Logs:A Casualty in the Storm
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| RL Date: 1 May, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, Tess |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tess, the trained healer, loses a patient. It's a shaky moment and Hattie happens to be there, with advice. |
| Where: Nighthearth, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Storm! |
| OOC Notes: Angst. |
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>---< Nighthearth, Fort Weyr(#2044RJs$) >------------------------------------< An irregular archway leads into the alcove that houses the Nighthearth. This cozy little nook contains a hearth, protected by a grate that can be used to prop chilled feet to warm on cold days, that is surrounded with a several leather, upholstered chairs. A small table pushed against the same wall as the hearth is kept stocked at all times with fresh, hot klah, a pot of stew, and a basket of baked goods including breads and both savory and sweet filled rolls. The Weyr's aunties also keep the space supplied with a stack of perpetually renewed afghans in interesting color choices, while the Headwoman's staff ensures that some of the older towels are always on hand on a row of hooks for riders ducking in off of sweeps in bad weather. Otherwise, the Nighthearth is undecorated but for the motley collection of mismatched mugs, bowls, and spoons that line the mantel for general use. The storm that arrived two days ago now continues to pelt the Weyr with rain and wind. Exercising reasonable caution means, largely, trying to stay out of the bowl if one doesn't have a reason to be there, lest debris or poor footing make another injured of the folk of Fort Weyr. Tess must have managed to keep her shoulders straight when she was in the living cavern, to act like nothing was wrong, but something must have pushed her fragile resolve to be okay for she steps abruptly steps through the archway to the alcove that she must hope to have a smaller audience for the sob she can't quite fully stifle. She turns toward the wall to hide her face, to take a moment, but it might not be enough. There's presently only one occupant of the room, hidden as she is by the high back of her chair, drawn close to the roaring fire that spills amber light across the walls and yet still doesn't quite manage to banish shadows entirely. Nothing gives her away, the crackling of flames louder than breaths taken or the faint rustle of fabric as she slips bare feet to the floor and twists in her seat, drawn to look back towards the entryway of the cavern by the sob that Tess tries to contain. Hattie doesn't immediately make her presence known, and rather than call out to her, she studies her for a moment or two, then slowly moves from her chair and those few steps across the room, one hand reaching tentatively for the small of the healer's back. Tess is trying to get it together. It's easy to see from the way her breath is trying to come in even in-and-out strokes, and the way that her fingers are pressed hard against the stone of the wall, her eyes shut tight. She jumps at the touch, but surprise helps, as does recognition of just who is touching her. Wide blue eyes take Hattie in, shiny from mostly refused tears. "Weyrwoman," she tries for some measure of propriety, though it's obvious from the dart of her eyes away and around the cavern that she's not yet in full control of herself. She's probably looking to see just how much of a scene she would be creating if she can't manage. Fingers curl back, darting away to be lifted in the beginnings of a defensive gesture or simply to alert to her presence with that sweep of motion, though Hattie doesn't step back, having not quite completely invaded personal space. After looking Tess up and down, she reaches again, her left hand making as if to curl at one of the younger woman's elbows in a gesture that could just as easily offer the intended comfort of a hug as it could attempt to draw her further into the room. "Come here," she murmurs, expression solemn. Tess comes, surrendering herself to the Weyrwoman's direction whether that is into a hug or into the room more properly. The bulk of the healer's focus is inward. "I'm sorry," she manages after a moment. "Sorry." The second is a mumbled echo of the first. "Don't be," Hattie says softly, the arms that fold around Tess gentle but by no means less there for her efforts to not be stifling and make her feel trapped. "I trash council rooms when I'm upset. You're doing better than me." She'll give her that now, in some twisted attempt to and help her feel better, her humour dry in the face of adversity. She'll stay right there for as long as it seems Tess is comfortable, until she steps back and makes efforts to guide her into a seat. "What's happened?" "I'm trained," Tess answers Hattie in a tone that expresses annoyance, no doubt with herself given the way that the younger woman's arms grip the backs of Hattie's arms like she's not planning to let go. Her blue eyes go ceiling-wards to focus even as a tear squeaks out of one and then the other to roll down her cheeks. A hand lifts to swiftly shove those tears aside. Is Hattie trained to not trash council rooms? Well... Tess isn't exactly thinking clearly in this moment. She releases the goldrider when she seeks to step back and steps with her toward the seat intended for her. She swallows, "There's been a casualty," is it the first? Perhaps not. "He should have been fine," the healer adds looking momentarily haunted. "Just a bad knock to the head." Don't most people recover when they bump their heads? "...Who isn't?" Hattie puts to her, in a fashion that's gentle enough to not truly be challenge or argument, but simply matter of fact commentary, though she doesn't appear likely to expand on what she means, for she moves across the room to where the klah and other assorted edibles sit. She continues even as the news of that casualty is shared, her step faltering only slightly until she steadies herself and makes herself carry on. "Tea or klah?" she offers, enquiry made as if she's not heard anything at all. It's only in those moments where she finds herself unoccupied that any hint of distress creeps in, in that she begins to unnecessarily rearrange things. "...Did he know?" the Weyrwoman asks. "I mean... Did he lose consciousness and never wake up?" Tess sinks slowly into the chair, though not sitting back in it, as if she might need to get on her feet and move and do again at a moment's notice. "Klah," she answers, with a quiet, "Thank you." The healer looks to the fire, then reaches back to undo her messy bun, letting her hair fall. "No. One moment, things were fine, then things just went sideways and it was over." She chokes up at the last word, but manages, with a clearing of her throat to add, "He was younger than I am," which must be troubling to the young journeywoman. Hattie inclines her head a little, then turns away to fill one mug with klah and another with tea, though she spends more time on it than is strictly necessary, taking care to reposition things just as they were before she interfered with them. "There's that, then," is less murmur than merely low-voiced, when she finally turns on her heel to approach Tess and offer over the klah-filled mug. "...Got it?" she checks, before she thinks to relinquish it, in-case the healer's hands might not be so steady. "Hopefully, he wasn't aware enough to know of having any regrets. Or pain. None of it's... fair." A nod answers Hattie's consideration of checking a pair of moments after she has so Tess can make sure she isn't going to spill it. She stares down at the klah. "I'm not supposed to be affected. I mean, I guess it's only reasonable to think that I should be, but if that's the case, why do they teach you not to be? To be detached." The woman struggles to understand. She looks up at Hattie without much expectation that she'll have answers, but maybe she'll have something that helps. "Why do we teach anyone to have decorum and not react when they want to?" Hattie replies, folding herself back into her chair, knees tucked up and skirts cascading over them, leaving bare toes just about visible and curling at the edge of the seat's cushioned padding. "...I suppose it depends whether you can believe that your Hall teaches you detachment for your own sake and survival, or that they do so with the wellbeing of patients in mind. Or as a matter of professionalism. I think what you believe it's for plays a part in how well you can manage it." "Probably everyone else," Tess admits, leaning forward to place her elbows on her knees. "I know I can't lose it in front of everyone." The young woman chews her lip for a moment before looking up at Hattie, "I suppose it's true what they tell you, that if someone in authority looks like they're panicking, everyone else is more inclined to do it too?" A breath later, "How do you manage?" There's bewilderment paired with admiration. Even if Hattie's admitted to damaging Weyr property when she doesn't manage. "...I think that's the best way to look at it." Hattie lifts her tea to her lips and dares a sip, but no more. "If someone in a position of responsibility doesn't sound or act like they know what they're doing, then what reason do you have to trust that they or you are doing the right thing, especially if you're following their lead or orders?" She tilts her head, directing her gaze to the fire. "I suppose I'm aware that people could suffer if I don't manage it. If I don't manage to do what I'm meant to, or people look for orders or guidance and don't get it, there'll be a price much higher than whatever it costs me. In the bigger picture, I don't matter." Tess stares at the fire some moments. She must be able to see Hattie's point, but that doesn't stop her from being sad. "Do you end up... becoming not a person yourself? With all the looks of things that must be maintained? I mean, what happens to me if I must pretend always to be well and knowledgeable, but if that isn't really the case?" She lifts the mug to her lips. "Is it an act of sacrifice to be a leader? An act of selflessness? Of love?" It doesn't sound like leadership, the way she's viewing it now is something that the journeyman might aspire to, but then she's not been a journeyman for so many turns really. "Do you ever get yourself back?" The last is wondered with blue gaze turning to the Senior, expression etched with concern. "Elaruth would call it love," Hattie supplies with relative ease. "Affection, devotion. Belonging somewhere or with someone." Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares into the flames, focus seeming to sharpen and grow distant at the same time. "I'd call it necessity. If you find yourself in a role that requires you to lead, then sacrifice is born of necessity. You can't just let things unravel how they will." She must notice Tess' shift of focus, yet she keeps her dark eyes trained on the fire for moment after moment of silence, until she hazards, "...I don't remember if this is how I was before. There are very few people that I can manage to be anything else with. But then, we've established I smash things when something gives." For some reason, the last makes Tess laugh. She must realize it's probably inappropriate for one hand moves to smother it. Her eyes flick away from Hattie, expression abashed. "Well, at least I know what kind of therapy to offer you if you ever feel as though you need some," she murmurs a moment later with a weak sort of smile. At least, it seems this moment of odd amusement has taken the edge off, probably more than the klah was doing. "I hope he'll be recognized," she says after a moment, decidedly of the young man. "Dragons keen when they lose one of their kind. I just hope he gets something of that, from his own." How many people would know the young man? How many in a Weyr full of faces would miss his? Hattie makes a quite huff of a noise. "Ask in the training room and they'd tell you I maybe get a little too much 'therapy'," she drawls. She tips her head back against her chair and directs her focus to Tess, what she attempts of a smile just about evening out the shadows beneath her eyes. "If he's weyrborn, I imagine there are generations of his family here. We tend to be prolific. I doubt he'll be forgotten." And, on the other hand, "But if he has no family here, we'll need to make contact with his relatives as soon as we can, provided that we're aware of where and who they are. Not... everyone shares that information so readily." Tess looks down at her klah a moment, then there's a solemn nod before she's rising with the mug. "If you'll excuse me, Weyrwoman, that sounds like the kind of useful thing that should be done now. Or at least, should be done as soon as I can, if my hands aren't needed elsewhere in the infirmary." Obviously the healer wouldn't like to have more deaths on her watch. She starts to step toward the archway before awkwardly turning back to say, "Thank you," before she's gone. The goldrider is perhaps just as awkward in accepting or acknowledging thanks, the dip of her chin a barely perceptible nod. Once Tess is gone, Hattie stares up at the ceiling and just breathes for a matter of seconds, then shoves her feet back into her slipper-like shoes and determinedly lets duty carry her away to wherever it will. Hopefully, no-one will arrive and kick over her full mug of tea, left abandoned at the foot of her chair. |
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