Logs:Meet The Family
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| RL Date: 29 December, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Leova, Madilla, Raija |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'kon, Leova and Madilla go to pick up Raija. It's traumatic. |
| Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr / Waystation / Madilla's Quarters, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 8, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. Actually played on 2014.01.03. |
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| Surely it's a positive portent, the way the weather's so clear and warm, the morning the five of them collect outside the Craft Complex. It might even be the height of summer instead of trending towards autumn. There's a bit of a breeze, though, and Vrianth's restive with it: flipping up her wings, ignoring her rider whose held breath calls for patience. Whose mutter underscores it. Whose gaze searches out the tunnel, the better to spy her friend just as soon as she possibly can. Vrianth, not to Leova alone, toying with her: « I hear footsteps. » But whose? Arekoth gets there first, solo, and without straps, backwinging good and low over Leova and Vrianth both, touching down just alongside them. The brown puffs his chest, and gives Vrianth a sidelong look, showing his best profile. Were those his footsteps? « Still waiting, hm? » Vrianth's drawn back to her haunches, the better to partially turn and track the brown, one paw slightly lifted but by angle rather than imitation. Now she flares her nostrils until they show that much greener, and puffs a breath in that direction of that puffed-out chest. « You don't look ready. Arekoth. » It doesn't stop her from examining that profile that much longer. Madilla's footsteps, then, boots crunching on a passage that's not yet been swept, today. A recent bath has put colour into cheeks that may have been very recently pale, but there's not much that can hide the shadows beneath her eyes that suggest it's not been a terribly restful night. She's got a bag slung over her shoulder, heavy with something, and an expression that says much about her mood: determined, but also eager. H'kon walks just to Madilla's side, his own face a bit haggard for lack of sleep as well. He moves silently, Arekoth's straps at the ready, expression set in the usual frown, made heavier only by the depth of the lines today. It will stay that mask, quite unreadable, as he nods to Leova. Even as he looks to his dragon. « Really? I feel ready. » The brown stretches out his wings, for Vrianth, though he looks toward the approaching pair as he does so. Well it's about time. Leova waves the healer's way, and therefore H'kon's, a not-quite-formal sweep of her arm as though she could possibly be missed. Or, as though Vrianth could. « Are you certain you can carry them both? » the latter inquires solicitously. « Do you have enough buckles? » Her vision would have Arekoth cloaked muzzle to toes in leather, all but for the ruddy tips of wings and tail. The greenrider herself is conservatively clad, knotted leathers and dragonhealer's badge, no escort in sight. She doesn't approach them. She waits. Madilla, in one of her long, holder-conservative dresses, albeit with a skirt wide enough for modest flying, her healer's knot in evidence, returns Leova's wave with a solemn nod, crossing the rest of the distance at a faster pace. "Leova," she says, something in her tone suggesting there's more, even if she's not got the words for it. "We're here." « Never knew you were into leather. » He brings his wings back in, and steps forward, all the obedient and noble dragon as he crouches for his rider. And adds, « Naughty girl. » The dragon's banter bounces off H'kon, if it reaches him at all. The compact brownrider accords Leova a solemn inclination of his head, brief eye contact, and no words whatsoever, before stepping to Arekoth's side, and beginning the long-practiced tradition of riding straps. His walking pace hasn't changed throughout. So Leova can't let Madilla go that far on her own, not after all. She moves to meet her, though along the way, amber eyes do flick briefly to H'kon in return. When she reaches her, her hands are out for the clasping, their redwort stains faded now from the other day. "Should I ask if you're ready?" She doesn't look back at Vrianth, Vrianth who is a dragon, one who refuses to acknowledge what Arekoth could possibly mean. Except for a snort, of course. Madilla has to adjust that bag on her shoulder so that it doesn't slide down and hit Leova when she extends her own arms to clasp those offered hands. She squeezes, gently, and gives a nod that suffices as answer until, a couple of seconds later, she adds: "All ready." Her head turns, seeking H'kon. Right? And, "Everything's prepared." H'kon is very carefully tending to tiny adjustments as he secures the straps. It's not a means of stalling; the brownrider steps back soon enough, and looks back to Madilla, nodding once. But most of the morning has been this: precise attention to detail, almost mechanical progression from one thing to the next. "We will follow your lead, then," goes to Leova with the extra firmness - and strict professionalism - that echoes the wingsecond that's got into his knot. "All... right." Leova can let Madilla go, and step back, and finally turn her way back to Vrianth. Anvori's nowhere in sight, but then, neither are their three. Perhaps she's seen that knot. Certainly she doesn't remark on it, nor have her eyes lingered. « You held so still, » Vrianth murmurs in counterpoint. « So well-behaved. » Leova, though, she waits until she's swung up to her own dragon's neck to call over, "I'll send it to you. Get the angle of the river and the road, that's the main thing." Of course, Vrianth waits until she's leapt airborne, until she's high above the Spindles before she tells the brown where to go: a vision of green-lined river that's elsewhere brown, brown and more brown. The long road, dusty. The singular blot of a smallhold, or perhaps it's just another waystation, and not one likely to serve tea. With that, she's gone. Drawing her hands back, Madilla turns from Leova so that she faces H'kon more bodily, her chin lifted though not in a defiant kind of way. She's silent, waiting until H'kon and Arekoth are ready before she climbs on up; from there, her silence remains - very nearly mediative - all the way to that distant location which does, more than anything else this morning, earn her very considered attention. "Here," she murmurs, though it's clearly a remark to herself. H'kon acknowledges Leova's specification with yet another of those nods, while Arekoth specifies, « Just ready, love. » And he is; and H'kon, also, at least for the jump. A hand is held out for Madilla, insists even on offering help to the dragon's shoulders. Then it's up with H'kon, up with Arekoth, into the cold... And there with Vrianth, Arekoth's broad wings stretched out to glide as if he knows the way purely by instinct. For once, or twice, they might be in accord: when Vrianth reappears it's just when Arekoth has, as though she'd stayed that extra moment or two between. For once, or every once in a while, she also sees fit to glide. But then they're there, only when Leova glances back and then leads them onward, it's not into the waystation proper but what turns out to be other quarters that the angle had hidden in the stone. It's not a silent walk: there are insects rustling in the tall, ripening grain that's further from green and closer to gold. There's the clatter of animals unused to dragonkind even from a distance, a matched set of greys corralled with a swaybacked bay, and in the next pen over a pair of bovines and a calf too old to nurse. No one comes out. There's no one to apologize to, even were Leova so moved. The sun is hotter here than at home, the air dustier. Ahead's the threshold, but here the greenrider slows. She glances at Madilla, and then H'kon, and then Madilla again. She's paused by the path's edge. The soon-to-be parent, perhaps parents, do they want to go first? Or simply to go. Again, that bag gets hoisted more carefully over her shoulder, this time to the accompaniment of several long, deep breaths. She's silent as she follows Leova's lead, and if she glances in H'kon's direction, it's only once, though the corners of her mouth suggest a smile. It might be that her hand thinks to reach for his, but her head thinks better; her hand stays where it is, flat against her side. When the greenrider pauses, the healer hesitates, but her chin's lifted high and she needs no further prompting: she steps forward, knocks. "Hello?" H'kon pushes off Arekoth once they've landed, and from there takes up the same place he'd kept on their way out of the crafter complex, at Madilla's side. He makes no apologies or excuses to Leova, just gives her a quick glance as he steps forward, this time standing just back of the healer - but close. The knock has him standing straight, squaring his jaw, and looking almost fierce in his seriousness as he waits. Arekoth remains quiet, now, attentive. It's a little while before the soft shuffle of feet and then the silent sway of the door opening. It doesn't even creak. The woman who stands behind it is elderly, one eye hazed with a cataract, but strongly built and unstooped. She looks at the foreigners blankly, her gaze lingering on the knots and the fine clothing, hers not so fine but painstakingly clean. Then she looks past them, spots Leova and gets her nod, and looks searchingly at Madilla. "Come in," she finally says, and steps back. The air is cool, here, and smells of spices. She gives the rider-man more room than the women, deferential or wary. It's dimly lit, but as their eyes adjust they may be able to make out an entry with a half-wall of mortared pebbles, and beyond, a small living space with a couch just the right size to also serve as a narrow bed. There is no child in sight. But there are traces of a child, or of children: a small shirt on the low table with a partially mended seam, a rumple to the couch's cover, a cup set atop a cabinet with teaspoons in it. Where another hold might have windows, this has short lengths of cloth hung like windows, with painted-on scenes of other lands. The woman has moved past them, now pouring what might be mineral-rich water or some dilute tea into three cups and a glass. Two of the cups match, nearly. Madilla's expression is... hopeful? Perhaps that's the word for it. There's uncertainty, too, but her eagerness is there again. The woman gets a smile, genuine despite being small, as she says, "Thank you. We're glad to be here." Even so, one hand creeps behind her to grab for H'kon's, just for a moment, before she'll actually manage to step inside. Once she's cleared the doorway, she turns her head to look around, gaze falling from one point in space to the next, her expression showing visible disappointment for the lack of child. H'kon's hand is there, Madilla's touch barely registering on his face, but for a slight change in the lines at his eyes, and not registering at all in his posture. H'kon offers the woman what is meant as a polite nod, though there's no smile to accompany it. He makes his on inspection of the room, and at the end of that, a quick one of Madilla. His thoughts on the matter are expressed by way of a slow exhale. And when that cup is offered, he'll even try a forced, one-sided smile to go with the nod. Probably, it won't help, if that was wariness. "Madilla, yes? Healer Madilla." That's definitely respectful, though she pronounces the name differently, a softness to the middle syllable. She seems to relax a little when the first cup is taken, though she still doesn't look at H'kon for very long. By the time still-silent Leova has taken another cup, the one that didn't match, the older woman's saying, "I will bring her," and disappears into the shadows. But it's not just shadows, by the sound of retreating footsteps, rather a short hallway. The silence cuts off and there's sound: babbling, calling out, someone unhappy. No, someones, young someones and a girl's voice attempting to calm whoever it is or at least get them to be quiet. In so many words. A child tumbles in before anyone else, literally, with straight brown hair that flops up and down along with the would-be cartwheel. There are two more, and then a third, and all have dark hair but only the third has those startling amber eyes. She stays back, clutching at the leg of the girl who tries to scrape her off, while the oldest woman cuts off any retreat. H'kon's glance earns him a smile from Madilla, one that is perhaps intended to be encouraging or... something along the positive end of the spectrum. It's awkward, though. This whole situation is awkward. "Yes," she confirms to the woman as she accepts the cup. "And H'kon." Though she's silent as the woman leaves, her attention is focused, intent and intense, upon the direction she's gone in, and her eyes positively light as the children arrive. Her cup is abandoned, and Madilla drops, abruptly, to her knees. "Raija?" she says, quietly but delightedly, instantly identifying the child in question. The bag is dropped to the floor in front of her. "Hello, Raija." H'kon shifts a bit toward Madilla as answer to her smile, but doesn't reach for her hand, nor return the expression. He does try some of that water when the woman disappears, and this time, the glance he directs at Leova has the slightest hint of... well, something other than that set face he's been wearing all morning. It's turned away just as fast, when all those children come out. Gripping that cup to his belly, the rider-man stays where he is, and simply looks, first at the other children, and then at the child. He looks, watches, and slowly rotates his glass between his fingers and thumb. Meanwhile, the remaining children are staring at H'kon. They're also sidling towards him, but only when he's not looking or at least they can pretend he isn't. It's made easier by how they have split up: divide and conquer! "Are you a real rider?" the first child says doubtfully, the one who had tried a cartwheel. She, or he, doesn't have particular gender markers even in attire, though another has hair short enough to either be a boy or to have recently suffered the removal of lice. Leova isn't looking at them, though, and not at the woman, and not even at H'kon. "Raija," she murmurs softly, as though in confirmation. It's only after Madilla has spoken, like the caress she can't give. The girl in question clearly recognizes her name, even in an unfamiliar voice, those eyes fixing on Madilla for a long moment before she's clutching at the older girl again. "Take her, take her," says the girl, the older woman nodding encouragement. This time, Madilla doesn't glance back at H'kon, or even at Leova. She stands again, but only so that she can cross the rest of the distance between herself and Raija (and entourage), and drop back to her knees there, reaching out to try and pick the girl up. "Hello, Raija," she repeats. "I'm Madilla. I brought you..." she's stuck for words, then, though clearly she does know what she's brought. Perhaps it's just that it is, must be, hopelessly inadequate. "Do you like dolls, Raija?" H'kon is being flanked. Awareness shows only in the slight widening of his stance, feet shoulder-width apart now. Ready for... what? Looking down at the first one who's spoken to him? "I am." He looks to the short-haired one next, and so on, and once he's got the whereabouts of all, including the girl being clung to, he looks back to Raija. "My dragon would not fit inside," is spoken in complete deadpan. Maybe it wasn't even intended as a joke? He sets to turning the glass, but it barely moves at all before it's stilled. Because Madilla is moving forward. The rider - the real rider - takes a step, mostly to the side, but slightly forward to. To see around Madilla, maybe? Raija does not want to be picked up. Raija wants to cling. Raija wants... whoever the girl is. Raija senses change, impending change. But the girl is scooping her off the floor with careless familiarity, one hand warding off bare feet and their would-be kicks, the better to try and pretty much set her into Madilla's arms whether Raija likes it or not. Raija howls. There's something, though, that the old woman seems to understand, even as Leova's saying more loudly this time, "Blanket. Where's her blanket?" The woman protests, "It's dirty," but with a brief averting of her eyes. "Bring it anyway. And her other things." The greenrider's gaze stays on the woman until she goes, and afterwards she presses her lips together, daring a fleeting look at H'kon before it's back to Madilla and Raija. H'kon, who's had the older child opine, "He should duck his head," to a chorus of assents. Another adds now, in a way that could be apology but is also a little smug, "She's loud." Raija. "Shh, shhh," says Madilla, drawing both arms around the child and holding her close, flailing limbs or no flailing limbs. At least she's got experience with small bodies, even if Lilabet and Dilan were generally not tantrum-minded. She darts a glance up at the older girl, giving her a brief nod of thanks and a smile that may show concern, but also shows... what, hope? Joy? "I've got you," she tells Raija, in that low, soft, warm voice of hers. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you. I care about you, Raija. A lot of people do. An awful lot." "It's not just a problem of height," H'kon answers the oldest back, the only indication at that point of any impatience or annoyance with being flanked by so many children in the length of the reply (or lack thereof). "You too might be loud if you were being taken somewhere strange," is starting to get something of an edge - or maybe that's just him trying to be heard over Raija's voice. Leova's gaze goes missed, but he does step forward to Madilla. Oh, there's the frown again. The older girl tries on a smile back at Madilla but it's more uncomfortable than anything. It can't help that Raija's being contained means that Raija's protesting. The one good thing: at least, unlike little Varian's, her lungs are very healthy indeed. Still, after a while, just before perhaps she's worked herself up so much that there's no way out, she snuffles her way into quieter, hiccuping sobs that shake the whole little body that's so adamantly hard and tense and knobbly in Madilla's arms. It might be the voice. The voice undoubtedly helps. But more, it's the admittedly smelly little quilt that the older woman's brought to drape about her shoulders... only to have Raija yank it towards her and clutch onto it and probably even try to eat it, like if she could just get it inside then it all would be better somehow. The kids are still tracking H'kon as he moves forward, the oldest one chiming in, "If you took me, I would be brave." Not to hint or anything. The smallest is toddling behind him. The older woman isn't paying attention to any of that, though. She's busy holding a small sack that doesn't have much bulge to it, not quite handing it to Leova. Apparently there's negotiating going on, something about the cost more than they expected, something or other broken, they have other mouths to feed. Whatever Leova is, she's also a Glacier rider. Her hand's moved to her mark pouch rather than her belt knife, at least, but her expression's grim. Madilla's voice is lower, now, her words soft enough that it's probably difficult for anyone to hear what she's saying - perhaps even Raija, for all that she's got the toddler's head so close to hers. It may well be that she has a sixth sense about H'kon's position, because moments after he steps forward, her head turns: she gifts to him a quiet smile, though there's distress in her gaze, matched with deep, heartfelt empathy. Turning back to her armful, those arms warm and firm despite it being an awkward burden, she murmurs: "You have a lovely blanket, Raija. I bet it keeps you safe all night long. And all day, too. I bet it feels like home." She's rocking the girl, now, back and forth. That stiffness in her shoulders, and the way she so carefully avoids turning in the other direction, towards Leova and the older woman? It says an awful lot, really. H'kon's expression isn't all that comforting, either. There's a furrow, but not the usual one; this one is discomfort, concern. And then, added annoyance, as he looks down and to his side. To those children who are following him. "Not at her age, I should think," is flat. At least talking to these children gives him a point of action, from which to go back to the stern look that better suits him - or at least, is more familiar. He does turn that stern face toward Leova, toward the woman. He catches that move for the purse. His chest rises and his nostrils might flare a little, more in some sort of recognition than actual anger. He says nothing on that count. Negotiation continues, slower than Madilla's rocking but nearly as rhythmic. The older woman can't know Leova well enough to tell whether she's close to giving in or close to walking away. There's a harnessed authority to the greenrider that's rarely brought to bear, and it stays bound for now, her voice mild even if that amber gaze is unforgiving. It isn't as long as it might seem before marks and sack trade hands. Raija certainly hasn't relaxed, all too attentive to the tension in the room. The way, already, she's had to learn to be. She does clutch at Madilla's browner, softer hair along with the blanket, but that's when the woman is moving forward, shooing them out. "Go," she says. "Go, already." Children scatter. Raija huddles into Madilla's shoulder. If no one can see her... Then, a third time, "Go." It's only after the door is firmly shut behind them that there's the wood-muted sound of an adult's crying. Poor Raija. That's, clearly, the take-home message, here. Until they're encouraged to leave, Madilla makes no move to do so: when they are, her head lifts just once to stare at the woman directly. Then, she hoists Raija onto her hip, grasping onto her more tightly than ever. A glance at H'kon, with a nodded indication towards her bag encourages him in that direction, but she doesn't wait to see whether she's understood. Out into the sunshine they go, and all the while, she's murmuring in Raija's ear. Outside, with the distance of that closed door, she does glance back: she's heard that crying. Her expression is... difficult to determine. So is the glance she aims first at Leova, and then at H'kon. H'kon shows no relief for that scattering of children, no matter how he might have been pestered (if for a short time). He does move to set his glass down on a convenient flat surface, and, whether catching Madilla's glance or not, drops down to get hold of that bag, and sling it over his shoulder. He's watching once he moves out, moves to Madilla's side, attention not on the woman so much as the little girl she carries. Arekoth, too, is watching, waiting for when they come, his curiosity surely tangible to Vrianth. They're looking. Leova isn't, her shoulders stiff. She still hasn't looked in that sack, and doesn't now, not on the short hike back to the dragons. She does move to catch up with H'kon and the heavy bag, to seek to bump her fist to his outside hand so that he may take this light sack too. Before the path thins again. "It's hers." The little girl's, who apparently is theirs. The little girl is breathing fast, quivering, hanging on for dear life when she isn't arching her back and trying to pull away. Vrianth doesn't look at her either, not like Arekoth does, her tail given an uneasy swish and flick as though she could conjure stillness. "Hush, hush," Madilla is saying, for all the little good it is doing. "We're going home, Raija. You're going to come and live with us, because we love you, and want you very much. You're going to have a big sister and a big brother, and they're looking forward to you, too." It's obvious she doesn't expect the words to really mean much; that's hardly the point. It's only once they reach the dragons that she takes a deep breath, exhales, and then says, likely to her companions more than to Raija, "You'll be looked after, now. You'll be cared for properly." And, "I knew it would be difficult, but..." Her voice cracks a little. H'kon accepts that bag as if expecting it, adjusting the bigger one on his shoulder as he goes. "Indeed," is the most Leova will get from him, though it's a heavy, pregnant sort of voice that bears it; no doubt, he'll have questions about that whole transaction before all's been said and done. Arekoth, with much encouragement from his rider, doesn't dazzle the little girl with pretty aurorae. Not yet, anyway. He does croon out a note, in a very un-Arekoth sort of way, pressing that twisted forelimb into the ground, lifting it again. Even as H'kon comes up behind Madilla, settling both bags to one arm and hand so that he has one free to reach for her shoulder. Leova has handed over the girl's sack, now. She handed over the girl before that. Now she says, "I'm sorry." She stands there, and it's by Vrianth, but her hands are empty. That hand on her shoulder at least has the result of turning Madilla's head; she gives H'kon a weary smile, determined despite... everything. "Don't be," she says, in obvious answer to Leova. "We just have to make it right for her. Don't we, Raija?" It's not babytalk, but her voice has gone soft and warm again. "We should get her home." H'kon takes a quick breath, but it's held - while that same stern look from before falls into place. A look back along the path they'd come, an uncomfortable sidelong glance in Leova's direction, a look to Arekoth, already crouching down, with another of those little croons, bordering on a hum. "She'll not understand between," has a grating of frustration just behind it, a hint to his objections for so abrupt a change for the girl. "The nothing of it..." A moment later, and Arekoth earns himself some censure written on H'kon's face, if not spoken out loud. Beware the brow. Leova... nods. Once. Her hands move as though despite herself, opening, closing. She stays by her dragon, she who does watch, now. She, Vrianth, got rid of Big Foot back in the day. A human child can't be so hard as all that. « It will be over soon. » Between... perhaps. "It isn't for long," says Madilla, likely sounding more confident than she actually is. There's also something defensive about it, no doubt a response to that hint from H'kon: it had to be done. Has to be done. "I'll hold her tight. We'll get it done with, and then... she'll fall asleep, I think. She's too tired to fight much longer." The stiff weight of Raija is adjusted in her arms; the girl's dark hair is smoothed beneath her fingers, the quilt adjusted. "Help us up?" « It's just starting, » Arekoth corrects, a crackling underlying those words, excitement all through. "Hmm." The brownrider knows better, at this point, than to offer to take the child from Madilla's arms, for even a practical purpose. The help up is offered as best he can from the ground (while Arekoth practically lies on his belly, surely quite comedic for anyone not so focused and invested as his rider). Next, his riding jacket is removed (must've been getting hot in that little house) and passed up with a flat, "Put that around her." She'll need to get used to dragon and H'kon smells anyway. And then, it's his turn up. She's too tired, is she? Well... she probably is. That, or she'll get too tired to sleep. It's a bumpy ride upward, one she of course protests, and getting muffled by lined but possibly-sweaty leather may or may not help. If the jacket winds up smelling like Raija-spit or even Raija-spit-up before they get home... surely that's just part of joining the family. Vrianth, she takes Arekoth's would-be correction under consideration, and perhaps it's the crackling that has her deciding to contribute a ripple of her own electric energy. « Guard them. » She may well have reason. She may also have her own... inclinations. By then Leova's well astride, though, and the green may have had her fill of watching Arekoth's wriggles for in the next moment, she's airborne. From there, the skies are open. From there, she can watch anew. It's only after the brown has gone that she goes her own, very separate way. It's awkward, getting herself and Raija up onto Arekoth, no matter how much H'kon and Arekoth do to help. Wrapping that jacket around her isn't terribly easy, either; in fact, there's not much that is easy from hereon in. Even so, Madilla's got murmured thanks and a simple smile for H'kon, and more murmured commentary for the new addition... even after the shrieks that eventuate. Time to go home. Back at the Weyr, back in Madilla's rooms, back in the room that has been reorganised to fit a bunk-bed and a single, Madilla still has Raija in her arms, though at least they're both stretched out upon the bed now. The filthy quilt is spread out over the little girl, and she's clutching it: her face is a mess of tear-stains, but she's too tired for tears, now, and far too tired to scream. She's also, apparently, too tired to sleep, and simply stares at the ceiling, blinking every so often. H'kon has been making arrangements, seeing to Madilla and Raija's comfort so much as he can, seeing to the arrangements for the children. By the time he returns, leaving Arekoth and Dilan to get into Faranth-knows-what in his weyr, under Lilabet's supervision, he looks more ragged than he did even before. Still, he manages to pad fairly quietly up to the pair, squatting down within easy arm's reach, but not reaching, not yet. "They're in the weyr," he seemingly says to Raija. He should never have spoken the w-word in front of Dilan. Live and learn. "Lilabet's awaiting our decision, for tonight... I've put the kettle on." His turn to blank stare, missing the fourth thing he'd meant to say. Madilla's gaze shifts from Raija to H'kon as the brownrider comes in; she gives him a warm, gentle smile, though she's careful not to move and disturb Raija beside her. "They're looking forward to meeting you properly," she tells the girl. "Your big brother and big sister. They're excited about it." She lets that hang in the air, though Raija makes no reaction whatsoever to it. Then, more directly to H'kon: "Let's see how we go. Tea, though. Tea would be lovely." Take in a traumatised child? TEA, damn it. "Raija, do you want me to leave you to sleep, now?" Abruptly, Raija starts clinging again. That... would be a no. "Arekoth," H'kon adds on, lightly, as if he'd not really spoken it at all, so much as thought it. Maybe he's not aware. "Tea," is the next thing he says, and that has him up, and with a grunt. It gives Madilla and Raija more time for clinging and staring and whimpering and whatever else it is they've been up to. It gives H'kon a challenge to his current attention span. But in time, he does return, with two cups, a sweet, fruity smell coming off of them. The one that's steaming, that goes on the floor. H'kon, he sits next to it, resting his back against the edge of the bed. And the other cup, that will prove to be diluted down to just-above-lukewarm with water? That's held up as he turns to look, sidelong, at the girl. "Have some tea," slightest hesitation, "Raija," almost as a sigh. 'Whimpering' is about as much as Raija can manage, now, as over-tired and over-emoted as she is. Madilla, though: she's not yet run out of things to murmur and hum, and though she pauses to give H'kon a grateful smile, her attention very quickly gets lost in the toddler again. They're in much the same position when he gets back, though those big, amber eyes do turn towards H'kon when he says her name. She hesitates. "I'll sit her up," says Madilla, doing so. "Lift it towards her mouth so she can sip. Come on, Raija. Just a little bit." H'kon's eyes go a bit wider for the instruction from Madilla, but he shifts, bringing a knee up under him until he's in a crouch. That glass is held up, waiting. "It's a fruit tea." He probably doesn't realise his voice has gone up a key or two, now he's addressing the girl. "One of Madilla's," glance to the woman in question to check the appellation, "favourites." There could be more he could say; you must be thirsty, look, we have some too, etc.. But he doesn't. He just watches, not quite straight-on, and keeps his hand steady. Ready. Madilla's nod confirms the use of her name. Carefully, she helps Raija lean forward and sip from the cup, which... more or less works. Even so, she only takes a couple of sips before she turns her head away: no. No more. At least she's beginning to blink more, suggesting that maybe, after all, she will get to sleep sooner rather than later. Drooping, Raija buries her head into Madilla's lap, arms wrapped around her waist, one hand hand clutching the quilt. She may even fall asleep this way. H'kon must be aware of little dribbles down the side of the cup and onto his hand; he wipes it absently on his sock once he's taken the cup away. Away, but not set down, not yet. He has to stare at it, first. A few moments go by before he realises, and settles it next to the other - which, at least, hasn't been sitting so long as to have stopped sending up steam. He turns forward again, and away from Madilla and Raija, resting his back against the bed again, one hand reaching idly to scratch at hair that's creeping farther down the back of his neck (and starting to curl, just a little) than he'd usually let it. You know, usually, when there aren't children suddenly being adopted. When that hand drops: "Lilabet and Dilan?" It's lovely, truly, that Raija has fallen asleep at last... though it's unfortunate that she's trapped Madilla, in doing so. The healer gives the girl a glance, and evidently thinks against any movement; when she glance at H'kon again, her expression is wry. "It might be best if they stay away until tomorrow," she says, with a sigh. "If you don't mind them there. It's already been so traumatic. I don't want to add more stimuli. It would've been better, if we could've done it more... gradually." The admission is quietly heartfelt. "I don't know that I could have left her there, though, if we'd just gone to visit." H'kon shakes his head, slowly. "It's fine. We'll bring them down before drills," a thought that has him shifting again, getting his feet under him, and leaving him in a squat, "a bit earlier than normal, but not overmuch, I'd think." The next nod is at best, halting. "It- I- At least now she can begin to adjust." It might sound like a stretch from what he'd otherwise say, but at least there's the effort, there, to stay supportive. H'kon dares, slowly, to pivot and look back. It might have been meant as a casual thing. It turns into quite the inspection, roused only by the a dim memory of tea. Which is reached for, held up. "Remind me," suddenly more alert, "how it was Leova came to approach you? What her arrangements were?" "Thank you," says Madilla, quietly. "I know it's going to be a... disruption for everyone. I'm sorry." It's meaningful, in a quiet kind of way; she might say more, could say more, but there's tea, and then, at the end, there's that question. She hesitates. "Raija is..." What to say? What to tell? "Closely related," is what she goes for. "To Leova. She would have taken her in herself, but with the twins... Anvori thought it would be too much, and he's right, I think." "There are times when disruption is for the best," H'kon muses, with no explanation offered for half smile that goes with it. 'Closely related' is less pleasing to him, and now, he makes no attempt to hide that, the scowl, the slight tensing of hands. "And that is all you'll say," he concludes. "I can ask Leova equally well," probably isn't intended to sound so antagonistic as it does. Even if there might be some honesty in the tone. "Best I not forget their pillows," is more neutral. "I'd imagine Dilan already has mine piled up in Arekoth's couch..." There might have been a smile for that first remark, but the second leaves Madilla looking... well, awkward. "It's hers to tell," she admits, quietly. "I'm sorry. I don't want to--" Lie. Misdirect. Obfuscate. "Their pillows, yes. Dilan's stuffed dog, too; he won't sleep, otherwise. You'll tell them I love them? And we'll see them tomorrow." She'll just sit here. It'll be fine. Until she has to pee. "Hers to tell," H'kon repeats, "of a chlid meant to be in our family." But he catches himself there, both the sharpness that was in those words, and the unintentional possessive at its end. He catches himself, and presses his lips together, takes a breath. "It has been a long day." Full of shrieking. "I'll tell them. And will find Leova when time allows." That's solid determination, there, and it takes him standing, stretching, to manage a softer, "Do you need anything more before I go? I'm certain we could spare at least one pillow." Quietly, "If she tells you she'd prefer me to tell, that's fine. If she tells me to tell you, then that's fine. But... H'kon, she's never even told me, outright." Madilla's only a little defensive in what she says, there, and trails off from further words to nod. "Thank you," she says, both more gently and more firmly, all at once. "No, I think I'm set. I may sleep myself. It's been..." A long day. Yes. "Sleep well, tonight." H'kon just looks from Madilla, to the sleeping girl in her lap. His eyes might go a bit wider, but he says nothing more. Hopefully, gives not too much away. "Do sleep." Then comes the awkward pause where he might have reached for her, or better yet, said anything at all romantic. But instead, his eyes simply find Raija once more, and the best he can come up with is, "Good night, Madilla." A quick grab of pillows from bunks, and off he goes. |
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