[Log] Statistical Surveys
Who: Madilla, Tiriana
When: Day 25, Month 11, Turn 18
Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Madilla encounter each other in the process of doing their duties.
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.
Contents:
Madilla
Obvious exits:
Dragon Infirmary Inner Caverns Offices
Despite it being the time of turn when Reachians still getting used to the cooler temperatures frequently come down with chills and coughs, the infirmary leans more towards 'quiet' than 'busy', this afternoon. The usual steady flow of patients come in and out, but for Madilla, standing duty behind the counter near the two entrances, there's plenty of time to read over her notes, and make new ones, between more duty-related tasks. She's reading intently, turning pages to check back at frequent intervals, occasionally sucking on the end of her pen.
There are two things that will get the ever-reluctant Tiriana into the infirmary: hidework and being nearly at death's door. Today, at least, it's the former when she stalks in, but it's hard to know if that's blessing or curse--it just means she has a lot more energy for griping and hounding everybody, not that the healers ever need that. "Hey," she says, scowling at Madilla as she stops at the desk.
On the other hand, at least she's not actually dying - which would be messy, and probably equally as full of griping and hounding of everyone. It's a fairly measuring glance that Madilla bestows upon Tiriana, when her head rises from her hides, upon receipt of that one-word greeting. The measurement still allows room for a polite smile, interrupted for her equally polite greeting: "Good afternoon. Is there something I can help you with?"
Tiriana leans her hands on the desk, peering over it at Madilla's work with narrowed eyes. But after skimming it for a moment, not that she takes the time to actually tell what it is, she gives up. "Supposed to be picking up some papers and stuff from the healer," says the rider. "They leave it for me yet, or...?" She doesn't look too enthusiastic about the project, though: the 'or' part is definitely hopeful.
It's a hide full of very small, very cramped writing, and Madilla will even, helpfully, draw her hands away to make it easier to look at. But nonetheless: not very interesting. "Which healer?" the Apprentice wants to know, glancing away from Tiriana to scan the files sitting on the counter beside her. "Or-- was it the statistical summary, or the inventory? I can go find it, if I don't have it here, yet." She glances up again, looking entirely too pleased to be helpful.
"Um." Tiriana stops at that, her eyes narrowing. "The... both. No, wait--yeah, both," she concedes, after several seconds to think it over. "Don't know what the, that statistical thingy's supposed to do, but whatever. Not in a hurry." The latter is added to Madilla's general helpfulness, which makes Tiriana's nose wrinkle with distaste.
Madilla waits, so patiently, while Tiriana does her thinking over, smile as pleased as ever. "Oh, but it's very important - the summary. Knowing the number of pregnancies, of births, of-- major illnesses, and all the rest. And it helps to make sure we have the right supplies, too, each turn." Despite the assurance that there's no hurry, the healer flicks through the waiting files on her desk, some of them for patients, some other bits of record keeping, coming up, after a moment, with both files. But: "Oh, but there's a note: there's still a page missing. You'll have to wait."
"Not really that interesting," Tiriana brushes off all that with one wave of her hand. And despite her assurances of not being in a hurry, she releasese a frustrated sigh at the healer's latter words, before she slides up on the desk to sit and wait there, apparently, the reports-thus-far left untouched for now. The conversational tone she strikes up then has a distinct bored edge to it. "So how many births and deaths and major illnesses and all /were/ there?"
Madilla opens her mouth to argue - though no doubt in the nicest possible way - but snaps it shut; it opens again as Tiriana sits on the desk, but again, she doesn't quite manage to get the words out. Instead, with a deep intake of breath, she sets the folders down tidily in front of her. "You'd have to read the report for yourself. Presumably that's part of your job." Her tone remains utterly pleasant, though there's certainly an edge to her expression, now, that wasn't there before.
"Yes," Tiriana says, but just a little testily. "But I'm a weyrwoman. I have better things to do than sit and read numbers. You know, things like running a Weyr." Because obviously, reading those numbers is not part of running a Weyr. "Anyway," she continues after a moment, "unless you have something /better/ to talk about while we wait on the rest of them to get around to doing what they're supposed to be doing."
Madilla's brow furrows intently at this, both hands straying to rest upon the very edge of the counter, thumbs curled beneath. "Those numbers," she reasons, quietly, looking at her hands rather than at Tiriana, "Are an important part of running the weyr. I would have thought. Don't Weyrwoman look after the people side of things? I thought." She sounds briefly uncertain. And then: "It's not their fault there are sick people to worry about. They /are/ doing what they're supposed to be doing: healing."
Tiriana's eyes narrow at that, and she twists about to look at Madilla, her feet thumping idly against the counter. "Know a lot about running Weyrs, do you," she says after a moment. "Glad I have you to tell me what's what, or the Weyr'd /really/ be in trouble." Hmph. She folds her arms, turning back to eye the busy infirmary with pursed lips. "So what then?"
Madilla flushes pink, and ducks her head further, as if her fingernails are something of truly /great/ interest. "I only meant--" But she breaks off, taking a deep breath. "I think I liked you better when you were a Candidate," she announces, finally, cheeks still pink, and the words pushed out as though she's utterly unaccustomed to speaking her mind in such a way. Realistically, she probably is. "They'll get to your records - the ones you don't want to read for yourself - as soon as they can. If you want to come back later, by all means, do so."
"Yeah?" Tiriana's quick to answer that challenge, to slide off the desk and turn around to face Madilla outright. Her mouth twists into a scowl as she leans her forearms back on it. "Yeah, why's that?" She's not letting it go so easily, as much as Madilla tries to dismiss her.
Madilla's nose goes in the air, her shoulders pushed back, and though there's a half frightened expression in her eyes, the rest of her features prove her resolve. "You were probably just as much a-- a /bitch/," it takes her a moment to get the word out, though it's as quietly said as the rest of her words: quiet, but intense. "back then. Though you weren't awful to me. But now, it's like you feel justified to be horrible to everyone, because you have rank. It's my duty to respect your rank. But--" again, she breaks off, has to take a deep breath before she finishes. "I'm not here to do the work you can't be bothered to. Read your own records." It must have taken some effort to get that out: she's quite red in the face, no longer just pink, by the end.
And Tiriana's mouth curves into what's nearly a smile, though a thoroughly not-pleasant one. "So when did you get all tough, anyway?" she wonders, head tilting. She slides a glance over at the door to the offices off to the side. "Maybe I oughta go get that missing bit from the Weyrhealer now, you think?"
Well, that's not very satisfying, is it? Madilla sort of droops, though surely she can't have expected much else. "Perhaps you should. In the office. Good afternoon, Junior Weyrwoman." Her hands are white, clinging to the edge of the desk as though it were all that's keeping her standing. But one of them releases, to pick up the rest of the files: "And you'll need these."
"Right." Tiriana reaches out to take the files, tucking them under one arm as she starts to walk away, head toward those offices. But she doesn't get but a half step from the desk before she's looking back again, with a smug expression. "And don't worry, I'll be sure to tell the healer all about just how helpful you were, too."
But there's no real reaction from the Apprentice, except that her polite smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course. Good afternoon, Junior Weyrwoman." She does not, however, wait to get a reaction to that: her gaze returns, promptly, to the hides she was studying, before the interruption. Definitely more important.
That lack of reaction gets to Tiriana much more than the insults--she's got to be used to insults, after all. She scowls outright at the younger girl, before turning on her heel to stomp to the healer's office, where the sound of very annoyed complaints might just be audible: the tone of voice if not exact words. But you can just guess the stuff that comes out of her mouth then.
Despite this, Madilla does not seem too bothered. She'll even smile politely at Tiriana on her way out. A lost temper? Where?
When: Day 25, Month 11, Turn 18
Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Madilla encounter each other in the process of doing their duties.
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.
Contents:
Madilla
Obvious exits:
Dragon Infirmary Inner Caverns Offices
Despite it being the time of turn when Reachians still getting used to the cooler temperatures frequently come down with chills and coughs, the infirmary leans more towards 'quiet' than 'busy', this afternoon. The usual steady flow of patients come in and out, but for Madilla, standing duty behind the counter near the two entrances, there's plenty of time to read over her notes, and make new ones, between more duty-related tasks. She's reading intently, turning pages to check back at frequent intervals, occasionally sucking on the end of her pen.
There are two things that will get the ever-reluctant Tiriana into the infirmary: hidework and being nearly at death's door. Today, at least, it's the former when she stalks in, but it's hard to know if that's blessing or curse--it just means she has a lot more energy for griping and hounding everybody, not that the healers ever need that. "Hey," she says, scowling at Madilla as she stops at the desk.
On the other hand, at least she's not actually dying - which would be messy, and probably equally as full of griping and hounding of everyone. It's a fairly measuring glance that Madilla bestows upon Tiriana, when her head rises from her hides, upon receipt of that one-word greeting. The measurement still allows room for a polite smile, interrupted for her equally polite greeting: "Good afternoon. Is there something I can help you with?"
Tiriana leans her hands on the desk, peering over it at Madilla's work with narrowed eyes. But after skimming it for a moment, not that she takes the time to actually tell what it is, she gives up. "Supposed to be picking up some papers and stuff from the healer," says the rider. "They leave it for me yet, or...?" She doesn't look too enthusiastic about the project, though: the 'or' part is definitely hopeful.
It's a hide full of very small, very cramped writing, and Madilla will even, helpfully, draw her hands away to make it easier to look at. But nonetheless: not very interesting. "Which healer?" the Apprentice wants to know, glancing away from Tiriana to scan the files sitting on the counter beside her. "Or-- was it the statistical summary, or the inventory? I can go find it, if I don't have it here, yet." She glances up again, looking entirely too pleased to be helpful.
"Um." Tiriana stops at that, her eyes narrowing. "The... both. No, wait--yeah, both," she concedes, after several seconds to think it over. "Don't know what the, that statistical thingy's supposed to do, but whatever. Not in a hurry." The latter is added to Madilla's general helpfulness, which makes Tiriana's nose wrinkle with distaste.
Madilla waits, so patiently, while Tiriana does her thinking over, smile as pleased as ever. "Oh, but it's very important - the summary. Knowing the number of pregnancies, of births, of-- major illnesses, and all the rest. And it helps to make sure we have the right supplies, too, each turn." Despite the assurance that there's no hurry, the healer flicks through the waiting files on her desk, some of them for patients, some other bits of record keeping, coming up, after a moment, with both files. But: "Oh, but there's a note: there's still a page missing. You'll have to wait."
"Not really that interesting," Tiriana brushes off all that with one wave of her hand. And despite her assurances of not being in a hurry, she releasese a frustrated sigh at the healer's latter words, before she slides up on the desk to sit and wait there, apparently, the reports-thus-far left untouched for now. The conversational tone she strikes up then has a distinct bored edge to it. "So how many births and deaths and major illnesses and all /were/ there?"
Madilla opens her mouth to argue - though no doubt in the nicest possible way - but snaps it shut; it opens again as Tiriana sits on the desk, but again, she doesn't quite manage to get the words out. Instead, with a deep intake of breath, she sets the folders down tidily in front of her. "You'd have to read the report for yourself. Presumably that's part of your job." Her tone remains utterly pleasant, though there's certainly an edge to her expression, now, that wasn't there before.
"Yes," Tiriana says, but just a little testily. "But I'm a weyrwoman. I have better things to do than sit and read numbers. You know, things like running a Weyr." Because obviously, reading those numbers is not part of running a Weyr. "Anyway," she continues after a moment, "unless you have something /better/ to talk about while we wait on the rest of them to get around to doing what they're supposed to be doing."
Madilla's brow furrows intently at this, both hands straying to rest upon the very edge of the counter, thumbs curled beneath. "Those numbers," she reasons, quietly, looking at her hands rather than at Tiriana, "Are an important part of running the weyr. I would have thought. Don't Weyrwoman look after the people side of things? I thought." She sounds briefly uncertain. And then: "It's not their fault there are sick people to worry about. They /are/ doing what they're supposed to be doing: healing."
Tiriana's eyes narrow at that, and she twists about to look at Madilla, her feet thumping idly against the counter. "Know a lot about running Weyrs, do you," she says after a moment. "Glad I have you to tell me what's what, or the Weyr'd /really/ be in trouble." Hmph. She folds her arms, turning back to eye the busy infirmary with pursed lips. "So what then?"
Madilla flushes pink, and ducks her head further, as if her fingernails are something of truly /great/ interest. "I only meant--" But she breaks off, taking a deep breath. "I think I liked you better when you were a Candidate," she announces, finally, cheeks still pink, and the words pushed out as though she's utterly unaccustomed to speaking her mind in such a way. Realistically, she probably is. "They'll get to your records - the ones you don't want to read for yourself - as soon as they can. If you want to come back later, by all means, do so."
"Yeah?" Tiriana's quick to answer that challenge, to slide off the desk and turn around to face Madilla outright. Her mouth twists into a scowl as she leans her forearms back on it. "Yeah, why's that?" She's not letting it go so easily, as much as Madilla tries to dismiss her.
Madilla's nose goes in the air, her shoulders pushed back, and though there's a half frightened expression in her eyes, the rest of her features prove her resolve. "You were probably just as much a-- a /bitch/," it takes her a moment to get the word out, though it's as quietly said as the rest of her words: quiet, but intense. "back then. Though you weren't awful to me. But now, it's like you feel justified to be horrible to everyone, because you have rank. It's my duty to respect your rank. But--" again, she breaks off, has to take a deep breath before she finishes. "I'm not here to do the work you can't be bothered to. Read your own records." It must have taken some effort to get that out: she's quite red in the face, no longer just pink, by the end.
And Tiriana's mouth curves into what's nearly a smile, though a thoroughly not-pleasant one. "So when did you get all tough, anyway?" she wonders, head tilting. She slides a glance over at the door to the offices off to the side. "Maybe I oughta go get that missing bit from the Weyrhealer now, you think?"
Well, that's not very satisfying, is it? Madilla sort of droops, though surely she can't have expected much else. "Perhaps you should. In the office. Good afternoon, Junior Weyrwoman." Her hands are white, clinging to the edge of the desk as though it were all that's keeping her standing. But one of them releases, to pick up the rest of the files: "And you'll need these."
"Right." Tiriana reaches out to take the files, tucking them under one arm as she starts to walk away, head toward those offices. But she doesn't get but a half step from the desk before she's looking back again, with a smug expression. "And don't worry, I'll be sure to tell the healer all about just how helpful you were, too."
But there's no real reaction from the Apprentice, except that her polite smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course. Good afternoon, Junior Weyrwoman." She does not, however, wait to get a reaction to that: her gaze returns, promptly, to the hides she was studying, before the interruption. Definitely more important.
That lack of reaction gets to Tiriana much more than the insults--she's got to be used to insults, after all. She scowls outright at the younger girl, before turning on her heel to stomp to the healer's office, where the sound of very annoyed complaints might just be audible: the tone of voice if not exact words. But you can just guess the stuff that comes out of her mouth then.
Despite this, Madilla does not seem too bothered. She'll even smile politely at Tiriana on her way out. A lost temper? Where?