Logs:Still With Us
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| RL Date: 3 December, 2014 |
| Who: Milani, Leova |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Milani tells Leova of Teris' predicament. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Giorda/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, Milandra/Mentions, Miska/Mentions, Nikalas/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| It's been two days since Teris and K'zin's stormy interaction, two days since Iskiveth was lost Between, two days that Teris has remained in the Reaches' infirmary, dragonless. The initial hubbub has died down to the low rumble of whisper and rumor, gossip running wild through the lower caverns and Headwoman Giorda's staff have been in the thick of it, either as bearers of said gossip or the dispellers of the same. Milani has long outgrown the gossip habit and being among the more mature and experienced members of the staff, has provided only what is known fact when questioned by weyr residents. End of day finds the headwoman's assistant holed up in the nighthearth, shoes kicked off and folded into one of the comfy chairs, hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, the delicate herbal scent an after note amongst the other mingled, lingering odors around the nighthearth. Windblown enough to have been flying all day, Leova hasn't stopped to put herself to rights. She doesn't stop now. Striding into the cavern, scanning its occupants, she only slows. It's after she's set herself up with sustenance that, unless she's accosted first, she finally comes to a pause: half on the seat by Milani's, balancing her newly-acquired bowl and mug and... "Hold this?" the greenrider requests of the latter. Rueful, "Please." Oblivious until Leova issues that request, Milani's eyes lift to the greenrider's face, drop to the bowl and mug, as the request is duly processed. "Oh! Of course," the assistant headwoman replies with a little smile and sets her own mug down on the arm of the chair, lifts hands to take Leova's crockery. Windblown earns an uptilted brow: "Busy day?" "Days." Once the dragonhealer's divested herself of her outerwear, she moves off her knee and sits properly before reaching to reclaim her things. "'Preciate it. Yours? Anyone else killed herself?" "Ahh, one of those kinds of sevens," Milani says with a set of slow nods and passes Leova both bowl and mug once she's settled. The assistant headwoman reaches down for her mug, but her gaze snaps upward once more as Leova reaches the tail end of her second statement. "Yes, busy day, been a few tough ones," she answers mildly. "But ... Leova, what do you mean by else?" Pause. More softly: "Teris is still with us." "What." It's a placeholder, less loud than stark. Amber eyes stay fixed on Milani. "She wanted to stay?" Her voice dissipates until, smoky as it is, that last word is not much more than a wisp. Silence greets Leova's stark query at first as Milani draws her mug up close and her gaze drops to the surface of the liquid within. "I'm not sure, but rumor from the infirmary has it ... no." Quiet, serious. "What." This one's lower, closer to a growl. The soup has sloshed. Leova licks near-burnt fingertips and stabilizes the whole assemblage without looking away from Milani. Less stable: "Madilla," but she interrupts herself. "She's gone still, isn't she. Who?" Who is in charge, who committed this. Still low-voiced: "Yes. Madilla's still away," Milani confirms. "Journeyman Miska's in charge. I gather she's not allowed many visitors." A quiet sigh and Milani frowns down at her mug. "I can't imagine what she's going through. We didn't get along well ... when she was here. But --" the headwoman's assistant trails off, looks back up at Leova, fingers curling tight around her mug. Miska. The greenrider's lip wrinkles up. "Thought better of him," she says, low. She breathes the rest of the way out through her teeth. It takes her some moments before she can fix on the distraction of the past, and even then the hardness doesn't leave her eyes. "K'del, was it? How many Turns has it been." "He's seemed competent," Milani agrees from a slightly different perspective and leans back a little in her chair, observing the shifts in her friend's expression. "Lots of things," she allows with a diffident one-shouldered shrug, "but K'del among them. Or more ... me /being/ with K'del," Milani continues with a little shake of her head. "Fifteen? Something like that ..." Leova's nod is level. Her hands, though... her mug shivers against the rim of her bowl, a series of muted clinks. Rather than stop them, "Want to talk about those days, your little ones not so little now, all of that, but I've got to go, Millie, I do." She's already rising to her feet, and if the soup threatens to spill once more, it's only the thigh of her trousers that's going to pay that price. "It's ... /wrong/," Milani says suddenly, shakes her head slightly and lifts a hand toward the greenrider, a little wiggle of fingers dismissing the implied apology. "I get it. No matter what disagreements we had, or any of the nastier things she said, she doesn't deserve this." Breath out and then: "Careful," for the soup bowl. Leova does nod, and it might be agreement. She gets out of there, the food and drink back to the counter, wasted. She has her gear. She's heading for the bar, for the barkeep. |
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