Logs:The Little Cothold In The Sky
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| RL Date: 27 April, 2014 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's Madilla's turnday (or close enough to)! While picnicking, she and Leova talk on more serious subjects. |
| Where: Nerat Hold |
| When: First week of month 8, turn 34 |
| Weather: idyllic |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, B'tal/Mentions, Delifa/Mentions, Delvana/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, L'van/Mentions, Raija/Mentions, U'sot/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| "Let's picnic in a garden somewhere," Madilla suggested, when prompted for a location for her turnday outing with Leova. It's still a beautiful time of the turn, after all, and especially so when one heads south - south to Nerat, this time, to a lovely, green clearing bedecked with brightly-hued flowers. The healer has the picnic basket, and a quilt (her own work, of course) to spread upon the ground, though she's also taken off her shoes and stockings so that her bare toes can wiggle atop the soft grass. Vrianth's abandoned them to fly out over the ocean, and so Leova is luxuriating likewise, using her jacket over the coil of straps as a backrest... and idly plucking at the grass, for it seems her hands can't stay empty for long. Even when they're talking shop. "...So then he said, 'But U'sot said I only had to rub it in twice a seven.' Had to tell him that that was ten Turns ago, no wonder his hide's gotten more dry. Don't think he didn't make eyes at him on the way out, either." The greenrider's got a two-cornered smile, even if one side's tipped up more than the other. Madilla, who now reaches into the basket to withdraw the bottle of lemonade and the glasses that go with it, laughs. "How time flies," she says, merrily. "We forget, sometimes. Even so." There's a lightly chiding note to her voice for the rider in question; his poor dragon! "I'm sure there will be people telling you how U'sot told them differently for another ten turns, at least. I'm sure I'll have people who still think of me as Delifa's shy little apprentice until I'm old and grey. She was better with lumbago, you know." Allegedly, says her quirked smile. Allegedly. "No doubt. Though," here the greenrider gives Madilla a closer look. "As long as we're here... reckon I should ask you about my lumbago. And my innards also, been stopped up for sevens, can tell you all about it. Won't mind taking a look at this mole on my shoulder, either, will you? Won't take long a-tall." It's all very deadpan. "There are grapes in this basket," answers Madilla, poker-faced and allegedly quite serious. "Don't think for a moment I won't take a page out of my son's book and pelt them at you, Leova." For now, she'll offer a glass of the lemonade instead... and the lemonade really does go in the glass, and not in the greenrider's lap, say. Such self control! "I had to tell Dee off for pretending to throw his homework at me the other day. Raija's at that stage where she wants to mimic everything, but I'm not sure she quite grasps the difference between homework and hairbrushes, for example." "If it makes you feel better," Leova says just as seriously. "Might be hard to explain the bruises, s'all... Thanks." The lemonade's too precious to gulp. She makes it last at first, its cool sweet tang, but then she's just laughing. Laughing with sympathy, but still laughing. "Reckon the homework would have felt better when it hit, though don't know as it would have been good for hair. Did he get it?" For all that she asks about Dilan, it's Raija's invocation that lingers in her eyes: quiet, conflicted, yearning. Or, maybe it's that she really doesn't want to run out of the lemonade. Madilla sips from her own glass before replying: sips once, and then again, and then sets her glass down upon the relatively even ground beside her. Her hands, now fold, idly in her lap; her gaze rests, thoughtful and a little more serious, upon the greenrider. "He got it," she confirms. "He's perceptive, even if he's not book-smart like Lilabet is. They're not much like their fathers, either of them. Raija..." For this, at least, she smiles. "Raija has H'kon wrapped around her little finger, I think." "Does she." Leova joins her friend in looking thoughtful, though hers is more bemused. Her gaze has lost its focus, out into the leafy shade. "I'd like to," she pauses. Stops. Looking back, "What's that like?" Barely a pause. "And... would you say, then, they're like you? Don't know as I would have said Dilan's father isn't perceptive, but you'd know." A whole lot better, anyway. The pause has Madilla's mouth opening, just ever so slightly, though nothing but a breath escapes (then, at least). "Oh, Devaki's certainly perceptive," she agrees. "It's difficult to compare them, though. Dee's... so energetic and enthusiastic and unrestrained. I'm not sure he's like me, either. Lilabet, either, when it comes down to it. But then... I wonder how different I would have been, if I'd been raised in an environment more like the one they've had. The same goes for Devaki and B'tal, for that matter." "Says a lot for the environment you kept them in," Leova says, her smoky alto unusually gentle. "'Stead of that hold, or even Hall. Though it's more like the smaller space you raised them in, that you raised them, given B'tal was at the 'Reaches." Madilla's cheeks turn pink, but only faintly: she acknowledges Leova's words with a gentle forward inclination of her head, chewing on her lip as she does so. "I hope so," she says. "I think so. It... there's been a lot of change for them, these past few turns. For Lilabet, especially, since she remembers further." Now, her brow is beginning to furrow. Leova sees it. Leans to try and catch Madilla's eye. Draws across her own forehead with one finger to illustrate the line. "Going to share?" It's a question that Madilla seems to struggle to answer; she opens her mouth, inhales, exhales, and then closes it again. Her forehead unfurrows, though, and she smiles, albeit ruefully. "I clearly spend too much time around H'kon," she says, then. "It's... he finds it difficult. Balancing his need to spend time with Arekoth, and then all of us. You'd know that well, I suppose. That difficulty. Complexity." There's that one-cornered smile again. It deepens. "Do you." Leova listens. She nods, silent now. Another inhalation. Another exhale. In her lap, Madilla's hands play, uncomfortably, with the sturdy folds of her skirt. "Lilabet does it too," she says. "Wrinkles her forehead like that. He's infecting us all. He's... raised the possibility of us all moving in to a weyr together. If it would be helpful, for the balance. For me. And them. And him too." "Mm." 'Infecting.' There's a slight tug, a not-quite-smile, not with Madilla's discomfort. But, "What about you?" Leova asks. She plucks at the grass. Lets it fall. Never looks at it. "How do you... feel. Do you want it different?" Answering? Answering is difficult. Instead, Madilla reaches into the picnic basket to draw out the grapes, the cheese, the fresh flatbread. She lays it out upon the blanket, fussing with it - first silently, and then, without glancing back at the greenrider, as she speaks in a low voice. "I'm not sure. Once upon a time, it's what I expected. With W'chek." Her mouth tugs, for that. "Or Varens. It would have seemed wrong to be a family and not all live together. Now... part of me doesn't want to give up the rooms that are mine, by virtue of my position. Or disrupt the lives of my children all over again. And yet..." She does glance up, this time: finally. "It can be difficult, sometimes. When he's chosen to be elsewhere, even though I understand why, and went into this knowing how it would have to be." "Yes." Leova hesitates. "Are they likely to give your rooms over, so soon? Reckon folks would like to move in to such as yours, but that doesn't mean they should. And if this place is different enough, but good, maybe they would like both." She exhales. "Also not the easiest, taking care of a young one with a ledge to fall from." Or twins. "I hadn't thought of both," admits Madilla, whose hands return to her lap, now, rather than actually reach for any of the food she's so carefully laid out. "It feels... 'selfish' is not quite the word, but then, maybe it is? I'd worry about Raija." That earns a more serious nod, and a sucked in breath. "But Arekoth would watch, when he was there. And would it help? Would it make other things easier? I just don't know." "'When he was there.' Lot to be counting on a dragon to do, even when he is there. Even when he's inclined." Leova reaches for the grapes, at least. "Nothing wrong with a trial run. See how it goes, hm? Don't mean it's a trial on the two of you, or the lot of you, rather. Just the place. Weyrs differ, too. Seen someone do doors for the inner quarters, even the top swinging separate like a stable's, though don't know as that would stop climbing." Finally, finally she tries the first grape. Madilla reaches, instead, for her lemonade, holding the glass carefully between both hands. "Doors," she says. "I hadn't thought of that. I've clearly not spent enough time in people's weyrs, over the turns. "Could," notes Leova, "go... touring. Check in with other families doing that. Bring them treats, they'll let you in." She doesn't hide her smile, much. "Touring!" Madilla has a laugh for that, albeit one she partially hides behind her glass as it gets lifted for a careful sip. "I hadn't thought to do that, either, but now I think I'll have to." She's smiling more, now, at least. Smiling, one corner lifted higher than the other, and rolling her shoulders back. "The other question is Lilabet, of course. She's... I suspect she'd argue to move into the dorms for the next few months, rather than move with us. Or perhaps she'd insist on staying in my rooms. She's too young to be such a teenager." "If she's staying with you," Leova points out after some grape-inroads, "you've got reason for a larger weyr. Can keep it when she's off to the Hall, too. Give her someplace to come back to. And if she gets to go 'round with you, find furniture and things, might like that all right." It's half a question, though, for the girl's mother. This time, the healer reaches for some of the flatbread, tearing off a piece and wrapping it around a piece of the cheese. "She might appreciate that," she allows. "I think that's probably the key: getting her involved. Making her feel as though her opinion is important. She's change-averse, when she doesn't have control." Madilla's beginning to frown again, but it's a lighter frown than before, the kind that ventures more towards the territory of 'thoughtful' than 'concerned.' "It would be worse if we waited until after she'd gone, I think. If she felt like her home was gone." "Who isn't," Leova says, wry. Then she's nodding too. "Don't know as I'd include her on weyr-hunting right off, anyway. Or maybe it's better when it's early days? When it's clear it's just-maybe. So long as she doesn't fall in love with any one place. 'Course," she punctuates it with a grape, "can always say she's going to be off to the Hall anyway. So." It's a tricky business, this dealing with pre-teens-who-might-as-well-be-teens; Madilla makes a face, but nods. "We'll have to tread carefully," she agrees. "I'd like to talk to her about the possibility before we go too far with it, regardless. And... I suppose we'll just see. He's not pressuring." Those green eyes of her refocus upon the greenrider. "Having two living spaces seems to work well enough for you and Anvori, and your family." It could almost be a question. Almost. Almost. "We've always had it," Leova says without much inflection. "Since back when it was the three of us, so they don't know any different. And Vrianth, she likes me near. And she's green. Think Anvori'd rather stay on the ground, though." That last is quiet. In confidence. Even before, "Between you and me. But you'll need someone looking out for you, when he's... not available. Especially unexpected-like." Madilla drops her gaze towards the bread that's still in her hand, uneaten, rather than look at Leova as she answers that almost-question. "Mm," she says. "And we're so often home before he is." Details. So many details. Now, she glances up. "I can't blame Anvori. Or Vrianth, for that matter, for wanting you close. I'm not sure it's something I'd really grasped, properly, until H'kon and I... sharing, like that." Unaccustomed color reddens the greenrider's cheeks. She doesn't look down but up, skyward, but it's as involuntary and as sudden as any drop. "I used to sleep between her paws, not all the time, but enough. Not just a nap like now. It isn't practical, but... sometimes I wish I could have them both." Madilla, who must have caught some of that movement out of the corner of her eye, hastily keeps her gaze away: she won't look, won't comment on that color, or on the skyward glance. "And therein lies the rub," she concludes, quietly, turning her flatbread over and over in her hand. "Which is why I have to try this. For all of our sakes. I wonder how much easier it is in couples where both have a dragon." "Much." Leova's quiet reply verges on wistful despite herself. "Not that I've been there. But. Easier, anyhow, to agree to put the littles in the lower caverns because that's how you're able to deal. I couldn't do even what we do if it weren't for Anvori being who he is." Not to mention that if he hadn't been who he was, she wouldn't have had them in the first place. She starts to reach for flatbread herself, but then draws her hand back. "From what folks say, it's harder for people who want to have their kids around all the time, like it's a little cothold in the sky. Won't say it can't work," but she gives a one-shouldered shrug. Something in Madilla's expression hardens as Leova continues; it's not hard to see why. It's clearly not easy for her to hear what the rider has to say, though she dutifully distracts herself with her flatbread, chewing one mouthful after another. "But it's difficult," she concludes. "It's... how does a person even decide? Different things are better for different people, and I'm responsible for all of them." She manages not to sound plaintive, though it's a close run thing. "It's one of the things L'van loved about Southern: they lived in cotholds, so he and Delifa and Delvana and Viarisuth could live together." Seeing it, though Leova hadn't stopped speaking, her shoulders fell slightly. Fell, not set: it's Madilla. "Yes," she now says. Despite the lack of plaintiveness, "It's a lot." Though she reaches for a bunch of grapes, all she does is pluck them off their stems. "Monaco does it much the same way. It doesn't feel the same, but... more practical, certainly. For families." "And those who have ground weyrs, well, they've often not the time to have the children around as much anyway," concludes Madilla, and this time she really does sound wistful and tired and-- it's a heavy burden, clearly. "But we'll have to try. I think. It's also... H'kon loves his weyr, but we'd need a different one. Should I be making him leave that, too? Even if he suggested it." Leova's not wistful. Leova's abruptly thoughtful, though then she leans just enough to pat her friend's knee as she listens. "If you're keeping your old one, he could keep his old one, I'd reckon. We've so many weyrs and... his isn't one of those with a bath or anything, is it? Might be biased. Would be hard-pressed to give up mine." The knee-patting at least makes Madilla smile again, in a vague-but-true kind of way, just slight. "I hadn't thought of that," she allows. "No, his is architecturally interesting, but there's no bath or anything. That's..." A few nods; thoughtful. Leova nods with her. But she's not done: "For that matter, looked into a ground weyr yourself? Not just the queens, you know. Don't know if Arekoth would take to a ground ledge, but he'd have the option. Those... rarer than baths, seems like. But. The Pass, it's been a while now." She neither looks nor sounds happy to say it, but, "Some of the maimed are dying off." Nor is Madilla happy with that idea, healer that she is. She sucks in a breath, hesitating over it, but ultimately allows, "That's also a possibility. It would certainly make things simpler, wouldn't it? It's--" Her chin lifts. "We're not in a hurry. We can wait for the right place. The right time. It's not as though our current methods are entirely unsustainable, as difficult as it can feel, sometimes." Leova's mouth curves, eyeing her. "Not going to stall by saying you're waiting for the perfect place, are you?" "No." Madilla's mouth curves, too: a smile, and a rather more amused, easy one, at that. "No, not like that. If I were going to do that, I'd have to tour every single weyr out there, pick one, and hold out for it specifically... and I'm not going to do that." "Mm." That curve, Leova's curve, deepens. "If you say so." Madilla gives Leova a look. "I'll pelt grapes at you," she warns. "You do that." Leova, unconcerned. Perhaps it's Madilla's aim. Perhaps it's healers' vows. Perhaps it's grapes. Permission or no permission, Madilla does not follow through with her threat. Instead - well, there's their picnic to eat, and the little cakes she's brought as well, not to mention more of the lemonade. And it wouldn't do to waste food! |
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