Logs:A Day Late
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| RL Date: 28 August, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'kon's been missing, maybe even dead. Madilla is forgiving. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 8, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
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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.
H'kon has given the caverns a wide berth. Contacting those who were most directly affected by his and Arekoth's unexplained, if temporary, absence is a thing that can be accomplished outside of the more crowded areas of the Weyr. And if one were to take a good look at H'kon, where he takes shelter just inside the cracked-open door from the dragon infirmary, where Arekoth is unabashedly occupying a couch to which he has no right. H'kon's own face has a bit less colour to it than the norm, though disorientation has done much to keep any lines from setting too deeply. He keeps his head down, peering up on occasion, clearly waiting. Clearly uncomfortably. After something like a turn and a half, Madilla's infirmary staff are well used to seeing H'kon here and there, enough so that they're not usually inclined to comment - or even notice. This time, though, someone clearly has noted the brownrider's presence, because shortly after Madilla enters the infirmary and checks in on things at the admissions desk, she's looking up - wide-eyed - and seeking him out, there, in the shadow of that door. She takes long strides towards him, abandoning her bemused Journeyman. She says... nothing. The breath H'kon pushes out has to emerge from a tight throat. There's a sharper beginning to it for that, when he sees Madilla turning, and the brownrider draws himself up, diverting his eyes for a moment, tugging a bit at the bottom of the shirt he wears. His tongue runs along the edges of his teeth as he gathers up thoughts he's surely been preparing, and only once that motion has come to a stop again does he look forward. Madilla's lack of words receive a nod. From the side of the dragon infirmary, Arekoth does his best to watch. There are still no words. Madilla has come to a halt, now, standing just inches away from the brownrider - close enough to touch, though she won't be the one to initiate such contact. Logic would have her propel them both towards the privacy of her office, but she doesn't do that, either: she looks at him, green eyes quizzical and expectant, mouth visibly uncertain. Finally, "You're not dead." It isn't, in the end, accusatory - just a statement of fact. The nod ends with H'kon looking straight on at the healer. But his head hangs and his brow furrows when she speaks, and his mouth presses itself firmly into a frowning line. "No," is agreement, if one edged in... more a lack of patience than outright frustration. It's that same restless potential behind, "We mistimed our return. There was every intention of returning promptly." Madilla's nod is prompt, at least: she believes him, not that that should be a surprise. Anything else - from either of them - would be out of character. She watches him, taking in both physical tells and those audible in his voice. It leaves her hesitant, her own emotions (and there must be a lot of them: her daughter's father, after all, died in a between accident) set aside so that she can ask: "You're all right? Is--" She stops. She waits. "Well enough," is as gruff as it is practiced and immediate. That part of H'kon which might regret the reflexive response shortly after it's been issued manifests only insofar as the shifting of his feet, the slightest forced catch in his throat that is not quite a clearing of it. The scrape of talon against stone from the dragon infirmary is muffled by doors and and rock. H'kon eventually does raise his eyes to Madilla once more. After all this time, Madilla's used to picking up subtle clues, and she's studying H'kon so intently, now, that there's not much chance of her missing them. She raises her eyebrows at him, eyes meeting his squarely; it's a non-verbal challenge. "H'kon," she says, his name falling just short of a sigh. "Talk to me." Please. It does take a moment before H'kon breaks his gaze, but he closes his eyes almost immediately thereafter. His sigh is entirely non-verbal, and he reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, the inner corners of his eyes. Still with fingers so pinched at his face, that same impatient tone presses, "There is little I can say." Softer, and again following that voice, an addendum of, "now." Apology and frustration are gone when he shifts his feet again, looks up, again. Tiredly, "It has been a long day. Too long. And I will be back to Tillek within a few d- oh." Madilla hasn't - yet - had the composure with which to suggest relocating this conversation to somewhere less private, with fewer potentially eavesdropping healers, but she also manages to resist what might otherwise be her immediate reaction: physically demonstrative comfort. She holds her arms tightly at her sides, instead, and swallows. "I'm sorry," she says, keeping her voice low. For one thing, for another. All of it, maybe. "Do you need anything? Can I do anything?" The bemusement of time is short-lived, though it at least seems to manage dropping H'kon's hand from his face. "I..." He is less aware of the public nature of the place, certainly unaware of watchful eyes from the infirmary, and much too far accustomed to the eyes of the dragon in the other direction. So H'kon reaches to brush one finger, generally ineffectually, at the healer's arm. "I think a bath." On receipt of that gesture, there's not much Madilla can do but lift her opposite arm, and brush her own fingers against his. Well. It's not as though their observers don't know, after all! "And some sleep," she prompts. "And food. You should eat." "Hm," is acceptance, if not of the eager sort, of Madilla's prescription, such as it is. H'kon allows his hand to fall away, to his side again, where his fingers find a piece of clothing to twist and worry at. "Something warm," is an afterthought, and one that has the dragonrider turning, pushing the cracked door a bit wider with his shoulder, and searching for the brown on the other side, "would be preferable." Madilla's hand, too, drops back to her side. "Warm," she confirms. "Why don't--" She glances around, suddenly conscious of the infirmary again. "You go take that bath, and I'll see to food. It'll be okay." It's a promise she can't really make... but she'll do it, anyway. H'kon manages to still the fidgetting hand at his side. "If you've things to attend to here... We will not lose ourselves again." What's meant as reassurance comes out with more the sound of a rebuke, though certainly this one is not directed at the healer. He's curled those fingers into a loose fist at his side, without any conscious intention of doing so. "No," says Madilla, more quickly and more firmly than she probably intended - it's not intended as reprimand to him. Hastily, she says, "No, it's fine. I can - I don't need to stay. It's quiet." Whether or not it is, she's made up her mind. "I want to." "Hm," accepts that as well, and once again H'kon's feet shift, this time to to turn him away from Arekoth, and more toward the exit into the caverns. That in itself requires a deep, bracing breath, and both hands clench into fists. It's another moment before they've relaxed again, and H'kon rolls his shoulders back. "I'll try not to be overly long, then." A beat, a vague gesture in the direction of the non-injured dragon in the dragon infirmary. "We can take you to the weyr?" is tired again. Madilla is watching, even now, as if she's categorising each of H'kon's movements, tucking them into little boxes with descriptions of what she's decided they each mean. She sucks in a breath of her own, discomforted by his discomfort. "Take all the time you need," she says. "I'll be here when you're ready to go up. We both will." She presumably means Arekoth, who gets a glance, now, aimed past the brownrider - less studying, but not entirely without studying. "I know," is said softly. The corner of his mouth pulls flat back, not really a smile, but it's acknowledgement. Or perhaps just farewell, with the brownrider taking his leave, heading for the caverns. If Arekoth were able, he'd plough his way right on through the infirmary doors and into the caverns too. Instead, he cranes his neck, forcedly oblivious to Madilla's look, watching his rider go. And well after H'kon has disappeared, presumably once the man's in the baths, the dragon backs up, and moves to wait in the bowl. The healer stays where she is, watching the brownrider go - though with less neck craning than Arekoth. She wraps her arms around herself, and exhales. It's probably relief, albeit relief mixed with the heavy compound that is sympathetic, empathetic, grief. Finally, she turns back to the counter, making arrangements quite as if everything were perfectly normal, without obvious emotion. She, too, will be waiting in the bowl, sooner rather than later. |
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