Logs:Visiting R'oan
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| RL Date: 1 April, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, R'oan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'oan's dragon is injured during Solith's flight. Irianke finds time to visit 3 days later. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions |
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>---< Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr >----------------------------------<
The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the
human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than
the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more
massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in
this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access;
nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a
huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil.
The healers' duty station is a counter on the north side of the room, a
checkpoint before the storage rooms behind it that are now shared with the
human infirmary, hosting supplies that are as neatly labeled and carefully
scrubbed as the rest of the infirmary. The senior dragonhealer has an
office there as well, and human-sized double doors have recently been
built as a direct route to the human infirmary, while opposite a wide
winding tunnel leads to the east bowl.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Irianke F 37 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 0s
R'oan M 39 6'1 muscular, blonde hair, grey-green eyes 3s
---------------------------------< Objects >--------------------------------
[Etrevth]
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Bowl Infirmary
>------------------------------------------< 2D 6M 37T I10, summer night >---< As evening settles into the Dragon Infirmary, sending many of the dragonhealers and aides home except for the single one on duty, R'oan has settled back onto the cot provided by Etrevth's couch. Despite a few hours of sleep under the watch of others, he doesn't look his best. Not with his own injured hand and the brush of sleepless bruises under grey-green eyes. Stubble has grown along his jaw, something he itches at now as he stares up at the ceiling with that tell-tale distracted look. Etrevth is awake now, however tired the brown is as his energy is sapped to focus on healing his wing. He shifts often, slightly, uncomfortable and restless given the complex system of weights that keeps him from moving his wing while the stitches set and the bandages that bind them itch his skin. Meant to dos aren't quite did dos, and it's taken Irianke three days to step into the dragon infirmary. Niahvth, however preoccupied she is with her clutch, probably had some hand in aiding when Etrevth's wing contraption was set up. Late and bearing gifts in a woven basket, the goldrider checks in at the main desk and is directed towards the Fortian pair. "How is he?" she asks, the basket set on a nearby surface. Then, "How are you?" R'oan's bandaged hand scrubs over his face at the question, a low, dry laugh slipping out at the question before he answers, "Trapped, uncomfortable. Feel like shit." The same answer for both of them, it seems, even as R'oan rolls to sit up on the side of the cot, reaching to investigate that basket first as Irianke abandons it to see what is inside. "He'll heal up and be able to fly eventually, though," he offers her, even if she already knows. "You look like shit," says Irianke, affable now that R'oan's mood isn't as despondant as he looks. "There's a shaver in there, a mirror too, though it's one of the only hand sized ones I could find not already claimed by some girl who likes making up her face." For the record, the weyrwoman's face is expertly made up. "A flask. And a sock you left behind. Has anyone brought you a change of clothing yet?" She pauses and sniffs the air. "Or shown you the baths?" It is the flask that gets pulled from the basket, untwisted and lifted to his lips for a long pull before R'oan answers the goldrider dryly, "And here I thought I could just pop around yours whenever I need one. I'd think this ranks above covered in cake." But his gaze is thoughtful as it rests on Irianke, seeking something there even as Etrevth silently observes. "You are always welcome to use my bath. I confess, it is the most enticing reason to stay at High Reaches forever." Irianke looks at R'oan, meeting his gaze levelly. An enigmatic smile, no, not even quite enough to be a smile. Something. Some expression is returned for what he seeks, before her attention refocuses on Etrevth. She reaches up, but doesn't touch, "May I?" she asks of the brown rather than his rider. "Are you trying to entice me to stay? Because I am already stuck," R'oan replies with dry amusement, a quiet sound catching in his throat, thoughtful, for her enigmatic not-smile. But he watches as she moves to his dragon, studying her backside appreciatively and her movements as Etrevth rumbles his permission, the dragon's head swinging around to try to keep her in his gaze. Her hand is quite small against his draconic jaw, but her fingers spread once they come in contact with his hide, the tips of them gentle in a caressing massage Niahvth must receive often. "What happened?" Irianke asks, side stepping his rhetorics. The back she has to him is scooped ridiculously low, a fashion she favors, particularly as the summer sun has creeped up on them all. She knows what he sees, and she can't help but graze her chin past her shoulders to flash him a quick, smug smile, before Etrevth regains most of her attention. "Flight injury, but how?" Smug smiles are met with the curve of a brow upwards, a mock-impassiveness in the face of the gaze he gets for all that R'oan can't help the warming of desire in grey-green eyes despite their current situation. That, likely, is why his words are flat as he answers, "One of your bronzes picking fights. Lythronath. And Etrevth got in the way of him and the green." And why he doesn't make any move to close the space between them as Irianke pays attention to his dragon. A dragon who is quite pleased to receive it and that caress. Her hand works along the dragon's side, staying clear of the wing, though the way it's held in place mars Irianke's looks with a brow furrowed shadow. Though it was right about the time Lythronath was mentioned. "Mmm," she sounds. "How are you doing, lovely?" Her hand is now on the gold-brown highlighted curves of his chest, working its way towards the mahogany that is his bulk. "Do you need company? I can't imagine having R'oan for a rider is entertaining." She's all warmth and attentiveness for the dragon, leaning in just a touch to smell his scent. Somehow, it seems as if the smell of smoke has persisted beneath the smell of medicine and the spice of an oil. Etrevth rumbles what might be agreement, though it's R'oan that laughs. "I haven't ever heard you complain," he counters to Irianke, warm suggestion there as he does push from the cot to his feet only to draw close behind the goldrider, trapping her between him and his dragon. He brushes his own fingers across her exposed spine, leaning in to murmur, "You aren't going to ask if I need company?" "No. Because I'm not coy like that." Except she totally is right now, the smile and the awareness of where he is audible in her voice. "If you want my company, you can always ask. The worst I can say is no. Not tonight." Irianke follows the lines of Etrevth's body, her hands working in concert now with their gentle kneading of the dragon's hide and slipping sideways away from R'oan. "Is A'rist aware of what his dragon wrought? Has he come by to see you? Has..." she purses her lips. "I can't think for the musk coming off you. Do you mind if I borrow him, clean him up, bring him back to you before the sun sets?" "Not yet, and the dragonhealers aren't very good at gossip," R'oan answers on the point of A'rist, his fingers catching and running through soft hair even as Irianke slips away, but he doesn't pursue her along the line of his dragon. Etrevth agrees with another rumble, the whirl of his eyes dancing with what might be amusement at Irianke's question. "What if I said no," is what the brownrider poses as a question, a challenge to mimic hers. "You won't." He could totally just leave her hanging, and life would go on well after Irianke leaves for the bowl. There she goes, walking with a hand drifting behind her, ready to be clasped should he follow. And if he does? There's a bath, some worthwhile companionship during and after that bath, an early supper, and then, as she promised, a return to Etrevth with a new change of clothes before sunset. R'oan follows, despite his bravado and bluff. |
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