Logs:Every man has his weaknesses
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| RL Date: 15 December, 2013 |
| Who: G'laer, Oliwer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer goes for herbs, but thanks to conscientious Journeyman Oliwer, he has an appointment to return for therapy. It turns out G'laer is a nervous patient. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 7, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Gheara/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| 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.
Oliwer is just making his way out of the storage rooms, holding a bottle in one hand that he's still peering at as he approaches the counter. It's not until he reaches it that he actually looks up. "Oh! My apologies. I didn't realize someone had come. Have you been helped already, sir?" His tone is professional, his expression pleasant as he offers a brief smile. The man's form turns to face the counter as the soft sound of footsteps penetrates. It's a swift reaction from G'laer, but then, he's been trained to listen for such approaches. There's no smile on his face, but neither does he look upset or in pain, just serious. "No, sir." He answers the Journeyman politely, stepping up to the opposite side of the counter. "I was-- well, sir, I was hoping you might have a supply of certain herbs on hand. I'm looking to make a salve but can't leave the Weyr to go gather for myself." It's more explanation than he might've offered, were the topic not about herbs. Who knows what kind of mischief a weyrling (albeit a grown one) could get into with some of the things protected by that counter and the stores beyond. The healer doesn't seem particularly surprised by the request. No doubt he gets all sorts of them about all sort of things that aren't nearly so reasonable as herbs. "And what sort of salve are you looking to make? Do you know the name of what you're looking for?" Oliwer's gaze has dropped to the counter to find something to write with and something to write on. G'laer could be called G'laer-the-Prepared if one wanted to make a rhyme of it, for he produces from his pocket a list of the herbs and their quantities, which are quite precise (as these things go), that he's looking for, offering it over to the healer. "Old injury acting up," He explains. "The salve usually helps, but I've run out of my stock and the rest is back with my things in Crom." Oliwer accepts the list, the lines in his forehead becoming more prominent as he reads his way through the ingredients. His mouth moves every so often as he reads and he goes back through it at least once more before glancing up at the weyrling, eyeing him somewhat more curiously. "And you just want the herbs? You don't want us to make it for you?" "Please." G'laer confirms, just the herbs with the simple polite word. Maybe he's being extra nice because he wants something that's not the standard fare, or maybe when G'laer's interacting with adults he's just a little more mannered. "I'd prefer to do my own mixing, if it's all the same to you." It's not like any of those herbs in other combinations would be particularly dangerous. Oliwer nods slowly, more to himself than to G'laer. "So long as you know what you're doing," he says mildly, glancing down at the list one more time. "But if you know what to ask for, I'll trust that you do." The healer has a smile for the greenrider. "If you don't mind, I'll have to record it. Along with what you're taking." Well, it doesn't really matter if G'laer minds or not, really. But Oliwer is that kind of guy. "Of course." G'laer concedes readily to the requirement; he wouldn't have expected any less. He doesn't have a returning smile for Oliwer, but it's not personal. Smiles are just few and far between. The 'of course' might also have been meant to answer that he knows what he's doing. he waits in silence for the paperwork to be done or whatever it is the healer's going to do next, rolling his left shoulder back in a slow circle, his hand still hanging at his side. Maybe that's the old injury in question. It seems likely enough. "Good," says Oliwer. "Good. If you'll just give me a few moments to get everything in order." He's already transferring the list to something that looks more official and once it's done, he turns in toward the greenrider to have him sign his name. "Would you like to come back later to pick them up or would you rather wait?" The question is asked as Oliwer eyes G'laer's shoulder. Then he continues without waiting for an answer. "There were no issues in your physicals?" "I'll wait, if that's alright?" Surely there's some eager apprentice on the night shift that wants to go measure out those herbs right now, right? The greenrider finishes making his mark, as he answers the other question. "No. It's not a current problem, just a shoulder that gets sore now and again. Too many push-ups as a teen, I'm told. Though it could as easily be something else. My understanding of the anatomy of the muscles there is that there's a lot of things that can get strained or inflamed under the wrong stimulus." Which means G'laer is a man of some intelligence if he's reading about anatomy. "Of course," says Oliwer in regards to G'laer waiting. The journeyman motions for a young woman as she appears out of the same door that he's about to send her back in, passing off the list to her before turning his attention back to the greenrider. "Indeed, yes." He smiles at that comment about push-ups, but it turns awkward, like he's not as sure that it's actually a joke. "Do you mind if I take a quick look at it?" he asks after clearing his throat. G'laer considers for a moment and then shrugs, "If you like. I suppose now that the Weyr's stuck with me I ought to have my old injuries documented for my record." The record that currently doesn't go beyond turn twelve and then skips straight to "25" if Oliwer can lay his hands on the particular set of charts. He makes a gesture to indicate one of the curtained exam areas and then another, asking where the healer wants him to go. "Ah, here's fine," says Oliwer as he turns to pull back the curtain on one of the closer examination areas to let G'laer past so he can follow. "You can sit if you like." Or not. It doesn't really matter to him so long as he can reach what he needs to reach. "Do you have a full range of motion without pain?" The man moves to settle on the cot, pulling his shirt off as he goes and settling on its edge with the garment in his lap. G'laer's bare chest is dotted hither and yon with scars, none sticking out as the most prominent, just a collection of markings that vary in size and shape. If one didn't know his former profession, it might be worrying, but... "Usually. Sometime it tweaks if I move wrong and then it's sore for a day or two or four. Depending on what I did." Oliwer has seen plenty of guys without shirts on, surely, but there's something about the scars on the greenrider's chest that draws the eyes. He doesn't realize he's staring right away. When G'laer answers, Oliwer's eyes are still exploring the scars. "You've lead quite the exciting life, I see," he says conversationally with a brief smile, and then it's all professional again. "If you don't mind showing me how you can move it?" Just in case his definition of 'full-range' isn't the same as the man with the wonky shoulder. Blue eyes watch the watcher, though his expression remains neutral. Neutral, but he isn't pretending the staring went unnoticed. "It depends on how you define exciting. Only some have interesting stories, the rest are more embarrassing than interesting." Which, to some audiences, would qualify them as more interesting. G'laer lifts his arm first forward and rotates it slowly toward his back, and then out to the side and again, rotates, and then lifts it so the angle from shoulder to arm is up and another rotation, hitting the three main positions of the shoulder muscles. He is a little less flexible that most would be, but not in a way that inhibits him much. The watcher, at least, doesn't look particularly embarrassed. Maybe because the weyrling doesn't actually mention it. "Your embarrassing stories are probably much more interesting than mine," he says with a hint of humor. He watches the way G'laer moves his shoulder without comment, even nodding as he moves closer, rubbing his hands together to make sure there's no lingering chill before using them to feel around the muscles and joint. Blue eyes flick around the curtained enclosure, "One would hope. But then, I imagine most people who come into your care aren't looking to become an embarrassing story." The weyrling's lips pull into a half smirk. "I suspect it's somewhere in whatever Healer oaths you took. 'I solemnly swear not to go around giggling about my patient's weird growths no matter how funny they look'?" Initially, there's tension in the shoulder at the touch; being touched, it makes him tense, but after a few moments and some accompanying breaths, the muscle starts to relax enough for Oliwer to examine it properly. "I do have stories that don't involve my patients. More than I'd like, truthfully." But Oliwer doesn't go off telling any of them to G'laer. He's focused on what he's doing in that way healers have when they're touching other people. He's patient about waiting for the greenrider to relax, probably accustomed to some extent with that particular tension. "Have you ever considered massage?" he wonders. "It's reasonable to dislike any number of stories that goes beyond having learned some kind of lesson from the experiencing. But if you're still learning something, the experience is worse than the story of it." G'laer concludes after a thoughtful moment. "As an abstract concept, only. In the guard, you grin and bear things until it's bad enough that you should've seen a healer last seven, or in some cases last month. That's just how it goes. Massage... was never really..." He trails off to search for the right word but comes up empty and simply shrugs the end of the sentence away. "It might be worth trying. It could be good to get the blood flowing in the area, especially if it's an issue with the muscles and not the joint." Which the stuff G'laer is making to help with it could suggest to begin with. "If it were something you were willing to try, of course." Somehow Oliwer has gotten the impression that this might not be the case. He manages to sound understanding rather than judgmental, however. He's a professional. The greenrider is silent as he considers the idea. "I'd be willing." He decides, though the tone has some small measure of hesitancy. "It's not that I'm opposed to the idea, just-- it's never been available before, or leastways in a way that was encouraged. I know it's not as the healers would like it, but guards aren't really encouraged to seek any kind of treatment for anything unless they're broken or dying." Being really, really sick probably counts too. "The reason I have the salve is because my grandmother's an herbalist." G'laer isn't one given to a lot of talking or volunteering of information, but every man has their weakness, and it seems one of G'laer's is being in a healer's care. Maybe it's something about the curtained alcove, or the vulnerable nature of visits with a healer, it makes him a little more talkative than usual, even if he's partly repeating himself. Oliwer is attempting to be understanding about the plight of guards, too. But it's more difficult. "I find the idea of avoiding medical treatment ill-advised. Especially for those who are supposed to be guarding others. But you're no guard now and your duty is to your Weyr and dragon. Both of which would much rather you be as well as possible, yes?" The healer draws in a deep breath like saying these things are more than he's really used to himself. But he continues, "I'm sure your grandmother would like you to be as well as possible, too." "I wasn't condoning it," Exactly. But nor was G'laer really condemning the practice either. "But my dragon would decidedly wish me to be well. I had a cough for a seven a month or so back," Which he didn't come in for, "And she was--" The man's eyes briefly have to close because it was that ridiculous. "You'd think I'd've contracted the plague and were on my deathbed from the way she went on." But at least she cares! Which is more than some dragons. "You don't have to sell me on regular visits to the healers," Only he doesn't sound entirely convincing when he says that, "I'm sold." Or that. But at least he's here now, right? For a moment, Oliwer looks like he might say something about the cough but whatever it was going to be he holds back. Better not to lecture the man you're trying to convince to take better care of himself. "I should hope so," is what he settles on, stepping back and gesturing for G'laer to put his shirt back on. "I can set up an appointment if you'll let me know when you might be available. Would you prefer a woman to take care of you?" His Holder is showing. If G'laer notices the restraint, he probably appreciates it. And chances are better than poor that he does. He shakes out the shirt from its spot in his lap, "It doesn't really matter, does it? Healering is healering, whether it's a man or a woman? Or do they teach you different things at the Hall?" For others, this might be delivered as a tease, but G'laer seems serious enough in the asking. Is there a reason he should prefer a woman? Maybe that's his weyrbrat showing in kind. "It matters if you would be more comfortable one way or the other. Massage is rather less beneficial if you're tense and resistant the whole time." Oliwer smiles briefly. "But if you have no particular preference, I can set something up with whoever is available when you are." Most likely someone that isn't him, by the sound of his voice, though it's less clear if he's trained in that particular area at all. G'laer's expression slips towards thoughtful as he pulls the shirt on over his head. "If it's a matter of being comfortable, I'm probably more like to be comfortable with a man. Aren't many women in the guard and even ten sisters doesn't mean I understand them." He shrugs his shoulders slightly, which helps as he pulls the shirt into place before rising to neatly and efficiently tuck it into his trousers. "About this time of the evening is best. After dinner. As there are drills and then lessons and more lessons after." Not that he's complaining, more simply stating the busy schedule of a weyrling. "Think it's the sort of thing someone could do for me in the dragon infirmary? Teisyth will want to be there." This is said with absolute certainty. "Okay," says Oliwer after a moment of thought and a nod of his head. "Yes, of course. The dragon infirmary will work as well as anywhere." Another brief smile is offered before the healer is turning to the curtain to step through without waiting for the greenrider to go first or follow him. He'll be at the counter looking through a schedule when G'laer emerges, frowning at the pages. Follow Oliwer G'laer does, after doing one final check of his shirt to make sure everything is as neat and tidy as when he arrived. As he walks, one hand rises to press up on his chin as he turns his head, eliciting a pop from his neck. The frown has him commenting, "Probably a popular time for that kind of thing. You know, when you're shortest handed and a lot of people have free time." "Mm," agrees Oliwer without actually saying anything. He looks through the pages, flipping back a couple of times as though to make sure he hadn't missed anything before moving on again. "Well," he says, finally. "I can make you an appointment for about four sevens from now. Or," and he sounds just very slightly resigned about this prospect, "Or I do it sometime much sooner. In my free time." Sometimes being the sort of person that wants to help other people can be difficult. As has been the case several times, G'laer is silent, thoughtful. Slowly, he asks the question, "Is there really any rush?" To come back to see the healers? His face that so oft betrays so little has the very slightest touch of color to his cheeks. "I mean, it's an old injury, and I'd hate to take up your free time with something that will probably be fine on its own," If he didn't sound convincing before about having been convinced, this sort of cinches any doubt. Once out those doors, with no obligation to return, the healers might well not see him again until something is really wrong. Oliwer has likely worked with people like G'laer before. At least enough to know the sort that's less likely to return at all if an appointment is too far into the future. He doesn't answer the greenrider's question, instead saying simply, "Three days from now. In the dragon infirmary. Shall I have someone tell Teisyth that evening, so you don't forget?" Oliwer's attention has dropped back down to the schedule to flip a few pages back and mark it down. G'laer is an intelligent enough man to know when the jig is up. The jig is definitely up. His lips pull very slightly toward a smile even if they don't quite make it there. "No. Telling her won't help you." He hopes, "But I'll be there." And at least he has the good manners to say, "Thank you." Although this might really be the verbal way of shaking the man's hand for a game well-played. "You're very welcome, dragonrider." Oliwer has the grace to offer a warm sort of smile to his impromptu patient. "I'm sure your herbs will be out any minute now. If you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next patient." And possibly find G'laer's file for purely professional reasons. "I'll see you in three days." Gentle reminder there before the healer smiles once more and turns away to continue on with his work. |
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