Logs:Talk Tough
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| RL Date: 16 February, 2010 |
| Who: Chauncey, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Chauncey 'needs' patching up. Madilla is thus charmed all over again. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 13, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions |
| 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. The evening shift is long and quiet - this particular evening, anyway. It's evidently so quiet that Madilla and another healer have time to stand chatting at the front desk, Madilla standing with her hands folded atop the counter, the other leaning lazily. "He's going to escort me to the clutching party," the other healer says, her voice carrying through the mostly-empty cavern. "As long as I'm not working, anyway. Will you cover for me if I am?" Madilla's response is part-laughter, part cheerful nod. "If I'm not working, too!" And into this peaceful scene comes Chauncey, half-stumbling, half-getting dragged by a pair of guards into the infirmary. He's got a gash on his forehead, and generally looks grubbier than usual, but for all he's letting himself get hauled along, he talks more coherently than that would indicate. "Are we there yet? Will you ask them for the cute girl healer? You know the one. The really... really cute one," he rambles. The conversation does not so much taper off as end abruptly, both pairs of eyes immediately lifting towards the guards-- and the bleeder. The other healer nudges Madilla's arm, probably in response to Chauncey's ramblings, and the younger of the two women turns pink; it doesn't stop her from stepping forward, game-face on, a moment later: "Oh, goodness. I'll see him in the nearest cubicle-- this way, please?" Chauncey gets a wary glance, but not for long, as she swings upon her heel, evidently expecting the trio to follow. "Hi," says Chauncey, and he tries to wave at Madilla, and grin a goofy little grin at her. The guards, however, ruin it a little as they dump him unceremoniously on the bed and stand watching him with ugly expressions. "Hi," says Chauncey again, as he sprawls out on the cot offered. "Don't worry, it's not that bad. Don't cry over me. I'm going to make it, I promise." The guards, for their part, snort at this melodrama, and roll their eyes. Madilla is-- not /cold/, but perhaps not as warm as she was on that first meeting she had the convict shared; she raises her eyebrows at him as he speaks to her, then turns to the guards instead: "Will you stand just outside the cubicle, please? I'll see to it from here." Evidently, she's judged the wound not so terribly bad that she can't take a moment to clear the space. "If you close the curtain we could be alone," says Chauncey with a waggle of his eyebrows. He, apparently, is still in fine form, despite the injury, and he pushes himself up on one elbow to watch Madilla. "I tried to come see you before, but they wouldn't let me. Said I wasn't really hurt. Think I showed them this time, though--rockslide." That cough from the guards definitely sounds like 'bullshit' though. Madilla plays the innocent, or perhaps honestly, truly /is/ innocent enough to say, "And what benefit would that have on your treatment, Chauncey? Besides, I hear you've been talking about me... I don't think I should trust you." Not quite so innocent, then. She's turned back to face the prisoner, eyebrows still raised, but now, having apparently said her bit, she steps forward, reaching out so that she can position his head properly for her examination. "Hold still." Confusion sets in as soon as Madilla speaks, Chauncey's brows furrowing up. And then--horror. "Oh, Faranth. Oh, Faranth, tell me no one's been telling those things," he says, waving off her hand to sit up entirely. "No, no. Oh, Maddy, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for--I was just shooting the bull. You know. You have to--you have to talk tough, around these guys, or they'll... or bad things will happen." He looks downcast, hanging his head. "And I should have known better than to drag you into it. Can you ever forgive me? I should--you can get another healer, if you'd rather." Madilla takes half a step backwards, staring at Chauncey with probably as much confusion as the convict shows in return, though hers doesn't turn into horror. No: hers turns into a flush, or, more truthfully, is added on to by a flush. A deep one. "Oh," she says finally, with a distinct note of uncertainty. And then, more hurriedly, "No. I'm fine. Though... only if you actually let me /look/ at your wound?" Beat. "I'm sorry I doubted you." And that, without question, is genuine - heartfelt, even. It's just that easy. If he's pleased at just how easy that turns out to be, Chauncey only shows it in the deep sigh of relief he heaves out. "No, no. Don't apologize. The fault's all mine, really. I should have known better; you're... not like most of the girls I know. All rough and hardened and probably anything I could say about you would be /true/," he admits, still hangdog. But he does relax, lean back a little ways again to let her peer at his scrath. It's bled a fair bit, but overall isn't deep at all, the sort of thing that would probably just be ignored in a convict, if Chauncey didn't complain so much even when he's perfectly healthy. Madilla may have been utterly taken in by Chauncey's contrition, but the severity of the wound? Well, that's another thing. She gives it a careful inspection, and then him another long glance, though the effect of this is rather lessened by her continued flush and the apology still written in her eyes. "Some people are... very protective of me," she explains, as she reaches for water and a cloth to wash the wound with. "I don't know that you should say such things about anyone, though, whatever their past. I'm not sure it's... fair." "Are they?" says Chauncey, wincing far more than strictly necessary when she touches that wound, even gently. "Oh. Oh, that's not--owie." It takes him a moment to recover enough to actually continue the conversation. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't. I don't mean to, just--you get so caught up, sometimes. Trying to make sure I fit in, because standing out in this crowd--." He shrugs, looks sheepish. "It'll get you hurt worse than just a little rockfall." Madilla pauses, the hand holding the dampened cloth hovering just above Chauncey's head as she asks, very quietly, "Would they... would you be in danger, were you not to fit in with them?" Her eyes are a little wide: plainly shocked. At that, Chauncey just groans. "Oh, now I'm just going to make you worry more," he says, looking unhappy. "I'm sorry. I really should just--you know. Keep my mouth shut. It's better that way. I probably wouldn't have got this in the first place, if I did." He motions vaguely at his head, sighs. "It's not really that dangerous, I promise. I'll be okay. Just... you know how it is. Some of the guys are pretty rough, and everybody around them always seems like they're getting pulled down to that level, too, no matter how much you really want to be good." Though Madilla gives a slow nod of understanding, her expression remains troubled; she resumes her careful - careful! - dabbing at the wound, but says, quietly, "It just doesn't seem right. Of course there is need for punishment... I just don't know that everyone belongs in such a situation." Sure. Of course not. "I'm sorry. I wish there was-- a better way. Something I could do to help." "I wish there was, too," is the convict's agreement. "But look, don't worry about me. I've been around long enough I know how it goes, and I can take care of myself. Honest." Chauncey aims an earnest look at her, reaching one hand up to hers that dabs at him. "I don't know how else we could do it. We're all just petty thieves here, pretty much, but... some of us are just less petty than others. Anyway, it's probably all we deserve, really, for getting ourselves in this position in the first place." Madilla's hand stills, as Chauncey's approaches, and then she transfers her cloth from one hand to the other so that she can take his firmly in hers and squeeze it; she nods, takes a breath, and then nods again. "Of course. I suppose. I just... Well. As long as they're not treating you too badly. And you're being good, so you'll be out, soon, and then you can start again." Her gaze meets his, squarely, eyebrows raised: "And do better this time." The dabbing continues, now from the other hand, though she adds after a moment, "You won't need stitches. Just a bandage." Chauncey agrees, "Yeah. Better." But that's about the most he has for the moment, and suddenly seeming to realize he's holding hands with her, he gives hers a quick squeeze and then lets go, glancing down. "Too bad I don't know anything else to do. It's hard, starting over, you know? I mean, you never think you'll end up in this spot, and then suddenly you realize you've ruined your whole life, and you have to start over. I'm nearly /thirty/. I can't start over now." Mope mope mope. Madilla looks, briefly, a little apologetic for the hand-holding: it's clearly a reflex gesture for her, to touch someone else when she's comforting them. However... odd a situation it might be. "It's supposed to be hard," she tells him, softly, as she sets her cloth down in the basin of water nearby, and turns away to fetch, presumably, the banadages. "But it's not impossible. It's never impossible. You must have some useful skills... some /honest/ ones." The apology touching Madilla's expression earns a reassuring smile from Chauncey. "It'd be a lot easier, though, if it were... easier," and he has to grin at that bit of wisdom. "Anyway, I--I suppose I'm used to hard work now. Repairing things--we have to make do, most of the time, with whatever we have on hand. Maybe I could do something like that?" It's a grin that Madilla matches, though not with high-wattage; she's turning back, now, bandage in hand, her expression, in the wake of that grin, is thoughtful. "A handyman. We have them around the weyr-- I'm sure they can always use more. And if you have a good record when you're released..." Those eyebrows have raised again, somehow meaningful. "I could stay?" That makes Chauncey perk right up. "Do you really think they'd let me? I mean, this place seems so--it's so nice. Compared to Crom. Even the Hold proper is a horrible little place. And I've never really had a home, either," is his own thoughtful addendum, as he reaches up to gingerly feel his wound again before she can bandage it up. "A place to settle down and make a nice life for myself. I'd like that, I think." Madilla looks surprised, but her nod is firm enough. "I don't make the decisions, of course, but I don't /see/ why not. Once you've done your time you're... you've made up for things, I would think." Such a rosy-eyed view of things; she even beams, brighter this time, for the idea. Putting the bandage carefully in place - using a light adhesive to make it stick - she adds, "You could ask, at least. And I'm sure--" She hesitates. "I could vouch for you. If you were good." At once, Chauncey's eyes light up. "Oh, would you, really? That would be so great of you," he tells her. And then, almost as quickly, his expression falls again. "But you shouldn't go getting mixed up with guys like me. I don't want to get you hurt, or in trouble, or--or anything like that. And I bet all those people that are so protective of you wouldn't like it, either. Your parents, your husband, any of them." Madilla's mouth sort of draws in as Chauncey's expression falls, and she has to take a deep breath before she answers; in the meantime, the bandage is set firmly in place, and she's drawn her hands back. "I don't have a husband, and my parents live a very long way away. I think things like this... they're up to me. I can make up my own mind." And somehow, she stands straighter for this; more determined. "You don't?" Chauncey's eyes widen a little in surprise before he recovers. "I mean, they do?" It's a bad save at best. "I mean, it's--it's great that you can stand on your own like that. They don't really teach that at the holds, do they? This Weyr business, it's so strange to me, really. But I think I could get used to it, if I were just free." The wariness returns, quietly, to Madilla's expression, and she hesitates, watching Chauncey thoughtfully for a few moments before she answers. Nonetheles, her answer is a genuine one; "I understand. I-- found it very difficult, when I was first posted here. And that was under-- different circumstances. It hasn't come easy, being on my own." She pauses. "I was supposed to be married. Twice, even. But-- it hasn't worked out." "/Twice/?" Chauncey stares outright at that, sitting up again as he studies Madilla in apparently confusion. "Twice. What kind of guy wouldn't want to marry you? How do you even find /two/ of them? Whatever happened, Maddy?" Beat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask, should I--it's probably not the sort of thing you really like talking about, is it. Especially with guys like me." But Madilla doesn't seem too fazed by it; she even gives Chauncey a little rueful grin as she folds her hands behind her back. "My engagement with the first was broken off when I was sent to the Healer Hall. He married my cousin." She has to take a deep breath before she concludes, though: "And the second... he has a weyrmate now. A... male one. It's all right." And she seems, honestly, to believe this. The first has Chauncey nodding agreeably; he can understand this. But the latter--he draws in a sharp intake of breath at the 'male' part. "Oh, Faranth. I mean, er. Sorry. But--really. He did that to you? You of all people. What a piece of--of--I'm thinking bad words in my head now, but I'm not gonna say them," he says, with a sheepish attempt at a smile. "It's not all right. Not all right at all. I mean, I'm hardly a stellar example of, um. Well. You know. But still. Another /man/." Madilla managed not to turn pink while explaining about W'chek, but now, faced with Chauncey's response? She turns promptly scarlet. Her reply is hasty and uncomfortable; "No, don't think them. It was--" She takes a breath. "There was more to it, but it doesn't matter. Truly. Perhaps I shouldn't have said." Behind her back, she's wringing her hands, awkward, and her head turns around, as though she's looking for a way out, for the guards to step in, now that she's so very, very awkward. However thoughtless his first reaction, Chauncey can't help but notice Madilla's embarrassment, and his own cheeks pinken just a little. "I'm sorry," he tells her, hanging his head again, while he reaches out one hand for hers again. "I--it's not my place to say, I guess. If you say it's okay, well. I mean, I hardly know you, and I shouldn't go, you know. Judging all these things out of hand." The guards, now that the bandaging is done, are turning back to eye their charge, though still bored-looking; not very exciting when the prisoner doesn't do anything but talk. Chauncey adds, "I should go, too, I think. See if I can't get a little more work in before dark." Madilla lets her hand be taken, nodding uncertainly. "No--" she says, though, quietly. "You don't need to apologise. It's a-- difficult subject. Awkward. That's all." She gives him a little half nod, another one, after a moment more, and smiles: "All right. That's good. I'll... see you around. If your head starts bleeding again, or... you know. Whatever. Good night, Chauncey." "I hope--" begins Chauncey, but he doesn't take the thought further as he makes one of the guards help lever him upright. "I mean, I know it will work out for you. You're too good for it not too, really, and if there's one thing my mama taught me, it's that people usually get what they deserve. It just takes some time, is all." And he offers his best smile for that, as the guards start to pull him away. "Goodnight, Maddy. I'll let you know, if it starts up again, or anything. Thank you." Madilla blushes again, but this time, it's less embarrassment and more pleasure. The good kind of blushing, then. "Thank you, Chauncey," she tells him, earnestly, returning the smile with a bright one of her own. "And you're welcome." She stands there, near the curtain, until they're out of sight; by the end, she looks thoughtful, but still, without question, pleased. |
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