Logs:Stupidity and Scars
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| RL Date: 23 May, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Oliwer, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Oliwer's been avoiding G'laer. G'laer sets out to fix that. Then there's blood. Good thing Oliwer is a trauma healer. |
| Where: Oliwer's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 11, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Leova/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Omg, not back-dated! |
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| G'laer might've thought he was giving Oliwer space. Or might have thought that Oliwer thought he was giving G'laer space. Either way, the greenrider noticed but didn't object when the healer was suddenly much busier that seven after the big L-word debacle and run-in in the infirmary and the beginning of the next. But by mid-seven, Teisyth had convinced him that something should be done. « How's he gonna know that you care if'n you don't go on an' show him? » she'd reasoned, and maybe G'laer believed her because he wanted to believe things weren't ruined beyond redemption. So the greenrider did his research, tracked down a bottle (that's like buying four whole glasses!) of fine red wine (it wasn't even the cheap stuff!) and went to the Infirmary where Oliwer had had to work late and therefore cancel their usual date night (again). Only, when G'laer asked for him, the surprised apprentice at the desk told the rider that Oliwer wasn't on duty, and when pressed, further disclosed that the healer wasn't ever intended to be on duty that evening. Most men might take this as a sign to just back off, but not our G'laer. No, no. Shortly after (specifically as long as it takes to walk from the infirmary to Oliwer's room), there comes a firm, unmistakable knock on the older man's door. If opened, there will be G'laer, dressed neatly, but a touch more nicely than usual, with a satchel over one shoulder. Just because Oliwer didn't actually work tonight doesn't necessarily mean he's been lying about working the whole time, granted. He has picked up shifts that weren't intended for him since that awkward night. Tonight just doesn't happen to be one of them. There's no sound from the other side of the door until Oliwer's firelizard starts chirping so helpfully at the healer in case he somehow hadn't heard the knock. "Fine. Now hush," he tells it with an uncharacteristically sharp edge to his tone. And several moments later he's unlocking and opening his door to look at the man he assumes is on the other side. It's not like he gets a lot of visitors. Fewer that knock like that. "G'laer," he greets the greenrider with a polite smile. "You're avoiding me." Because the hallway is the perfect place to have this conversation. G'laer's tone is at least just thoughtful and not any of the more colorful emotions it could have been given that he's been avoided and lied to. His hands are at his side and his fingers are relaxed. This could have started out worse. "May I come in?" Oliwer doesn't have much response to the blunt, perfectly accurate comment. His gaze flickers over the greenrider briefly before he's stepping back and opening the door wider to allow the other man entrance. He doesn't say anything until he can close the door again. "I've just needed some time to think. I didn't want to worry you." When he's admitted, G'laer does step into the room and to the side of the door's swing so it may be closed. His brow furrows at the end of the words, "I'd rather be worried when there's something to be worried about." Which clearly, there is. Then, deliberately, "Do you need more time?" Because this-- 'needing time to think' thing is something the greenrider can evidently appreciate. The journeyman looks guilty. He's not very good at standing up for this avoidance thing when the object of his avoidance is standing right in front of him. "I don't know. I don't want to need more time. I miss you. But." There's always a but, isn't there? Unfortunately Oliwer falters and doesn't seem sure how to continue. So he steps away from the door, crossing his arms as he goes. The firelizard chooses now to cheerfully greet G'laer, but he bounces into flight and disappears between before anyone can glare at him. So there! "But you do?" G'laer questions evenly, sparing only a quick glance toward the blue and his disappearing act before he's tracking the healer. The rider doesn't move further into the space, instead staying just by the door. "Maybe," Oliwer admits, frowning at the idea more than at the greenrider. "But is that what we need? Me thinking too much? Wondering if the man I think I love will ever feel the same about me? If I'm just fooling myself into getting comfortable with something that was only ever meant to be temporary?" Despite the emotion behind his words, Oliwer's voice remains even. "And you're never going to feel the same if I'm doing... this." Avoiding him? Talking like some hormonal woman? "I know that." Which might lead one to the conclusion that it's purposeful, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Still, G'laer doesn't move from his place by the door. "Is it helping you to think about it and have time alone?" He shifts the satchel off his shoulder. "I'm not going to suddenly stop caring for you because you need time. I want to give you what you need." Then some part of Oliwer's words process in a way that actually makes it to his brain. The satchel is lowered slowly and the rider watches the healer. Instead of answering right away, Oliwer paces back through his small quarters toward G'laer. Once in front of him, though, the healer hesitates to actually put his arms around him, which just leaves him standing there awkwardly. "I feel like all I've ended up thinking about is us not being... us anymore. They aren't thoughts I enjoy very much." The greenrider watches his approach, takes in the hints of unmade movements and remains perfectly still. "I don't want that. For us to not be us. If anything I want us to be more us." G'laer's brow furrows. "I want you to have a drawer. At my place. Where you can keep things. Like.. I don't know. Whatever you want to keep there." Okay, so it's not as grand a romantic gesture as some other offers could be, but he's trying. It's probably more that G'laer admits he doesn't want them to be not them than the offer of a drawer in his weyr that makes a small but genuine smile flicker across Oliwer's face. The offer doesn't hurt, granted. "I'd like that." The man looks visibly relieved, as if this provides some measure of reassurance that things are yet fixable. Of course this would be the moment to hug Oli or kiss him, or something, but G'laer's never been particularly good at catching the right moment and doing the conventional thing. A moment later he does think to say, "Oh, I got you something." Beat. "Teisyth said I should." It speaks volumes about G'laer's romantic sensibilities that he takes advice from Teisyth. Excuse Oliwer if he looks a little surprised. Probably less that G'laer is taking romantic advice from a dragon and more that he actually thought to follow through on it. "Oh? You'll have to thank Teisyth for me," he says before he's even had a chance to learn what it is. Then, curiously, "Do you talk about me with her?" There's a flush to G'laer's cheeks now as he lifts the satchel and offers it to Oliwer. "Yeah," Then, "Sort of," and finally, "Sometimes." His free hand is allowed to find the back of his neck self-consciously, an action that is wholly out of character for him. "It's more like she talks about what she wants to talk about whenever she wants to talk about it and I pretty much have to hear it, and sometime I talk with her, and sometimes I find her inside my head poking around like it's a museum. She likes talking about things that make me feel things and you do." He babbles a little, eyes on the bag. It's enough to hint that maybe he's never (or not in a long long time) given a gift 'just because' to someone he cares for 'this way.' Oliwer seems touched not just by the gift but the reason Teisyth and G'laer might occasionally talk about him. Aw, feelings. He doesn't ask what all they talk about, however, instead focusing on the satchel. It's probably not hard to tell that it's a bottle, but once he's had a chance to open it and look at the label, he says, "Faranth. How did you know this is one of my favorites?" Surely he's mentioned it at some point but it's not like he expects the greenrider to remember these sorts of things. He steps closer to give G'laer a more proper thank you in the form of a kiss. One that shifts oddly heated considering it's initiated by the healer. "You'd said," Because that's easier and less creepy than saying 'I went to the vintners through whom you get your wine and interrogated them about what your regular orders are and what ones you've mentioned truly liking, and so on.' Not that that kind of effort isn't sweet in it's own way, but perhaps not the best use of G'laer's guard training. Although, ensuring that the conversation would never be mentioned to the healer probably was reasonable enough use of it. That's really all G'laer has time for anyway before he's being kissed, which seems to surprise him, so it takes a moment before he's responding with fervor, arms quickly slipping around the healer. Kissing is, after all, so much easier than feelings. And the heat will only increase putting the bottle (glass!) in substantial danger if Oliwer doesn't think and act fast as G'laer makes to back him toward the bed, never wanting that kiss to stop in the process. He'll take that at face value since he assumes it's the truth anyway. And also the whole kissing thing, which Oliwer seems to have no interest in stopping anytime soon. Clearly it's been too long since the last time they were this close. When G'laer starts backing him up toward the bed, Oliwer wraps his arms around the greenrider's shoulders, clutching the bottle in one hand against G'laer's back. Surely it'll be safe when he falls back and pulls the younger man down with him. Sure, safe enough for that moment. But what happens when Oli has to let go of the bottle to let G'laer pull his shirt off? And after that when it all but vanishes into the mess of sheets and clothes that is rapidly made by vigorous movements in the vicinity. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye, or breaks the bottle, or crack, "Surface of the Red Star, what the shell was that?" G'laer's abruptly distracted from the more pleasant happenings when his head makes contact with that hidden bottle. The greenrider's shirt coming off is distracting, too. It always is. By the time anything else comes off, Oliwer has completely forgotten about the bottle in favor of much more pleasant things. So when G'laer swears, it takes a moment or three for the healer to remember what it could be. "Shit," isn't something he says very often. "The wine!" Of course, by the time Oliwer is having this realization, G'laer has gone and done the truly intelligent thing: he's repeated the action of putting his head down in the same spot, just in case it was his imagination. This time he swears in such a way that it would be impressive even if he, too, wasn't one for swearing, and sits straight up resulting in a little jostling for the healer. The greenrider's hand has gone to the back of his head and when it comes away, it's all red. Red like wine, and red like blood. Whatever clothing and sheets happened to be where his head was are rapidly coloring the same vivid shade as the now broken bottle lets its contents seep out onto and into the mattress. Fortunately they haven't had any of the wine - though later Oliwer might think that's sort of unfortunate because he likes that wine a lot and it would have made none of this happen - so the realization that there's blood comes a lot more quickly. That and he's pretty accustomed to the smell of it. "Gal, you're bleeding!" he says in the sort of anxious way a trauma healer really shouldn't be using. But this is G'laer and the blood, so to speak, was already pumping. It's difficult to shift gears so quickly, but Oliwer is already pulling the greenrider away from the glass and looking for his previously discarded shirt to press against the wound once he makes sure there's no big pieces sticking out of his head. No big pieces, but that's almost worse, isn't it? At least G'laer keeps his cool and his wits, but with so many scars, this can hardly be the first time he's bled. "Yes," is the confirmation, but his fingers have already noted the shards and says so, "There's glass," But nothing must be too deep since he's still moving and talking and breathing. The shirts, alas, are mixed up in the now puddle of red on the bed, but G'laer has moved to the edge of the bed, away from the glass as Oliwer's pulling hands wanted. "It's not bad," comes his oh-so-professional judgment, though how he knows when it's the back of his head... "You'll need light." This obvious statement might be meant to try to pull the trauma healer out of his slightly panicked state in the face of his injured lover. At least Oliwer's concern is for G'laer and not the mess that's been made out of his bed. That would be awkward. The healer goes to his press to grab something not already drenched in wine and blood to use to stop the bleeding. "It will be fine," he agrees a bit more calmly now that he's had a moment to gather himself. "We should get you to the infirmary once the bleeding is under control. We can clean it up then. How is Teisyth?" This question might just be to make sure G'laer is staying alert rather than because he thinks there's any cause for concern about how this is affecting the dragon. G'laer frowns. Infirmaries. He doesn't like infirmaries. "Can't you clean it here?" It's not a whine because G'laer Doesn't Whine, but it is a complaint. "It's just a cut." In his head. Head wounds do like to bleed so. His hand intercepts Oliwer's with the sacrificial whatever, grip firm as he repeats, "There's glass," and then to make things more clear, "In the wound." Just not big pieces. "Teisyth--" He frowns, "-is telling Vrianth all about it in case a dragonhealer can help. She doesn't exactly grasp the difference. I've instructed her to assure them I'm with a healer and everything is fine." So he's still thinking clearly, for now. His muscles are tensed, jaw tight as the only outward signs of discomfort besides the blood itself. "It's just a cut." Oliwer is probably being agreeable mostly because G'laer is hurt, not just because he's usually pretty agreeable. He pauses to think for a moment, though, then says, "I can get what I need and bring it back here." But that would mean leaving the greenrider alone, and Oliwer is clearly hesitant to do that. Just not so hesitant that he doesn't tell G'laer to, "Hold this," in regards to the shirt-turned-rag pressed against the cut, before moving to pull on just enough clothes to leave his room. "I'll grab a neighbor to stay with you. Be nice to them." The firelizard has already returned by the time Oliwer is heading out of the door. "Oli, I'll be fine. Teisyth will let you know if I'm not, but I will be." G'laer calls after the departing healer. It's probably true, even if G'laer didn't specify how Teisyth would let him know. It's probably also a last-ditch effort to keep someone else from coming to stay with him when he's naked and bleeding. The proverbial feline would certainly be out of the bag. Putting on clothes would assuredly get the blood flowing back toward his brain. Having failed to prevent the initial arrival of the cloth to his head, he takes over where Oli left off and reaches with his free hand to snag an unsoiled blanket to pull over his lap, in case of company. When the door cracks open again, it's not Oliwer. It only cracks open, though, and the voice on the other side is coming from a girl that can't be older than sixteen. "Journeyman Oliwer told me to keep an eye on you. Can I come in?" Maybe he also told her that the man in the room might not be dressed. Or she might just be polite like that. "He seemed worried and said I should keep you talking and to send his firelizard if you start not making sense. Are you okay, what happened?" she adds before giving him much chance to answer. For a man who is usually so meticulous about choosing exactly the right words, G'laer's choice of answer might seem particularly ill-conceived. "Got into a fight with a wine bottle and lost. I'm fine." Which doesn't answer the question of coming in, but surely he'd prefer she didn't. Fortunately the girl doesn't know G'laer that well. And since he doesn't say no, she peeks her head through the crack. But it disappears quickly when she realizes he has no shirt on. At least that's probably the reason. "How did you-- Did Oliwer hit you with a wine bottle? What did you do to him?" Because clearly the journeyman healer is so nice that he must have had a really good reason for her assumption of what happened. Once the head is seen, G'laer groans softly in exasperation. Probably not the wisest decision if his aim is to keep her out, but then, it's hard to be wise when one is losing blood. "No. And did he look like I did something to him?" At least in answering with a question, he doesn't have to furnish the no doubt loose lipped teen with any solid details of what he's doing undressed and sitting on the healer's bed. The groan makes her peek in again because what if he's hurt more! She stares at him for a few moments, looking worried, then disappears again. But this time she doesn't close the door back to just a crack. "I don't know. Maybe you said something mean. Are you still okay? Wait, did he walk in on you and his girlfriend in his bed?" She's completely oblivious, obviously. "I'd hit you, too. Why would you do something like that? Ugh. Why are men so awful?" His palm meets his face after her head is gone again. Then slowly as she goes on, he rises clutches the sheet to his crotch with one hand while the other continues to hold the rag lightly against his head, not to staunch the blood, but to keep it from getting everywhere. The sheet is discarded on the bed once he's turned toward it and away from the door. Evidently, blood loss is now preferable to staying here. Unfortunately, as he finds, both his nice shirt and pants were victims of the wine. A wayward glance toward Oliwer's press suggests the rather ridiculous notion that G'laer might be able to find something he could wear passably. A silent sigh has him abandoning that fanciful idea. Seven inches of height and build differences, that's too much optimism for the greenrider to entertain. And rising must have made him woozy despite the care he took, for he sinks down onto the floor, cross-legged, but thankfully still with his back to the door. Wherever Oliwer is, G'laer's trio of firelizards (yes, even the stupid green one who hasn't learned a lick of the extensive training the other two have had) burst into the air and circle, chittering their concern. Did G'laer send them? Did Teisyth? In any case, the message should be clear! In the meantime, "For the last time, he didn't hit me. And I didn't say something mean, but I'm probably about to, if you don't go away." Wait, was that mean? Maybe the girl finally gets the hint that she's not actually helping the situation. There's no sound of her leaving but she doesn't say anything else and there's no more peeking through the doorway to check on the greenrider. Oliwer's firelizard, on the other hand, stares at G'laer with a curious chirp as the man sinks to the floor, but he stays instead of going to harass the healer. It could just be that he knows Oliwer is on his way back. It's another minute or so before there's a few hurried words exchanged outside and then Oliwer is coming through the door with a bag and an already lit lamp. "Shards, what are you doing? Why are you on the floor? Never mind, that will work better." He sets his things down nearby but doesn't join his lover until he's fetched his robe to drape around the greenrider's shoulders. "Your firelizards nearly scared me half to death," he says as he finally settles down to get to work cleaning the wound. "I was going to put on my pants and come find you," Because that makes sense, right? ""You didn't need to sic a teenage girl on me." And complaining is perfectly in character for him right? Maybe Oliwer better get a move on with that head wound. Of the firelizard he makes no comment, so likely whether he sent them or Teisyth did, he was at least aware of it happening. He shifts his legs to draw up his knees and wrap arms around them, letting his head bend forward to rest his forehead on his arms. At least when G'laer does this it's with the wound accessible, the cloth having now dropped away. Now that Oliwer has the proper tools, despite the fact that he's still panting a bit to catch his breath, he doesn't waste a lot of time tending to the wound. "I'm sorry, she's the first person I saw. I didn't feel right leaving you alone." As he talks, he dabs away as much blood as he can before splashing the wound with redwort and getting to work picking out bits of glass. "Just relax. This won't take long. I think I'll just keep a bag with me all the time from now on." The last is probably an attempt at humor but Oliwer sounds serious all the same. "I'm never alone, Oli." If only he knew. "She would tell you if I wasn't alright. If it was an emergency. Shells, if it was an emergency, she'd probably tell everyone in the Weyr. Human. Dragon. It wouldn't matter." The greenrider sounds a bit on the babbly side, but at least he's still making sense. (Mostly.) (Sort of.) (Kind of.) (He's probably trying.) "I admit I was surprised you don't keep one in your room. Seems strange to be so separated from the tools of your trade." G'laer sleeps with/near his weapons and all. "Let's hope there aren't anymore emergencies," says Oliwer as he continues to pick out shards of glass from G'laer's scalp. It's probably not a comfortable process but he probably assumes the greenrider's pain tolerance is pretty high. "I don't know if my old heart can take many more emergencies that involve you. It's always easier working on people you have no personal investment in." As for the tools of his trade, "I've never actually had need of them in my quarters before now. You're the only other person that's ever been to them on a regular basis. I think I've just about gotten all I can find out of here. You're not as nervous about stitches as your son, are you?" And so it is. There is a flinch here and there, but not more. "Your heart had better nut up just in case," which is probably G'laer's caring way of saying no heart problems. Ever. "I didn't expect you'd need them here, but what if you're needed on site somewhere? Wouldn't it be prudent to have a go bag?" Then a grunt. "Remind me to show you which scars are my handy work." Not nervous about stitches then. Oliwer at least dabs some numbweed around the wound and lets that get to work while he prepares. "I'll let it know," he says for his heart. "There are bags in the infirmary. I used to keep one with me while I was journeying properly." But he drops that for more present concerns before he gets to work closing G'laer's scalp, "Try not to move too much. We're almost done." As he starts, he adds, "I'm not sure I'd advise you going back to your weyr tonight. Perhaps you should stay in the dragon infirmary with Teisyth." He might be being over cautious, but neither of them can stay here. In direct violation of what was just ask of him, G'laer moves his head from lain against his arms to straight up and down so he can cast a glance toward the bed. "You can't very well stay here tonight. Or probably several nights until the reeds dry or get replaced." It's not more than a moment later when the greenrider states more than asks, "You should come stay with me." Then, "It's the least I can do. It was my gift and my head wound. You can make use of your drawer." The one he offered that got them into this mess, sort of. There's a sound that the healer makes, a little like a tsk, when G'laer moves. He manages not to jab him with the needle, at least. "I could find an empty cot in the infirmary, if nothing else," Oliwer points out, even if he's being offered an alternative. "I'd like staying with you, I'm sure. But you've lost enough blood that I'm not going to assume that's what you actually want. Don't worry about me. Stay still." "Not until you agree to stay with us." The greenrider shifts again. Thinking clearly obviously. There's a moment of stillness where, if G'laer were to look at Oliwer, he'd be making a stern face at the greenrider. "Fine. But only if you'll stay still and let me finish this." After another moment, he adds, only slightly frustrated and rather more fond, "It's hard enough to say no to you without you getting demanding." "That was the deal," G'laer agrees and now that he's secured Oliwer's agreement, he does stay still. "Is it? I'll keep that in mind." If he remembers. And here he starts humming. Whatever that means. It's a cheerful tune at least. The healer makes an affirmative sort of sound in response to G'laer's question and then he lapses into silence as he finishes the stitches. Maybe he's just listening to the greenrider's humming and trying not to worry about if he lost too much blood. Or at least not act like he's worrying about it. When he's done, he cleans the stitches with redwort again, sets aside his tools and finally leans into the younger man to wrap his arms around him. "No more wine in bed," he murmurs. G'laer, for all his humming, does manage to stay still. When Oliwer wraps his arms around him, the greenrider shifts his arms away from his knees and moves to carefully not only embrace the healer but try to gather him into his lap. "It was just a cut." A cut that required stitches. But the man's voice is reassuring, as if Oli might need such to steady his nerves. "We'll be more careful. Maybe if we just work on not getting estranged from one another and then need to make up for a seven and a half without sex we'll be able to avoid that kind of accident, though I'm all for keeping that kind of exuberance, at least on occasion, in the future." Still a little rambly, but at least he's not actively losing blood and he seems to have the sense to stay relatively still, for now. Now that the worst is over, Oliwer's nerves are trying to creep back. But G'laer in general is probably more reassuring than the healer would know to admit. "I'm sorry. I hated being away for so long." He tilts his head to kiss whatever part of the greenrider is easiest to reach. "I think we can definitely manage that kind of exuberance at least the next time." Especially after getting interrupted the way that they did. If Oliwer weren't Oliwer, he might already be trying to do more than the poor injured man ought to be doing. Oliwer is Oliwer, but G'laer is also G'laer and he can't help it if he's still naked and his lover is in his lap. It does have him leaning his head against the healer and taking slow deep breaths. Keep that limited blood supply circulating! "I didn't much care for it either," he answers after a few of those breaths. "Oli, I need to ask you to do something for me. Well, two somethings, really." The greenrider does sound quite serious. Serious. Serious is good. Well, possibly not good, but distracting from Oliwer wanting to do more than rest against G'laer. "Of course." That was easy. "What is it?" "My clothes are mixed up in the glass. And I should probably eat something," To keep from passing out. "So I'm your hostage here until I have something to wear and something to eat." G'laer replies gravely. "Might you see your way to letting Teisyth take you up to my weyr to get some clothes for me and stopping in the -- wherever there's food to grab me something?" Beat. "By the time I eat and dress, I expect we could safely make it up to my weyr. And maybe start again." With what would be Very Irresponsible to do now. "Right. Food. Good idea." Oliwer's a healer. Really. Just not as good of one around G'laer, apparently. "I think I can do that. She'll be okay? Maybe you should keep a change of clothes here. Once everything's cleaned up. Not that I expect anything like this to happen again. But just in case." He might offer a whole drawer, but the place is pretty small even compared to the greenrider's weyr. Oliwer shifts to give G'laer a quick kiss, then starts to push himself up to his feet. The quick kiss quickly becomes not-so-quick, but after some moments, the greenrider lets the healer escape him to fulfill his requests. "She'll be fine. She'd hug you if she could, though I've given her strict instructions not to try." As for the outfit, "So long as you're sure there's space," his tone is gently teasing, and a smile is spreading on his lips. Already his color is improving and he's even starting to make sense again. Maybe Oli won't sic the girl on him while he's gone. "Promise me you'll strap yourself in?" Once Oliwer has escaped G'laer, he grabs an extra blanket to wrap around the greenrider. "I'll make room if I need to," he says. "Stay warm. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Maybe he's considering the girl. "I promise. I'll be fine." That might sound as much like he's trying to convince himself as he is anyone else. "I'll be right back." |
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