Difference between revisions of "Logs:Coming Clean"

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.

Injuries have more than one disadvantage. There's the obvious: the injury itself, the pain and discomfort that comes with it. Then there are things that are less obvious: you're the odd man out, missing class and ultimately playing catch up. With a possible concussion, it's been a long night of being woken every so often with no real restful sleep. The healers have made their morning rounds and K'zin's back scrapes have been carefully cleaned, though not numbed this time as they're no longer so fresh. He wears a pair of linen trousers, but no shirt, the usual infirmary gown proving impractical with his need to leave his back completely open and it being easy enough to drop trous when the tail bruise on his right thigh needs to be looked at. The bandage over his nose has been traded for a slender one meant simply to provide some support and protection as it continues to heal. The mild split to his upper lip has scabbed over nicely and glistens with some kind of healing salve. He sits on the edge of his cot, feet on the ground. Rasavyth is in the couch, looking rather drowsy, head sort of lolled as might befit any young creature trying to resist the siren's song of a good snooze.

With most of the weyrlings turned over to their morning classes, there's space and time for Quinlys to leave the barracks behind her and cross the bowl to the Infirmary. Thumbs tucked into the pockets of her trousers, she pauses near the entrance to have a few words with the Dragonhealer on duty; U'sot evidently has a few things to tell her, because she hovers there, gaze sneaking away from the ancient bluerider at intervals so that she can hunt through the cavern in search of other things. Evidently, K'zin is one of those other things, because her gaze lingers there longer than elsewhere, and, when she's finally released from her conversation, it's in his direction that she crosses. "Look at you," says the bluerider, as she approaches, red hair falling over one shoulder as she tilts her head to get a better look. "What a mess. Want to tell me in your words what the fuck happened?"

Thankfully, the dragon infirmary is not terribly busy. This makes spotting the arrival of the Weyrlingmaster fairly easy. It's not the first time he's spoken with Quinlys one on one since Hatching, but it's the first time that he's been in some significantly sticky situation, with plans to make his position in it worse, not better. Brown eyes catch her gaze, perhaps even meet it, and when she starts towards him, he uses his hands to push stiffly off the bed, standing. He favors his right leg a bit. The bruising isn't incapacitating, just uncomfortable. He salutes as she draws near, "Yes, ma'am." His eyes flicker to the bronze who's become a bit more attentive, shifting in the couch to lift his head high enough to peer at K'zin over Quinlys' head. "I was bathing Rasavyth at the lake, we finished, and went on shore to oil him. Solith came out of the water and Rasavyth-" He gives a look to the bronze, "-engaged her in play. They knocked over the oil. Telavi stepped into try to stop her lifemate. Ilicaeth charged in to join the playing while Rasavyth and I were trying to disengage. I stepped in to try to get Tela away from the dragons. Ilicaeth slipped on the oil and crashed into the lot of us." That's about the sum of it. His account is formal, factual and to the point.

No doubt Quinlys has already had the full report on the incident, but there's no sense that she's treating K'zin's recitation as anything less than the vital sharing of information, her chin lifted. If this is a more formal pose than she may have exhibited in previous encounters, well, perhaps that's not surprising - but it isn't as though that usual gleam of good humour isn't still marginally present in the brightness of her eyes. "And your analysis of events?" she wonders, unhooking her thumbs from her pockets, but only so that she can cross her arms in front of her, instead. "Did you do the right thing? Did Telavi, and Alida? We do prefer you all to stay in one piece, though U'sot tells me you'll all recover just fine."

"A series of unfortunate events, ma'am. A painful life lesson." K'zin responds, still formally, though the reasoning for this may be in what he has to tell her once this matter is settled. "This was an accident. No one meant any harm and Hraedhyth's assistance kept worse from happening." He doesn't need to say because they likely both know it and it shows in his face: it could have been a lot worse. "I've discussed with Rasavyth that now that he and the others are getting bigger, he has to be more careful. Not that he's ever shown an inclination to play before." Damned dragon had to show it just then and there. "Rasavyth did the right thing asking Hraedhyth for help. I-- I should have reacted faster. He surprised me, by playing. Tela--" He grimaces. "Tela was trying to do the right thing by stopping Solith. But-- they're big enough to accidentally hurt us." A hand touches his right thigh as though citing the point. "Alida wasn't close enough to know that Ilicaeth was going into danger not just play. It all happened so fast." Then to answer her question more directly, "I think we all did our best under the circumstances but some things could have been better, ma'am."

Quinlys' gaze drops towards the hand on K'zin's thigh, and then lifts again: her expression is hard to read, but finally, finally, after he finishes, she nods. Just once. Maybe it's enough, though-- maybe it can even be read as approving. "As long as you all take that lesson away from it," she supposes, after exhaling a lengthy, thoughtful sigh. "You're right: they're getting much too big for that. Shouldn't be surprised that they're playful, though. Cadejoth." It's in their ichor. "How're you feeling? You okay, Waki?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll certainly be trying to." A sideways glance to the cot might betray K'zin's wish to sit, but manning up can't be done properly from a sick bed. Rasavyth's head tilts slightly, with defined interest intensified. The corner of K'zin's mouth twitches at the mention of Cadejoth, wanting to smile, but just not getting there. "I'm not the best I've ever been." He replies, before taking a breath. "Ma'am, I'm a bad weyrling. I need to be punished. I'm prepared to accept any punishment you see fit." What a way to start. Rasavyth, in point of fact, as though to illustrate his firm belief that K'zin's effort to receive less than the maximum penalty for what he's done are doomed from the start, drops his head down and buries it under one of the cushions, meaning clear: he can't watch this display of goody-goodness. "I disrespected you. And Weyrlingmaster Meara. And the Weyrwomen. And the Weyrleader--s... And K'del. And-" He could go on, listing pretty much everyone he's ever met and has anything to do with the running of the Weyr. "Anyway, the point is, I broke the rules, and I had reasons, only they turned out to be dumb and self-centered. Except for the part about my headaches," Which might've been mentioned by the dragonhealers now that he's here. He flounders a bit. "And then I waited a long time to turn myself in because I wasn't sure I'd done anything wrong, but now I'm sure I have. I didn't mean to--" His body has become taught with stress, and expression struggles to remain neutral when he's come to feel so bad for disrespecting everyone and everything.

Quinlys seems just about to wave her hand in the direction of the cot (certainly, she draws it away from her body), but she's caught out by K'zin's abrupt admission. It leaves her hand hanging for several seconds before she hurriedly crosses it back towards herself; even then, she seems bewildered, red-tinted brows furrowing tightly. "Sit," she says, finally, once she can draw herself together enough to come up with anything at all. "Sit down, and then tell me what you've done. Shells, K'zin, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

K'zin, braced for much worse than a command to sit, readily does so, blinking brown eyes up at Quinlys. He takes a deep breath before confirming: "No. I don't know how." Maybe he should work on that. Time to recount his sins. "Maybe, can I please start by saying that Rasavyth was never hurt." He places his hands to his knees and fingers tighten. "It's been explained to me a couple of times over that that doesn't lessen the risks I took and how wrong of me it was to take them, but I want you to know that he's fine." His eyes close briefly, perhaps a silent wish made. "I drank alcohol a couple nights before we were allowed to. I've been having bad headaches since the Hatching. Dragon healers have some ideas but aren't sure exactly why. I thought having a beer would help. One turned into a couple. And then one time turned into more than one time, and more than one drink even when we were only allowed to have one." It's been chronic really. "I was never drunk." If that helps at all. He stops, to look up at her. Part one concluded.

It's hard to know what Quinlys' expectations for this admission are, though it's probably reasonable to suggest that this isn't precisely this. She makes a face, and then, a moment later, finds herself a position against the wall, all the better for leaning, arms still crossed. "And now you've an attack of conscience?" she wonders, keeping her tone neutral.

"More like... my own stupidity has been pointed out to me." K'zin answers honestly, before: "Um. But. Then there's the rest." A hand runs through his hair self-consciously. "Turns out the drinks aren't the only things that helped my headaches. I snuck away from some classes I should've been paying attention to." Horror. "And I-- I kissed some people before I was allowed to." There's a blush threatening in his cheeks. "My timing is terrible, I guess. I spend too much time thinking about kissing. And stuff. And I'm worried." But now he's starting to gravitate away from what he did wrong to some of the motivation behind it all, so chewing his lower lip he falls silent until he thinks to say, "That's all of it." Chronically flouting the rules, if not horrendously so.

Quinlys' sigh is a heavy one, the kind that comes out of not wanting to have to do something, but having to do it anyway. Or something along those lines, anyway. Her expression is one of disappointment. "You're a teenage boy," she says, finally. "Of course you spend too much time thinking about kissing and stuff. Do you think we aren't aware of what happens at night?" It's beside the point, though, and that's when she straightens, looking down at the weyrling as she lets out another sigh. "So you've been breaking rules for months, now. Flaunting them. Going to tell me whom you've been kissing? Do I have a whole class of weyrlings, making out behind my back?"

Some people aren't moved by the disappointments of others. K'zin is not lucky enough to be one of those people, so the look Quinlys has is enough to make him hunch his shoulders. "I owe you the biggest apology of all, Quinlys," Informal, just for a moment. "You're the one that made any of this possible." A gesture to Rasavyth. "And I've been getting tripped up in all kinds of things that are frivolous. I'm going to do better. I am sorry." The bronzerider might just be learning as the question she poses is answered with a question: "Weyrlings are a team, right, ma'am?"

Despite her bravado, and those occasional power trips, Quinlys is not actually hard-wired to thrive on upsetting people, and something falters in her expression at K'zin's response. "Let me guess: you're telling me that you're not going to narc on your colleagues, because that wouldn't promote the team spirit. Well." It's not approval, but it might resemble it, almost, if she weren't otherwise so... tired, and resigned. "What you've got to do, K'zin, is make it up to me. Prove to me that you deserve the trust I put in you. For now, though..." She shakes her head. "No more alcohol privileges, or any privileges at all. Not until I believe we can trust you. And you'll talk to the healers about those headaches, all right? No self medicating. Prove to me that you can be trusted, K'zin. I want to be able to."

Loss of trust and disappointment? Double-whammie. It hits home. K'zin's eyes close firmly and when they open again, his lashes are a little moist. "Yes, ma'am." The reply is meek, accepting. He chews on his lower lip, "And when I have a bad headache come here?" Since there won't be any more self-medicating, that's probably the only answer for it. "Can I-- Can I keep working on the game in the training cavern?" No privileges, what does that mean exactly? No more free time? He chews his lower lip a moment. "Any idea where I can start? Other than following the rules, I mean."

Quinlys squirms, just a little: it's in the way her hand twists, and in the way her gaze drops away from K'zin and towards the floor. "Right," she confirms. "Let the healers deal with your headaches. Frankly, I'd tell you that even if you weren't a weyrling... alcohol's fun, but if it's turning into a medication, that's a problem. You can..." She hesitates, and then nods. "Keep working on your game. Your free time needs to be spent in public places: near the barracks, or where people can keep an eye on you." She hesitates, glancing back up at him with a cautious expression on her face. "Work hard, K'zin. Be helpful. Be a leader; I know you've got it in you."

He might have once said something stupid like: but I was in public places whenever I kissed people. So he must be learning at least a little, for K'zin keeps his mouth shut about that. "Yes, ma'am." He hesitates, "I was- I was afraid if I came here that they'd tell me I wasn't suited to be a rider. That my mind couldn't handle being paired with a dragon so smart or something." Chewing on his lower lip he shifts, finally letting blood return to his fingertips. "I know now," After talking to the dragonhealers, and a certain other good influence, "That was stupid."

"Oh, K'zin," says Quinlys, sounding sad and horrified, all at the same time, and almost as though she'd like to reach out and hug him-- though she doesn't. "You won't be the first to have things like that. It's all through the weyrling records. There was some weyrling who came out in, like, hives or something, and it turns out it's because his green was making him itch. But-- I do get it. It's been hard on you. Believe me, we've seen that. Thing is, you've got to tell us, talk to us; that's what we're here for."

K'zin gives a little nod of his head, eyes averted. "Quinlys?" He asks quietly, brown eyes looking up to find her face. "I know I-- I don't deserve to take up more of your time after-- after everything I've done." So horrible! "But... can I talk to you about Ras?" He glances towards the bronze, who's head is now out from under the pillows and once more observant, though his chin rests on the edge of the couch.

"Waki," she says, softly. "You deserve to take up as much of my time as you need. The fact that I'm disappointed doesn't mean that you've stopped being one of my charges... or that I've stopped caring." She leans back again, now, letting her back rest against the cool stone of the wall behind her. "Of course you can talk to me about Ras." Quinlys seems almost too eager to try and meet K'zin's gaze when she speaks, but afterwards, she lets it slide back towards the bronze, giving him an appraising glance.

You're going to want to interrupt. But, please, let me talk about this? (K'zin to Rasavyth)

To K'zin, Rasavyth makes no promises. Rasavyth, in fact, doesn't react at all.

"I feel like I disappoint him." K'zin begins. So this isn't necessarily about strictly Rasavyth. That's probably safer for the young man's fragile brain. "He wants me to be-- better. Smarter. More charming. I've been-- I've been fighting him. N'ky and I talked after Hatching, and he basically said he didn't know if we'd still be friends if I changed much." The lip gets another worried chew. "Nick and I have been friends longer than-- he's been my only real friend for so long that I was terrified that if I gave in to what Ras wanted of me that I'd lose him." Brown eyes wander back to her face, "I sometimes think maybe that's why I get the headaches. Because I'm always fighting with him to stay me." Well, not always fighting. But to teenagers, sometimes often seems like always. "I know Rasavyth has my best interests at heart, too, which makes it tougher." K'zin's, or Rasavyth's. "Because I want to change. To be better. To be a leader. But I don't want to scare off the friends I've made."

There's an awful lot of softening in Quinlys' expression, now, as K'zin explains. It's in the way she lowers her shoulders, too, and in the hands that seek each other in front of her, fingers twining awkwardly. "You're teenagers, and you've just Impressed. You're all changing, N'ky as much as you, even if he doesn't see it. K'zin... there's no right way or wrong way. You have to become the person you become. Should Rasavyth have control over everything? No. Should you be growing and changing together? Yes." One hand pulls away from the other, lifting so that it can scruff through her own hair. "You have to be true to who you are, K'zin. It's okay for you and Rasavyth to be different."

K'zin's gaze is intent as Quinlys answers. It is not, however, as intent as Rasavyth's. Once the Weyrlingmaster has finished speaking, K'zin's expression visibly changes to processing. It's almost possible to watch as he works his way through her words, the implications, and eventually dredges up his new question: "Quin, do you think that it's okay to do something that others might not understand and might think is wrong if it's for the greater good?" Rather than get called upon for an example from his own life, he quickly adds, "Like the way Weyrwoman Aishani kept her identity secret and then revealed it because-- she wanted to be honest with the Weyr, or something?" Or something. It's not a perfect comparison, but K'zin seems to think it'll do.

"I--" Quinlys hesitates. She's been quiet on the topic of Aishani, these past months, and it's obvious that the reference makes her slightly uncomfortable. "Who are any of us to judge what the greater good is?" she counters, after a moment, scrunching up her face in contemplation. "I don't know that I care much for people lying like that, if we're talking Aishani. That bothers me. But I do think she's a superior Weyrwoman, and I know we're in good hands with Taikrin. So that kind of balances out, maybe? That's not really what you're asking, though, is it." It's not really a question. At the end of it, she shakes her head. "I think you have to be careful, when deciding what is really for the greater good."

As Quinlys addresses the question of the weyrleadership, K'zin's lips tug into a small frown. That didn't take him the direction he wanted to go. He gives a shake of his head to agree with the Weyrlingmaster's statement of fact. There is then a nod for her other words of advice. "So the ends don't always justify the means." He paraphrases thoughtfully. His eyes slide to Rasavyth. "He's really bad at hunting." Apparently time for the deep talk is done. "He's smart enough to sort of-- piggy back on the others. Ma'am, I'd like to take him to feed when the others aren't around. He's got to learn to do it for himself." There is resolve in this, as if she didn't know that better than he.

Quinlys', "Yeah," is a low breath, like she's relieved that he's got something out of her words, something more concrete than her words might have originally implied. "That, and... it's a power thing. I don't know. It makes me uncomfortable." Unless it's Taikrin doing it, presumably, given her well-known adoration of that particular brownrider. "I think... that sounds reasonable. Get Olveraeth to come with, though, okay? Supervision. Olveraeth or one of the others. He can't just let the others do it for him. It just doesn't work that way."

Now Rasavyth chooses to make himself known. The ooze hugs K'zin's mind, now comfortably, like a favorite blanket. « She is only uncomfortable with power because she does not wish it. Those who do not wish for power are always uncomfortable when they receive it. It lessens, in time. Discomfort is what keeps you from doing something stupid, my K'zin. It is not a bad thing. Embrace it. » (Rasavyth to K'zin)

A glance flickers to the bronze, a tiny nod to something unspoken, and then K'zin is looking back to the Weyrlingmaster. "Yes, ma'am. We'll make sure we do." It seems that's all he's got to say aloud though his expression turns pensive. "You've given me a lot to think about. Thank you, Weyrlingmaster." He glances towards the healers making their rounds. "When do you think they'll let us back to the barracks?" Not that with his back scratched up and his thigh so bruised he'll be much good in the way of a normal weyrling for a few days yet.

This time, Quinlys manages a smile, albeit a tight-lipped one. "Any time," she says, quiet but firm. "You know where to find me." Her gaze follows his, wandering over the healers with only vague interest. "Soon, I hope," is her conclusion. "I'm not sure. U'sot only wanted to tell me about the dragons... apparently, you were less important. Guess I'd better get back to the others, but... we'll get you back and safe soon, promise. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." K'zin responds, pushing up to his feet again, prepared to salute her before her departure. "Ma'am? Would it be alright for me to send someone to get my study books?"

"That," says Quinlys, with a smile that is both abruptly bright, and absolutely genuine, "is definitely something we can accommodate. I'll get them sent back up for you, since I'm heading that way anyway." She nods for his salute, then turns on her heel, meandering out into the summer morning. There might even be a skip in her step. Maybe.

"Ma'am!" K'zin practically squeaks, but then she's gone. He sits down hard, breathing swinging into panic mode. His study books are in his press. In his press along with The Helpful Healer's How-To: Mating Guide, and all his sketch books. "Ras," He gulps. "Ask Cai?"

HOPEFULLY, Quinlys will get back to the barracks in time to meet someone, N'ky or otherwise, who has those books in hand. If not... well. She probably won't be too nosy.

Probably.

Rasavyth's tenor is amused, but there's an undercurrent of panic and urgency. It's not his panic or urgency, but identifiably K'zin's. « Cailluneth, Quinlys is on her way to my K'zin's press to retrieve his study books. Would your N'ky please do him the great favor of collecting those items from his press and meeting her with them so she has no need to see my K'zin's very creative artwork? He adds several extra pleases. I do believe you could term it begging. » Obviously, he finds this particular distress of his rider hilarious. (Rasavyth to Cailluneth)

Cailluneth responds with warm curiosity, spring green smoke brought to shimmering life by the amusement of her moonlight silver. A ripple of silver is a reflection of laughter, the pattern echoing that of N'ky's own, though there's a slight reflection of K'zin's panic edging her thoughts, as the emotion is reciprocated. A double-thudded heartbeat complies, reassurance a comforting blanket of downy white. « My heart says yours owes him. » Husky words, laced with amusement. (Cailluneth to Rasavyth)