Logs:Aftermath - Dragon Infirmary
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| RL Date: 23 January, 2013 |
| Who: H'vier, Leova, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Post-Hraedhyth, Z'ian and H'vier haven't made up yet. Sorry Leova. |
| Where: Outside the Dragon Infirmary |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
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| The dragons would get here first, via the sky. Any dragon attuned to the fight up there could probably hear the mental scuffle as Tsanth and Reisoth duke it out on the way to the ground. It's only when they're within a dangerously close distance to the bowl that they finally separate, both landing hard. Tsanth looks like he's been hit by a truck, even if by all accounts he was the aggressor. It's obvious he bit off more than he could chew with the Istan bronze. Not that he didn't get his own share of swipes and bites in, but the damage may not be quite as ugly looking. Neither look mauled for life but they're bleeding, banged up and still angry. Which is just such a coincidence because so are their riders! H'vier and Z'ian were pulled apart outside of Azaylia's ledge but that hasn't stopped either rider from occasionally cursing and outright staring angrily at one another on the way here. They're being escorted by a few muscled men down to the dragon infirmary, there first. Then their own wounds. Yes, they both look beat to hell. Is that even Z'ian? H'vier has new bruises and scrapes on top of his old bruises and scrapes. All four of them are a train wreck. Thank you, muscled men! Leova doesn't, more than the brief word that comes out sounding like a curse, and a hand gesture that must mean 'stick around.' There are other dragonhealers emerging with her, including that new redhead who's taking on another victi... contender while one of the novices sidles away to console some poor dragon who looks barely dented. Leova gives the latter a dark, dilated look, then advances to survey the pair. Triage time means Tsanth first, but, "You lot are the worst in Turns," is for them both. Do they feel proud yet? "Anything broken?" Reisoth's pride is probably hurt more than any other part of him, and considering the state he's in, his pride must be hurting pretty bad. The fact that he's on the ground right now rather than hiding away in his weyr only adds insult to injury. With a rub of salt for good measure. The bronze is not happy. But he does a lot better job of ignoring Tsanth than H'vier is doing of ignoring Z'ian. He sort of still looks like he'd like to kill the other bronzerider. Tsanth doesn't even know where his pride is. Did he ever even have any? He sure doesn't know right now. The smaller of the pair looks distressed and manages to keep far enough away from Reisoth for now. Z'ian rips his arm away from one of the men that's got him in an iron grip. He passes his hand over his definitely broken nose, wiping away some of the blood. "Thanks." He replies to Leova sarcastically, but not before giving H'vier the worlds dirtiest look. If there weren't other people here, it's possible they'd be at each other's throats again. "I don't know. No. I don't think so." "No? Good." Leova side-eyes the silent bronzerider, then barks orders as she circles the dragons: she'll get help in getting the pair washed up, jars of water slopped out from the shallow baths in the infirmary, stitching coming next and... that near wing of Tsanth's gets an abruptly narrowed look. It's right when she gets out of sight behind the bronze when one of those aforementioned muscular men just happens to loosen his hold on Z'ian, the local boy. All accidental-like. Entirely possible. Even though one of H'vier's eyes looks like it's starting to swell shut on top of the bruises of the nose that was broken just the other day. The Istan certainly looks like he'd like to be saying a lot of things. But none of are probably very nice. Also his jaw probably hurts. Reisoth must not be hurt enough for him to feel the need to tell the healers anything about him. She's unfamiliar, surely, a glitter of heated electricity... but one with the right to ask: « Do you hurt. Particularly. Or did the other one just nick you? Reisoth. » She knows his name, too, for all that there's a subtle underlying echo: Rielsath. (Vrianth to Reisoth) He rubs his arm where the other man let him go, sending a darkening look in the direction of the other bronzerider. It looks like he could indeed be thinking about re-initiating the altercation. But Z'ian isn't so distracted by H'vier that he doesn't notice the way Leova ducks behind his dragon. "Leova, what?" He goes to follow her and then stops, taking a tight breath and putting his hand onto his ribs. Damn Istans and their damn jolly green giant physiques they land a hard punch. Know better when it's clean. They tromp in the corrals, get ichor and blood and muck over their talons, and then you lot go and beat each other up... what?" He's stopped. The dragonhealer half-turns. And H'vier's man lets him loose. Because it's all fine now, right? Everyone's friends. That electricity is met with the acrid scent of blood beyond the ichor staining his dark hide. He doesn't push her presence away but neither does he welcome it. « My wounds are superficial, » he assures her after a moment taken to move his wings and flex his talons. (Reisoth to Vrianth) In the few moments following his release, H'vier seems to be seriously considering charging Z'ian again. Maybe he hurts enough to help his judgment. "Your fucking dragon ought to have his sails stripped. They'd better serve a sharding fishing boat." His dragon, on the other hand, is the victim of a horrible crime against opportunity. « Good. » Though perhaps she won't take his word for it, entirely, because there's an unsubtle sense of someone watching him with unasked-for humor, to make sure. Does he notice? Or , too, that out in the great beyond, there isn't the great grand click of alignments moving into place, but rather occasional fragmented, uncertain alliances? The queen's caught, the queens... but it's not settled. (Vrianth to Reisoth) Z'ian was doing just an excellent job of forgetting that H'vier existed. He was almost ready to just trot along behind Leova and see what was wrong with his dragon, start putting this whole miserable event behind him. Instead he hears the other man's voice and he turns around slowly, narrowing his eyes at him. Now who looks murderous? Then it's swift and deliberate steps up to him. Yeah, he doesn't have a witty retort. He just has enough energy to launch himself at the other rider, unconcerned about where the muscled men are and with an apparent disregard to the damage his wingmate can inflict on him. He knows she's there. But Reisoth doesn't pay her much mind beyond knowing. He's still taking inventory of his injuries and with his mind distracted, there's stark white nothingness for Vrianth to play off of. (Reisoth to Vrianth) One of the muscled men's moving, but it's in something like slow motion, and a couple of the others aren't even pretending to do anything other than place bets: sure, the queen's caught, it's unprofessional to not do their jobs and it's not as though this gig doesn't have benefits, but still. Still. For whatever reason, they just aren't getting in the way. Meanwhile, Leova's muttering to herself, and not just because of the wing she's getting a better look at. Another time might be different, might warrant static against that stark whiteness, but now? She's gone. (Vrianth to Reisoth) Abruptly, Vrianth: « Hold still, would you? Tsanth. » Stay put. Little shreds of white reflect the light behind her presence, and vanish rather than melt. (Vrianth to Tsanth) To Vrianth, Tsanth « Fine, fine. » He doesn't want to. But he's begrudingly staying put even with Leova close to him, touching him. He doesn't want to and does it anyway. Even better. She won't have her rider sew her initial into his wing, then. Probably. (Vrianth to Tsanth) Of course he had to expect a response from the other bronzerider. So H'vier must not hurt enough to not be willing to meet it. The big Istan is more clumsy now but he's still got size on the other and he's not afraid to use it behind those big fists of his. At first Reisoth seems mostly unconcerned with the scuffle. It's obviously a pretty common occurrence with H'vier. But there's a certain point that even the bronze is rumbling impatiently at the pair. Z'ian hardly has the same impact behind his punches that the Istan does. Instead, he'll resort to what any woma- hot blooded man who is not as strong as his opponent physically would do. Attempt dirty fighting. Hair pulling. Stepping on H'vier's toes. Kneeing him. Did he like his kidneys? Eh, you only need one right? And meanwhile he'll try to keep his face out of the range of the other bronzerider's cement fist. Not that he's entirely successful. Meanwhile, Tsanth is starting to actually become upset. Because his rider doesn't do these things. The smaller bronze turns his head around and warbles, worry and confusion. Hopefully the muscled men can get on with doing their jobs soon. By way of 'helping': "You two couldn't just drink yourselves into oblivion?" the greenrider snaps uncharacteristically from the top of the ladder she'd had brought to her. A ladder that is... suddenly in danger of being dislodged, thank you Tsanth. Maybe it's that, rather than all the thudding and grunting, that has the dragonhealer snapping her fingers in the muscled men's general direction. All right, fine. They'll get back to work. Slowly. "How was I supposed to know that one still had fight in 'im?" calls up one of them. Drinking into oblivion will be later, obviously. The kneeing in particular seems to sober H'vier's anger to some extent, though he manages not to drop all the way to the ground, curling over himself and finally backing off from the other bronzerider's dirty tactics. There are probably some demands that come more silently from Reisoth as well. "Enough, you stupid bastard!" No doubt he'd like to say more but that's where he stops for now, starting to look like he really needs to be propped up against something. Oh. The ladder. Tsanth shifts position again to look at it, this time apologetic as he stares head on at Leova with one sad, whirling eye. He stops moving around again, but he's not liking what's going on. He pauses at H'vier's 'enough' and he bends over at the waist, huffing. Exasperated, "I'm a stupid bastard? I'll send you a mirror for your turnday and then you can see what a stupid bastard looks- Hey!" One of the slow moving muscled men finally manages to get around to putting their hands on Z'ian again, dragging him off to be closer to his dragon, away from the other bronzerider. Leova's all set to watch the pair dragged apart, except: dragon head. Woebegone dragon head. Hello, Tsanth. As though he might have been unhappy about the dragging part, "It was that or have 'em pour water over their heads," and the greenrider's sounding distinctly wistful for a moment before getting back to work: cleaning the wound, "When it stops hurting, that means numbweed, that means keep holding still," sewing it up. Meanwhile, the bronze's rider gets dumped by Tsanth's paw unless Z'ian clutches on, and H'vier's got an actual healer type aiming to help him, if with the warning that if he punches him, there won't be any numbweed at all. Leova, from on high, pre-threaded needle darting in and out: "Was this before or after you boys let Szadath catch her?" Fortunately for the rest of High Reaches' population of faces, H'vier looks to be just about out of energy to punch anything else. Maybe to do much of anything at all but concentrate on standing up for that healer to do whatever he wants to do. He's certainly not rising to Z'ian's bait with the added distance that gets put between them. Leova's comment gets a look as though he'd like to rise to that but all he does is growl, "His useless dragon took them both out. She would have been mine." Of that he seems pretty confident. Unceremoniously dumped on the ground by Tsanth's feet, Z'ian puts his hand to his ribs again and exhales painfully. "We didn't let Szadath catch anything." He replies bitterly. Muttered darkly and pitched lower, "Not our fault Cadejoth couldn't follow a straight line without getting pinched by a brown." Tiredly he drops one hand onto his bronze's leg, patting it gently. This does a lot to calm the pained dragon and he more or less sits still while Leova tends to his broken bits. "Your idiot dragon shouldn't have been there at all. Damn outsider." Really, the none-too-tall healer might have liked the bigger of the bronzeriders sitting down, but he'll cope, humming a happy tune along the way. He doesn't have a dragon, after all. He can wipe those scrapes with some nice stinging alcohol and warn H'vier that if his piss turns bloody, come in and see them. Leova does glance up from her work, technically over and down, at the mention of Cadejoth, but her stitching stays steady, small and regular. Any resemblance to the letter 'L' has only to do with Reisoth's hard work and the letter's simplicity. Probably. "Wonder if Glacier's going to wind up the Weyrleader's wing," she muses, just so the other two can hear her. The mention of the previous Weyrleader's dragon gets a growl from H'vier. But that might also be from the stinging crap and the healer's attentions. The last of what Leova says earns another, albeit slightly more muted, glare. It's bad enough that his own wing is led by a greenrider. It's to the healer that he says, though, "I think I need to lay down. Can I...?" In the infirmary? For just a little while? He doesn't even toss out a thanks for the dragonhealer's work before he's letting the healer help make sure he doesn't pass out somewhere along the way to a cot. Is she stitching her initials into his wing? It's a good thing that Tsanth isn't able to read and that by the time his rider notices it'll be too late to really complain about it. He groans when Leova mentions the Glacier wing. He stares up at her in annoyance at that even being a possibility before turning that glare onto H'vier, even as he's walking away. There's not getting up to follow him to the infirmary, he'll stay with Leova and his bronze until his lifemate is done being patched up. Then he'll get up and drag himself to the infirmary. Pure coincidence! No doubt there'll be plenty of complaining for plenty of people over plenty of things in the sevendays to come, but for now... though one bronze is down, and another surely soon seen to, there are others waiting in the wings. She can pass out later. For now, Leova gets back to work. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Aftermath - Dragon Infirmary"Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 20:10:48 GMT.
Leova needs a raise.
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 21:00:55 GMT.
I agree. Leova needs a /big/ raise.
She is kind of amazing and all.
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 21:04:56 GMT.
There's an L stitched into my dragon's wing!!!
Varied (Varied) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 21:28:45 GMT.
Raise: she'd take that!
L: it's a zigzag, Z'ian. Blame Reisoth.
>.>
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Fri, 25 Jan 2013 02:07:29 GMT.
- stares hard*
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