Logs:The Tea
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| RL Date: 22 June, 2011 |
| Who: Madilla, Rhaelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rhaelyn horrifies Madilla. They find an alternative. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 1, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
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| 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. It's mid-day and like usual, a line of people are waiting to see the healer. A mix of mostly exile and some weyr-folks today. At least the girl next in line is healthy enough as far as looks go. Rhaelyn crosses her arms and uncrosses them and then fusses with the edge of her sleeve or adjusts some tie that keeps her hood in place around her head. Ill at ease with all these strangers, particularly a snotty-nosed child in his mother's arms. Again and again she looks hopeful to see the healer come in. There's a triage system in place, of course, the young healer at the desk assigning those waiting in a rough kind of order. Eventually, a blonde healer leads away the mother and snotty child, and a few moments later, there's Madilla, wiping down wet hands with a towel as she approaches the admissions desk again. After a few words with the attending healer, Madilla steps towards Rhaelyn, addressing her with a cheerful enough smile: "Rhaelyn? You can come back, now." Rhaelyn looks oddly nervous, not enjoying the fact that her emotions are showing and certainly not this one in particular. She gets up gracefully and hurries for Madilla, "Oh, I'm so glad you are able to talk with me. I was afraid it would be so stranger." Not that many of the healers are really strangers to her during her longer than average stay amoung them. Falling in step with the healer she continues, "I won't take us hardly any of your time." "I'm glad I can be of use," says Madilla, with a genuine smile, though there's a flicker of curiosity in her expression that she can't completely hide. She leads the way straight towards one of the cubicles, ushering Rhaelyn in before she closes the curtain behind them. There are two seats within, and the healer takes one of them, pressing her hands together as she says, "As much time as you need, I can spare. How can I help, Rhaelyn?" Rhaelyn has an intense look around the outside of the cubicle to see who is around and who is just lingering to listen. There are people around but they all look busy. So she's safe right? Fussing with her dress, Rhae steps in and checks the curtain after the healer closes it. "I need the tea." The request is blurted out in a whisper right as her bottom settles into the seat. At least everyone around seems to be otherwise occupied: healers at work, patients focused on their own needs. Madilla, certainly, seems entirely content to talk at a normal volume, though her brow furrows distinctly when the islander blurts out her question. "The tea? Which tea do you mean?" Rhaelyn rubs her hands together, her chin lifting proudly, "The tea that a woman takes to keep from having babies." Then a pause, "There are different types of teas? I would also like a tea to be smarter too then. Do you have one of those?" In this place of amazing food and clothes, it could be something they give the kids. After a pause of her own, Madilla says, "There are a lot of kinds of teas, though none for smartness, I'm afraid." She seems oddly reluctant about the other request, too, however, pressing her hands together and sucking in a breath before she answers. "There's no completely certain way to avoid getting pregnant, Rhaelyn. There's a tea, but... it's not foolproof, and it's not necessarily good for your body." Rhaelyn's expression falls, "It's not? It isn't?" Her eyes roll in her head and she breaths out one of those islander-oaths about fishbrains or something. "I was assured that girls here do it all the time. By one of your washer-women." "Girls..." Madilla hesitates. "Get rid of babies all the time. I suppose that's true enough. There's tea for that - though it's not a nice experience - and there's Between, too." She gives Rhaelyn a thoughtful glance. "I can give you a tea that will make it less likely that you will conceive, but you should... time your activities, too, and be aware that if you really do not want a child, you may need to actively abort." The idea of which clearly makes her unhappy, though not enough to make her hold back on the information. Rhaelyn chews at her lip as she watches Madilla, aware that the question is making her uncomfortable and she wasn't expecting that. Her hands twist togther and she squirms in her seat. "I just..I /can't/ have a child." Speaking of being hard on her body. Geesh. She smooths a hand down one scrawny hip, her expression more than a little lost. "I...I just need to...do this. I just...just no babies." She makes it sound like she's going to have to clean latrines with bare hands. The act that might get her with a baby. Madilla keeps her silence for a long moment, big eyes watching Rhaelyn. Finally, she nods. "I understand," she murmurs, barely audible. Exhaling lengthily, she says, finally, "I can give you some of that tea. The kind that makes it unlikely that you will conceive. You're most fertile at the mid-point of your cycle; that's when you want to avoid-- if you're careful, you should be all right, but it's not a perfect system. If you need to, you come back. We'll work it out." Rhaelyn actually looks miserable at getting the tea, as though she's come to the point of no turning back. There's a nod and a dry gulp or two. "Thank you." Her shoulders move with the heaviness of her breathing. Quietly she asks, "How am I to....that is...I have never....Had sex. Is it...worth it?" Madilla's silence stretches out even longer, now; she looks actively concerned, and reaches out one of her hands with the obvious intent of taking Rhaelyn's, as long as the girl doesn't pull away. "It can be," she says, finally. "I'm perhaps not the best person to talk to; for me, it has never been the earthshattering thing others have spoken of. You don't /have/ to, Rhaelyn-- there's not someone pressuring you into it, is there? Because that is never acceptable." Rhaelyn doesn't move away from the healer touching her. She keeps her eyes downcast, looking down at her knees. "I can't talk to anyone about this. If my friends were to know..." Her lips squeeze tight across her lips at the thought of that particular tangle. She looks up, her eyes glossy but her expression determined. "The owner of your weyr told me I don't have any skills. But someone else offered..well, said that I could earn what I want another way. So long as I don't have a child, it should be alright." Though from her disgusted expression, the ice-queen is having a hard time talking herself into it. "It's only for a moment right? I hear men are very fast." Madilla freezes, her hand tightening on Rhaelyn's to the point where it might actually be painful for the other woman. "What? /No/. No, that is not how things work; not here. Not ever." Her expression is utterly aghast. "I'm sure you have plenty of other skills. Perhaps you could work in the kitchens, or the storerooms, or in the laundry, or-- there are plenty of options. But not... /No/." Kitchens? *gasp* Rhae shakes her head. Storerooms? *groan* Nose crinkles. Laundry? There's a sigh and a cringe from the exile who is working her fingers gingerly between the tight grip of Madilla's hold but not removing from the clasp. "I don't know that I'm suited for those things. And I want...nice things. And a room of my own. Dresses. Baubles." She chews at her lower lip worriedly, she's said too much. The movement of Rhaelyn's fingers seems to tune Madilla back in to the state of her grip, which immediately softens. "Everyone has to work, Rhaelyn; if you want nice things, you'll need to be able to pay for them." There's sympathy in her expression, despite all of this. "No one in the weyr is /truly/ wealthy. Not even the Weyrleaders, I think, though they certainly have more than most." "They own the weyr." The silent 'of course they are wealthy' is accented with an arch of one eyebrow. "They have private quarters and I have seen what they wear." It's gotta be worth something. She's back in that corner again, employment options being what they are: Limited. "I'm sure scrubbing someone's clothes pays 'real' well." Quietly; "They don't /own/ the weyr." Madilla's shaking her head for emphasis. "They administer it, of course, but-- everyone in the weyr gets a stipend, every quarter. Depending on your job, it may be larger or smaller. But everything else is free: clothes from stores, meals, all the things a person /needs/." She tips her head to the side, asking, finally, "What job would you want, if you had the skills for it?" Rhaelyn frowns in her puzzlement, "But she said it was 'Hers'. The weyr I mean." The healer seems firm enough in her assurance that they don't own it to set her back a little, she's never going to understand this place. "I was told I could have a lovely handmade chest and earings from a jeweler. Maybe some weaver-made clothes." All for the cost of whatever she'd do in the bedroom obviously. A much better bargin so far. "I...don't know. I thought maybe I could talk with the Harpers but..." She laughs softly, "Do I have such skills for that? It wasn't allowed for me--I did not have the right bloodline." "I think--" Madilla trails off. "She doesn't mean it /quite/ like that." The line of her mouth thins and tightens as Rhaelyn describes what she was offered. "I think that's wrong," she says, finally, seriously. "I can't make decisions for you, but-- there are better ways. There /are/." Which is probably why she latches on to the last thing the other woman says. "You could talk to the Harpers and find out. If it's what you wanted; if you showed some talent. You'd be old to Apprentice, but we're all willing to make allowances for that, I think. Ask them. I'm sure they'd be willing to give you a try." She sounds almost desperate. Rhaelyn is actually thankful for Madilla's support, for something, anything to latch onto that might save her from the other choice, the awful, yuckie, disgusting touch-boys choice. She lifts a hand and wipes at her eyes, sighing softly, "Do you -really- think so? It's not something that only our Harper will be allowed to try? What if I'm not good? It will be so embarassing..." Still, embarassment or sex? The aloof young woman seems torn. There's no doubt that Madilla can sense something of Rhaelyn's feelings - the wiping of the eyes is probably a pretty good giveaway, ultimately - and her smile is accordingly encouraging. "If you don't try, you don't know. Besides, it would be just you and the harpers, in that decision. Private. I can't promise what they'll say, but I should think they'd be willing. It seems like it's worth a try, at least." Rhaelyn's smile is uncertain, such uncomfortable footing admitting she has weakness. "You're right. There's no harm in asking at least." It's a foot towards are more acceptable future anyway. "I won't hold you responsable of course healer Madilla, if I am not accepted. But perhaps you could tell me who I should ask for? WHo would be the best person to present myself to?" Madilla, at least, seems enthusiastic. "I'm sure you won't. But I'd like to hear how you go, regardless; I'm sure we can think of something else, if we need to." But she's confident, or sounds it: there's no need for that. "I-- one of the Journeymen, I suppose. Rorkes or Kharven, or one of the others. I don't suppose it matters, ultimately; either they'll be the person to talk to, or they'll be able to show you to the person who will be." "Rorkes or Kharven." Rhaelyn makes sure to repeat the names, watching the healer to see that she's saying it just right and then follows with a nod. "There's a Harper that Journeyman Zev introduced me too as well." Her nose crinkles rather prudishly, "Although, perhaps he's cut from the same cloth." There's a smile though, "Oh, I feel every so much better. You don't know how much this takes off my shoulders." Zev. Madilla hesitates at that name, but says nothing; perhaps she knows the man in question. Perhaps she's taking down his name for future reference. "I'm glad," she says, earnestly. "I really am. I hope it goes well, Rhaelyn." Getting to her feet, Rhaelyn nods, just once, and adds a warm smile. "Thank you again. And I will certanily come and fill you in on what happens. Whatever it might be." With that and a little bounce to her step, she hurries out. The tea and that other option, left behind for now. Quietly, watching Rhaelyn go, Madilla murmurs, "Best of luck." She seems... well. Genuinely relieved. |
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