Logs:A Wanted Child
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| RL Date: 13 June, 2011 |
| Who: Leova, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova comes to see Madilla in her professional capacity. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 13, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions |
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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. By now, the worst of the illness that has taken so many exiles is over: there's still a segregated area where their quarantined beds remain, but the rest of the infirmary is back to normal functionality. Mid-evening finds a sleeping-looking Madilla lingering about the front desk, sorting paperwork with a detached sort of diligence. The healer has ink on her nose, and down her apron, not to mention the stain on her left hand. It's an exile who makes her way into the infirmary next, stoop-shouldered and frankly a little whiny, a breath before a greenrider emerges from the dragon infirmary's tunnel. The latter doesn't have her furs and wool on, she doesn't even have a red nose, and she doesn't stare at that separate area, though she does glance now and again out of the corner of her eye. She /also/ doesn't take the shortest route between two points, as though there are invisible barriers, or islands, between herself and Madilla's desk. The absent-minded rub Madilla gives to her nose doesn't make the mark any worse: clearly, it's been there a while. Just as clearly, she has no idea that it's there. The sound of footsteps - though whether they belong to the exile or the greenrider is hard to determine, since there's a definite delay - eventually rouses the healer from her work. She sets down her files as the exile claims her attention, pressing both hands to the desk's surface. Her greeting is warm, bright despite the whining, destined to be soothing. Which gives Leova a good view of Madilla-as-healer, Madilla-at-work, Madilla-with-smudge, though she leans against the wall discreetly out of hearing range. Mostly. Depending on the volume. The exile woman has a gripe about her remaining grippe, but that proves to be secondary to her complaints about these strange words, and why isn't there a better list, a song maybe, and this /other/ woman said to see the people they call harpers only they aren't in their offices where they're supposed to be, like Madilla is, and she couldn't even find them anywhere else and so on and so on and so on. This woman is not one of the rarities to escape Madilla's spell, and although she does have some difficulty with this note business along the way, she seems to get the idea of being with one's family. Which, of course, leads to tears. But eventually those get sopped up too, and she's on her way to /try/ to find her family, if she doesn't get lost, which she then has to tell Madilla about... and then she really /is/ on her way. For real. Probably. And Leova's first words, once she's let a few moments of silence pass for safety and stepped up to the desk herself, are: "Don't know /how/ you do it." Frankly, by the look on Madilla's expression once the woman is finally on her way, she's not entirely sure how she does it, either: she looks exhausted. But the sound of Leova's approaching footsteps, not to mention the words that follow, distract her again, and she has a genuine smile for the greenrider, too. "I'm just glad I can help them when I can. It must all be so difficult." That's followed by, "I didn't see you come in. How are you, Leova?" There's a hitch of her shoulder, shrugging it off for the moment. "Been... giving them space." And then, "Learned the name of one of them, earlier. So that's something." Leova hesitates all over again. "You look tired," and those amber eyes linger only for a moment on the smudge on her nose, checking instead for a different sort of smudge beneath her eyes. "Don't want you to have more work. How about I come back. Meantime, get you klah or something, hm?" "If I have more klah, I'll never sleep," says Madilla, shaking her head firmly. "Truly, I'm fine. Things are getting better: quieter. More time for sleep." She stretches her shoulders, though, flexing in a way that suggests she hasn't paused for /much/ whatever she says. "I don't know if having them out and about his helping or making things more difficult," she admits, though it's with a rueful, faintly amused tone. "Are you - just dropping in? Did you need something?" "Was that a pop?" Leova questions for the shoulders-flexing, not /quite/ an interrogation. "And you're implying you'll sleep /sometime/. That's something. And... reckon they'll have to adjust sometime or other, though I wish it weren't hard for you along the way. Easier for me to duck," the greenrider admits. There's some of that hesitation still in her tone when she continues, though it's after a brisk brush of her hand against the counter, wiping something invisible. "It can keep. Not like a broken bone or nothing." Madilla levels a long glance at Leova, silent for a few seconds before she shakes her head. "Just a stretch. I /do/ sleep, and honestly, it isn't too bad. It'll get better." Besides, she's distracted now by that hesitation, her brows knitting as she continues to consider the greenrider and her issue-that-can-keep. She looks far more awake, if still ink-covered. "/Leova/. What is it?" Caught, and she knew she would be, but: "You'd have to work anyway?" There's no escaping from this one, not with the intensity of Madilla's expression. "Of course I would. Leova. Please." "It's not like /that/," but Leova turns. Half-turns, really, keeping an eye on the healer. "Somewhere quiet?" A short nod, and at least Madilla doesn't look /wary/, but there's something in her eyes, anyway. "Of course. Come through into Delifa's office; it's empty, this time of night." Empty, but still glow-lit, as though someone has been working in there recently. Madilla leads the way, but lingers near the door, evidently intending to shut it behind the greenrider. That greenrider lets her do it, too, though her eyes are darker now. Lower light. Closed door. Closed door. "You can laugh," she says, summoning a small curve to her mouth, though it only makes it halfway. "Just to me." Half a question. Frowning, Madilla asks, "Why would I laugh?" Her hand leaves the doorknob and drops towards her side, leaving her with nothing to do except eye Leova expectantly. "What is it?" /Expectantly/. The greenrider backs up, half-sitting on the edge of the desk, her leathers a quiet creak. "Well. So." Rehearsed, it must be. "Anvori would... like a child." That tiny caught breath, barely audible, is a good indication that, whatever Madilla anticipated, it wasn't /that/. She's silent a moment, eyes asking a question that she doesn't ask out loud until, finally, "And you?" Her posture is square, angled though it is, but her lashes hide her eyes. Her gaze can read nothing in Madilla's, nor anything else. "I want him to have that." And: "I have... not tried not to, except when I must." Again, the silence. Madilla's expression is difficult to read, but there's some hint of hesitation in there that she can't quite banish. At least, for now, Leova's not looking. And at least, too, when she speaks, it's more firm. "But despite that, you've never gotten pregnant," she surmises it, evenly. "I can make you up a tea that might help." "No," Leova says, but it's contradicting rather than acquiescing, and this time she /does/ look up, with something like laughter in her tone. "A tea for that, a tea for this, a tea for everything?" That makes Madilla smile, too. "Always," she says, cheerfully. "Tea solves everything." That she leaves it at that is a good indication she's waiting for further explanation. Certainly, despite the smile, there's something quizzical in her drawn-in eyebrows. And it's not as if the healer had /summoned/ Leova, no, she had the poor sense to walk in here of her own free will. And talk to her friend. After rolling her eyes at her, anyway. Quieter, "They just didn't... keep." Madilla's mouth opens, a tiny breath escaping without her permission; she has to work hard to keep her expression from turning to anguish. That must be why she swallows before she speaks, why her voice is not, this time, quite so strong. "Oh. Oh-- I'm so sorry." "I knew you'd understand," says Leova, quite quietly: knew, and went to her anyway. Madilla has to nod rather than answer out loud; has to blink several times quickly as though she's fighting back tears. Poor Madilla. Her voice wobbles a little when, finally, she asks, "But you're all right?" Right in time for Leova to lean forward, to offer her a handkerchief. There's still some ruefulness in her voice when she says, "Well enough." And, "They... if it had been further along, I /would/ have reported in." And: "He thinks it's his fault." Madilla accepts the handkerchief, though she looks embarrassed for it, pink cheeked. She watches the greenrider intently, even as she's dabbing beneath her eyes, composing her expression. "It's not," she says, finally: firmly. "It's not anyone's fault. These things happen. Will--" She breaks off, looks rueful. "Will you laugh if I say I have a tea that might help that, too?" "Yes," Leova avers, but it's after a chuckle that's still muted. She pushes up her sleeves, as though the room's not as cold as it had been, or as though she's setting herself back to work. "I... Madilla, I know we could stop /betweening/. Theoretically. I think. It could be possible. Vrianth doesn't /like/ it, /I/ don't like it... Fall knows, I've given the lecture long enough. That it only makes a difference for some women. Some times. Can't count on it one way or another. But." Madilla doesn't seem to have expected anything more than that chuckle; for herself, her smile is thin-lipped and tight. Clutching the handkerchief between her fingers, Madilla hesitates - visibly thoughtful - for a moment before she nods. "There's a reason we suggest no Between at all for the first trimester," she allows. "Though, of course, every woman is different, yes. It-- could make the difference. Would you be able to arrange your duties that way, to try? Do you need--" A note from your healer? Something else? This time, it's not so much rolling her eyes as an out-and-out grimace. "I fly /Glacier/," the greenrider points out. "Not that we drill hardly at all. But. Might be able to pull off straight flying, she'd like that. Just. Don't want to say why. You do know Glacier?" Perhaps Madilla is unworldly enough to have escaped! Mouth twisting, Madilla admits, "I've heard the occasional rumour." Not that she listens to gossip. "I suppose that makes it more difficult. It's a pity there's not a clutch in the barracks." There's that chuckle again, a little more relaxed now. Followed by a not entirely whole-hearted, "Isn't it." Though. "If there were even room, I heard the exiles got bunked there. Course... some of /them/ could Stand. Maybe. If they'd be healthy enough?" Leova even straightens up some, as though that would help them hare off on the tangent. Sounding dubious, "Exile dragonriders? Would the Weyrwoman go for that?" Madilla's brow furrows at the thought of it, but it doesn't linger: she's half-smiling a moment later. "Perhaps in a few months they will be. It would give them a /place/, at least. Somewhere to belong." Not that she's willing to be completely distracted: "We have three queens, now, and there hasn't been a clutch in a couple of turns. There's bound to be one soon. Soonish. Surely?" "No idea. Not my decision," and does Leova ever sound glad about that, even as she nods Madilla's way. "And their dragons... they'd /understand/ better. How things work. But. Don't know how the betting's running, know they started it up right after the last one hatched, or maybe partway through even. Three queens. But. Interval." That gladness makes Madilla smile, a more genuinely bright one than most she's had tonight. "Interval," she agrees, after a breath. "I suppose we'll see. Well." She gives Leova a long glance. "Let me get you some of that tea. And if you /can/ manage not to Between, somehow... I'll do some research, and see if there's anything else I can suggest. Aside from good food, lots of rest. Let Anvori spoil you." Tea. Leova gives the journeyman a look: must she? But, hard on its heels, "Fine." Too soon. Madilla continues. She runs a hand through her hair, rumpling it further. It becomes a hitch of the same shoulder, a diffident shrug. "Won't keep you longer," is all she says. "Don't know how it will go. But. Thanks, Madilla." Madilla's look is meaningful: yes, she must. "We're going to make this happen," she says, then, before she heads back out that door to get the tea. "It's going to work out." If intensity alone can make a thing happen... But she smiles; she encourages. And then she really does go to fetch that tea, and to exchange a few more lines of pleasant enough conversation before she sees the greenrider out. Tea, which Leova will take, so long as she doesn't have to drink any of it then and there. When the greenrider does depart, it's without looking back at Madilla or the exiles' area or anything else. Straight out. And if she starts out of the dragon infirmary without her coat, even, and has to return before she freezes... only Vrianth, still-warm Vrianth, has to know. |
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