Logs:Madilla Tends Val's Wounds
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| RL Date: 10 April, 2010 |
| Who: Madilla, Val |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some time after Safriath's flight, Val is a very brave patient. Madilla is not completely oblivious. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 6, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ch'son/Mentions, Nenita/Mentions, P'draig/Mentions, Galbreth/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Val/Visigoth: still Benden. |
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| It's... how long has it been since Safriath went up and went down? Long enough that a certain brown dragon has been consoled for his aching ribs, courtesy of his own overreaching and an impromptu meetup with Jekzith. Long enough that Val's gotten a little consolation of her own, only some of it wine, but enough to rub off at least one or two rough edges. Long enough that when Val comes limping into High Reaches' infirmary of all places, she not only looks drained but, well, sheepish. Her wearing just one sandal can't help, the other nowhere in evidence. Neither can those reddish-brownish-stained feet. But at least some of it's dirt! Even in busy infirmaries like High Reaches', there's downtime for healers - at least enough that there's time to read a book, or sew a seam, while waiting for the next patient. Or, as in Madilla's case, both at once. The combination of distractions is apparently not enough, however, to keep the healer's attention away from the door; as Val makes her entrance, green eyes lift to mark her head-to-toe, and then: "Goodness! It looks as though you've been through the-- won't you follow me? We'll get you seen to." She's business like, but friendly. Head-to-toe finds Val attempting a smile for those green eyes, even if it's half by reflex, and look! She can be obedient, with her soft-drawled, "Thank you," her voice one that's recently seen hard use. She follows. Limps, but follows. And as though just following weren't enough, "Where do you want me? ... It's cold." Of course, her arms are bare, and her hands only have their rings. "Do you need a shoulder?" To lean on, to help with the walking. Madilla slows her steps to wait for the brownrider, turning her head back to consider her again. The shoulder is there, positioned for it, if she does, but if not the healer can just start walking again. "Just in the cubicle, just here. I can get you a blanket." "I... might." Val wavers a moment, and then it becomes physical, unsteadiness only partially relieved by reaching for the taller (taller!) woman's shoulder. It's an oddly delicate gesture, like the fabric might be fragile, or the woman beneath it. Or as though her grip isn't trustworthy. Careful steps then, towards the cubicle, and... is Madilla's hair still coiled up, would it be completely indiscreet to try and surreptitiously sniff? Madilla's hair (coiled up still, yes, tidy except for the occasional curly escapee) smells like lavender. And perhaps the healer is too focused on providing that shoulder, and the arm that coils around Val's waist for additional support, to notice anything of the sort. Her tone is conversational enough, as she leads the brownrider to the conveniently positioned cot: "We'll get you sorted out in no time, I promise. Not far!" Val hasn't even had any numbweed yet and life is looking up. Leaning on the healer, she eases her way over towards the cot, not too fast. Wouldn't want to break something. And then comes easing her way onto the cot, which doesn't seem to be the easiest either, but she manages a tired smile up to Madilla that is just so, so grateful. "Did you say, a blanket? A blanket would be lovely." Being useful, and then having people be grateful for it? It makes Madilla positively beam, a sunny smile that fills her face. "One blanket," she promises, "While you give me a brief rundown of what happened. Fair deal?" Not that she waits for agreement, heading to the shelving unit at the back of the cubicle to fetch the aforementioned blanket. "You don't seem to be in any danger of dying, at least. I appreciate that." Such a smile! Val looks a little dazed. But maybe she got hit on her head, too? It's a good thing that Madilla doesn't wait, as Val makes an agreeable noise but doesn't actually say anything useful until Madilla starts coming near again. Even then, it's a somewhat rueful, "So do I. All told." But if she's going to get a blanket, and just-possibly-maybe tucking in of said blanket, she's got her own contribution to make. "The weyr I was visiting... well. I don't want to speak bad of my hostess? It's just that a bottle broke, on the floor. I..." and now the brownrider's looking up through her lashes, biting her lip slightly: is that too much? Should she go on? The blanket gets draped carefully around the brownrider's shoulders, and then Madilla heads around to stand at the foot of the bed while she listens. It gets a frowned, this somewhat abbreviated retelling of events, but mostly it seems because: "You stepped in it?" And unspoken, but almost certainly there: and you've been walking around on it since? It might even be disapproval. Oh no, not disapproval! The brownrider winds up huddling beneath the blanket, and it's far too easy to look woebegone with those big brown eyes of hers. Even her heavy braid manages to look more limp, the way her shoulders slump. "I... I was trying to get out. Some men... I lost my sandal," and here she wiggles her toes on that foot, only to have to wince. Genuinely. If also a little more than strictly necessary. Could a woman with a heart as soft as Madilla's truly not melt under that? No, I think not. Her unspoken censure disappears, and her expression turns sympathetic once more, although, "I hope you didn't have to walk too far." Which holds as much concern as it does sympathy. At any rate, she's more business-like as she fetches supplies: numbweed, tweezers, hot water, alcohol, bandages. And then, she settles on the floor at the brownrider's feet. "Let's get a look at it, anyway." There's a certain amount of natural relaxation at that shift to sympathy, but Val endeavors not to overdo it, too much: she must be brave! She also makes a noncommittal, somewhat worried noise about the walking-too-far, tugging the blanket closer about her as Madilla goes for all those... implements. When she offers her feet it's a little hesitantly, but again with the must-be-brave! and all that. Her toenails are neatly shaped, her calluses mostly buffed, it's just that they're a little... dirty. Or maybe a little more than a little, given that there was the wine, and then there was the dirt on wet skin, and then there was the wandering around... though she did at least try to brush off most of the Istan sand, and at one point they might have seen some water. Salt in the wounds! At any rate, only one foot actually has glass-cuts on it, and they're pretty superficial at that, though the other has had some scrapes thanks to taking off sandal-number-two. "It didn't hurt as much at first," the brownrider says in a soft next-thing-to-whisper. It's such an interesting collection of dirt that Madilla lifts her head to ask, "Where were you exactly?" But that's an aside - not the main order of business at all, which for the moment, seems to be getting them clean again, with warm water and a soft cloth, which probably feels good, and the alcohol, which probably does not. At all. "I suppose it wouldn't have," she agrees, as she cleans with gentle hands. "We'll get some numbweed on as soon as we can, I promise." Still hushed, maybe not the easiest to hear, "I had to get down here." But Val says it readily, and if she's a little shocky still, well. Maybe more than she realizes. She surely can't quite hold back the sigh of pained relief at that warm water, nor the muted noises at the cleansing with alcohol that get her feet twitching, wanting to pull away. To kick away the pan. To run. She holds her feet as still as she can, even if it isn't quite still enough, tension lining her face. It can't be pretty, she can't be pretty, like this. "I'm trying, I'm trying to hold still," she promises back. It's an answer that doesn't get a response from the healer, except a momentary upwards sweep with her gaze. It probably doesn't mean anything to her, and she's distracted: busy. She concentrates on the cleaning, instead. When she does speak, it's to respond to that promise, her tone soothing and sympathetic: "I know. I'm sorry. I promise, I'm nearly done." She holds tight to the brownrider's ankles, though, doing her bet to keep them still. "You're doing really well." Brave! "Nearly done," so-brave Val whispers after her healer, half as though they were going on a trip. Are they there yet? How about now? Now? "I'm trying," she whispers after herself. "Are they... it's going to be okay, right?" She looks down at the top of Madilla's head as though that's what could answer her. Or maybe it's just: pretty, pretty coils. The top of Madilla's head, doesn't move, and the coils, however pretty, don't respond, but her voice does, firmly reassuring. "It's going to be fine," she promises, as - at last! - the little bottle of alcohol is set down and the pad she's been using to apply it, too. Her grip loosens, now that there's less danger of a kick to the head, and then she glances up, letting a soft smile cross her face. "There. And now we'll numbweed. It's none of it too deep-- they'll be fine, I promise." Naughty pins to keep the coils from moving. What about the escapees, does one of those peek out at Val? When the alcohol's set down, there is one tiny twitch of the brownrider's toes that's just a little in its direction, but really, Val could do much worse. Much, much worse. Especially with her ankles free, or freer. That was practically just an embryonic stretch, and now she stretches a little more, flexing her ankles and then her feet. "That is... that's such a relief. Or, it will be." She gives Madilla a little, hopeful smile in reply: see? she's so brave she can tease! Arguably, the escapees are more naughty than the pins, needing no more than the unconscious movements of a living body to flutter just so - waving at the brownrider? The healer keeps at least half an eye on the feet she's relinquished, even as she's wiping off her own hands with another towel, and reaching for the numbed. "Is that a hint?" she wants to know, glancing up again, then, to meet smile with smile. Is that a hint. Is that a... hint? Val's lips part slightly as though she might provide some suggestions to go with that hint, but then all at once she blinks. Twice. Her eyelashes don't flutter as much as the escapees do, but it's a near thing. And then she says down to Madilla, her subtly wider smile made not only of her mouth but voice and eyes, "Please." Pretty please, with sugar on top. She'd be oh, so grateful. Madilla's hands are on the jar of numbed even before the please, though it would be a fair assessment nonetheless that she's at least slightly distracted by Val's performance. At least she looks apologetic, suppressing amusement to allow a return of the seriousness as, finally, she reaches for the ankle of the glass-cut foot to hold it still while she applies that lovely, lovely numbweed. Despite Val's smile, she adds, sounding genuine, "I'm sorry." The ankle of the glass-cut foot: Cinderella, gone awry? Is Madilla Val's fairy godmother tonight? The very first touch of the numbweed yields a slight but perceptible slackening of the muscles of her foot, and then there's more, and oh, glorious bliss. "That feels so good," she murmurs, eyes hooded: not a performance for the green-eyed woman, now, but half-spoken to a dragon who isn't even here. What isn't for the dragon: "You're good at this." Numbweed may not be much of a substitution for Prince Charming. Although, perhaps, under the circumstances... A little smile creeps across Madilla's face again, at Val's reaction to it, head lowering further towards the feet which sends the escapees dancing again. "I think the numbweed does most of the work," she says, without glancing up, modestly. "But... thank you." "Thank you." Val leans down as though to look at her feet, takes a deep breath... and coughs. Lavender plus alcohol and whatever's in the numbweed! Now she's even more apologetic, all what-could-have-gotten-into-her and don't-have-a-cold, and drawing up her feet for a peek before hiding them behind the blanket. And pulling the upper hem higher, so it's around her neck and her mouth and she's just peeking out. "Now what?" Madilla gives Val a careful look, presumably to reassure herself that the patient isn't actually suffering from anything else, but, blanket-wrapping aside, there doesn't seem to be too much to be concerned about. She draws herself back to her feet, bobbing her head towards the brownrider as she says, "It'll probably hurt to put too much weight on that foot for a few days. We can lend you a stick, if it helps. And I can bandage it. If you'd rather not face that just yet, we can make the cot up, though." Sleeping in healer territory. It just may be further than Val's willing to go, even for a girl with green eyes and good hands. "I can manage," she assures, setting her shoulders beneath the blanket, even raising her chin. So brave! "I worry about getting the bandages dirty, though? Unless there are slippers I could borrow? And what about between?" It's the expected reaction, probably - or if not, it amuses Madilla anyway, because her smile broadens. She nods, though, gathering together her supplies to put them on the nearby table, and, once they've been deposited saying, "I can find you some slippers, certainly. As for Between... That should be fine. Just don't let them get too cold." "Thank you," says Val, so meekly. For the slippers, presumably. Possibly the smile. "So no staying in between for five hours... I'll remember." As though one could, all at once. Blanket still clutched about her, "Do you have any other instructions? Eat my vegetables?" The meekness make's Madilla's head shake, just ever-so-slightly, though her gaze doesn't linger on the brownrider: she has bustling to do, a pair of slippers to fetch from a nearby cabinet, to be offered over with a, "And no grand tours of Pern. One stop, straight home." Smile aside, there's firmness to her tone for that. "Keep them clean, see a healer if they look at all infected... and vegetables, yes. Always vegetables." One hand peeks out from the folds of the blanket to accept the slippers and set them on her lap, and before offering her feet up for the bandaging, Val assures, "Straight home... ma'am." With a peek through her lashes. She'll be a better patient this time, thanks to the numbweed and the past few hours catching up with her all over again, though she can't seem to resist comments like, "Only internal? What about vegetables between my toes?" Ma'am. It, and those lashes, twist Madilla's lips, wry and somewhat amused. "Madilla," she says, then, offering up her name for the first time. She drops back to her knees for the bandaging, getting it done with practiced efficiency. "I'd imagine dried beans might feel good between the toes... but I think the larger vegetables are better eaten. Of course... I've never tried." "Madill... a." It's fluid on Val's lips, tasting her name, though not quite the way it might have been were she more herself. "I'm Val. And you're very gracious. Madilla." She wiggles each foot, testingly, when it's not the one being bandaged. "Gracious, glorious Madilla! If you do try... I'll count on you to let me know, you know." And then she's ready to stand up, as soon as the healer says the word. Madilla's repetition of Val's name is less testing, more confirmation: "Val. You're very welcome." She finishes her bandaging, then draws back, waving her arm lightly to indicate that the brownrider is free to stand. "I will. Let you know, that is. If it ever comes up, and I've opportunity to explore it. I rather hope I don't see you in here again, though." So the brownrider does stand, once she's slipped on the slippers, and tries a step forward. And then with more assurance, another. She's still got the blanket about her, and now she cocks her head and considers Madilla: she's on to her, isn't she? At least a little? "Just tell me where you hope you do see me," Val chooses to tease anyway. "Before I go." The healer watches those first steps with the wariness well-trained into her craft, but since that seems to be going fine, she's able to return the brownrider's gaze more directly. If her amusement is anything to go by, perhaps, yes, she's at least an inkling. But it's not enough to draw wariness-- or a blush, for once. "I hope... Well. Somewhere without healer instruments or broken glass, for your sake." To which Val looks away, but only to make a show of scanning the infirmary with widened eyes and look back, "If you insist, Madilla! I'll see what I can do," and here her lashes drop again, just for a moment before she smiles. "Good night." And though she still limps when she walks, it's less so, and the slippers manage to stay on her feet. Madilla's amusement is audible: a light laugh that she makes no attempt at covering up. "Good night, Val. Look after yourself." She'll watch after the brownrider, but as soon as she's out of sight, there's the cleaning up to do, the chart to write up, and, eventually, the book-and-sewing to return to. And perhaps even another patient or two, though likely none quite so-- amusing?
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