Logs:The Masterhealer's Verdict
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| RL Date: 13 January, 2015 |
| Who: Madilla, Tevara |
| Involves: Healer Hall, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tevara asks Madilla in to speak with her before she finalizes her decision. |
| Where: Masterhealer's Office, Healer Hall |
| When: Day 20, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions, Miska/Mentions |
| Storyteller: Rose/ST |
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>---< RP Room: Masterhealer's Office, Healer Hall(#926RIJ) >-----------------<
The Masterhealer's office is a well-appointed cavern with wide windows
that look out into the courtyard. The sounds of chatter drift up when the
shutters are open, past translucent teal curtains. A large desk, filled
with papers sits just in front of those windows, atop a plush rounded dark
gray rug, one high-backed chair is on one side of the desk, while three
smaller chairs are set on the other. Built in bookshelves claim one entire
wall, filled with texts, scrolls, and other bound pieces of writing. It's
a neat room with interesting knick-knacks decorating various surfaces.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Madilla F 34 5'7" Average, Brown hair, Green eyes 0s
Tevara F 64 5'6 soft, blonde hair, blue eyes 8s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Out
>----------------------------------------< 20D 10M 36T I10, autumn evening >---< Evening is about to fall on Healer Hall, the outside casting a rosy sheen on the countryside. It even seeps into Tevara's office, as her windows are thrown open, the curtains drawn. The woman stands before it, looking out at the courtyard, her gaze fixed to the arriving and departing dragonriders that ferry her kind and those that need her kind to and from the Hall. Madilla has been summoned in the form of a handwritten note, sent through dragonriders rather than any slower form of transit. It includes enough marks to pay a rider handsomely for what would amount to be an instant favor, though it's hard to tell if that's a winking face drawn in the corner of Tevara's signature, or a smudgy ink blot. It's brown Arekoth - and not any pair specifically on courier duty - that ferries Madilla to Healer Hall, and whose rider the healer pauses to murmur a few words to before she dismounts and heads indoors. Her footsteps sound in the corridor outside some seconds before she knocks, but if she was hesitant, then, at least she manages to be firm in the knocking; "Craftmaster?" Her voice is firm, too; just a hint of determination, there, lurking beneath the surface. "Master. Call me just Master." There's humor there, but also a thread of warning that doesn't quite match up with the welcome lightly sketched over Tevara's face. And then she finds the door still shut and the recipient of all such reactions not able to see any of it. She strides forward, her long steps audible through the door and opens it. "Come in. Your weyrmate is well? I imagine you tipped him well." She's seen. She's teasing. She's now walking back to her window to glance out it. "Will he wait for you?" "Master," Madilla repeats, but not until after the door is opened; after she's stepped in, too, hands clasped behind her back. Her cheeks are pink for the tease, though it is only pink - it could be worse. "He's well, thank you. They both are. Yes, he'll wait. I-- didn't think this would take so very long." Although, her expression suggests, now, she's perhaps not altogether sure. "I can get to my point or we can dally. Which would you prefer, journeyman." The rank gets unsubtle emphasis and an arched brow to match, all of these pointed to Madilla even if the woman is still gazing into the courtyard. "Handsome. You should have invited him in. Meet your proverbial parents. Of sorts. I can request Osvian to join us. It'll be a merry family reunion." Madilla blanches, ever so slightly, at this oh-so-jolly family reunion; in lieu of answering that she says, quietly, "I am at your disposal, Master." It's neutral; a non-answer, really, though Madilla - as is her wont - makes it genuine enough. "Did you leave Miska in charge on purpose?" It's not a gentle question, for all it is softly spoken. Tevara feigns distraction with H'kon down in the courtyard, reaching to idly twirl a lock of free hair, reminiscent of a younger woman, turns and turns ago. "On purpose?" Madilla repeats those words largely without seeming to comprehend them, and then has to try and catch up with herself, hastily. "I believed Miska to be competent; I'd had no concerns about his performance, and I thought it would be a good development opportunity for him." Tevara lets off a wistful seeming sigh and steps away from the window. Having not invited Madilla to sit, she is still, a little, taken aback to catch of the younger woman standing before her. "Sit, please. Yes, on purpose. You are not a poor judge of character, in spite of how you've taken to Weyr life, I wonder if you did this on purpose, either to test his mettle, to prove a point, to-..." Tevara's voice trails off into a shrug. "No, you are not so political to do so, and it has not changed my mind in regards to you." Madilla does sit, although it takes her another moment-- two-- before she takes that first step. Chin lifting, she hesitates all over again before saying anything further, "I had not seen anything that concerned me." Despite that chin, her words are quiet, and hold a certain amount of doubt. "Miska is a good healer. He was an asset. If I'd had any idea... but I didn't." "Return to the Hall." It's an order. And yet not. It's an order that Tevara knows the answer to. Madilla freezes. But-- but. "No." Beat. "Master." Tevara cants her head, so as to look at Madilla from a sidelong view. "I've kept myself out of these decisions. These requests. This bargaining. But I'm afraid this matter has escalated the need for me to step in. Osvian, bless him, declined to do such an act to you." Plainly, Madilla blesses Osvian too; it's obvious in the flickering of her eyelids, the brief - so brief - twist of her mouth. But all she says is a heartfelt if still quiet, "Please." "If it became a choice between your craft and your life." It's not spelled out at all, so it's not an ultimatum. It's a question with honest interest in Tevara's eyes. And in case it comes off too strong, the Masterhealer adds a quieter, "Your knot is not in the balance. I simply wish to understand." Madilla takes and holds a breath, then releases it audibly. "I don't know," she admits, quietly, apparently at least a little soothed by that latter comment. "I love my craft, Master. I love my work. I want to be an asset, and help people, and... serve. However I can. But I've been at High Reaches for nineteen turns. I have a weyrmate, and children who belong there. And... I like practicing my craft. I love teaching, but not... I just don't know what I would do." "It was our fault, for allowing an apprentice posting to go on for so long but you," Tevara interjects herself, "Had such a rapport with the Weyr." But hindsight is always perfect vision. "The decision for Miska and yourself has been made. I've sealed the verdicts and will submit them to the panel within a seven. I'm giving you the opportunity to unseal your fate now. Yes? Or shall we wait with the proverbial axe waiting over our necks? The other boot waiting to drop? Faranth's dung hanging over your head. Fill in this space with any other idiotic expression of doom." Madilla can't argue that first remark; even if she'd like to, she must know the reality of it. She nods, instead, though the nod is stilted and cut off short - the rest of what the Craftmaster has certainly caught her attention. "Please," she says, with only the faintest hint of a quake to her voice. "Yes. Please." "Take your promotion like the healer you are now. Resign as Weyrhealer. Return home. Head up my new committee on Healer-Weyr relations. Visit all the Weyrs. We want to make sure this case, however fractionally slim it is to happen again, never does under my watch." Tevara presses her hands into the glass of her desk, smudging her fingerprints all over what must have just been cleaned, given it's well, cleanliness. "Oh." It wasn't intentional at all, was it? "I meant High Reaches." Madilla ... freezes. Bodily, yes, but also in expression: she stares at Tevara, and not even that amendment can shake her out of it. Tevara is remarkably good at not speaking either. But she does get distracted by trying to wipe out the finger smudges with her sleeve. It squeaks. The squeak is a distraction; it sends Madilla's green-eyed gaze towards that sleeve, and in the end, perhaps that's enough. One swallow later and she says, not evenly, and not with clear composure, "If that's... yes, Master. Of course. I..." A pause. "Thank you, Master." "Tevara. We're colleagues now. I expect weekly reports in person." Tevara dismisses Madilla with a flicker of her fingers, suddenly far more cursory than before. Madilla's deep breath may make it seem as though she has more she'd like to say - perhaps a lot more - but... no. "Tevara, then. Thank you." Perhaps she doesn't sound pleased, just yet, and certainly not excited, but... it's more than resignation, the way she nods, that once, taking her leave with her shoulders drawn back and her head held high. The rest... give it time. |
Comments
H'kon (21:27, 14 January 2015 (EST)) said...
The craft is mother; the craft is father...
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