Logs:Not A Flesh Wound
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 11 October, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Difficult news troubles both Leova and Madilla, but does not ultimately cancel their planned excursion. |
| Where: Madilla's Quarters, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions |
  |
| Madilla's Quarters, High Reaches Weyr Larger than most of the quarters in the Complex, this suite is made up of three distinct rooms, all rough-hewn but of a reasonable size. The main room is a living area, largely filled by a table with several chairs, as well as a small desk. Beyond, the two further rooms are both bedrooms, the larger one filled by two single beds, whilst the other, smaller, contains a double bed, one that fills most of the available space. Rag rugs cover the floors throughout all three rooms, while heavy quilts provide both insulation and decoration, hung from the walls. It's well before the appointed time when there's a knock on a certain healer's door, an urgent one. Is someone bleeding, dying? But the voice calling, "Madilla? It's Leova," may sound strained, or possibly pained, but not frantic. Perhaps it's just a splinter. It takes only a moment, one filled with the muffled slap of bare feet on fabric-covered floors, before there's a reply to Leova's summons. "Leova?" The door hasn't yet swung all the way open when the healer answers, her hair unusually loose around her shoulders, those green eyes wide and displaying obvious concern. "Come in. Is everything--?" Leova does come in, near-immediately, just a quick glance over her shoulder down the hall. "Fine. Everything's fine." She manages a smile, but her brown cheeks are uncharacteristically flushed. "Just, there's a new addition to the family. Sorry to barge in, only just found out. Keep getting ready, why don't you?" She's clad in the divided skirt she reserves for such trips, a smart woolen suit even if it's tailored with the boxy, concealing cut she favors. "I won't be long," promises Madilla, gesturing towards the table in invitation, though her gaze doesn't leave her friend's face. "What do you mean, a new addition to the family?" She has a comb in hand, and now lifts it again, running it through the dark, curly length of her hair, though likely it's largely instinctual rather than deliberate. Leova leans on the table, at least, even if she doesn't take a seat. Her hair may not have seen the attentions of a comb since that morning, at best. "Do you... do you sew ahead at all, have you a cot quilt you could spare?" "Leova," is Madilla's chide, though it's a patient one. "I've one that just needs a border. I'd meant to finish it, but--" She breaks off from that thought, transferring the comb from one hand to the other, this time so that she can dig at an apparently stubborn knot. "But?" Leova's turn to look at her friend, brows gone up: has something happened in Madilla's life? Though she does add, "Don't worry about it. Truly. Hate to go empty-handed... but not to take it, I'd have made it up to you later. I haven't seen it yet. Her, I mean. The little girl," only then she laughs all of a sudden, off-kilter. But Madilla's expression is serene enough, aside from the seriousness with which she's regarding Leova. "Oh, no, it was just that I found myself wanting to start a new project, instead. The border's only decorative, though, or I could finish it quickly enough if you wanted. Take it. I insist. I've no one in mind for it, and I would hate for you to go empty-handed. Whose daughter? Does she have a name?" Those amber eyes warm, and Leova fusses with the frog closures of her jacket, peeling off that outer layer for now. She doesn't set it down, just hangs onto its collar. "If you're sure. All right. Will do, then." No question about its color, its pattern. "She does have a name. Not sure how it's pronounced, though," and she spells it out for the healer. "You've heard me mention my cousin's boy, now and again? Was here for our weyrmating, with his sister." The pause isn't meaningful so much as taking a deeper breath. Still working carefully at that knot, Madilla seems pleased by Leova's acceptance, her nod evidently intended as both confirmation and quiet approval. Her mouth makes a few silent attempts at the name, letters put together mentally, but these fall short as, hesitating, she gives another nod. "Yes, of course," she confirms, quietly, words let out into the pause that deeper breath offers. "Of course." "So that's him. The father." Leova breathes like she has to will it, heavily, in and out. "Was his... second, third posting since he walked the tables? And, Madilla. He's not going to do right by the girl." Her gaze doesn't leave the healer's face. Madilla's breath catches, at that last, held with obvious unhappiness for some seconds before, eyes squeezing closed for a moment, she exhales again. "Oh, Leova," she breathes, as she lets her gaze meeting the greenrider's again. "The poor girl." "Yes." The greenrider's voice hasn't lost its innate smokiness, but it's tamped down to something closer to desolate. "And her father. Well. He's a senior journeyman, posted there. Woodcrafter, though. Got friends in his Hall. It's not even like he's Weyrbred." "Oh, Leova," says Madilla again, as though it's all she can come up with right now - all there is, perhaps, except for the so-obvious emotions pressing themselves into her expression. "I'm so sorry." She abandons her comb, then, leaving it to rest upon the solid surface of the desk, and hesitates. "Do you need a drink?" Her hands are shaking. "Don't need one." Leova glances down, catching herself. She loosens her hands, but it's too late for the collar. All she can do is try to rub the wrinkles out. "But if you got one. Seems like the time. My cousin, she only just found out. And her man's sick." Madilla is not much of a drinker, but the bottom drawer of her desk is locked, and, once unlocked, reveals a bottle and some glasses. It's medicinal, obviously. She brings them to the table, pouring measures for both, and finally sits, elbows dropped to the table's surface, hair still streaming over her shoulders. "Your poor cousin, too. You don't just mean... he has a cold." Automatically Leova sits after the healer does. "No. His... well, they don't know how much longer it's going to be. And there's the girl, their daughter, Ila. She's to be married, at least, my cousin says he's got a solid living." She reaches for the glass but once she has it, all she does is hold it. "They're hurrying it up, but her wedding sash, that's what they do in the hills there, it's not finished." She swallows. "Going to have to talk to Anvori." Another low breath gets sucked in through Madilla's teeth, her expression one of genuine sorrow and heartfelt sympathy - or is it empathy? "I'm sure his healers are doing the best they can," she murmurs. "And those working on the wedding sash. Is there..." she falters. "Anything you can do to help? Or anyone can?" And, "I'm glad your cousin has family to support her." "Don't know." Leova's looking down. She finally slides her glass towards Madilla's without lifting it, to let them clink. Then she can drink. She just tosses its contents back. She'd shut her eyes, and now she opens them. "There might be. Got to talk to Anvori. Got to go see her. Want to give him a piece of my mind, know he was raised better'n that. My cousin's a good woman, he was raised with love. They wanted him." Madilla takes her own glass, after that clink, and if she makes a face after downing hers, well, it's not exactly fine sipping liquor. "Yes," she agrees, running the glass around in her hand, fingertips feeling their way across the (mostly) smooth surface. "They wanted him, and they raised him well, and there is no-- well, no. I can't think of any reason, but I hope he has one, that there is one, even so. What will Anvori say?" "Don't know." Leova fidgets. The glowlight picks out the red in her dark auburn hair, but also the darkness about her eyes. "I just don't know. Can't think of a reason either. Did I say, the little girl, she's older than the twins?" Her accent's gotten thicker since she started telling the tale, and it doesn't let up now. "My cousin's man, he's talked about disowning the boy. Don't know if he'd go through with it. He's hurting." "Of course he's hurting," says Madilla, picking up on that statement first, and clearly giving it some consideration. "Of course he is. But--" Her sympathies waver, if only for a moment; she frowns, and ultimately, shakes her head. "I just don't know. I can't imagine, if it were my child. The poor little girl. Did he tell your cousin-- not that it's any of my business, of course. You don't have to tell me anything." Leova eyes her glass as though, if she stared long enough, it would refill on its own. "Did he... which he? I know, I know I don't have to. Just don't know what to think. And you know what it's like to be a hold girl. Unless she counts are a crafter girl? But if they were posted, she'd still be in the hold, raised with the others, wouldn't she? Don't know anything." It won't refill on its own... but Madilla will help it along, taking up the bottle again so that she can refill both glasses. "The boy," she answers, gaze still focused upon making sure she doesn't spill, because there's still that subtle shake to her hands. "I think so, yes. When you live in a Hold... it would be difficult not to live according to their expectations. I imagine there would be shame." And it clearly, so clearly, bothers her. "There shouldn't be, but there will be. For her. Less, for him. That's the way of it." This time, Leova only sips, though not as though she's actually tasting it. "Did he say why?" she asks, only to shake her head. "Think she would have said if... If." Those amber eyes are hooded. "So much." Shame. "We should go." "No, of course," says Madilla, shaking her head, hair sliding over her shoulders as she does so. "I wonder why he came and told them now. It--" She stops. "We don't have to go, Leova. We can stay in. It doesn't seem like tonight is a good night for... for merriment." Her fingers have wrapped around her glass again, but she's not yet lifted it back towards her mouth. "Don't know. Don't know as he had a choice." Leova shifts as though her very bones pain her. "Seems like it could be a way of taking our minds off. Is what I was thinking. Though not as though it's Suireh... He did have a voice to listen to, that one." Madilla's nod is minute. "He may not have," she agrees. "It-- well, of course. I certainly have no objections to going, if you would still like to. I just don't want you to feel obligated to. I'll just pin up my hair," and drink down her second drink, "and then we can go. If you're sure." "'Less it bothers you, Madilla. Let's." Leova finishes off hers, but it won't stop them from getting safely between to the Hall and back. Not with Vrianth. |
Leave A Comment