Logs:A Broken Compass
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| RL Date: 30 November, 2012 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's the day after I'kris' death. There are still things to worry about. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 5, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, I'daur/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Meara/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, U'sot/Mentions |
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| Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients. 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. Despite the tensions and turmoils of High Reaches Weyr this spring, life in the infirmary has been going on - and that includes in the new Weyrhealer's office. The refurbishments have been largely completed, now, turning it into a much more bright and adaptable space: new chairs, new couches, new hangings and new rugs. Yesterday's turmoil kept the infirmary busy, but things are quieter this afternoon, and have left Madilla time-and-space to rest on the couch with a pile of reports and a fresh pot of tea. Though, at present? She seems rather more interested in staring off into the empty space between two hangings on the opposite wall. Leova is not in that empty space. Leova is in the otherwise empty doorframe, now, her hand moving in a slow back and forth. For all that she can see Madilla there, it asks: anyone home? The greenrider herself has a bright tunic on, visible behind her half-open jacket, as though for the occasion. Her hair's been cut spring-short too, just to the back of her neck. 'Adaptable,' though? The jury's still out. Perhaps it's the flash of colour from Leova's bright tunic that catches Madilla's attention, or perhaps it's the movement of her hand. Whichever it is, it has the healer turning her attention as she abruptly straightens to a more professional stance, one that doesn't falter even once she's recognised her visitor. "Leova," she says, quietly warm. "Come in. Will you have tea?" That straightening gets her a quick, sideways smile. "Feel as though I ought to wipe my boots," the greenrider says, even as she crosses the threshold. "Again. Three times, even. What's with," and now she slants a glance towards the empty spot before turning it back to Madilla, inquiringly. "Yes, because I'll give you a good verbal spanking if you dare to get mud on my new furnishings," teases Madilla, who doesn't seem concerned by the prospect and instead begins to clear up some of her papers to set aside, well out of the way. "Hm? Oh." The healer glances back towards that empty bit of wall, and then shakes her head. "I was... distracted. Thinking. It's been..." She trails of, and glances back towards Leova, instead. You know. Nor does Leova, amused until Madilla explains. She has herself a seat, but those amber eyes are studying Madilla now, not the wall. "Thinking of him? Or her... only, thinking of one woman just seems to lead to another." Quietly, "All of them." Madila doesn't lower her gaze, and instead meets Leova's squarely, even as she's putting another tea cup in place and pouring some of the fragrant herbal concoction out for her friend. "One after another. So many lives cut short." The healer doesn't even have to look. One corner of Leova's mouth turns up, this time, not pulling to the side. She takes her tea, sits back with it, warms her hands on it without yet drinking. Only then she realizes and, quickly, "Sorry. Not smiling for that. Reminds me, though. I want to ask if what he used, if it's hard to get to, now anyway. But that means we talk about it more." Having relinquished Leova's tea, Madilla reclaims her own, and settles back on the couch with a low sigh. "No, I know you're not smiling about that," she confirms, her own expression falling short of a smile, though there's the suggestion of amusement in it, too. "It was nothing we keep. I suspect he sourced it on his own accord. It's not common, but..." She breaks off from the thought, lapsing into unhappy silence again. "I feel terribly for him. Is that wrong?" "Reckon I'll rest easier," Leova murmurs, and sips. "Why would you, though? Feel that way for him. A body could say, he's so young. Another could say, he got caught." Her leg shifts, like she'd put her foot up, and then she stops: it's a highfalutin' place, now. Is it deliberate timing, now, the way Madilla draws her own leg up and underneath herself, a silent invitation? It certainly makes her look more relaxed, except for the way she's still looking so thoughtful and concerned. "He did a terrible thing, and I cannot begin to understand why, but I think there must have been reasons. I didn't know him, but he seemed terribly unhappy, even before. It must be something terrible, to put a person on the path to that." Leova does eye that foot, narrowly. "It must have been," she supposes, but doesn't put a whole lot of work at sounding convinced. "Still and all. It's not like... a bar fight, an accident." Her eyes lift. "We've had more dragons coming in, minor grazes mostly. Landings, that sort of thing. Especially the older ones." Madilla's little sad smile doesn't shift, not even under the weight of Leova's lack-of-enthusiasm; she seems unbothered by it, and instead turns her attention to sipping carefully at her tea. "Have you," she says, not quite turning it into a question, though there's a note of uncertainty to her voice that suggests she doesn't entirely follow. "It's just not," Leova starts, then stops. "It's like a compass, you've used a compass? Like your compass broke, a long time ago, and you didn't really realize it and it's been swinging, and you're not sure where you... are." Something shifts very subtly in Madilla's expression as Leova speaks, and her eyes lift to look at her again. Her nod is fractional, barely visible, but there can be no question that now she's following. "Or how long you've been travelling without it," she supposes, in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "And then... do you fix the compass? Or is it too late? Must you go on without one?" "Yes." Leova drinks sharply, puts the cup down. Gently. She's so careful about it, overseeing the cup as it meets the saucer and then the saucer touching wood. It's a quiet knock, and then it goes still. "The other one won't point the same way, not exactly. Sure about that much." And then, "I don't want to speak up." Usually, Madilla's gaze would be inclined to follow the downward passage of the cup, but today she's intent in her focus on Leova herself. Her hesitation is an obvious one; in all these turns, she's never lost her reticence to question. But now... "And if you don't?" "I don't know." The greenrider remains sitting, but muscle moves and tightens: visible in her face but moreover, the backs of her hands. Something about her posture. One foot slides back, closer to the chair, as though to support her weight. "It's not... so bad, not really. We'll, they'll, realign. Just a question of when, and can you imagine if one of them..." Someone passes by outside, in the hallway. She startles, half-standing, instinctive. "Leova." There's a quiet firmness to Madilla's voice, after the greenrider startles so. "No one will interrupt us. You can-- you can speak plainly here, I promise." The firmness disappears as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind the healer's more usual warmth. "Things will realign. Adjust. They always do. It's just a matter of... letting the compass swing until it finds north again." That firmness lifts the greenrider's head to look at her. Instinct. Again. It's a long moment, and then she moves to the doorway anyway... but it's to secure that door in its frame, to brace it with her heel against swinging inward. Or maybe it's just to move. "Of course," she says, more quickly now. "But. If it swings too sharply. Too disorientingly. Who do you think is going to step in, Madilla?" Madilla follows Leova's progress, but seems unbothered by it - perhaps she's worked out in advance what the greenrider intends with the door. Her own tea cup is set carefully down upon the table, as one hand drops to her lap, and the other reaches to play with the exposed bottom of her shoe, peeking out beneath her. "I don't know," she answers, truthfully. "They'll take it best from a queen," Leova says, her tone matter-of-fact but for whatever it is that keeps her stance squared. "But Rielsath hasn't. Don't know that she can, now. Maybe she could," but there's a twitch to her shoulder, twitching something away. "Right now, seems like, they have a sort of balance. A tippy balance. But if one really does step in, what do you guess the other might do? This isn't the sort of precedence that's, that's one going before the other down the hallway." Madilla's disapproval is evident when she says, "People talk about Lujayn, now. Gossip. It must be difficult." It's a side issue, and one she doesn't linger on: lingering is for the other, with that slow, careful nod of hers, and the way both hands draw still. "No," she agrees, at length. "I don't know. They're both... they're so young," and yes, she's half-smiling as she says it, as though she can't quite believe she's just said it. "I suppose we have to hope that one of the queens rises soon. A strong Weyrleader." "It must," Leova agrees unhappily, unsteadily. "Half-surprised she's still here. Wouldn't blame her, since she left once already, and knowing it won't be her. You should have known her, when we Stood." But. "Young." It's Madilla: she can roll her eyes. "We can hope all we want. Could be awhile. Hope for a strong good Weyrleader, too. But imagine... forget the compass: think of scales, weights and measures. Things don't balance right, so somebody puts her thumb on them, she means well maybe, is just trying to get it to level out." "Again." After a moment, Madilla clarifies. "Won't be her again. Is this the third time? It must be." She shakes her head, shifting her foot out from under her, now, so that she can place one hand on either side of her legs, looking almost as though she's about to stand, though she doesn't. At least she grins for that roll of the eyes. "Mm," she continues. "But too much pressure, and it all goes the other way. And... it could end up being more like dominos. All tumbling after each other. A - house of cards." "Frustrating." Leova amends: "Could be, anyway." And then she's nodding, even as she shifts from one foot to the other. The door would creak, if it weren't so well-trained, or at least oiled just now. It threatens to do it anyway. "Like that. Only, you've got two thumbs. If one's really trying to weigh down a side, trying to make a change, do you think the other will just stand back and watch? The women might..." only it comes out, the women might. Madilla will claim time and time and time again that she's no head for politics, but she's following all of this now, and it visibly concerns her. "They're not similar," she says, not much above a breathy whisper. "And now that... things will settle down now. On a global scale. But that means less need to pull together. One... assumes." "No single furrow to plow," and if that makes Leova smile, it's mirthless. "Yes. Don't think that the one's spineless, either. Or the other, dumb." She moves, she can't help but move, that back and forth shift too rigid to be a sway. "Reckon even if they don't want to act, well. People have their ways of pushing." "And," Madilla supposes, a moment later, with a deep furrow in her brow, "Unscrupulous people attempting to play them off each other, to get what they want." It seems to make her terribly uncomfortable, and leaves her in silence, reaching for her tea cup again. "Or people with scruples, who still want to get what they want," Leova points out. "Reckon some of them work just as hard. Harder even. If they believe in their cause." Madilla makes a face. "Or them," she agrees. "Do you know how glad I am that I am not one of them?" And it must be the goldriders she's talking about, not people with agendas, scrupulous or not. "The infirmary can be difficult enough. I don't suppose there's anything anyone can do, is there. For them. What good would speaking up be?" "Very glad," Leova murmurs, rhetorical or not. "So very, very glad." But: "Help 'em get along, is the best I can figure. And for speaking up? Reckon it's bound to make it happen more, not less. So." She moves to stretch, but the would-be roll of her shoulders has a rigid quality. "Back to helping them get along. Helping everyone. Suppose slipping something into the water isn't an option, hm?" A light snort of a laughter escapes from Madilla rather before she's really had a chance to think it through. "If only," she says. "I thought... I might stop in to see both of them, more officially. I'm not a Mindhealer, but as Weyrhealer, I do think it's in my purview to... remind them that listening ears are available. From a relative outsider, at that." "Like the sound of that," Leova admits. "And all the wingleaders, while you're at it. Wingseconds. Advise relaxing time, is what I'd do, anyway. I don't think B'sil..." she shifts, and then she is pacing. "It's hard, you know? Sometimes. Not speaking up. Trying not to have opinions. Unless they're asked for, anyway, and even then. Too close." "I'll do a tour of everyone with a fancy knot," Madilla promises. "It seems reasonable enough." Having something concrete to do seems to relieve her, perhaps even please her, but it's all put aside as she watches that pacing. "I know," she says, quietly. "No. I don't, but I think I can imagine. It doesn't... I don't know." "Did they always welcome apprentice questions?" Leova asks, turning. "Your parents. Did they want you 'butting in'? Think you know more than you think." Quietly; "I never asked any. Not with my family. Not as an Apprentice, either. It wasn't my place to think such thoughts, and so I never thought to. Not until... later." Madilla's smile is wan. "Perhaps I do understand, a little." Leova's watching her so very intently. "Your daughter will, you know." Does. Her son: that goes without saying. "But once you have, and you make yourself stop, to start again... to stop and start again... it keeps getting harder. I hate that." "My daughter belongs at the Weyr. Of course she will." Madilla has accepted this. If anything, she seems pleased by it - pleased, but now increasingly wary, too, as though that pleasure is being turned down a notch or two under the force of reality. "It sounds awful. It is awful. And unfair, somehow. I don't know how you could fix it, I suppose, and... isn't that what Iolene was trying to do. It doesn't work that way." Her hands squirm; it bothers her. "It might have worked that way for her friends," Leova says plainly. "And even then... she didn't know enough, didn't care to know enough of the place, only what she wanted it to be, and," she half-laughs, rubbing her hand over the nape of her neck where all that winter-auburn hair used to be. "I can hear my mother saying, don't speak ill of the dead, but that's the way she was. Anyhow. Don't know that it's unfair. Made my bed, after all." None of that seems to surprise Madilla, whose expression has turned consideringly thoughtful, and rather intense. Quietly, "And how could you have changed your life, Leova, that would not put you in a position where you must hold your tongue? Hold, Craft and Weyr: of them all, Weyr is much the freest of them all, and yet..." Her cheeks have turned pink. "You're right, of course. It doesn't work. It wouldn't have worked. It was a dangerous idea, Iolene's." "Could've gone for a different wing," Leova tells her with only the barest pause. "Bucked for wingsecond. Said no to..." A flush rises patchily up her cheeks, even now. "Or stayed with Meara, if Vrianth. Well. Everyone's got to hold their tongue sometimes. It's just holding and holding and holding." She reaches for the cup like she would have her weyrlingmaster's flask, only to cut herself off midway. "Think part of it could have worked. For a while. To a point. Maybe more, done just right." All these things are options, and ones that Madilla seems to accept, only, "Would being Wingsecond mean you'd no longer have to hold your tongue?" It's such a quiet question, verbally innocuous. It's not really intended to probe, though, because she continues a moment later to agree: "In an ideal world. Even I can't try and imply that we could make it work truly, though. People are... people." Those amber eyes light with something closer to mischief, only all Leova says is, "Now that brings up E'dre, hm? If you want to talk wingseconds another day. But. Right. People. And dragons, dragons. Which reminds me: if you got any likely types that you can spare for the dragon side, U'sot thinks we should see if they're worth stealing." The name - E'dre - is familiar, but Madilla doesn't seem to pull together the reference, and thus leaves it alone, with only a rueful little smile: she can't claim to really understand how the rider part of weyrs really work. And anyway, there's that other comment to reply to, and it comes with a firm nod. "I'll give it some thought," she says. "There may be one or two to recommend. To borrow." "Mmm. Borrow." Leova gives it such a knowing tone. "I'll trust you to give us the ones you're not just trying to get rid of," and her tone is lighter now, the last remnants of her flush receded: who'd have thought that the two could potentially stand on opposite sides of such a divide, vying for promising assistants' souls? Or... maybe it's just that Madilla's tea finally kicked in. Like I'kris's. But not. "It's my infirmary, now," reminds Madilla, the corner of her mouth twitching merrily with barely suppressed mirth. "I have no loyalty to your U'sot." But she can't help herself: there's a properly genuine smile, edging steadily towards a grin. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sat, 01 Dec 2012 08:36:46 GMT.
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Gossipy aunties... but, makes for a fun read! >:D
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Sat, 01 Dec 2012 16:04:35 GMT.
< "The women might..."
/Might/. Yes.
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