you know, too." "Have a good evening, Milani. And thanks again." Kiss accepted, the other pie thrown back, Milani leaves V'teri thoughtful, and not just a little bit agitated. But all that sinks in only after she's gone. The maps, the notes, Milani's notes -- it all paints a pretty bleak picture for him but seems to confirm something or other. That he doesn't sleep all night doesn't go unnoticed by most of the healers, and not amount of urging seems to matter and it's not until the sun is about to break the night's darkness that he's fallen asleep, drooling a bit, with a half-made map in his hand.
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