Logs:High As A Kite
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| RL Date: 22 July, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: H'kon suffers an injury. Later, Madilla is too ethical to take real advantage of his drugged-up state. |
| Where: Madilla's Quarters / Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Dilan/Mentions, Kairek/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Naelli/Mentions |
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| Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
Madilla's long since developed an ability to sleep soundly enough not to be woken by just anything... and lightly enough that she's conscious just about as soon as she's needed - by child, by Infirmary emergency, and, unsurprisingly, by the bangs and curses of of fisher-born brownriders. That she was soundly asleep only moments ago seems to scarcely matter: she's out of bed and inspecting the damage in a matter of seconds, all healerly bustling and authoritative in the way she hustles poor H'kon across the spring-cold bowl and to the Infirmary. There might have been panic at first that roused the brown dragon, but by the time H'kon is in the bowl, by the time the adrenaline has given way to show that the greatest wounds are pride and a non-life-threatening wrist, it's turned to joyful mockery. Arekoth's escort bounds along with a noted limp, and each occasional stumble is intentional, and each next more dramatic than the first. The dragon's pushing his chin along the floor of the bowl by the time the two are finally into the infirmary. No doubt his commentary has continued all thereafter. H'kon can't be wincing and rubbing at his temples purely for the sake of the left hand he holds out for the healer's ministrations. Partway to the bowl, Madilla does give Arekoth a meaningful glance, though it's dark enough that it's terribly easy to 'miss' (for real or for not), and really, she probably doesn't expect him to listen. Inside, it's a more thorough examination followed by the application of a cast... followed by the sweet, sweet relief of heavy drugs. "It'll stop hurting soon," promises the healer, whose expression is apologetic. "I'm so sorry. Dee knows better than to leave us things-- it should heal fine. I promise." H'kon is, if nothing else, a good patient - was even before his closer association with the Weyrhealer - and waits until that cast is more or less in place to start testing his fingers. It draws his attention away from where his dragon wisecracks outside, and to his fingers. "I'm certain it will," is at best non-committal, borderline non-emotional; the words of one keeping everything carefully, if the pun might be forgiven, under wraps. And Madilla? She's a good healer, though it's probably not strictly appropriate for her to be the one administering to this particular patient. Now that her hands no longer have anything to do, they're restless: she dries them on a towel for far longer than she probably needs to, and though she doesn't pace, being seated, she's displaying rather more emotion than H'kon is. Which is... probably not really surprising, but still. "How does it feel?" H'kon is not, as of the moment, thinking of appropriateness in treatment. He may be thinking of appropriateness in dragon, appropriateness in his own behaviour. And that amounts to his wiggling fingers, at the moment. The first test is light. The second one comes with gritting of his teeth as he checks for more mobility. The third is just a step beyond that, and his eyes go a little bit wider. "Fine," is most certainly a lie. "Twisted," a somewhat more truthful ammendment, and one that, a moment later, has him looking sadly thoughtful. Maybe the drugs are starting in. Madilla's expression is appraising - serious, quietly worried. "Do you want to lie down?" she wonders. She must be used to what those drugs can do to people. "Lean back." It's not a suggestion, this time: she's stood up, and is arranging pillows on the cot, one hand lifted to direct him backwards. By force, if needs be. "Let your fingers rest." "Madilla, it's fine." He flexes those fingers one last time, sitting up stubbornly, closing his eyes against the repeating tirade launched by Arekoth, and then suddenly - H'kon is leaning back, and looking, as best he can, at the hand on his chest. "Hum." Which might be a comment on how some of those stronger drugs are doing on his empty stomach and his lightening head. Fingers relax. Yes ma'am. There's something distinctly dubious about Madilla's expression... something that rapidly turns into something else at that abrupt change. It's not... not a smile, nor even relief, just, perhaps, the awareness of something else. She settles back in her chair beside the cot and says, "In this, you're going to have to listen to me, I'm afraid. And if I had a direct line to Arekoth..." It may be better that she doesn't. "How is it feeling now?" Doing his very best to maintain a gloomy, moody expression - and so far the drugs have not settled so far as to make it entirely impossible - H'kon gives Madilla the faintest acnowleding nod. Yes ma'am. "A direct line to Arekoth," makes its way into full, deliberate speech, "is not a thing to be wished for." Whatever exception is taken to that by the brown at least has a chance of getting a smile - although H'kon has yet control enough to devolve it into a twitch. He looks again at his hand, holding it before his face carefully. "Less." "I would certainly try and encourage him to listen to me," says Madilla, very nearly airy in her conviction that she could make some kind of impact. She gives H'kon another considering glance, watching his reactions with care enough to suggest she's mentally cataloguing them. "Less. That's good. If you were one of my child patients, I'd try and tell you a story about now. But... do you want to try and sleep?" "Trying is never not," a careful pause to count the negatives, "a part of it." The brownrider blinks, dares to try stretch his fingers a bit, and then submits to resting his wrist - carefully - over his belly. It's the non-fall-breaking hand that lifts to dismiss the offer. "What story would you choose?" "But it's you who seeks to needle," is Madilla's reply. "I am an outsider. But perhaps you're right." She's talking to his wrist rather than to him, at the moment, staring at the cast as if it offends her (which, let's be honest, it probably does... even if she were the one who created it). "It would depend on what kind of child you were. For you... you're a little difficult to imagine, to be honest." H'kon gives a twist of his mouth, wry, at that. "I liked the more serious stories. Nothing of... firelizards or foolish harpers." But if it's invitation, he forgets to stay attuned. Almost immediately thereafter, he's picked up his wrist to consider it, frowning deeply, and deciding, "Overreaching." Nor does Madilla seem to expect her storytelling abilities will be required: mostly, she seems to just want to keep him talking. "Overreaching?" she prompts. "When Arekoth twisted his leg," that one the brown was carrying up off the ground while making fun of his rider, only just recently, "it was reaching for something beyond his status. Too inexperienced, too eager," and this one with a little high-pitched huff that's almost a whistling laugh, "too small." That doesn't really seem to make things much clearer for Madilla, though she's at least partially distracted by the - let's be honest - quiet hilarity of this situation. "That may be true," she agrees. "Though it has nothing to do with your present predicament... though I suppose it is a mirror injury, isn't it? But yours will heal." "His healed also," H'kon points out, "if not back to what it was." A bit more drolly, "One might think he'd have learned from it." The cast is lowered to his belly again, the brownrider's head lowering to the pillow in behind it in time. "Too comfortable?" Suggestion. "And there's no reason why yours can't do better, and leave no impact at all." Though that's not guaranteed, and something in Madilla's tone may betray it... if a person is cognizant enough to notice. "Sadly, many of us are destined to make the same mistake multiple times. What do you mean, 'too comfortable'? You are? Do you need anything else? Can I get you anything?" 'Cognisant' is not one of those words that could currently be (aptly) applied to H'kon. He simply attempts to roll his wrist, grimaces when he finds he can't, and that, through the layer of drug-numb, it twinges, and gives something of a sigh. His head rolls to point at Madilla soon enough. "In your rooms." Sigh again. "Your family." And a belated wave of the uncast hand, across his chest and at her. "Siiit," drawn out just a bit. Any effort Madilla might have made to stand is abandoned: now, she stares at H'kon, working through what he's trying to say and coming to a conclusion that clearly gives her pause. "You think you're too comfortable in my life," she sums up, finally. "Is that really a problem? Too comfortable?" Her cheeks have gone pink. "Is it?" Any former attempts at keeping his feelings under wraps have gone the way of the pillowy numbness of his wrist. And the rest of him. H'kon's eyes look terribly meaningful, even if the rest of his features simply look... a little bit hanging. Until he manages to wrinkle his nose, and, a bit deliriously, remember, "I mean I did trip on a toy." (Outside the infirmary, Arekoth has settled into a nice lie-down position and is doing his best to look in through the dragon side.) "You did," agrees Madilla. That, at least, is indisputable: there was a toy, he tripped, and here they are. "That's just one of the hazards of family life." Family. Should she have used that word? Maybe she's not expecting him to remember too much of this. "I'm glad that you're comfortable... even if I'm terribly sorry about this. I want you to be comfortable with it. With us. With me. We'll just have to be more careful about picking things up, that's all." Her words are earnest and heavily emphasised. "Siiit," is drawn out once more, when she gives her apology, and his hand waves again. The meaning is probably only faintly related to what it was before, but still, all is fine. H'kon re-adjusts his face into the pillow. A drool spot is sure to start forming soon. He wiggles his fingers of his injured hand, just a bit, before the uninjured one falls on top of it. "Your other men were fools," comes after Faranth-only-knows what sort of linkages in his mind. This time, Madilla reaches out to take the uninjured hand, wrapping both of hers around it. "I'm sitting," she says. She's pink cheeked again, the impact of his words obvious in that hue, and in the little smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. "That's very sweet of you to say. It's a good thing you're not." "Selfish," H'kon corrects her, not fully aware of her hands, it seems. He tongues a bit at the corner of his mouth, swallows, and gives a disconnected observation of, "Mine was always in Tillek." It makes him frown, but only until he tries to jam the elbow of his injured arm into the bed, and direct a look in the vague direction of the dragon infirmary, and give a firm, "I won't ask for it." What all did she give him, anyway? Given the way she's looking at him, now, torn between concern and mirth, she may not have anticipated quite this big of a reaction to her cocktail of happy-making drugs. "At Tillek?" And, "Ask for what? Shh, whatever it is, it's fine. I'm not sure selfish is the word, anyway. I don't think it's selfish." Maybe it's just the size of him, along the potency. "My family." It's not answer to her question of what, although he gives it only once settling back into the pillows, and easing his arm forward again. "Well, except Kairek, but he's... headstrong. Lily knows," H'kon adds, helpful. "Does she." Not a question. Not that Madilla seems upset so much as bemused: her daughter knowing something that she clearly doesn't, and about the family of her... well, whatever he is. "Well, family can be in lots of places. There's the family you're born to, and then you can make families, too. Or just... end up with them." H'kon. "End up with them," he chuckles back, though with some of the shock wearing off, and the ongoing presence of whatever it is she'd fed to him, his words are slowing down a touch. "Or end up far from them." It's only now his fingers, his not-turning-to-sausage fingers, twitch, incidentally against her hands. As H'kon shows his marked ability to turn any situation to the somber, with the low intonation of, "Dragonrider's love and family." Madilla can't completely hide the brief look of melancholy that crosses her expression at his comment on ending up far from family, however quick she is to turn her thoughts to determined ones, instead. Her fingertips brush against his hands in not-really-reply, and she says, "A dragonrider's love and family may be different, but not better or worse. Family is still family." "The difference can be regret," H'kon confides softly, closing his eyes even as he goes to try and look, again, toward the dragon who waits in the bowl. Even under the influence, it turns out a dragonman's face can still show the signs of his dragon, as distinct from its normal feature set. But his fingers twitch at hers again. "I've never found regret terribly useful," owns Madilla. "Things are... well, they are what they are, aren't they? For better or for worse." Her gaze turns, too, following his towards that distant exit, her expression abruptly-- not wistful, but certainly thoughtful. "They are," as they are; it's agreement, there. "But still if they are not ideal... then there can be regret. Even if you'd not change anything. It's showing truth, isn't it?" And with a sudden - well, on someone else, it could be a smile at least - H'kon decides, "I need there to have been two of me." Shortly thereafter: "Oh shut up," clearly not directed at Madilla. Madilla's teeth show through her smile, laughter restrained in lieu of thoughtfulness. "One of you for Arekoth, and one... not," she supposes, focusing on the words and not on any possible interpretations of what Arekoth might just have been saying. "I think we could all do with a second one of ourselves, sometimes. Ah well. I'm pretty sure we would find things to regret even if conditions were perfect." "One for Tillek. And Naelli. And the rest." There's something almost dreamlike to his tone, though whether it's mostly fantasy or mostly that concoction... Arekoth almost assuredly does not shut up, but H'kon at least seems readier to ignore him for a spell when he focuses in upon Madilla once more. "And yours?" She's smiling, but there's a wistful quality to that smile all over again, one that appears after she acknowledges H'kon's ideal situation - right as she's hesitating over her own. "For my family, too. To be the dutiful, helpful, appropriate set of healing hands they'd expected me to be, without having abandoned anything else of my life." She lets the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. "What a dutiful pair we are, mm? No second-selves that gallivant around the planet enjoying themselves." H'kon shakes his head, and for a moment looks nearly sad. "Those who go so quickly about the world are searching for something, rather than enjoying it. Even Arekoth," and his tone is, appropriately, full of incredulity, "is content in what he has and knows. No need to travel all the time." "'Even Arekoth'," repeats Madilla, and again, there's that amusement lurking about her tone, but quite flourishing, but most certainly there. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Arekoth is simply content, then, to... give a running commentary on your life, is that it? What is he telling you about? Now, or in general?" "Now?" H'kon tries to lever himself up again to peer to where his dragon is waiting, wingtips and tail never having stopped their twitches of anticipation as he peers right back. "He's trying to convince me to say something," and H'kon's words are chosen oh-so-carefully, "by repeating it. With only breaks to comment on my size. He does also offer solutions, if not feasible ones." But it makes the brownrider almost laugh. Even though his words have started to take a run-on quality, and are losing some distinction. Madilla opens her mouth, as though her instant reaction is to ask the obvious question: what is it he wants you to say? It's obvious - very obvious - that she would like to ask the question, and yet her mouth closes again, even so. "Tell him I want him to shut up so that you can rest. As much fun as it could be to keep you talking when you're obviously not--" She breaks off, then shakes her head. "He's trying to take advantage of you, and I don't approve." This moral high ground thing is hard. "There's no telling Arekoth." H'kon speaks almost authoritatively on the subject. "You'll just set him to bargaining, and Faranth knows that will go on for much longer than is good for anyone. Even if he hears no counter-offers. Or," and he lowers himself again, and flexes the sausage-fingers, and looks at Madilla once more, "just tell you how boring you are." And then the laugh. Well, H'kon-laugh. "Except now that's upset his position already. I suppose I shouldn't have spoken." And that makes Madilla laugh outright. "Poor Arekoth. We're no fun for him, are we? I'm supposed to be taking advantage of you, and making you spill all your secrets-- do you have secrets? Are there things I should be trying to weasel out of you right now? If only you'd ended up spending your time with someone willing to take advantage of you and work with him... it's probably a good thing my children aren't here, the nosy creatures they are." She gives his hand an idle squeeze again. "If your children were here, Dilan would have Arekoth at least partially occupied. He might be less unbearable for it." Is that fondness that crinkles up the corners of the brownrider's eyes? "Your son has little interest in me," is... not rightly mournful, but there is something there. H'kon flexes his swollen fingers once more, and then those in Madilla's (current) care. "Lily..." And he makes a bit of a face, when no accurate description comes. There's definitely fondness in Madilla's expression, but it seems as much for H'kon's expression as for the mention of her children. "Sadly, I'm afraid you pale in comparison to your dragon for my son, fickle creature that he is. He does like you, though. Lily, though." She smiles. "Lily likes you a lot, I think, and only partially because she approves of my happiness. Mostly, I think she thinks you're the opposite of boring. You should be pleased." H'kon is, admittedly, pleased at that. He pushes back into his pillows, and lets his eyelids fly at half mast for a bit. "I do not think," is something of an inner musing, "it would be bad for her, to have someone - even with no pretentions of being her -" the scrape is almost audible when he backtracks and opens his eyes wider. "You are happy, then?" With H'kon's eyelids half closed, Madilla allows her smile to broaden, though it's undeniably fond, at this point: she's not laughing. She, too, is pleased. That being said, there's obviously some possibility of laughter at his backtracking, though it's more the bewildered, are-you-seriously-asking-me-that kind. "Did you doubt? For that, I might have to start asking probing questions. Or try and sneakily gauge your reactions to things in the hopes that you won't remember, later." Even if Madilla won't hear it, Arekoth has suddenly gone expectantly quiet. H'kon is either far enough gone, or close enough focused, as to not take note. The woman earns a little bit of an awkward glance, a self-conscous swallow. It's not long, at least, until H'kon's eyes close fully, and he offers what is certainly an aside, in, "I do have a," yawn interruption, "very good memory, you know." "I am teasing," says the healer, giving H'kon's hand another squeeze. "Mostly, anyway. I won't take advantage of you." Much. "Although in the end, I'm not sure the forgetting part is the important thing so much as that you're rather more forthcoming this way, you know. And there are some conversations we never have." She's giving him a sidelong glance. "But you're tired. It's late. Perhaps I'd better ask how you'd feel if I ended up pregnant at some point when you're not..." She bites off the end of that sentence. Maybe she's regretting it. With eyes closed, H'kon is nodding in steady time to Madilla's words. "Hm," could be dismissal of his tired state, could be agreement, belated, for the unspoken conversations... by the time she's got to that last question, his head has lolled to one side against the pillow, and he seems almost asleep. Except that, in about a minute, and with a brush of his fingers, there comes a high, soft, and hanging, "Would you?" Watching H'kon as she is, Madilla seems surprised when that response comes-- clearly, she'd assumed he was falling asleep, that there wouldn't be an answer. She may even have been counting on it, because her expression, afterwards, seems uncertain. "I only mention it because it... because it is a possibility. And I don't want unhappy surprises. But it... sleep. Later. It's not important." Her cheeks are pink. "You should rest." And H'kon won't, at least by his motions, entirely disprove that first theory of hers either. He shifts his head, half-lolling, back toward her, even forces his eyes open once more, though they've gone bleary. "I find myself wondering if it would be such." Unhappy. Important. A possibility. He doesn't have the presence of much of anything enough to specify. His eyes are drooping already. Clearly, Madilla would like specificity as to which he means. Clearly, however, she's not going to get it right now. "In the meantime," she murmurs, "I'll keep doing night shifts when I need to." It's less admission than self-reassurance, not really intended for H'kon's ears even if it is spoken more or less outloud. In the meantime, she's squeezing his hand, and then leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep," she instructs. "Sleep." Under quiet words and gentle kisses, H'kon is giving in. He half-turns over for his side, pushing, clearly without consideration, his injured wrist into the cot for support. It gives him, instead, reason to hiss and recoil, and only slowly begin to resettle. It also gives him wakefulness enough to lament, "Seem frightened." He's settled once more, the shot of pain clouded over once more, by the time he gives, almost as oath, "Not of me, Madilla." And it's another moment before the murmured, "Koth wants the toy." Concern for his wrist distracts from more philosophical worries in the immediate sense, but as H'kon begins to settle again, Madilla's given more thoughts to add to the ones she's already mulling over. "Not frightened," she reassures. "Over-thinking, maybe. And not just about you." The reference to Arekoth has her smiling. "Mmm. Of course he does." She holds back on any obvious questions, lapsing, instead, into silence. And so does H'kon, his dragon silenced once again by expectant waiting, and any further thoughts or concerned finally given over to the cloud of sleep he's been fighting since its ministration. Even so, the brown dragon outside stays poised. It's the sort of venture he is likely to hold on to for some time, and Faranth help Madilla whenever she should have to cross the bowl again. Even for those to whom he doesn't directly speak, Arekoth can be persistent. Luckily, Madilla has experience with the singlemindedness of small children... which is totally like the same thing, right? She'll deal. |
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