Difference between revisions of "Logs:Checks, Measures, and Growing Up"

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.

The lingering fog within the Bowl muffles some sounds and lets others echo oddly, obscures entrances, makes flying more risky. A dragon with a low ledge would practically live within it, might even get used to it, where one residing higher would have to descend into the depths like an ocean it would have to breathe. Still, to one used to showing up at the dragon infirmary for inspections, perhaps it isn't so bad. Vrianth keeps an eye out, more or less, from the ledge just above. If someone shows a sign of crashing into the wall, she'll likely notice. Warn them, even. It's a different world from the glowlit interior where Vrianth's rider works, waiting.

There is little danger of crashing from the ground up, at least. D'kan and Kazavoth arrive via their own legs, after crossing the bowl from the direction of the weyrling barracks. The brown, after noticing Vrianth, sends a light, almost professionally polite greeting, but he's soon following his rider into the interior of the dragon infirmary. D'kan, who's carrying the dragon's straps looped over one shoulder, seems to be in no rush, though he's looking for the dragonhealer just about as soon as he clears the bowl. He sets down the straps out of the way, then reaches up to scratch Kazavoth's neck idly while making his way toward Leova. "Another beautiful autumn morning," the weyrling announces, full of cheer today.

Vrianth, curled-up Vrianth half-concealed by the rock, unlids one deeply gleaming eye for the occasion. Passing beneath her is like passing through some sort of a scan, her reply one of invisibly flowing energy. Leova, warned, greets them before she ever looks up. "Kasavoth. D'kan," and with that she finishes setting her spare materials to the side, choosing a different clipboard before walking briskly over to them. She smiles, quick, one-cornered. "Are you being facetious? Can't quite tell. It's so gray." Though it's the dragon who'll bear the brunt of the dragonhealer's inspection, she looks over his rider too, assessingly: what's changed, what seems the same?

Weyrling rider and dragon alike are much as they have been all along. That first bizarre injury to Kazavoth's chest is nearly invisible at this point. Only the faintest line, for those who are looking, would indicate the brown was ever cut by a frantic, dying wherry. He's bigger now, of course. By a lot. D'kan? Pretty much the same as always. Maybe a little leaner, a little more solid across the shoulders. Otherwise, steady goes. In answer to Leova, the weyrling laughs while giving the brown one last scritch at the headknobs. "It's a day where no one's been hurt. Good morning so far, right? Just here for a checkup, though there's not much to report. Kaz eats regularly. Flies well. Doesn't get tired nearly as quickly, now we're flying everyday."

"Yeah? Good." The greenrider's chuckle is wry. "He's looking good. Going to do some measurements, same as normal," but first she rounds the brown, slow-paced, for that initial overview. Details are for later. Same as normal. The comparison lines on the floor and wall are there too, the way they always are, though the paint's been touched up since the last time they were in. "Got your weyr, then? Sounded like chaos, the other day. We stayed out of the way." If 'out of the way' includes Vrianth, protective on her ledge, all too ready to warn off would-be interlopers.

Kazavoth is ever patient, especially when soaking up some attention. Nervous around other people? Hardly. He'll pose this way and that, stretch where needed, flutter his wings, aren't they pretty? D'kan watches with a look on his face. He's been with Kaz long enough to know what to expect, and that look says it all. "Oh, uh... sort of. I have a couple picked out. Just need to... you know. Talk to the weyrlingmasters about it. Kind of empty in the barracks now. Which, given Kazavoth's recent riot is probably a good thing." Is this common knowledge? D'kan has no idea. "Out of the way is sometimes the best place to be. Anything interesting come through here lately?"

There's a gleam from Vrianth: she's entertained. Especially when Leova gives the brown an indulgent smile for the showing off as she finishes her round, and, "All right, you. Up against the wall." Not that he's supposed to be plastered against it, more of a stand-naturally no-not-on-your-toes sort of thing, squared up to the guidelines. "That was you, hm? Heard it was more than the usual 'everyone leaving, leave it in a mess' sort of deal. And loud." She's got that one-cornered smile again, right before she flips a page to the generic dragon-sketch she'll take notes on. "If you're taking that much time, mightn't be bad to ask who had that ledge you're eyeing, and did they like it. Reckon you won't have to worry about N'thei coming back for yours, at least! As for 'here..." she'll take a moment to think on that.

At first, Kazavoth puffs out his chest a little, but a soft cough from D'kan is soon followed by the brown assuming a more natural stance. "One of these days, I think I should hang around here just so Kaz has to watch other dragons getting all the attention," he shares in a wry aside with Leova, not that he sounds terribly put out by his dragon's antics. "Yeeeah," he soon adds before laughing slightly and glancing at the dragonhealer. "The stupid thing is, he meant so well. Just... working on how he expresses things sometimes. As for the loud... well. Another learning opportunity, right?" That last is said a little dryly, as if quoting someone. A thoughtful look appears following the other rider's advice about weyrs as D'kan shifts his stance and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "It's less the where," the weyrling admits after a long pause. "Just..." He stops, takes a quick breath, then shrugs. "Well, it's stupid. I think I was kind of scared to be on my own. But now Kaz and I may as well be, with as empty as the barracks have gotten. It's weird."

Leova's speculated before, but, "So much like Arekoth." Stepping back, she alternates narrow-eyed assessments with numbers jotted on her sheet while his rider talks, once adding a quick line to change the contours of the dragon sketch. "Not much in the way of damage, though, hm? So reckon it's not so bad. Dragons need to let off steam sometimes just like the rest of us. When you can go between, might take him somewhere as where he can belt it all out." She glances at D'kan, amber eyes reflective. "You wouldn't be the first. Though we did move in that second night. Kazavoth?" To the dragon, "Congratulations. Caught up with some of the smallest grownup greens, for what that's worth. While to go on Vrianth."

D'kan groans quietly as Kazavoth struts away from the measurement marks, all too pleased with himself over Leova's comments. Translating, the weyrling drawls, "He says thanks." Implication, there's more to it than that, but that's what D'kan is going to share. "At this point, it's just a matter of choosing a weyr, I guess. All at once, it felt like..." He trails off, then laughs. "Like growing up, I guess. And... yeah, I'm really looking forward to being able to fly farther with him. Go Between. See the rest of Pern. Be a rider." His grin goes a little crooked as Kazavoth draws near, and he reaches up to pat the brown's shoulder briefly before turning back to Leova. "Good to go for another month, then?"

"Welcome," says Leova, deadpan. And, "Yeah. I get that." If there's something about the timbre of her voice that suggests more that she understands than she's experienced, it's low-level. "Any wing you got your eye on, or is that too early? Or too... up in the air, let's say. Not quite done, want to see his teeth, first. And his claws. Actually, those first: flex them for me?" This, to Kazavoth. She adds from much earlier, "Round here, well. You'll have heard about Wiheyeth, reckon we'll lose a few more as the nights get longer. Fog's fierce on the joints, too, all clammy like that. Wish I could say there's been a sudden healing, one of the oldsters hopping around like a hatchling, but no dice."

"Just one more part of life, really. The final part, but..." D'kan's shrug will just have to sum up the more philosophical parts of all that for now. "I think we may have looked at his weyr. Though that's just guessing on my part." And on Kazavoth's part, he is once again far too happy to comply with the dragonhealer's request as he stretches out his forepaws and flexes one by one, then the back. "That chipped one from last month seems to be growing back all right," the weyrling comments, followed by, "and as for his teeth... any suggestions on how to get them clean after he's eaten? The herdbeast isn't so bad, but some days after a wherry or two, it just seems to stick there. And stinks."

"Decent-sized one, up by the," Leova laughs. "By the craft complex now, I guess people say. Visited him quite a bit for awhile there." She has to crouch to get a good look at the underside of Kazavoth's claws, nodding, once reaching out to tap the one in question with the tip of her pen. Rather than inquire further about prospective wings, "Avoid the wherry. No, really, though: he can dunk his head in somebody else's lake and swish, or what I like to use is one of those reeds and go poking around. The trick is getting one that's not too stiff, not too floppy, though you can always soak it in water some and it'll loosen up. Get the end tapered, not sharp. Worst comes to worst, there's always braided string to wrap around the tooth and see what you can get from under the gum. But if he actually works at it with his tongue, then you won't have to go poking around so much, and you'll both be happier, hm?" This time, she waves her pen like a harper's baton: open wide. Then they'll be done. Vrianth, dry: « Careful. Kazavoth. » Even if it is egging him on.

Kazavoth continues playing the part of the dutiful patient as he opens his mouth for Leova's inspection. Vrianth's comment brings a playful, skipping whirl to his eyes, and it's possible that tongue seems poised to do mischief, but something from D'kan makes him settle back. Spoil sport. The brown sends a quiet nudge Vrianth's way, rife with that clammy cold that's filling the bowl. « I am always careful, » he states, trying to be assuring. His voice is just a little a little too covert, though. It just might be D'kan he's being careful of right now. When the inspection is over, D'kan thumps a first good naturedly against the brown's shoulder, then gives Leova a wide smile. "Maybe by next month's checkup, I'll have something to report on wings. And weyrs. Until then?" He even goes so far as to give the dragonhealer a casual sort of salute in farewell, then brown and weyrling depart, while D'kan readies those straps for the day's use.