Logs:We Need You
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| RL Date: 4 April, 2011 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Hard decisions are hard. Good friends are... better than good. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions, Varens/Mentions |
| 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. It's beautiful outside: one of those lovely spring afternoons that does an awful lot to convince a person that summer really is on the way. Which doesn't explain why Madilla is buried in the storerooms, sitting on the floor in the big cavern set aside to clothing, hunting through piles of little-person sized discards. Not that she seems too concerned about it, because she's /humming/, just quietly, mostly beneath her breath. Which wouldn't explain why a certain greenrider's stalking deeper into the storerooms herself, /except/ inasmuch that she's calling, "Madilla? Ma-DILL-a! Madill-ya! Ally ally in free-ee!" Abruptly, the humming stops. Madilla is silent for a moment, and then comes the sound of her getting to her feet, coming around from behind the shelves, and: "Leova? I'm in here." It's the sight of her even before the words that shuts Leova up into a smile, even if it's a one-cornered thing. "Madilla," she says. Confirms. And there's a little pause where she might say something else, but instead, "What do you want to do for your Turnday?" Never mind that it's over two months away. Surprised: "You came all the way in here to find me, on a beautiful day like today, just to ask me what I want for my turnday?" Madilla's incredulous, eyeing Leova in a way that suggests her surprise, but also, some pink-cheeked pleasure. "Want to /do/," Leova points out, like it's different. She leans a hip against a nearby shelf, absently scratches the back of her head with her hand. "How are you?" Those amber eyes are searching. "You're not on duty, eating, or with baby... child... in tow. And you're in /here/." "It's the same," is Madilla's opinion, stated not /firmly/ as such, but certainly in a way that suggests she believes it pretty firmly. She's got a little shirt in her hand, one that's been scrunched up during the conversation thus far, carried along mostly without attention paid to it. Now, she unscrunches, holding it up as illustration. "Lily needs new clothes for the warmer weather. I thought I'd take some time, while I could." Reserving judgment: "Mm." Now it's a two-cornered smile that Leova's got, one that doesn't so much fade as linger. She'll be obedient if only to glance at the shirt, and from there back to the shirt's potential future occupant's mother again. "She's lucky to have you." Pink-cheeked, but pleased, Madilla lowers the shirt again, and gives Leova a half-embarrassed glance. "It's no more than any mother would do, I'm sure. Did you really come all the way down here to ask about my turnday, Leova? It's still months away, surely." The greenrider's shoulders skew in, half turning away with a downward drop of her chin. She makes it into a shrug. "Anyhow." And, "How's the fellow?" The one who keeps needing rides. And: "Don't understand it. Leaving a 'prenticeship. You heard the girl's back?" Madilla's eyebrows are raised, but only for a moment. Maybe that's because she's deflated, at least, a little, by Leova's reference to Varens. "Impatient," she answers, to that first question, while she busies herself folding the little shirt, laying it over her arm. No need to meet Leova's gaze with that! "I'd heard-- why? Did she say?" "Impatient," says Leova, and her smoky voice gives it a little roll. Then, "Couldn't hardly hear, in all the crying. Homesick... I get that. I /do/. But giving it up? Whatever happened to working through it? And of course she gives her /uncle/ big eyes..." and maybe Madilla won't meet /hers/, but perhaps the wrapped-around-it wiggle of her little finger will attract the other woman's attention. Somewhere in there, she's gotten to pacing again. The wiggle does make Madilla look up, and she /does/ meet Leova's gaze, this time, if only so that she can shake her head. "I was homesick, too, and not much older than she was," she says, before stopping herself. "Still. The poor thing. Perhaps she can try again in a few turns. Like G'brion did. She's been through so much." Leova's mouth compresses. On her way out, she slides a look back at the healer, something that doesn't ease her shoulders any, and back she walks again. Stalks. "Maybe." And, "He still want to marry you, tug you back to the Hall?" Madilla rests her back up against a convenient set of shelves, watching the greenrider: back and forth, back and forth. She opens her mouth to answer, then shuts it again. Finally, in a tone that audibly displays her unwillingness-slash-uncertainty, "Yes. Yes, he does." For that, Leova can stop. For now. Can lean across a tall crate to look at Madilla, as though it were a stable's half-door: out into this different world. "And still you're not leaping at it." There's a pause, a short one. Not slight. "Wish he'd just come /here/. We need you." "No," admits Madilla, extending the 'o' sound in a way that undeniably acknowledges her unwillingness. Despite that, she's quick to add, half-defensive, with that pink appearing in her cheeks again, "He /teaches/. He couldn't do that here, not properly. And I could work anywhere. Could teach the littlest Apprentices. All kinds of things." /But/. It's almost audible, that but. For Madilla's quickness, Leova's got a slow, rolling shrug: "Got those new Craft rooms. Could bring 'em by for a quarter, his students, hm? Have a different set the next. Something." Studying Madilla as she is, the amber eyes are thoughtful, a little dark. "So he's not the man you'd toss everything aside for. Think you could trust that man, if ever you found him, anyway?" A hesitant little nod, a furrowed brow: Madilla gives these in response to Leova's first suggestion, which doesn't seem to be something she's considered before. She tips her head to the side, green eyes meeting amber. "I'll mention it," she says, without sounding convinced. "I-- I can't imagine doing that. No. I have Lilabet to consider. I have to think about more than just myself. And," she gives a little shrug, eyes downcast. "I don't want to leave. High Reaches is my home." "Don't have to. On my account." Leova's flat about it; Madilla really doesn't. Shouldn't, if she doesn't want to. The greenrider hesitates. Steps one way, towards one corner of the crate. Steps towards the other. Stops. Very softly, "Like to think that LIly, that she'll have choices here. That she'll like it. Can Stand, maybe, or apprentice, or neither of those, and be..." happier than? "Happy." "No, I /will/. He might like the idea." Madilla's aiming to sound positive, even hopeful, but there's something in her expression, something defeated, that says she doubts it, nonetheless. "I think so, too," she continues, softly. "I'd like her to have freedom to choose. I think-- it's /important/. Her family is here." B'tal's family, since Madilla's is off limits. "She belongs here." Family. Leova frowns. And then tentative steps, more a subtle matter of timing than anything overtly tip-toeing in those thick-soled boots, bring her all the way around the side of the big wooden box. She reaches toward Madilla's soft shoulders. It's almost like a hug. Almost - and likely to become moreso, because without apparently thinking about it, Madilla leans in to it. She makes no effort to engage her own arms, though: she just stands, very still, breathing quietly. Her voice is very quiet when she does speak: "It's obvious, though, isn't it. I can't take Lilabet away. So unless he's willing to compromise, I have to say no." "You're her mother." Leova's quiet about it too. Her arm is not heavy, but neither is it light. "You... I'd back you, wherever you wanted to take her. However much you wanted to stay. That too." Her arm could be thrown off at any time. The other woman is taller, or would be if it weren't for that lean, for the greenrider's own thick boots. She could back away at any time, and soon must. Madilla doesn't seem eager to move, not yet. "I know," she murmurs, looking directly at the greenrider. "Thank you." There's emphasis in those words: she means it. Despite her reluctance to break the contact, she does so: drawing back, straightening her shoulders, recomposing her expression. "I should get back to this. I need to work, later." It's enough to let Leova step away, back away: just as well, given the garlic and asafetida that spiced lunch, for she can breathe shallowly and carefully only so long. "I'll leave you to it." Deeper breath, fresher air. She looks back at Madilla, directly as the other woman had done, before slipping sideways and near-silently into the corridor again. It's quieter, by far, than the way she'd come. |
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