Difference between revisions of "Logs:Scenes"

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.

It is a summer night, 22:15 of day 11, month 6, turn 31 of Interval 10.

It's been an eventful day for K'zin and Rasavyth who are now tucked away in one of the alcoves in the Dragon Infirmary. It wasn't supposed to be an eventful day, but by dinner the news of the weyrling mishap at the Lake Shore is making the rounds. Rumors vary, but it is agreed that whatever happened, K'zin is in the infirmary tonight, and the healers are keeping him awake a while, because he got knocked in his head. Some speculate that there's nothing up there to be concerned about, but nevertheless the healers are dutifully doing just that. K'zin lays face down on his cot, his back exposed and red (from redwort) and glistening from numbweed. There are little puckers of scrapes, some deeper than others, but all certainly superficial across the length of his back. Under his right thigh is a compress, laying snugly against the front of his leg between limb and cot. He's awake, half hanging his torso off the bed so he can use his right hand to sketch on a piece of paper laying on the ground. It's not exactly comfortable, but better than being bored or falling asleep. Judging from the book pile nudged aside, he's opted for sketching over studying. The infirmary itself is fairly quiet. It's late enough that the night staff is on duty and there are few occupants in the beds and fewer visitors. It's a good time for a quiet chat, were one seeking it.

When she sidles into the infirmary, Mave's first stop involves addressing the bare bones staff, confirming that it's alright she's there, any necessary steps. She takes this information to the indicated alcove, respectfully and warily quiet as she rounds onto K'zin's state. Wide brown eyes pass over him, curiosity trickling irreverently in as she sees red, sees scrapes. But sympathy's not lacking, and there's a trace in her gaze as she squats to his dangling level. Eyes flick over to the sketch reflexively. "You know, when you said you were going to go to the infirmary, this isn't quite what I envisioned..." A level of caution threads through her voice, sincerely checking on him, and ready to put joke aside at a moment's notice.

The voice is too familiar to mistake. The pencil is flopped onto the hide and he uses the hand to grasp the bottom rail of the cot and push for leverage as he twists his torso to find her face anyway. This reveals the further healing measures that have been taken: his nose is bandaged, and his upper lip as a split in it that, while certainly not big enough to need stitches, has been covered with some kind of salve to speed healing. The twist becomes a push, a little wince for the necessity of flexing his thigh, though the cold compress is wrapped well enough that it stays hugging the bruised leg, so that K'zin can end up seated on the edge of his cot. A hand tugs at the sheet covering it that he'd pushed into a mess at the bottom before and pulls it across before offering it as a seat to the visitor with a little sweep of his hand. They are not alone. In the couch depression of the alcove is curled the not insubstantially sized bronze. Lids appear to be shut and snoozing, but appearances can be deceiving, especially where Rasavyth is concerned. "Well, you know me, I'm Wacky Waki. Can't do anything straight-forward-like." Though there's clearly some ongoing discomfort from the stiffness of his expressions, he's managing a mask of humor well enough. "Come to make sure I haven't killed myself? I didn't know you cared." His baritone turns dramatic, a little affected by the nose-bandage, and a hand goes to his heart lightly.

"Don't be silly," scaldingly serious, straight as she straightens, eying pitilessly down at him with a smooth face, "You owe me. And I don't let people who owe me off so easily." Seconds later, a small snort breaks Mave's facade, as usual. Light jumps to her eyes, enthusiastic in their search of his face, as morbidly fascinated as she is potentially concerned for the bumps and bruises, while slipping down almost gently on the spot he readies for her. A glance goes along him to the dragon's cove, "Rasavyth..." murmured, trailing off either in question, or hesitant greeting, or prompt as to the dragon's health-- it's multiple choice. Her hand idly works into the excess of sheets, pulling loose angles.

"Oh, I see, I see." K'zin draws this out slowly, amused. "You're looking out for your own interests. Well, that makes much more sense." He manages a small smile for Mave, the bottom lip curling up more than the upper lip moving at all. His face is a smorgasbord of interest for Mave if morbid fascination is the motive. The bandage on his nose is white, but peeking out on either side and in darkening bruise under his eyes, is a blue-blackish-spread. The lip split is rosy and raw. Lots of interesting things to take in. "He got knocked in the head, too." There's a small chuckle, that barely gets air before it's silenced. "He's not allowed to sleep either." A pointed look goes to the bronze and he shifts, as though to prove he's not. "So... how was your day?"

Wincing to hear of Rasavyth's fate, she offers a firmer, "Sorry to hear that, Rasavyth," in the bronze's direction. "You need a rub or anything?" Turning on K'zin, Mave admits, "I don't know if that would hurt more or not. And my day was not so adventurous," a truth within tease. Shifting on the bed, propping the closest knee up against its side, she trails her hand lightly over an unharmed bit of leg then down. "But not bad. I was actually looking for you when I heard about this whole ruckus. It was nice of you guys to make yourselves so accessible and unable to escape."

There's a small rumble in response to Mave's words of sympathy from the big bronze ball, but his head doesn't move and his eyes stay lidded, for the moment. K'zin's lips form a smirk that's there and gone again the next moment. "How come I don't get the same kind of offer?" The rider queries playfully. "I'm more hurt than he is. He's just the head hit and scratches and bruises." Which is... exactly what K'zin's got, plus the nose and the lip. He wins by a-- nose! "Probably best not to rub right now. Bruises are pretty tender and the scratches are hard to see on his hide. But thanks for offering all the same." But then he is getting the same offer and he's left laughing softly. "Well, you know me. Glad to make things as easy as possible." He smiles. "So what were you looking for me for? Come to make good on the sparring? It'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Unless an unfair advantage is what you're looking for." He pretends to look at her sidelong with a suspicious air.

"Cause I can't hear it when he makes a dirty retort," Mave accuses light-heartedly back as to preferences. But warned off, she obeys, leaving the bronze to his rest, and her hands to stroll along the sheets without much purpose; her gentle palm finds his leg once or twice again, soothing down, then curling as she leaves him to tug at the covers. "You seem to have done my job just fine," she notes, raising her chin to professionally evaluate the work done on his nose; a soft tsk escapes after, judging the craftsmanship. But her eyes catch on the notebook he'd been tending to before she entered, and her face softens out of jest, "Actually, I won't keep you long." Forcing her hand to retreat except for one or two last pats of the bed, she starts to shift her weight towards the foot closest to the floor, heralding a move to stand in a second, "I just wanted to say that..." Gaze flits shyly down, re-considering, but then lifting to look him straight-on, serious and meaningful, "Yes." A beat. Where she's looking at him thusly. Then, "Yes, you can work on the set paintings. If you still wanted... Or-- " an eyeing of the injuries, "Could. Anyway, it's there." That seems like a good preface to leaving.

K'zin's laugher is the infectious kind now. "So what you're saying is if I learned to keep my mouth shut, I'd get massages too?" His laughter continues after the question is posed. Once he's stopped, he shakes his head. "No, you credit me too much. This-" He points at the nose, "Is courtesy of Telavi's hard head. Bigger than your fist, by far." He reaches his hand out to trap one of those hands before it wanders away from the bed, smile more genuine now, "Keep me as long as you like. I have to stay awake, and I can't lie the way I like to, and there's not much to occupy me. You are a welcome comrade in the battle against sleep." His tone is quiet and assuring. "But I'd understand if you need to get off to sleep. Since you don't have any pretty injuries to get you out of your duties tomorrow." The hand is released, physically allowing the freedom to go that he speaks of. His eyebrows lift just a bit, "So if I worked on scene paintings, does that mean I'm off the hook for the other thing?" Given that they're not alone in the infirmary and he, at least, knows that Alida and Telavi are somewhere (if the healers kept them), he doesn't specify.

Throughout his laughter, Mave's eyebrows lift in a silent maybe of challenge. Trapped, she rebounds lightly, hitting the barrier of his grip and so sliding back with a soft bump of her hip into the bed. "As long as I like..." she muses beneath his plea, but relents as he's done, lips perking up, "Well, if it's a battle, I suppose. You could use the muscle." Though, so bidden, she wavers with an indecision of how to distribute this aid. Pondering his question becomes a welcome distraction, lips worrying discontentedly. "Well... alright," she relents, "Though you shouldn't be." Released, her hand drops to smack absently on her thigh, stuck between her and the bedframe she marginally leans against. "And I want you to be really, really sure all the time that there isn't something for weyrlinghood you should be doing. And-- don't lose any sleep. And-- and-- " Hands starting to jump in front of her in her buoyant anxiety to find every possibility.

"Obviously. Mine are clearly lacking." Shirtless, he flexes. It's good that his whole back is slathered in numbweed, or that would've been such a very bad idea as the flex of muscle causes a not insignificant shift in the placement of skin. K'zin's proud of his muscles, it's well known that even as a Smith he'd do extra exercises to become stronger and more fit, but he's thankfully not a hulking mass of weird-shaped body parts as a result. His muscles fit him. He only stays flexed a moment, because, after all, it's just a joke, he's not really meaning to show off so much as to acknowledge the humorous idea of spindly Mave adding muscle to what he already has in his arsenal. "Why shouldn't I be?" There's a little snort from the bronze on the couch. Rasavyth knows, even if K'zin doesn't, that K'zin should've just taken the win and not asked questions, but Rasavyth isn't feeling helpful at the moment. So K'zin glances to the bronze perplexed before looking back to Mave as she starts to babble. He turns on the bed, and it takes him a second as she goes on, to sort it so it's not too painful for his thigh. "Hey- hey-" He starts to interrupt and then finally he just puts out a pair of fingers to touch lightly to Mave's lips, just as she trails off anyway. He holds them there a moment. "Mave. I promise to help as much as I can in what time I have without getting myself or anyone else in trouble or putting anyone in danger. Alright?" His fingers drop away, expression mildly amused again. "So tell me about what kinds of scenes I'll be painting."

Mave's lips pucker stubbornly against his fingers, though the look in her acknowledges she deserved it. Concentrating silences her, till the bustle of night-time background noises in the infirmary rise up, taking hold while she counts off in her head, eyes up toward the ceiling and body gradually shifting up onto the bed inch by inch. One foot skates across the floor, tip toes just touching. "Well, there's the renegade's ship," she finally decides, "A little Hold... a garden... and a beach. Mostly." Her finger traces little indistinguishable patterns on the sheet in front of her propped up thigh. "They get reused a lot, so it shouldn't be too much to move around, but I'm still trying to find a good way to do that. Hopefully my new director will know, though he said they didn't always work with big props and all." She reaches with her other hand to scratch at a shoulder. "Then I'm also trying to figure out what to do about the singing parts."

As she speaks, K'zin scoots forward on the bed, leaning his torso down to pluck up the papers and pencil. From behind the cot he pulls up a lap-tray used for those bedridden types that need a desk-like object. He frowns, realizing the flaw in his plan: his lap is damaged. He scooches down the bed, putting enough distance between himself and the younger girl to lay the board between them. He starts to put the papers down, but then separates the one he was working on when she came in and nonchalantly hiding it under his pillow, before it has a chance to be really looked at. No big deal, right? Nothing to see here! The blank pages are then set down and as she talks he begins to sketch. His pencil flies skillfully, though the drawings are draft quality, outlines and general ideas of what things might look like as he illustrates each scene. "What part of the Hold?" He does interrupt to ask. "Might have to get some help with that one. I've never been to a real Hold." Then it's back to drawing. "What to do about what with the singing parts? Like, the backgrounds for them, you mean?" He's quiet for a few moments more as he seems to focus wholly on the sketches, "So. Did you decide you didn't want to see me naked after all? Or just that you needed help with the scenery that badly?"

Perhaps not looked at, but Mave's eyes follow the page stolen from her peering, sapping up any and every sign of interesting things. But since he hid it, there's no move, nor mention; she settles on the page, plenty engaged-- absorbed, truly-- by the flight of his pencil. It takes several seconds for her brain to switch tracks, putting words back into her sphere, "Uhhh..." But lookit the pretty lines! "Um," she snaps her chin back lightly, "Just the outside, actually, so... the building facade. There's probably a drawing in a history book, or-- N'ky's from a hold..." all absently spoken, as her fingers keep crawling needily towards the paper, craving to poke at the corner, to see better and more. "If they should stay in or not, I guess... the singing things..." Things being the technical term. With a subtle maneuver of her legs, she tries to lift the bed-desk up while he's still drawing without bumping him too much, to get it up and onto her lap, compressing the distance between them-- more importantly, her and the outlines. With her mind aching with strain from multi-tasking, she barely composes her thoughts before they roll right off her tongue, "I figured I hadn't actually been that embarrassed," with some effort, she wrenches her eyes up to look at him for a shrug and more focused talking, "And, even if I had, I shouldn't want to put it on another person anyway."

There it is. The mention of N'ky and the naked drawings all in one bunch of words. It doesn't help that there was an initial flinch of discomfort that caused his line to arc oddly when she mentioned the green weyrling, but then the pencil comes to a halt at the end of her words. His cheeks are crimson now, and he's not able to bring himself to look at her. For a few breaths, he just stares at what he's drawn, then with courage gathered, he looks her in the face. "Mave. About the drawings..." Gulp. "N'ky-- saw one. That's how he knew I had -- well, one. He only knew of the one. That's how he knew to say it wasn't right that I had them." He sighs, "I'm really sorry... now." When he looks up, he looks thoroughly pathetic thanks to his injuries and regretful eyes. The drawing under his pencil is forgotten for the moment.

A flare of anger struggles for life in Mave's eyes, evident too in the tightening of her fingers, crinkling a corner of his drawing by accident. "Sometimes," she forces out, a hint tighter than her usual, "I think you talk far too much." Her other hand clenches on the corner of the desk she'd been adjusting into her lap, trying to be as comfortable as possible for him. Eyes drop, unable to stay on his puppy face, watching herself pick at the wooden construct. "Imagining for fun is different than... sharing around..." But, even with that-- or just with that-- she sweeps in a deep breath, and exhales it all out. Fingers loosen; she splays them very purposefully and smoothes out a part of the bed sheet. "But you only said 'saw', so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and we're not going to bring it up anymore. I think this line," she leans over her lap to tap on the drawing, "should be over further."

K'zin winces. It's probably not caused by the physical pain of his injuries. "I'm sorry, Mave. I didn't intend to show him. I was showing him one of my smithing designs because he wanted to make a present for Hana and I'd made something similar for Madilla and the sketches were in the same notebook and so he-- looked through." His shoulders droop. "I let him. I said he could." Mave's right, he does talk far too much. Especially in the face of a woman's wrath! Or annoyance. "I'm sorry.' He mumbles that last. But then he's following her advice of not talking about it anymore, so he shuts up, but mopey is the best he can manage as the pencil travels to where she points and makes the adjustment. "These are just-- rough ideas." He mumbles after a moment, not able to look up at her anymore.

Since she was only suggesting to transition the conversation, Mave drops her hand quickly to not interfere with the drawing more. While shoulders are stiffer, raised, she appears to be staying true to word: what's done is done, and he's sorry. Shifts of her foot, toes starting to solidify on the ground, start to give the impression of her leaving; she certainly adjusts her weight for it, leaning back, hands on the desk like she might overturn it on his chest to escape. But seconds roll by and she's inhaling and exhaling awkwardly, looking around the infirmary for points of interest.

That look. He knows that look. "Shit." He doesn't swear in such terms as often as many, so when he does it means something's really messed up. K'zin swallows, picking up the board and setting it swiftly down onto the floor, scooching to close some of the distance between himself and the younger girl. "I really fucked up, Mave. I'm sorry. I'm really so sorry." Sometimes sorries don't make it better though. There's an attempt on his part to take one of her hands, as though contact might make his apologies hit home. "I'm the worst friend ever. Even though we weren't friends then, I should've known better. Just because you're beautiful doesn't mean you'd be okay with N'ky seeing my dumb daydream sketches of you. I should've--" He trails off, brown eyes going glassy with the threat of tears, expression full of self-loathing.

Mave's chin jerks over to stare at him, eyes fluttering rapidly, when he swears-- and it only deteriorates from there. Hands, their clenching victim stolen from them, drop weightily against her legs, a couple fingers awkwardly trapped as his leg scoots closer. She fights for it as he scoops up the other, and those captured fingers flex uncertainly. "Someone doesn't have to be your friend for you to treat them decent," she agrees, interrupting him-- except he goes on-- so she's just talking over him, eyes glazed with a kind of growing alarm so that it's questionable if she heard all of his words at all. It's the reading of his face that has her already round eyes widening, freed-- from the bed-- fingers beginning to jump uselessly in the air. "What-- no-- I mean, everybody's done something they regret..." Shit, shit; what's happening. Too wide, now, her eyes, glistening at the corners and tense with staving it off. She may, it seems, be a sympathy-crier.

"I know that everybody does, but this is me, and I hurt you!" That seems to make all the difference, a pair of tears making their escapes from the corners of his eyes. K'zin's free hand comes up quickly to brush them away. "Mave, I'm going to make it up to you. I promise. I'll find a way. Just--" He gulps, swallowing back further display of emotion. "Just know I'm sorry." His hand abruptly draws back, and he scooches so her other hand is no longer trapped. He's not going to force her to stay. He leans down, plucking up the lap desk again and puts it back on the bed, bending over the design, acting as if nothing were more important than sketching out those designs and getting them just right.

"But-- I'm fine." Unless it means staring at him while he heatedly ignores her. "I do..." Blinking furiously, Mave's foot drops to the floor and she lifts, taking all her weight so that it vanishes from the bed, lifting the mattress back into shape. She stops there, uncomfortably and awkwardly paused, muscles tense with halfway inaction. Words she doesn't have; reassurances seem stale. Her stomach is lumped up in her throat, and she swallows, half anxious and half annoyed, and all churning. She can feel it-- coming up. The first few notes of singing are loud, confident, until she hears herself in the hushed infirmary and as she gains awareness enough to lower the volume, she's by then figured out what she's doing and a nervous thread makes the next few lyrics wobbly. A jaunty, ridiculous riddle song, the words farcical-- aided by the look of pure bewilderment and worry scrunching Mave's features.

The rapid movement of the pencil slows and stops, K'zin sitting up as the melody continues, never able to resist a good song - especially not if Mave is singing. He sets the pencil down and turns to look up at her. Teenage hormones are like an improvising, thrill-seeking dragon in flight. One minute down, the next minute: K'zin's lips are curling into a soft smile. The way he looks at her, some keen auntie might term puppy love, it's the way his younger self would have looked at the girl whose pigtails he pulled too hard; admiration and mild awe. When she finishes, there's a moment of silence before he says, quietly, "I think that's your answer for what to do about the music parts. Leave them in. And you should do them."

Partway through the singing, Mave'd started flapping her hands anxiously on either side of her chest, the nervous bounce of her heels: short of hyperventilating; it's urgency softened by the goofy grin marring much of her pronunciation. Luckily, a short piece, and she rushes the end, sucking in a breath and a wince that closes her eyes to him for a blushing second. "Leaping shits, K'zin, nooooo," opening her eye, her slur makes it sound like 'new'. A snort, calling him out for his obvious joke. "As long as you-- " she leans in, touching fingertips to his cheeks, searching out hints of dimples' hiding spots, "smiled," fingers pop out with a smack of her lips, "I'm done."

The searching fingers make him smile more, and the dimples are indeed revealed. "Why not?" No jest. "You're as good as any harper." That may not be true, but K'zin is biased. He grew up with her hummings and ditties. "You know," He licks his lips, briefly biting the lower one, "I know that usually people apprentice younger, and not that I want you to go away from 'Reaches, at all, but you could probably still apprentice Harper. You're probably not too old for it yet." This statement does throw into sharp relief that she is still that young. His hands fold on his lap, very much the gesture of being a good boy, if unconsciously so.

"Nah," her shrug's casual, and not forced. Mave's eying the corner while he compliments her, but can look him in the eye to relate, "There's all this studyin' and things to it I've no interest in." Fingers twist together in front of her, arms turning out, playing, fiddling. "I'm still being okay with me." Her voice has softened, lips tugging up but lightly, easily falling, "Y'know, like you said. Just me." Not quite his sentiment; she's commandeered it. A little pause, where she just inhales and exhales, then, "But I should probably go." Lowering, her eyebrows evaluate, "Not-- to Harper Hall. Umm. Just," her thumb juts over her shoulder as she rocks onto her heels. "If you're alright?"

K'zin looks like there's something he wants to ask. Something after she talks about things she has no interest in, but for whatever reason he thinks better of it by the time she's saying she should go. "Yeah, well, as alright as a guy with multiple injuries gets." That's a play for sympathy points, but there's a grin, so she knows it. "I'll get some sketches done and get them to you." He waits until she's just about to go before saying, "Oh, and Mave? I will make it up to you." Before he bends back over the sketches, turning to a new page.

"Yeeeah, yeah," She's since managed to deduce there's nothing dire about his condition-- probably... -- or convinced herself, anyway, so she half sticks out her tongue before pressing two fingers to her lips and turning them out to him. Obviously not meant: "I gave you something to do instead of sleep. I'm like a hero." Taking that first step triggers his epilogue, to which she pauses, looking across her turned shoulder. A look of argument thins her mouth but, parting lips, she backs off right after with a slight shake of her head he can't see. Just the soft noise of her exhale before she slips out, letting the infirmary have its night-time quiet back.