Logs:Ice Is Not A Treatment
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| RL Date: 14 July, 2009 |
| Who: Madilla, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: W'chek got hit. W'chek got hit and it bruised and he didn't come and get Madilla to check it out! Tsk. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 3, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions |
| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. The quiet, studious one - that's Madilla, who is seated just back from the table, which lets her pour over her books whilst leaving enough room for the quilt in her lap, which is steadily taking shape under her diligent fingers. It's evening, and despite the generally miserable weather outdoors, the nighthearth is not too crowded, the dull murmur of low conversations the only real sound aside from the regular crackling of the hearth. Madilla draws a hand away from her sewing to turn a page in her book, mouthing the words silently as she reads. It's a good thing she's absorbed, can't see the way that when W'chek first enters, his eyes scan the faces of those few people conversing here and there--and, that first time, passes over Madilla like she isn't even there. It's only on the second pass that he stops to regard her, spends really far too long thinking about it, and finally crosses to pull the chair next to her out halfway. "Anyone sitting here?" Like somehow smiles and charm will make that awful swollen, purple splotch along his jawline less obvious. A couple days are not enough to make it look much less like he was hit in the face. For at least one moment, smiles and charm /do/ take precidence, Madilla's eyes lighting as they draw up towards W'chek, a smile sweeping into place. Her expression falls part-way, her eyes going wide, her hands freezing where they are, then lifting up, hovering, her sewing abandoned. "/W'chek/. Have you had someone look at your face? Goodness, what happened, are you all right?" Her immediate concern is, obviously, much more for the injury itself than what may have caused it; her gaze seeks his, searching for reassurance. "It's fine," W'chek says quickly, maybe too quickly, as he pulls the chair out the rest of the way and sits down in it. "I thought it was looking a little better today, actually," although as soon as he's said it he looks like he'd bite it back again if he could. Because that only means it was worse before. "Didn't want to worry you," more a mutter than anything, extremely aware of how lame it sounds. Absent from all of this is any explanation for that whole 'what happened' question, of course. He tries to put his hand up over the affected area, but it's obviously tender and that's a bad idea, leaving him cringing and putting the hand back down again. "It's fine," again. It's fascinating, really, the way Madilla's very stance, not to mention tone and expression, change, over the course of what W'chek says; from conversational, from friendly, she turns to professional, actually reaching out with the obvious intent of tilting his face so that she can get a better look. "Have you had it seen to?" she repeats, in that just ever so slightly sharper tone. "If this is it looking better... W'chek, /really/. It's clearly not fine." Pause. "I put some ice on it," W'chek says, hopefully. That counts, doesn't it? As it being seen to? Yeah, the look in his eyes says he knows full well that it doesn't. But. At least he doesn't shrink away from her hands. This is professional attention, after all. "It didn't seem like it was that bad, at first. I mean. When I first looked in the mirror it was just kind of red and puffy and then it started getting purple-y later." "Ice." Madilla fastens W'chek with a Look that clearly indicates that /she/ doesn't think this counts, not at all. She leans forward to get a better look at it, tilting consideringly, then finally shakes her head. "Ice is not good enough. Ice is not treatment. It is... A first step, maybe, and definitely better than nothing, but..." Her eyes seek his again. "I have some balm, in the infirmary, which should help a little. How many days, did you say? What /happened/?" It's only finally, as she reaches that last question, that the professionalism drops, even slightly. Did he say? Uncertainty in W'chek's face now, but not exactly unhappiness. "Day before yesterday. It was nothing. Really, nothing." This is what we call protesting entirely too much. "I'm all right. It'll heal. It's ugly, but hey. Now the girls aren't all falling all over each other for me?" Kind of a lopsided smile, there. It's not a good joke, but it's an attempt. At least, now, as Madilla draws her hands away, back towards her lap, she's more or less smiling again, even if the concernedness has not faded entirely. "It's not nothing," she chides, but it's only light. At least. "It's awful, and... it could have done some real damage. Not even just teeth again." The joke doesn't really widen that smile at all; if anything, her brows raise slightly, almost, if not entirely, unimpressed. "You're not going to tell me what happened, are you? That's fine... just... You need to look after yourself. Please? We're not so scary to come visit, you know, at work. Healers, I mean." "Well--I got hit. Obviously. It's not like there's much to tell," W'chek protests. "And that's happened enough times and nothing's happened bef--well, nothing's happened that wasn't fixable with some enamel and wire. It's not that I mind healers. Not at all." He reaches for the hand that's pulling away. "I just don't want you to have to fuss over something that's *not* serious. That's all. You have so many other things to worry about, don't you? Big things, people who really need help. Right? And I'm fine." /That/, if Madilla's expression is anything to go by, is completely not the point, though she doesn't argue it, except to say, "You could break your jaw, and that is terribly painful, and awkward. Why does everyone want to hit you, W'chek?" This is said as she lets him take her hand, even twines her fingers through his to squeeze. "I fuss over things that aren't serious all the time; that's as much my job as the truly serious things. And I always worry about you." She looks so... serious. So earnest. The squeeze is returned, and that brings a little bit of a smile to W'chek's face. "I don't think sh--" Quick revising. "I don't think it was nearly hard enough to break my jaw. And not everybody wants to hit me. You don't want to hit me. I hope." Bigger smile. Let's distract Madilla from that earlier slip. "Plenty of people don't." Just ignore the trouble he's having naming another. Finally: "B'tal. He doesn't seem like the hitting type. See? So, there's two." Do Madilla's lips tighten just slightly, at the start of the 'sh--'? It's difficult to tell, particularly since she doesn't follow it up, merely watches him with that half smile of hers, even if her gaze is still concerned. "Accidents happen," is what she says, lightly. And, "Well, I shouldn't think I would. I've never hit anyone. You're probably right about B'tal, too." That's where she hesitates. Because, really, shouldn't there be more? Then, "How is B'tal? I haven't seen him lately." Subject change! Convenient. "Fine. I guess." W'chek the fantastic friend. So casual sounding, shrugging there. "I think we're all pretty busy. Lately. Training, and... such. I'll let him know you asked." Then a glance towards the exit. "Speaking of which, this business of busy-ness. I have a dragon demanding some attention. You ought to come out and see him again sometime, you know. Pretty soon we'll be allowed to fly without the weyrlingmasters, and I'll take you up. See all kinds of things from up there." He pulls himself back up to standing again, slides the chair back into place. Madilla, the girl who doesn't push too hard on most things, only smiles. "Of course you are. I've seen you - practicing, I mean. Sometimes, when I take a walk on my break. Please do tell him." A beat, and then, eyes lighting: "I will come out and see him. I'd like that. And to go flying - oh, yes. Please." Obviously excited at this, she somehow manages to add, warmly, "Good night, W'chek. I'll send by some of that balm, for your face. And if it doesn't improve... come and see me." "I'll come see you anyway, so you can fuss all officially," W'chek says like this is a very confidential thing, a secret between them. "But hopefully it'll help. And it'll get better, anyway. Not like the teeth, huh?" That sounding like it's less to her than himself, somehow. "Good night, Madilla. And I'll see you soon." And then he's off for... somewhere, presumably the bowl and that dragon who might be surprised to hear that he's being so unexpectedly needy. |
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