Logs:Scars and Stupidity
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| RL Date: 19 May, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Gaelan, Oliwer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Gaelan is injured two sevens after he arrives at the Weyr, G'laer is at fault, and Oliwer happens to be the one on duty. Let the games begin. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 11, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aseana/Mentions, Baseridin/Mentions, Briedin/Mentions, Brindin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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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.
When Oliwer draws back the curtain to step into the alcove, he's still glancing at whatever information was made available to him by the apprentice that showed them in. And so he's visibly surprised when he looks up and finds not only G'laer but the boy who bears a passing resemblance to him. Not so surprised that he says anything silly, fortunately. The journeyman clears his throat as he puts his neutral healer face on. "Afternoon, sir," he says with his characteristic politeness, nodding first to the greenrider before flickering a friendly smile to the boy. "What brings us in today, hmm?" The question is asked despite the fact that he's already moving to take a look himself. Fortunately for a man who doesn't want to make personal introductions to his small hold bred, farm-raised son, the both of them are too busy glaring at one another to notice Oliwer's surprise before it's gone. Surely, by now G'laer doesn't have to look to know it's Oli who's come into the alcove, so he doesn't look immediately. His jaw is tight, but it snaps to let two words escape, "He. Fell." It's like those two words were the taps on the pressure plate that led to Gaelan's subsequent explosion, "I wouldn't have, if you weren't chasing me!" G'laer's hands fly down to his sides, possibly more dangerous now that they're 'at the ready,' "I wouldn't have chased you if you weren't running away." This is probably one of those sides of himself he'd rather not share with Oli. As twelve turn olds tend to have an answer for everything, so, too, does Gaelan for this, "I wouldn't have had to run away if you hadn't brought me here!" Clearly, things are going well. But at least at this juncture, G'laer bites his tongue when it comes to responding to the youth who turns sullen as soon as the greenrider turns to the healer, arms folding back across his chest. "He can still walk on it. Just--" He gestures. There's blood. Though it looks worse than it is as it will prove upon examination. Only one deep cut and the rest a long surface scrape beading blood that leaks onto the inside of the pant leg and penetrates. Oliwer watches the explosive exchange calmly, no doubt used to some measure of heated emotions around these parts. Maybe just not coming from this particular man, who he doesn't always have to pretend he doesn't know very well. All the journeyman does, though, is smile between the pair of them as he moves to see whether he can look at the wound without having to ask Gaelan to take off his trousers or cut them open. Once that's figured out, he goes about cleaning it up with the carefully gentle hand of an experienced healer. "So where were you running to?" he asks the boy conversationally while he works. "I hear Ista is nice this time of turn. But it seems like an awfully long run." Especially considering the expanse of water between here and there. Oliwer's smile, it seems, is enough to douse some of the flames of G'laer's fiery wrath. He probably wants to say something or do something other than what he does which is turn his back on boy and healer and clench his arms a little tighter. Gaelan's eyes follow before flicking to the healer, still glowering. "Away." Twelve turn olds are ever the informative lot. Then just when it seems like that's all there is, "Anywhere away. Home maybe." It can't help that this has G'laer whipping back around to half-snarl, "This is your home now." Gaelan ignores him, pointedly, which has G'laer making a noise low in the back of his throat and turning away again. The healer continues to more or less ignore the exchanges between father and son, but it's difficult to know whether he'd do the same for any father and son. Oliwer doesn't take the glowering personally, in any case, and continues cleaning the wound until he can get a good look at it. He doesn't speak again until, "Well, it doesn't look too bad, but I think you'd better take it easy on the running away for awhile." The brief smile he offers the boy is slightly conspiratory. But then he asks the important question, "Have you ever gotten stitches before?" There are twitches, of course, whenever the redwort is rubbed across a sensitive area. As the question is posed, the youth shoots a dark look at G'laer's back, "I held my cousin still when my uncle had to sew up his hand with a fishing line. That hand ain't never been the same." His eyes fall to his leg, expression briefly betraying worry. "Is your uncle a healer?" Oliwer can't help asking, even if he might regret it with the possibility that he, you know, isn't. "I promise your leg will be good as new once it's healed. You might have a scar, but I'm told those add character." Another smile. "Now, would you prefer your father stay here with you or wait outside until we're done?" There's a firmness in the way he says it that makes it quite clear this is entirely Gaelan's decision. "Nah." Of course not. "He works on Grandpappy's farm." Not a Healer. "There's a Healer that comes round regularly, from the Hold proper, usually, but he'd just been an' gone. Grandpappy didn't see as it was worth sending a rider," runner, surely, not dragon, "when it'd be halfway healed or Brindin would be halfway dead from blood sickness or somethin' by the time the healer got back. Even if one of his lot brought him." Gaelan grudgingly acknowledges his father's continued existence to indicate dragonmen. G'laer doesn't turn, but his arms tighten and one with keen hearing might catch the momentary clench of his jaw, rubbing teeth on teeth in a way that can't be comfortable. And truly, G'laer is probably glad of the result of his son's next words, if not the phrasing, "He ain't nothin' to me. He can wait outside, or fly his stupid dragon to the Red Star for all I-" And that's as far as Gaelan can get with that because G'laer's moved smoothly past Oliwer, and reached down to grab a fistful of his son's tunic. "Say whatever you want about me, but you never, ever speak ill of her, you hear me, boy?" The threat is in his eyes. Nevermind that the 'boy' is twelve and possibly stupid himself. There is a brief, if not very obvious, frown in response to the boy's negativity toward not only dragonriders, but his father in particular. Oliwer doesn't comment on it, though. It's not until G'laer is past him and threatening the boy that the journeyman lifts a hand to the greenrider's shoulder, pressing just noticeably. It's only to get his attention enough to gesture toward the curtain with an earnest expression, though. To Gaelan, he explains with a tight smile, "I'll fetch some numbweed and we'll get you out of here soon." It's not an instant release at Oliwer's touch, but G'laer does let go a half-breath later, exhaling hard. Gaelan is visibly shaken as the greenrider steps outside the curtain, nodding mutely to the healer's words, fingers clenched tight to the edge of the cot. Only two sevens in, this is not a promising start for G'laer's decision to 'try' with his children. Outside the curtain, the greenrider's arms are once more crossed over his chest, hands tight on his arms, probably so they can't accidentally choke anyone out. Once they're past the curtain and Oliwer has tried guiding G'laer far enough away so they can't be easily overheard by Gaelan, he asks, "Are you okay?" It's pretty obvious that the greenrider isn't okay, granted, but that's not how the journeyman deals with things. G'laer allows himself to be led away from the curtain, still as tense as ever. "I'm fine." It's pretty obvious that the greenrider isn't fine, granted, but that's not how the greenrider deals with things. "Teisyth isn't due to rise soon, is she?" asks Oliwer with a very slight hint of sarcasm, like this might point out to G'laer just how not fine he appears to be. Fortunately it seems to be rhetorical. "Just relax, hmm? Everything will be fine." He offers a brief smile before he's turning to fetch the numbweed he'd told Gaelan he was going to get. That it makes G'laer frown, this first statement about Teisyth, might be a reflection of the answer he doesn't give. To his credit, the greenrider does try to take a deep breath and get his blood pressure to resume a normal level. Surely, these efforts won't be helped when Oliwer returns to the curtain to find that Gaelan has given them the slip. He said everything would be fine, so of course the universe will make sure that everything isn't fine. Once Oliwer has fetched the numbweed, and any other supplies he needs, and makes his way back to and past the curtain, he's popping out again without even putting down what he's holding. "He's not there. Where did the boy go?" For once, Oliwer's voice is raised and almost sharp as he turns on one of the poor apprentices manning the front desk. G'laer's arms fall and fists curl as Oliwer's words hit him. Azurite eyes fall hard on that poor, poor apprentice, and he waits. Maybe his son was hit with the urgent need to seek the latrine. "Uuuuh," is really all the apprentice can manage at first under the dual stare down from greenrider and healer. Probably mostly the greenrider. Everyone knows Oliwer is harmless unless one is overly affected by 'disappointed dad' face. G'laer is more of an unknown, but he looks pretty intimidating. "I... I didn't see anyone leave." Oliwer is frowning very hard, though it fades into something slightly more uncertain with his tentative glance at G'laer. Then he's moving, setting down the supplies and pointing one direction. "Go. You're going to help find him." The apprentice glances once more at G'laer before she's nodding and going. But Oliwer turns back toward the greenrider, looking a little like a man might be expected to look were he standing between an angry bull and an open gate. "I'm not sure you should be the one that finds him." The half step the stony faced man takes toward the apprentice as she prepares to answer probably adds to the intimidation factor, but he doesn't continue an advance. If Oliwer's frown isn't enough motivation, maybe the slight narrowing of G'laer's eyes will speed the girl along her way. The step G'laer does take once she's gone brings him one step closer to Oliwer as the healer speaks. He wasn't, of course, really stepping to Oli in this public place, but rather toward that figurative gate. "Someone has to before the idiot bleeds out somewhere." Not that that's especially likely. The baritone is cold, but it's not really meant for Oli, he's just... standing between the bull and the gate. At least Gaelan isn't there to continue flapping the red cloth. "The likelihood of him bleeding out is practically non-existent. Unless he somehow manages to hurt himself more." That comment is accompanied by a firm look from Oliwer that suggests G'laer chasing after the boy, especially angry, is more likely to end up with Gaelan hurting himself more. "I'm more worried about the possibility of infection." Oliwer speaks as he starts to turn. He's going out to look for the boy, too. "You should stay here. Or go home. Or get a drink. He'll be fine." Hurting himself, being hurt by G'laer, same same, right? The greenrider frowns after the healer before starting for the exit himself, having made no indication if he's heeding the man's advice or taking his turn doing something stupid. Oliwer doesn't pay much attention to what G'laer is going to do once he leaves to help with the search. He even calls in his pudgy little firelizard to do his part. Whatever part that could possibly be. If G'laer happens to glimpse him now and then, it's probably just a coincidence. |
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