Logs:Father Figures
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| RL Date: 10 February, 2010 |
| Who: Gustav, Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla always thinks the best of people; W'chek always thinks the worst. |
| Where: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 13, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
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| Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender. Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts. It's stopped snowing out there, and most of what fell earlier didn't stuck, but it's still damp enough that there's a distinctly stale, dank kind of smell, even this far into the caverns, most people's outdoors clothes stored elsewhere. It's crowded, too, unsurprisingly, and made worse by a group of ten-or-eleven turn olds determined to play hide-and-seek amidst the adults. Though there are plenty of snarky, disapproving comments, Madilla, sitting at the big table with her sewing, seems only amused by it all; her fingers have stilled, her head has tipped up, and her smile? A delighted one. It may not be the greatest day to be outside, but it's not like dragonriders get much choice in that one. Still, rather than embarking back outside through the cold, leaden air, W'chek has lingered in the lower caverns, wandered back over a familiar path to the common room. Those snarky, disapproving comments find a kindred spirit in the bronzerider's facial expression at first, but once a familiar face catches his eye it vanishes into a similarly familiar blant pleasantness. "Madilla! I wondered if you might be about." Madilla's dreamy expression shifts in a way that almost implies guilt at the sound of W'chek's voice; her head turns sharply, and though she bestows a hasty, if genuine, smile in his direction, it's a little rushed. "W'chek," she greets, warmly, as she reaches for her needle again. "I didn't expect to see you down here; how are you?" There must be a small child under the table somewhere, and at the sound of his giggle, faint but audible, her cheeks flush faintly pink. Disapproving face or not, even though W'chek's eyes flick downwards at that giggle, he doesn't make a big show of looking. There are some things that are just Not Done, after all. "Well. It was either that or head back out and up home, and I'm hoping if I wait long enough, he'll get there first and there'll be a fire going when I get there." Strategic dilly-dallying. "And I thought I should... say hello. And, uh, so on. Since I haven't. For awhile." Having a bronzerider in the vicinity makes the other children rather more reluctant to approach - all the better for the hider. "Oh," says Madilla, and whatever she thinks of such dilly-dallying, especially at the expense of another, she doesn't say much more than, simply, "I suppose there are benefits to sleeping in the caverns. It's nice to see you, though." Regardless. And that, too, seems genuine. "I'm sure you've been busy. As have I, of course. You're well? Both of you?" "Yeah. Not that I miss the whole dorm thing, but not having to go outside just to get breakfast in the mornings in the winter? Oh, yeah, that was nice." This, W'chek, who used to wake up at the crack of dawn just because. Riders do really get soft in this Interval. He crosses his arms for a moment, then uncrosses them, snags a nearby chair instead to sit down, careful not to go kicking the hiding child even as he continues to fail to acknowledge that anybody's actually there. "Well, sure. Well enough, anyhow. Busy. Mostly just busy." With a soft laugh, Madilla nods, her needle back at work threading in and out of the piece of patchwork she's currently working on; "It must get pretty awful, during snowstorms... a trade-off, though, I suppose. If your weyr was anything to go by, you do get rather more space than we do, even when we do have private rooms. Though," and she smiles, "I can barely fill the space I /do/ have." It turns out hide-and-seek is pretty boring if no one can possibly find you; it's not that the child under the table has resorted to playing with people's shoelaces... but he's definitely moving around rather more. The healer ignores this to add, "I'm glad. As long as it's a good busy, anyway. I've been busy, too... the usual, and the convicts, of course." As the child gets harder to ignore, W'chek has a progressively harder time ignoring him. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, keeps glancing down like he might be able to see through the wood somehow. "Definitely awful--snow, rain, wind. Try to keep something up there to eat and drink for when it's particularly bad. I suppose there is more space, but, well, plenty to fill it with. All the extra gear. Straps and leathers and whatnot..." He trails off at that, frowning. "Right, the convicts. Of course. That whole business with the rockslide. They weren't working you too hard, were they?" Not, 'nobody was seriously injured, were they?' Madilla, on the other hand, seems utterly unfazed-- now, anyway: no more blushes, at least. Her gaze lowers towards those drumming fingers, and it might well seem as though she's adressing them, rather than W'chk himself, as she says, "That would be awful. I suppose you're right, too: more things to fill it with, of course. And if you /are/ likely to get stuck up there, at all, well, you'd /want/ more living space." The piece of patchwork gets turned without her really looking at it, as her head lifts and she adds, "Working me too hard? No." Was that pointed? It was at least a /little/ bit pointed, wasn't it, the faintest edge on the word 'me'? "Awful," W'chek agrees. Stuck in his weyr. With his weyrmate. And supplies, and a fire. Awful. "Really awful." He's just nodding on agreeably, finally managing to stop the finger-drumming as he notices her attention to it. "Right. Well. As long as they're not. That's good. They just seem like rough characters. Trying to give 'em a wide berth, myself. Not sure why they even brought 'em here. Probably steal half of what's in storage when they leave." Supervised or not. That is pretty awful. After all. Madilla shakes her head, somehow sad, but doesn't say anything further. Poor W'chek. Of the convicts, though; "They're not so bad. Most of them. I think... a lot of it just comes down to circumstances. Some of them have just had /awful/ luck. And their overseers won't bring them to see a healer unless it's something really bad, so they've got all kinds of untreated injuries; I'm trying to do what I can, but... They're still people. They deserve to be looked after." The child under the table has started crawling around in ernest, brushing past people's legs. There's a faint frown there, though it's quickly replaced with a more peaceable expression. "It's not just awful luck. Lots of folks have awful luck and don't ever do anything like stealing something or hurting somebody," he observes, voice now stiff with a bit of extra formality. "But, of course. They do deserve the care of a healer, same as anybody else. Hardly going to do much good working if they don't, anyhow. Any rate. Had anything else interesting come up lately?" When all else fails, change the subject. Madilla's "Sometimes," is non-committal, and in the end, she, too, seems relieved by the change in subject. "Oh-- well. Not a /lot/. Gabrion passed all his exams; did you hear? It's wonderful news: he's no longer on probation, and I think he's really encouraged by it." Relieved-- but perhaps not terribly inclined to talk about herself, either. "Otherwise, I suppose things have been quite quiet. The usual winter illnesses, of course, but nothing too bad." "Don't talk to him that often. But yeah." W'chek pauses, taps a fingertip on the table. "I mean, not that I heard something, but figured he'd have to. Or he'd have been all wailing and tearing his hair out in the middle of the living cavern or something." The two of them are sitting at a table having a nice, civil conversation. It's been a cold day. And damp. The lower caverns are crowded with all the people who don't want to be outside, and children getting in the way. One of the children is even hiding under the table, and presently, accidentally running into knees and feet as, bored (but still not ready to give up on winning hide-and-seek), he tries to keep himself occupied. Madilla makes a face in response to W'chek's comment; "That's not very nice. He's-- not that bad. Truly." Which probably isn't intended to come across as weakly as it does. "I'm very proud of him." "Get back here!" The voice may be familiar, but it's unusually filled with aggravation this time. Gustav comes barreling around the corner, snatching a small yet swift child off his feet, nearly colliding with an elderly woman. He stops where he is and exhales heavily and shoots her an apologetic smile. "Uh, sorry." From one of the smaller tunnels another nanny comes out and looks relieved to see him. "Oh, good. You caught him." As of yet, W'chek and Madilla haven't been noticed. Fingers flick that objection away dismissively. "Of course. I don't mean it like that. Just--he was pretty worried about it, far as I could tell. Guy gets that wrapped up in something, doesn't work out, gets upset." Not that W'chek is in any way familiar with that state of emotion. That aggravated call attracts his attention, turns his head to watch the running child, the woman nearly collided-with. "This is why kids need their parents," he says like an aside to Madilla. "Discipline. I swear." The arrival of the nannies is enough to make the boy beneath the table stick his head out and eye them warily; his companions quiet their game - just in case. "Of course," says Madilla, firmly, relieved. That's safe enough, right? She turns her head to follow W'chek's gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching out lightly as she murmurs, soft-- and absolutely fond, "I'm sure our children will always be well behaved." /Our/ children! Excitement! The small child wiggles in Gustav's arms and eventually ends up punching him roughly in the shoulder. "Oh, you little-" His mouth twists as he cuts off whatever curse was going to come out. His co-worker stifles a laughter as she takes the kid from him. "Time for you to take a break, Gus. Before you burst something in your brain." She winks at him and sweeps away back from where he came. Gone now without any work or someone to take to, his gaze begins to search the crowded caverns. "Our children," W'chek replies to Madilla, voice all confident and probably louder than it needs to be, "will have parents who remember they *exist* and who care who watches them." Not that he's even glancing in Gustav's direction anymore, except perhaps occasionally, furtively, just to make sure no wiggling undisciplined offspring is heading in their direction. "Those things are important." With his co-players distracted, the boy under the table takes the opportunity to spring out the other side, stepping on feet as he goes. It surprises Madilla enough that she jumps, squeaking, but not so much that she can't beam and tell W'chek, "Of course they will. And they are. But they'll play with their friends, too... and sometimes that means they'll be loud." But not /too/ much. Recognising Gustav across the room, she gives him a smile, as she adds to W'chek, "And the nannies really aren't so bad. They do a very good job." Gutstav begins his walk across the room, his obvious intention being towards the set of caverns that will take him to food. Delicious food. But those wandering eyes of his will attach onto Madilla and W'chek, distracting and redirecting him. Right towards them! What is that kid doing down there? He looks like he'd like to snatch him but, he just watches as the kid goes by or whatever. "Hey, Madilla! And.. uh.. You. I don't remember who you are." Which /does/ bother him as he shoots W'chek a concerned look. Though the bronzerider avoids stepped-on feet, he does look across the table with concern--"Are you all right?" As soon as she obviously is, though, the kid's forgotten. "Well, they'll be loud in controlled quantities and at appropriate times." Pause. To Gustav: "W'chek." Who from the look Gustav gets back remembers just well enough who the nanny happens to be. Narrowed eyes and all, only relaxing with forced cheer, clearly, for the sake of his table companion. Madilla must be fine, yes, though she smiles her appreciation and reassurance towards the bronzerider, even as she declares, brightly, "Of course. Exactly right. Appropriate times. Good evening, Gustav." She glances curiously between the two, hesitantly biting at her lip awkwardly given the looks they're exchanging; it clearly doesn't bode well as far as the healer is concerned. "We were talking about what a good job you nannies do," she declares, firmly, with a determined smile. "W'chek!" Said brightly. "The guy that wanted that poor baker to make him a new more edible muffin." Gustav grins as he looks down at Madilla and winks. That kid that darted away before, seems he just knocked over two other kids and is stealing someones toy. "Uh, excuse me. Speaking of my job. Duty calls." And he's off, long legs carrying him across the cavern and disappering into the crowd. "Good job. Rii--" But Gustav's going. Well, that simplifies things for W'chek, who looks back at Madilla with eyebrows raised--"You're too nice sometimes, I think. I mean, it's all well and good to a point, but would you really want a man like that watching our children? Of course not." Of course he's not gonna give her a chance to answer. That was hypothetical. Really. "It wasn't a muffin," he adds as an afterthought. "I think it was a biscuit." There's barely a chance for Madilla to say goodbye to the nanny - in the end, a smile evidently suffices, though it fades rather certainly into an uncharacteristic look of frustration as W'chek continues. She doesn't seem to care muffin or biscuit, because she ignores that thought in order to say, "I don't think I'd have a problem with it, no. He's very good with the children, and I think it's good that more of them have a male influence in their daily lives." A long pause as it seems to sink in to W'chek what direction this conversation is going in. A frown. "A male influence. It's not that I don't agree with that. But that's what a father is for, Madilla. Not... some random young man who for some reason wants to spend his days around small children." The tone does, yes, imply diabolical reasons for this state of affairs. "But you think the best of people. I know. I should be getting back. Zhikath says Jeibeth's on our ledge." Madilla's response to that is, despite W'chek already beginning to excuse himself, something of a plea; "Not all of them have father figures, W'chek... and you shouldn't use that tone. I don't think that's fair." It's not exactly usual, this kind of response; she seems remarkably sure on it, even if it means disagreeing. "Perhaps I do think the best of people, but you always seem to think the worst. It's not... good night, W'chek." Her bubble deflates fairly quickly, not even needing to be popped. "Say hello to B'tal for me." "I know that." Gentler, now, the response as W'chek stands. "I realize that, but that doesn't mean any man can provide what a father can. I've seen how bad people can be, that's all. But our children will have a father." Notable absence of the word 'figure' through all of that. But he smiles, nods. "I will. And I'm sure I'll see you soon." Then, without much of a pause in waiting for a response, he's off. Madilla doesn't even try to get in a response before he leaves; she sits there, staring after him, looking frustrated and tired, her head shaking slowly, her teeth resting sharply upon her lower lip. Only once he is well and truly gone does she take a deep breath, and then, finally, turn her attention back to her sewing. |
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