Logs:Moving Day
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| RL Date: 27 August, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'kon and Madilla move into their new home; Alpine helps out. |
| Where: H'kon and Madilla's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 8, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dilan/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated to... sometime. |
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| Moving out the old mattress (since replaced by a better version) is one of the last big pieces, and so, one of the last big invasions of nearly half of Alpine into their wingsecond's personal life. Y'rel is all smiles and loud flirtations directed across the weyr as he and H'kon shift the thing, via the dragon's couch, toward the ledge. H'kon is the one going backwards. Which means he can barely peek around the bulk of that mattress, and can do little to attempt a final defence. But at least this is the last item. Provided Charya won't come try to move that dresser again. It's all been a little unnerving for Madilla, this onslaught of Alpine, though she's been managing to keep it off her expression relatively well; instead, she's all smiles, friendly and apparently delighted by the assistance. At least Raija's not underfoot - thank goodness for nannies - which leaves the healer to potter about in the new weyr, keeping half an eye on that mattress removal, while the rest of her attention floats this way and that. "Y'rel," she says, only partly chiding. There's dust on her nose; it's been that kind of day. Kavith, thankfully, is the one tasked with aiding in the transport of that mattress. (Easier than stairs, although there certainly are those, albeit a narrow set, leading from the low weyr to the bowl floor itself.) There's the murmur of talk outside, and it's entirely possible that most of the brownrider's, "Go now," might even make it all the way back indoors, the tone, somewhere between laughter and actual anger, fully audible, the crispness of the words perhaps slightly less so. When he comes back in, though, he's looking over his shoulder, distrustful, a bit worn. "What else." And when green eyes get to tracking to the healer, one arm, one finger, are extended in time with, "Your nose." It's pretty much instinctual for Madilla to lift her own hand as H'kon does; she rubs at her nose, not making much of a difference, given the state of her hands, too, but at least it makes her laugh. "I suppose they made it all a little easier," she says, by way of change of subject, as she takes another step or two closer, all the better to slide her arm around the brownrider's waist. "Your wingmates. More hands, light work; all of that." And yet. And yet, she seems pleased, now. H'kon's brow furrows for the lack of change there, this next problem just as serious, it seems, as all those of transportation and arrangement of goods from before. It's not until he's let that finger land, and nudges a fresh swirl ineffectively into the dust mark, that there's the beginnings of amusement at the corners of his eyes. "And have seen their fill of the place, I should hope." Her arm is echoed by his, in innate sort of motion, one that goes unnoticed, the man giving most of his attention instead to looking the place over. "Is there anything more?" Madilla, at least, has amusement enough for both of them, if somewhat lost beneath obvious tiredness; it's been a long day. "Mmm," she agrees. "They've nosed their way into our business, and now... hopefully, that will be enough, and they can stay away." Her head turns, gaze considering the corners of this new weyr of theirs, each in turn. "I think this is all," she says. "Unless I've missed something from my rooms." Now there's just unpacking to do, though the healer has made a start on some of that. "We did the walk through," H'kon says, his voice trying for certainty, his face only showing it after he's had time to think on it, picture the moment, as so many riders are so practiced at doing. "As did at least two of my wingriders before us." With that immediate threat gone, the last dragon long since gone from the space just below the small ledge, it's easier to make dry attempts at humour. "Our weyr is- our old weyr - is empty." It brings an expectant look to the dragon's couch. "And Arekoth?" It follows, more or less immediately, after that expectant glance. Madilla, otherwise, seems to have accepted H'kon's words as certain; if he's sure, she's sure. And, laughingly, "I don't know how I managed to obtain so many things. Once upon a time, I had nothing but... a change of clothes, more or less." Now she has three children, even if two of them have taken many of their belongings elsewhere. "Has only just left. A final time." From that ledge up high, that ledge he'd occupied since weyrlinghood. H'kon's face stays pointed at the couch, though his gaze goes elsewhere, goes up high, through another set of eyes. He's not fully gone, not so much he can't give a, "Hm," and turn a smile - indeed - to Madilla when she speaks. "One place for so long a time... But it's strange. Most of what we had," what has since been stowed carefully away, as out of reach as it can be, in the main sleeping area, in their room, "was all from Tillek, at one time or other. Anything not gear or wing." A nod answers the explanation of Arekoth's whereabouts, though Madilla makes no remark on it. Instead, musingly: "Tillek." She sounds pleased with this. "I brought very little from my-- from the home of my family. The rest has been acquired," or made, with her own two hands, "since. Well, in any case: the weyr or room does not make the home." It doesn't mean the glance she aims around is not considering, however, as though she's still moulding this room, this weyr, into 'home.' H'kon lets her consider the new space in silence a moment, his own thoughts turning over until he's come up with, "Home... is as much a historic word as a present one, I find." That dragon's arrival is hard to miss, the main area and the couch so very integrated. Beaked snout, twisted leg, and then all of Arekoth, his wings arranged already on his back. He, too, spends time looking about the place. H'kon's chin lifts a degree or two, and the easy arm that had been draped about the woman beside him becomes a conscious grip. "Now," is allowed, with some heat in his ears, "this is home." Indeed, Madilla's head turns as Arekoth arrives, allowing her to greet the brown with something akin to solemnity; the moment, now, belongs to all three of them. It's H'kon's latter words that have her turning her gaze back towards him, that heat matched by simple, if genuine, pleasure. "This is home," she agrees. "Ours." Her own arm tightens, confirmation of his words as much as her own. "The next time Lilabet has a restday," she suggests, after a moment or two, "We should have them both back here. We'll have a picnic on the ledge." Arekoth's inspection lands in the end on his rider, his rider's mate. The look sticks a moment, and then the brown eases down, settles in. "We should. Have them see it all together. Dilan can set to planning his space, at least..." One thought clings to another, and H'kon twists, his hand not taken from Madilla's hip, but sliding faintly as he looks back toward the sleeping quarters. "By then Raija will hopefully have settled in... or at least started." "I hope she... settles in better, easier, here." Than when she first arrived at the Weyr? Than when her siblings left her, all at once? Madilla's voice is low-toned, not worried but nonetheless somewhat serious. "I'm sure she'll delight in showing them around, at least. Those places she can get to." And not the places where she will, under no circumstances, be permitted. The healer's shoulders ease, tension fading into relaxation, slowly but surely. "We'll be here for her, at least. All." The man's voice has found its encouraging tone, even as his dragon shifts his tail, waits, slides a claw, waits, learning the lay of this new home, the comfortable spots, the angles. After a time, he turns from those rooms, and looks to Madilla again, straight on. "This will be strange at first. All the firsts." Slow nodding with it. "Yes," agrees Madilla, firmly; it's an agreement that could be for both of the things H'kon says, or either of them. 'All' is, perhaps, the most likely. "I've never properly lived with someone, before," goes without saying, though she says it anyway. "But I'm confident we'll manage. All of those firsts. I'm glad." She meets his gaze as she says it; she smiles. "No," is confirmation of the newness of it, even a sort of shared assessment, despite the word itself. H'kon opens his mouth, hesitates, shakes his head. That arm gets drawn out from around her, now, his hand instead looking for hers, the more usual physical link, and for him at least, one more expressive. And rather than speak further on the topic, H'kon's expression softens, holding that eye contact a moment longer. Arekoth gives his sigh, closes the first lid over his eyes. Madilla's fingers, immediately, reach to twine with H'kon's. "Mmm," she says, not in answer to anything in particular - or so it must seem, superficially - but perhaps everything, all at once. Her eyes, like Arekoth's, close, though she's only the one set of lids, and hers don't stay closed for long. "We should..." Wash. Unpack. Fetch Raija. Eat. All those things. "We should," agrees H'kon, bringing his head up and his shoulders back. He looks about the place, this place, their place, and nods. "We should." He even starts moving, toying with the immediate necessities over the promise of this togetherness, stretched out so impressively before them. But still his fingers drag, not quite untangled from Madilla's, as he moves. Nor, in the end, does Madilla pull hers away. It'll take necessity - the need for a second hand, perhaps - to draw hers away altogether. It's probably symbolic; a sign; a grand gesture. Or... not. Fin. |
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