Logs:Stitch Removal
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| RL Date: 22 January, 2014 |
| Who: Madilla, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin needs his stitches removed. Madilla's on hand to do the job. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 11, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Raija/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions |
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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. It's fairly late, which seems to suit R'hin's preferred hours. It's long past the time when this could be blamed on Monaco's timezone, though, given Savannah's been here nearly three months already. Perhaps it's even deliberate that the bronzerider shows up long past the dinner hour when the place should be the quietest, stepping near-silently towards the counter in the middle. With a rather delicate, 'ahem', he seeks to announce his presence. The gash over his temple is healing over nicely, held together by Igen's talented healer, while any other injuries aren't overly apparent as he leans on the counter. The privileges of rank do not prevent even-handed superiors like Madilla from taking their fair share of evening shifts, not even now that there is a turn-and-a-half-old disruption in her life. The healer looks tired, though, and while she's probably trying to work on the quilt patches spread out on the counter in front of her, to a casual viewer it might look more as though she's simply staring off into space. R'hin's presence is a distraction, though, and those green eyes lift to regard him. "Stitches, I presume?" she wonders, after a moment's study. "Yes'm," R'hin answers jauntily, and there might even be a little salute there as he straightens. It's not meant to be mocking; there's an odd kind of energy coming off the bronzerider, even though it doesn't look like he's been drinking. "Though if you're in the midst of solving the problems of food shortages, how to brew the best beer, or even just how to stop a woman stealing the furs at night then definitely, don't let me stop you." His arms spread, as if indicating he's willing to wait on her, the glittering of pale eyes expressing his amusement. "I'd settle for 'how to get a traumatised child to sleep through the night'," admits Madilla, with a twist of a smile. "Though perhaps that's of less use to you. I'm Madilla - Weyrhealer." She steps down from the stool that sits behind the admissions desk, gesturing with one hand for the bronzerider to follow her towards the nearest of the cubicles. "Bar fight, was it?" "Oh, that one's easily solved: pay a nanny to sleep with them in another room." R'hin is not-at-all being facetious here; he sounds like he's intending to give her helpful advice. When she gestures, he takes it in a different way, deliberately, stretching his own out to catch hers in both of his, giving it a warm shake. "R'hin," he says, simply, releasing her hand a moment later before following her direct to the nearest cubicle. "Something like that," he allows, without correcting her. "You're not going to make me take off all my clothes, are you? Because I can, in case you're curious." A flippant grin is given over his shoulder at her; it's probably an act she's seen a dozen times, the deliberate manner of the charming bronzerider. "Unless you think I should abandon my other children and go and sleep in my... partner's weyr," there's a hitch before she says 'partner', as though she's not quite sure what word to use, "or that four of us should sleep in one room so that there's a room free for the little one, I'm not sure that'll work." Madilla smiles, though, amused despite (or perhaps because of) R'hin's seriousness. Surprise handshaking doesn't throw her, either, or his charming flippancy. "R'hin, then. Monaco. Father of the twins. No, I think I'll let you stay clothed, just this once. You can sit, though. And sit still." The look that R'hin gives her is partly curious, partly amused. "That's what the nursery is for, if it comes to that. Though if your... partner," the word accompanied by quotations on the bronzerider's part, given her momentary hesitation, "Is obliging, I'm sure you could negotiate your way to bigger quarters. One of the benefits of the knot, no?" His hands drop after gesturing to said knot, though there's a cluck of his tongue. "You're missing out on a great opportunity to see me naked, a story you'd be able to tell even that restless child of yours one day." But he does, dutifully, sit down, albeit with the slightest of winces as he does so, nearly covered up with a smooth brush of hand down his shirt. Her recitation of the facts-as-she-knows-them earns a dark chuckle, though he remains silent, pale eyes tracking her. Shaking her head, Madilla says, "I could do without another move, especially when my eldest likely won't be with us too much longer. And I won't just send her to the nursery, not after..." She breaks off, rather than explain the intricate details of this particular situation, and turns, instead, to wash her hands in the basin. Over her shoulder, she's still got at least half an eye on him, though. "Broken ribs?" she wonders. "Or just heavy bruising?" "Sounds almost like you'd be better off in a Hold. Much more room to spread out, and rooms for your kids, too." It's suggested casually, not really invested either way, and certainly not working too hard to defend the Weyr's way of life. A moment of silence, then, "Just a sprain, or two," R'hin acknowledges, resting his hands on the cot either side of him as his lips twitch upwards. "Don't miss much, do you? Avian eyes." It's a compliment. Or maybe a nickname. Who knows. Madilla snorts, albeit in a good-natured kind of way. "You sound like someone else I know," she says. "Always trying to convince me to go for a Hold posting. But no: High Reaches is home. Besides, H'kon lives here." She finishes her scrubbing, drying her hands with a clean towel. "I'm a healer. And a mother. Would you expect me to miss things? Now - let me take a look." She reaches up, evidently intending to steady his head with one, while she examines the healing wound with the other. R'hin makes a face, and his dutiful, "Yes, mom," is well practiced and amused as he holds still. It doesn't mean he doesn't try and look, his eyes rolling up towards her. "Don't really care where you live, certainly not trying to chase you off. If'd I'd a sign I'd hold up a 'no agenda, really!' for dramatic affect." He's chuckling -- something that might make him move a little -- before he says, "Not that- well, I'm not sorry the twins were raised here. It was their home. So, you know." Madilla tightens her hand on R'hin's head, a clear reminder that he's really supposed to be staying still. "And they'd had... enough upheaval in their lives," she concludes, abruptly quieter and more serious, though it doesn't last. Perhaps it's because she's hurrying on to say, "Those stitches are ready to come out, definitely. And this time? If you don't sit still, i could end up cutting you, and then you'd need more stitches." There's no further talk of the twins; the bronzerider doesn't seem keen on pursuing that line of discussion. Instead: "Did you ever consider maybe I'm doing it on purpose as an excuse to come back and have another chat with you." R'hin sounds far too amused for that to be genuine sentiment. He's still, for now. "You'd probably end up coming back on one of my off days, and end up stuck with Journeyman Caviln, who's much more likely to tell you off than tease you back. Or it'll be Jinja, and she'll talk your ear off." Madilla, too, sounds amused, though she closes her mouth again as she reaches for the sharp implement that will be used to snip the stitches, one after another. "I'd hold out for you. Hold my guts in, or stuff something in the wound, and suchlike," R'hin says, easily. "Leiventh's seen plenty of my blood spilled enough not to be too alarmed about it. He's good like that." Though casual, there's a chuckle here fuelled with a warmth as he mentions his dragon. There's a slight sense of motion, then, almost plaintatively: "You have no idea how hard it is not to troll you right now. I would, if you hadn't used your mom voice on me." "Which," says Madilla, laughing, as she sets down her implement again -- though she still has little bits of thread to pick out of the healing wound, "is almost certainly why I used it, don't you think? A woman can't spend half her life in a Weyr without having some defences against bronzeriders like you. Do you go out of your way to bleed, then?" "Oh. Oh, you're good, Madilla-the-mom." R'hin lifts a finger to wiggle at her in -- warning? -- though he's laughing as he does so. "You've clearly dealt with many-an-ornery rider. If you ever decide to give up healering, I'd sure I could find a job for you." That seems honest, for all that's it's delivered with humor. "I wouldn't say out of my way, so much as, well -- these things happen, you know?" He's far too casual about it. Madilla is, perhaps absurdly, pleased with that reaction; her smile is bright, eyes gleaming. "A job? What kind of work could a bronzerider find for a person like me?" The pieces of thread join a pile, one after another. It's not a difficult job. "Happen, do they. People just... take a dislike to you and beat you up?" A moment's pause. "Try to beat you up, I should say." "For a smart, pretty woman, eminently trustworthy, a glib tongue, deft touch of hand, and capable of outwitting a bronzerider? Believe me, there'd be plenty to do." It does rather seem like an earnest sales pitch, and yet it's difficult to tell where the line between teasing and serious is with R'hin. Only after a moment of study, lips twisting into a grin, does he respond to the latter, "I have one of those faces," he explains, with an unrepentant shrug. This time, Madilla does blush, but it's a light hint of pink rather than something deeper and more awkward. "Flatterer," she says in answer, with a shake of her head. Her hands draw back: she's evidently finished with the stitches. "Or perhaps one of those manners? It doesn't seem as though your face is the problem." Perhaps it's the late hour, or her aforementioned lack of sleep, that has her so easy in her conversation, tonight; perhaps it's R'hin himself. "Do I need to inspect your other injuries, too?" she wonders. "I am," R'hin acknowledges her accusation, "Where it's due. And I notice you didn't answer; clearly you're unwilling to break my heart. Such a gentle soul," he's laughing, though, taking it with good humor. With a snap of his fingers, he chuckles darkly. "And she has a minor expertise in mindhealing, too?" he guesses. With a tap of fingers to the side of his head, "Best stay out of here, mom. Bit of a minefield." Pressing a hand to the cot, he uses it to boost himself up, and if there's a wince, he covers it well. "All good. I promise, doc." He presses a hand over his heart as if that somehow makes him trustworthy. "Are there many women who would throw in their lives and careers for an opportunity at a job that's not been described to them?" counters Madilla, though she's smiling, too. "I'll keep that in mind. I don't go where I'm not wanted." She exhales, stepping back to gather up the remains of his stitches, even if her gaze continues to linger upon the bronzerider himself. "I'll believe you. This time. Why don't you try and avoid getting into fights for a little while, though, mm?" Her tone is gently chiding. "Think of the healers." "You'd be surprised. I can be very persuasive," R'hin says, with not a trace of modesty. Pressing a hand to his chest, there's a sketch of a bow, pale eyes glittering as he murmurs, "Promise I'll be good, mom. For now." That sort-of-bow seems to serve as farewell, as the bronzerider gives a jaunty grin and makes his way from the infirmary. Madilla watches him go, her head shaking. Still. At least she's smiling. Late the next day when she comes into the infirmary, one of the other healers informs her that a 'charming bronzerider' left a present for her: a small bottle of dark liqueur. Along with it is a tidy, written note: Next time I'll bring a bottle to share while you fix me up. |
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