Logs:You Don't Own Me
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| RL Date: 13 November, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla tells W'chek to stop prying into her life. What results is not pretty, but she's not the one who ends up hurt most. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 3, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions |
| At late-lunch, Madilla told B'tal to tell W'chek she needed to talk to him, not that she gave any instructions as to when. Now, despite the encroaching dust, and the light snowfall that has recently begun again, the apprentice walks alone by the lakeshore, winding her way around it in an aimless, thoughtful path that will eventually take her to the end without the diving cliff. The infirmary staff would know that she's here, and perhaps a few others, but then, she often comes for a walk out here at the end of her shift, and given the weather and time of day, she stands out in her heavy coat and hat. Stands out, and coming back and forth from his weyr, W'chek is bound to get that bird's eye view. She hasn't been out all that long when Zhikath lands in the bowl some distance away, leaving his rider to close the distance with heavy, overly-slow footfalls. He could walk faster, he just... doesn't. His hands are in his pockets and his posture leaves much to be desired. Not the way he used to walk towards the lake, in other words. When he gets there, it's to offer a not-exactly-enthusiastic, "Hi." At least she's not crying, now, and there's no trace of tears on her face when she tilts it up at him, turning her body to meet him. Instead, she looks distinctly resolved, her shoulders drawn back and her chin up. "W'chek," she says, her only real greeting. "Thank you. I didn't know if you'd come, or if interrogating my friends was the most you wanted to do with me, these days." She clasps her hands together in front of her, gloved fingers twining together as she regards him, waiting openly for his response to that. Either B'tal said something more than just passing on the invitation, or W'chek may even have just been expecting something like this, for there's no sign of surprise. He doesn't even take his hands out of his coat pockets. "Always--you know, happy to see you, if you need me," he offers up. "Don't interrogate anybody. Just stopped in to see how you were doing. And you weren't there. So... you know, I asked who was. Just to see if you were all right." He takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly. "That's all." It takes some of the wind out of Madilla's sails, leaving her looking distinctly more uncertainly. Finally, after several moments of indecision, she asks, slowly, "Why wouldn't I be all right?" Beat. "W'chek... I'm not someone you need to wrap up and take care of. I never have been. You're not responsible for my wellbeing, or for making sure I stay a good girl, or-- whatever it is you think you're doing. /I/ am responsible for that. So if you want to know something? Wait until I /am/ there, and ask me." "But--you were." There's a pause before W'chek responds, and when he does the words have a plaintive edge, and he takes a small step backwards. "That is, I know I shouldn't, now. But we were going to--I was going to--I really--" If he was prepared for this line of questioning, it all seems to have fallen apart in the moment itself. He has to take another deep breath, takes his hands out of his pockets finally to rub at his face. "If you don't want me to, I won't anymore," finally. Easier than explanations. Madilla wouldn't be Madilla if there weren't some trace of sympathy in her expression as W'chek rubs at his face. Nonetheless, despite the way she swallows, her words are firm - aside from the note of bitterness she can't quite rid herself of. "I know what was going to be. I was looking forward to it, if you'll remember. But it's different now. It's not going to be like that. It isn't like that. And I'm different because of that." She stops herself from going further down that road and adds, then, quietly, "I don't mind that you care. I appreciate it. But nothing that used to be between us gives you the right to pry into my life. So-- no. Please don't do that." More rubbing, then hands back in pockets. "Right. All right." W'chek tries to meet her eyes and fails utterly, ending up instead looking out towards the lake, turning his whole body to do that. "Nothing that used to be between us means anything anymore," he says at last. "It just doesn't, does it? I'm just some guy. Some--" A word he can't quite manage, to her, even now, but it wouldn't have been a boast. "And we can't talk without it coming back to old wounds. So I ask because it's the closest thing I get to what was." Pause. "I didn't think it would make you uncomfortable." In the wake of all that, Madilla looks as though she's about to cry again, though not, this time, because she's upset at anyone. "Whit--" she begins, and whether it was intended to be his nickname, or she just got caught halfway, it's impossible to know. Her hand reaches forward, as though she intends to touch his shoulder, but it falls again, ultimately. "You're not just some guy. You're not... what you were. But you're my ex-fiance, and I still love you, I just... I don't want to feel like you're keeping tabs on what I do. I miss talking to you. I'd rather you talked to me." There's another little movement away as she reaches, anyway. Small, but noticeable. "Ex-fiance. That's... laborious." W'chek tries for lightness and gets leaden, his half-smile quavering before he gives up on it entirely. "If I could talk to you, I would. But it's just full of all the stuff I've lost forever, Madilla. It's painful." And for some reason, there, there's a laugh. "A bit of the life before in the middle of the life I have to learn to settle for." That small movement makes Madilla look even more unhappy; she can't even manage a half-smile, just stands there, looking miserable. "That's not fair," she starts, looking as though she's about to launch into something, though in the end, it results in not much more than a shake of her head. "Do you think this doesn't hurt me? I know, I know, you're always full of 'you'll find someone else, Madilla, and I'm all alone and will never have that and woe', ignoring, of course, your /soon to be weyrmate/. Get over yourself, W'chek. Get over this. It's not my fault that you are what you are, and that you made the choices you made. If it hurts that much, then fine, don't talk to me. But don't ask about me, either." "So it hurting you is a *reason* to talk to you?" W'chek actually snaps, there, then closes his eyes for a deep breath, starts again more calmly, "I really wish you wouldn't say that. We're not--he's not--" Not doing too great at finishing sentences this evening. "I know it's my fault. What I am and what that means. I just wanted to do some penance for... all of that." He keeps his face turned away, like the lake in winter is a fascinating thing, even with the light fading. "I won't. It's all right. I won't. If you don't want me to, I won't." Pause. And then, apropos of almost nothing, "He's left me once already, you know." Madilla flinches, as he snaps, though she otherwise doesn't move - not to step away, nor even to look away. It would be impossible to read her expression at this moment, even were he to look in her direction. Even her voice sounds emotionless, when, finally, she speaks again. "But he came back. And now you're moving in together; he told me that. I'm happy for you." Toneless, but happy, really! "Why can't you be? Can you blame him, really? If he did leave you again. If he didn't come back. You can't spend your life hating yourself." Can he? "It's not... really very like marriage at all, weyrmating," is what W'chek says by way of a reply. He pulls one hand out of a pocket to rub at the opposite elbow. "It's just--more convenient sex, that's all." Which might be some kind of a signal there, that he would even say that. To Madilla. He certainly wouldn't have in those early days. "But I don't. Usually. Usually I forget. And then I talk to you and it's all there again, laid bare. Either I can get sad or I can get angry, and there are... old limits, to the anger." He takes another long breath, then turns back to her at last. "I think I'm going to go. This isn't productive. You're right, you're not mine to protect or provide for. Good luck with that." For the instigator of this conversation, Madilla sure does look miserable about where it's leaving them. It doesn't seem to shock her, what he says about sex; then again, why should it? After everything? "I'm sorry," she says, very simply. "That I make things so difficult for you. I'm going to be gone all summer... I hope that helps. And that, one day, we can be friends again. Because I miss you. Because I wanted everything you did, and still would, if things were different. But you need to grow up, because I'm tired of your self pity." And with that, /she/ turns to go, evidently intent on being the first to leave. That wounds. His breath sucks in quickly through his nose just then, as though at a physical pain. And that, in the end, is it; despite his stated intention, W'chek doesn't seem to be able to get his feet to carry him anywhere else, or his mouth to create any good comeback with which to return the blow. Instead he just slowly turns away again and moves to sit down on the ground, feet towards the water, head folded over bent knees, evidently just waiting for her to depart. If he is motionless, however, there is movement off from the direction he originally came in. The slow plod of a dragon crossing on foot, but evidently no hurry. Though Madilla must notice the way W'chek sucks his breath in, before she has time to turn, she seems otherwise unaware of the carnage she's leaving in her wake as she begins to walk back across the darkening bowl. She probably does notice Zhikath, but even he gets no more than a glance before her head ducks forward, and she hurries away. Anyway, given how slowly he moves? It's not as though she can glean anything from that. It's probably for the best: she may have meant what she said, but that doesn't mean she ever really intends to hurt anyone. |
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