Logs:The Waiting Area
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| RL Date: 28 February, 2015 |
| Who: Lycinea, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: While waiting in the infirmary, friends Lya and V'ros catch up and make plans to attend the Igen Hold gather (which has nothing to do with Farideh, nothing). |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Mielline/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. Lycinea chose this time of day because most people are at dinner, or doing something better with their time than occupying the infirmary, which affords slightly more protection against eavesdroppers and busybodies who might have ignored her before but where now her posting to assisting the foreign goldrider makes her of slightly greater interest. Only whatever she came about seems to be taking forever (which could be just Lya's feeling, but isn't this time). She's slumped in the chairs they have for those waiting to be shown to a cot or those who don't need to dirty the linens looking frustrated but powerless. Waiting sucks. Waiting isn't just for assistants to interesting foreigners goldriders. There's a minor scuffle at the entrance to the infirmary, where V'ros is helping one of his fellow Snowdrift riders hobble inside, with an arm slung about his shoulders. When the healers see the pain on the afflicted man's face, they rush to relieve the young brownrider of his burden, and whisk the injured man behind one of the curtains. That leaves V'ros to slip off his gloves and heft himself heavily into one of the allotted chairs in the waiting area. He slaps his gloves leisurely against his leg for a space, and once whatever's been occupying his mind slips away, he glances down the line towards whomever else is waiting. His surprised eyes find Lycinea, one brow quirking while he initiates, "What brings.. you.. here?" Lycinea's eyes had been on the desk for the healers on duty and those infirmary aids moving between it and the supply caverns, but the scuffle draws her attention and blue-green gaze tracks V'ros and his wingmate's progress. She doesn't interrupt the glove slapping, but she is already looking at him without readable expression when he looks up and finds her. Almost immediately, there's a touch of blush to the young woman's cheeks. "Nothing. Just... Picking something up." She shifts as though her chair is suddenly uncomfortable. Quickly, she glances from the alcove where the other rider was taken to the brownrider, "Will your friend be alright?" No need to ask why V'ros is here. A blink suffices as the brownrider's response to her admission, and a shrug follows. "Uh." He averts his eyes and shoves his gloves in his jacket pocket. "Yeah. Think he.. sprained his ankle. Shouldn't've been trying stunts like that anyway." Another shrug, a what're you gonna do expression. "How've you been?" V'ros inquires stiltedly, watching a couple of infirmary aids wheel a cart between the curtained sections and nearly overturning said cart. "Like what?" Lya wants to know, though she doesn't seem like she's going to press it if V'ros doesn't seem inclined to tell. She half-rises and shifts a couple chairs closer so there's only one between them and they can talk without having the whole infirmary as a possible audience. "Worse, and better now." The blonde tells him of how she's been. "I got a new job assisting Weyrwoman Irianke." The telling is a little hesitant, but then she hasn't gotten the greatest reactions to her good news. "I think I'm doing pretty good at it. She's not going to fire me, anyway." So she must be doing something right. "How have you been? And Zmeyth?" "Can't tell. Promised I wouldn't." V'ros says it plainly, without the trappings of confusion or confliction, but his lips almost quirk into a smirk; nearly. "Ah," of the Igenite. "That's.. something. How're you.. how is.. she?" He pulls his shoulders back and sinks into his seat, knees spread, but his face is half-turned to Lycinea, where he can see her at an angle. "Fine. We've been fine. A'rist's back, clutch coming.. Snowdrift's fine.. everything's fine." His tone doesn't allow for rebuttal of that back. "Interested to see what kind of dragons hatch. If any.. come to us." "Okay," is simple to the first. Lycinea isn't the sort of person who needs to know everything, just select things that she sets her mind to. Of Irianke, she's thoughtful before saying, "She's weird. But the good kind. She makes me feel less strange and she values me." Something about those last three words are special. If Lya was given to having boyfriends, it might be the same tone she might relate 'he loves me' to a friend. It's a sort of disbelieving reverence for the idea. She looks to him for a moment before saying. "Yeah. I guess we won't know until the hatching." If she knows more than she's saying, she's excellent at making it not seem so. But then, she's just a girl who does the weyrwoman's hair and helps her get dressed? What could she possibly know? "Weird.. yeah," the brownrider agrees. "Met her.. a couple times." There might be another twitch of his lips, but it's as fleeting as the first. "Nice." V'ros inhales loudly and exhales just as much, letting his shoulders rise and fall with the motion. "Could use some more in Snowdrift. Always hard pressed with the searches." He shrugs. "Heard Avalanche could use a few more too." That's all wing politics though, and being she's not a rider, he might assume she doesn't care for the literature and deftly switches the subject. "So.. anything else? New?" It's only kind of awkward. Just kidding, it's plenty awkward. "Yeah?" Lycinea queries of the wing politics. Apparently, she doesn't mind, and is even interested, if mildly so. "I got in a fight with my best-friend." She shrugs her shoulders. "Hey, want to take me to the Igen Hold gather next seven?" There's a topic change if he wants one. "Didn't know you had.. a.." V'ros stops, contemplates. "Uh. Best friend." Better than saying friend, anyway. He turns his head to fully stare at her, but doesn't ask for more information than that. Her suggestion that he should take her to Igen causes both eyebrows to lift in unison, and then a nervous laugh that's not completely natural. "To Igen Hold? For.. a gather? What're.. ah." Whatever that thought is, he promptly tamps it down, and clears his throat. "Yeah. I can." "Yeah," Lycinea draws out the word in a way that suggests she doesn't want to talk about her 'best-friend' right now. Given the fight, perhaps that's understandable. "Yeah," not drawn out is an answer to Igen Hold and gather. "It's happening on the 26th. I've never been to Igen Hold. I want to see it." A beat later she asks, "Do you like green or pink better? For dresses, I mean. For me." Not for him. That would be awkward. (What isn't?) Reaching a hand to scratch the back of his head, V'ros stretches out one leg and leans slightly to the side. "The twenty-six? Have to check wing roster, but should be fine. Maybe later in the day or earlier. We'll see." His blank stare is for her question, and a lengthy pause follows. "Green?" but he doesn't sound sure about that. "I'm not.. dressing fancy.. so don't.." He winces. "V'ros, I'm not wearing work clothes to a gather when I have a proper dress." Lycinea answers him as if his aborted instructions to her are ridiculous. "So you're just going to have to suck it up." She doesn't remind him she has a propensity to get airsick. "Just let me know whether earlier or later. It's hot in Igen, right?" "Yeah, Igen's a desert," V'ros says grudgingly, but he's eyeing her dubiously. "Hot. Gonna want something.. uh, light. Something to keep the sand out." He doesn't suggest what she could wear, though that could be because a scream on the other side of the infirmary pulls his gaze that way. "Yeah, yeah. I will. Not going to know until I check with Mielline. Just get off that day. I'll.. we'll.. do the rest." That we must be Zmeyth and him. "Okay," Lycinea starts and seems about to say something else when her name is called by the infirmary aide manning the desk. The blonde's cheeks flush darkly as she rises, and she does not look at V'ros as she walks to the table to pick up a small satchel, which she tucks behind her back as she moves to stand in front of him. "So you'll let me know, and I'll be ready," she re-caps. "Meet you at the nighthearth?" Close-ish to the bowl and less public than the living cavern. The satchel gets a brief glancing over, but he makes no suggestions. "Nighthearth? Sure. Uh, yeah. I'll let you know," punctuated by a curt nod. She has V'ros' word and little less. His eyes are lifted to her, waiting for any other words she might have, but as for him, he's got nothing aside from his promise to contact her. It's not an unusual satchel. The kind of thing they put medicine into. It could be for Lycinea. It could be for Irianke. Who knows. The latter might even make it into the rumor pool. "Okay." There's an awkward moment (not the first), the blonde manages a smile for him, "It was good to see you, V'ros." Simple. And then she's gone, walking with purpose toward the bowl. |
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