Logs:Cruel
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| RL Date: 24 January, 2010 |
| Who: Chauncey, Madilla, Xeoshen |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla, the soft hearted, comes to visit the convicts, bearing supplies. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 11, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
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| Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north. Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries. The sun is high in the sky and there is not a cloud in sight. There's a breeze that tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. Those who know her, even a little bit, would probably not be surprised to see Madilla heading across the bowl with an armful of supplies on this remarkably pleasant autumn afternoon. The young Healer has a few determined, animated words with one of the overseers, and though the man doesn't seem especially thrilled about her presence, she's allowed to pass, and carries on towards the convicts. "Does anyone need medical attention?" she wants to know, her voice not /shaking/, as such, but perhaps a little wary, as she comes to a halt a short distance away, suddenly looking rather small and intimidated. "Or just something to eat... I brought bread. And greens. You probably aren't getting enough greens." "Oh, oh! That's me!" Trust Chauncey to be the first one to volunteer, even before he can catch on that it's a /girl/ healer of all things. The luxuries of the Weyr! He's wiggling his way forward, earning lots of not particularly pleasant looks from his fellow cons. "It's my head. I think I'm concussed. Or I have exhaustion. Possibly the flu? I'm pretty sure I'm dying, at any rate," he says, with wide solemn eyes. "Argh! You stupid little pest! Come back here with my sandwhich!" There's an exclamation within the camp, and if one were to look, Xeoshen is busy trying to chase down a cheeky firelizard, who has a wherry sandwhich in it's claws. "Stupid little bugger!" He grumbles, and shakes his fist at the firelizard as it manages to get away with it's prize. If Madilla's attention is briefly distracted by Xeoshen's commotion, it's her first potential patient that really takes her interest, though that doesn't mean she doesn't need to take a deep breath before responding. "I think," she says, seriously, "that you might need to slow down a little first. What are your symptoms?" Her gaze slides upwards to consider Chauncey from top to bottom, her hands tightening around the edges of her bag full of supplies. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She's really going to look at him? Chauncey's eyes light up, and he casts a surreptitious glance back at the nearest overseers, who are all huffing about Xeoshen and the trouble he's stirring up. Chauncey glances back to Madilla, and then presses a hand to his forehead. "I'm woozy. Not sure I remember what I'm doing here. How about a fever? Is that a concussion thing or for something else?" And he offers a hopeful little smile, and a wink. Xeoshen grumbles, and goes back to where he was, ignoring the huffing of the overseers for the moment, though some might snicker at his predicament. Then he notices the healer, and Chauncey, and raises an eyebrow. "You look fine to me." He comments to the other Convict. Madilla might be taken in by a lot of things, but 'not sure what I'm doing here?' That one is a dead giveaway even to someone who looks as genuinely nice - and gullible - as the healer. Still; "We'll have a look, shall we?" she says, glancing at Xeoshen with a twist of the lips, then back at Chauncey; the steely look in her eyes suggests she's got something else at play. She lifts a hand to place the back of it on Chauncey's forehead, evidently intending to test his temperature. "Mm," is her only comment. "Now-- what was your name?" She seems to have stopped being quite so nervous. Chauncey, long-sufferingly, "That's what they said about my gran, too, the very day she died." He has an exaggerated sniff in memory of the woman, before he directs another grateful look at Madilla, leaning down with his hands braced on his thighs so she can feel his forehead. "Thank you, ma'am. My name? It's Chauncey, ma'am. Chauncey from Nabol, or I was, anyway, before--well. All this." He at least has the grace to look mildly penitant about that whole affair. Xeoshen snorts. "Right, yer gran." He comments, and shakes his head at the two. He plucks up a mug of klah that he had, and takes a long drink from it. He takes a seat, as he turns to peer at the two, and watch, "Do you know what your Gran died of?" Madilla wants to know, which... possibly means that she's not /completely/ up on all of Chauncey's exaggerations. Or perhaps she's just playing along. "Chauncey. A pl-- pleasure to meet you." Which seems genuine, despite everything. "And you?" That's towards Xeoshen. "I'm Madilla. Journeyman Healer." Whether Chauncey is penitent or not, it doesn't seem to make too much of a difference to the healer; she carries on what she's doing, adding, after a moment, "Would you remove your shirt for me? I'd like to get a look." At his body? Or-- no, actually, she seems genuinely professional about it. Really. "Now don't you talk about my granny," Chauncey says, giving Xeoshen a long look. "That woman raised me from a baby and it is Faranth's own mercy that she didn't live to see me come to this. --Don't mind him," is added to Madilla. "Some people don't got nothing better to do than badmouth peoples." He shakes his head and straightens up. What did she die from? He shrugs, vaguely. "Oh, er. Probably something to do with that cart hitting her, but I'm no healer. It's, um... Don't you think it's a little chilly to be going around getting naked?" Xeoshen raises an eyebrow. "Xeoshen." He says simply to the healer. "Yeah, well met, and all that." He says. "I wasn't bad mouthing your granny." He grunts at the other Con. "Though, yes, good she couldn't see you now." He says, and shakes his head. He snorts about the cold and nakedness. "It's just taking yer shirt off." Somewhere in between-- well, everything, but probably especially at mention of the cart, Madilla can't help but let that little twist of her lips turn into an amused little smile. Despite that, she manages to keep a - mostly - professional attitude. "It'll only be for a moment," she tells Chauncey. "I'd've done it inside, but..." A frown, now, a glance back at the overseers. Not allowed, presumably. "Or shall I find out if Xeoshen is too ill to keep working, instead?" "No, no, I'm good," Chauncey is quick to volunteer again. He shoots a look over at Xeoshen, not particularly happy with him; but the convict sighs and shrugs his shirt off over his shoulders. His arms cross over his chest, half cold, half self-conscious. "But that's all you're getting," he tells Madilla, far more prim than being half-naked and in custody should account for. "I never go this far on a first date, I hope you know. I don't even know your name." "No, no, I'm good," Chauncey is quick to volunteer again. He shoots a look over at Xeoshen, not particularly happy with him; but the convict sighs and shrugs his shirt off over his shoulders. His arms cross over his chest, half cold, half self-conscious. "But that's all you're getting," he tells Madilla, far more prim than being half-naked and in custody should account for. "I never go this far on a first date, I hope you know. I don't even know your name." "Hey, if yer taking patients, I'm too ill to work too." Xeoshen chuckles. "This cold, and all, you know, and they make us sleep out in drafty tents." Is he playing along? Maybe. "Keep going at this rate, and you'll be going alot further, Chauncey." Madilla goes pink at mention of 'date', but she's otherwise undaunted. "You weren't listening, then," she tells Chauncey. "Madilla. And if this were a date?" Beat. "My hands would be warmer." Given the way she flushes darker as she says this, no, it's not her usual kind of humour. More seriously, as her hands reach out to-- (to what? They roam, like they're looking for something. Like bruises. Or old injuries. Or anything.) she adds, "I wish I could do something about the tents. I think that's awful. But I think they've had you doing some excavation, now? I asked. So that you can sleep inside the cavern, once it starts to snow." "Oh. Right. Madilla," repeats Chauncey. "I remember now." And he flashes his best smile for her then, eyes glittering with amusement. "Next time, maybe," he suggests, though the talk of their quarters earns a faint wrinkle of his nose. He glances that way, briefly, and then shrugs. "I suppose. Still better than the mines, though: you can breathe, and you don't end up coughing up black stuff all the night long." He grimaces again as she feels him up, though there's no visible injuries other than the odd scuffmark. Maybe he's just a wimp. Xeoshen nods to what Chauncey says. "Aye, better breathing out here, glad I'll never have to return to the mines after this." He says, well, never, as long as he behaves anyway. "Yeah, they got us digging our own place, hopefully it'll be done by the time it snows." He shakes his head, and sips at his klah again. "Journeyman healer, eh, you always been stations here at 'Reaches?" 'Next time' earns another blush, Madilla's gaze ducking lower, which of course means she's concentrating on Chauncey's naked torso instead. Great. "I can't imagine working in the mines," she admits, with a shudder. "It must have been awful. Still, whatever you've done, it doesn't mean we can't tend to you properly." She seems satisfied, even outright relieved, to not find anything, and draws away with a firm nod. "You can put your shirt back on," she tells Chauncey, and then, to Xeoshen, "Oh, no. I'm from a little hold near Peyton, down Fort way. I was at the healer hall for a few turns, too, before I was sent here." "You're cute when you blush," observes Chauncey as he pulls his shirt back on over his head, after a couple of moments of fumbling over which way is which. Eventually, he gets it on again, stretching his shoulders and arms out as he settles back. "Wouldn't count on it," he remarks to Xeoshen. "You ever heard of one of these projects coming in on time? Not in all my years, I haven't, though, usually the choices aren't dig for shelter or get frostbite. So there is that incentive." It earns a shrug, haphazard, and he casts a glance down to Madilla idly. "Yeah? You like it here, then?" Xeoshen shrugs. "All I did was steal some clothes." He admits, though it was probably that it wasn't his first time stealing either. He looks up. "Eh, true, they'll probably just delay it dso we're stuck longer." He rolls his eyes, and listens a moment. "A long way from home then." Chauncey's comment makes Madilla blush more, but she attempts, at least, to have some dignity about it. "Clothes... were you so cold?" Xeoshen has her attention, her little, bleeding heart obviously overwhelming. "How awful." Beat. "I-- do. Like it here, I mean. I've been here for four turns, four and a half, even. It feels like home, now. Which I suppose means I'm not far from home at all, except that-- I suppose we never really stop being from where we're from, after all?" Her voice lowers. "/Are/ you being treated well? Aside from your quarters." For stealing away the healer's sympathies, Xeoshen earns a long, narrowed-eyed look from his fellow con, and Chauncey mutters, "Wish I'd thought of that." He folds his arms again, hands tucked underneath to keep them warmer, even with gloves now. "Oh, well, we do all right. The guards try not to beat us too much; it hurts the work effort," he offers, a little too loudly. Xeoshen shrugs. "Needed new clothes, couldn't afford any, and I got caught, and tossed into the mines three turns ago." He says. "Yeah, well, I lived in the mines for three, and they don't feel like home." He shrugs again. "For the most part, if you like having a guy follow ya everywhere you go, to make sure you're not doing anything." "/Three turns/," says Madilla, obviously outraged. "For stealing clothes? That's awful." Poor Chauncey; the attention is now definitely on his companion. "I don't think the mines could ever feel like home... being a prisoner. But you're nearly finished your term, aren't you?" Her gaze lifts, widens, so that she can include both men in the question. "All of you are, aren't you? And then you'll be free again! And I'm sure the weyr could get you work, and then you wouldn't need to steal clothes or anything." Talk of beatings makes her flinch, but her little moral crusade seems to have taken precedence. Behind Madilla's back, Chauncey glowers at Xeoshen, though he does offer, "You must've had the same lawyer I did. Asshat." Beat. "Sorry, 'bout my language. Rough crowd, and all--don't usually have women around." As for being free again, that brings a wistful look to his face, just for a moment. "I guess so. I mean, depends on how long this thing takes--years, maybe. But really, you think they'd let us stay? It'd be nice, y'know, to have a real home again. Settle down finally." Give her your own sob story Chauncey, she seems to be a sucker for them. "Yeah, three turns, of a four turn sentence." Xeoshen says, yes over clothes, sad isn't it? He snorts. "The guy was new, and made so many damn mistakes." He rolls his eyes. "Yes, we are, only prisoners till whenever they decide that this has been fixed." He says. "I wouldn't mind staying here, though the way some people act.." Madilla's expression seems understanding enough about the language: they can't help it, no doubt, the poor, poor convicts. "I don't see why they wouldn't let you say," is her stout response. "I'm sure there's always work to be done, and... well, once you've completed your sentence, you've paid your debt to society, surely. With the weyr to take care of your needs, you wouldn't /need/ to commit another crime." There's a hesitant pause from the healer, then she adds, towards Xeoshen, "The way... some people act?" "I never seem to get a good one, myself. People like us, we're just fodder for the apprentices to practice on, I think," Chauncey observes, with a faint sigh. What can you do? Get out of the life, maybe. "Right, riiight. We wouldn't have to go stealing and robbing and that stuff. Sounds real nice, the way you say it. No more people coming just to stare at you, either. Use you as an object lesson for their kid, or something." Xeoshen nods. "We're just the mistakes for them to learn their lessons on." He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, exactly, all this work in the mines, and buildings gotta have a good use somewhere around here." He agrees, right? "Staring at us, avoiding is like we got some kindaq disease or something, pointing, or sneering at us." He shakes his head. Madilla looks genuinely unhappy at this concept, her head shaking back and forth, several times over. "No, no... that's /awful/. People can be so cruel." It's enough to make her shudder in sympathy. "I--" Beat. "I should go. But... if you need any medical care, any of you? I will come down as soon as I can. You need to be looked after; I'll do everything I can to make sure of that." She's going? Time to look crestfallen. "You will? Thank you, thank you. It means a lot, really, just having, y'know," Chauncey says, with a vague sort of gesture to fill in the blank there. "Feeling like there's one person out there who's got your back, at least. I'll be sure to ask for you, Madilla next time I end up in the infirmary, yeah? --You /will/ have warm hands by then, won't you?" Xeoshen shrugs. "You kind of get used to it after a while." He says. "And just shrug it off." Cause atleast they don't throw rocks at them or something. He nods at her offer. "Yeah, hanks, I'll keep that in mind." He agrees with Chauncey. "Good meeting ya, Madilla, sure I'll see you around." The crestfallen is enough to make Madilla look genuinely apologetic, but not enough to make her put off her departure plans. "I'm glad," she says, firmly, and with warmth, in response to Chauncey's fumbling words. "And I /promise/ warm hands next time. Look after yourselves." That's intended to both, as she bobs her head towards them, gathers up her things, and departs. |
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