Difference between revisions of "Logs:Necessary Acquaintance"

Tess hasn't had a chance to look at the notes as she pulls the folder off the reception desk and heads towards the next alcove, nodding to the infirmary aide raising her voice to follow the healer as she makes her approach and steps behind the curtain. The folder is open and lifted high enough that she can read them as she launches into, "Sorry for the wait... R'oan," she fills in the name from the paperwork, not yet having glanced up, "Things have been a bit mad today." Then she looks, and stumbles, just a touch, the recognition in her eyes only briefly before she adopts a pleasant smile for her patient.

R'oan isn't here by choice; or maybe he is, because it isn't as if there is a wingsecond hovering over his shoulder to make sure that he's in the Infirmary today. It is clear by the way his hand is swollen and held without flexing that he couldn't get onto Etrevth for drills or sweeps even if he wanted, long past the point of when he should have had it looked at. (Though, thankfully, not to the point where he might lose it.) A soft "mm" is all that slips past his lips in response, the brownrider remaining silent and smileless as grey-green eyes meet hers.

The healer takes a small breath as she meets his eyes, briefly betraying an unnerved look, before she buries it beneath something tranquil and comes to where he is. Tess should take the rolling stool that's there for the healers, but instead she stops close to him. "The hand?" is asked, though already she's reaching for it, her touch gentle. "You should've come sooner," is soft, not scolding but apologetic; the words, at least, are nothing he surely didn't know. "It's broken," she tells him without having to examine it, because of course she already did.

A jerk of R'oan's chin serves as a nod at Tess' question, that silence persisting in what can only be called a foul mood lingering over sharp features and the way the brownrider holds himself, sitting straight on his cot. "I wouldn't be here now, if I could use it," he says flatly, unflinching as the Healer reaches for his hand.

She's quiet as she makes inspection of the way his hand has swollen. "Well, the good news is you'll be able to use it, once we get the swelling down and once the initial break is healed." Tess sounds sure of herself. "I'll be back," is offered before Tess vanishes through the curtain only to return a short time later with a bowl of ice and some towels. Evidently the swelling is the first priority.

A dry hum of acknowledgement slips past R'oan's lips for Tess' reassurance, rather reserved for someone who has just been told that he won't be losing his hand. Without anything more substantial to add, it is only his narrow gaze that slides after Tess as she leaves and then again catching on her as she returns. He doesn't make the move to put his hand in that bowl; if that is where it should be, then the Healer will have to put it there.

The healer moves to place the ice onto the tray usually used for meals and place that on the cot beside the brownrider. Then she gently wraps his hand in a towel before, yes, shifting it into the ice, carefully placing it and placing ice overtop of the towel - a layer of cloth to protect his fingers from other things that might threaten to see him fingerless. Only after does she finally take the stool intended for healers, though Tess walks it close enough that their knees are nearly touching (though not quite) and so she can readily check the progress of the hand. "Now we wait," she tells him simply.

"My favorite part," is the dry acknowledgement that slips past R'oan's lips, the sulky brownrider breaking his silence only as Tess settles directly in front of him. His gaze slides over the Healer before it is drawn to the crack between the curtain and the rest of the Infirmary, as if expecting to see someone else there despite there being not much to see.

Tess can't help herself. She's quiet an admirable length of time. After some moments, she cants her head just slightly, perhaps trying to draw his eye back with movement, and asks, "Are you always so stubborn? Or is it that you enjoy pain, perhaps?" She's under no illusion about his being in some, given the swelling.

Movement does draw back grey-green eyes, narrowing onto Tess at her questions, but they only draw the hint of a crook to the corner of R'oan's mouth before he counters, "Which do you think it is?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," Tess answer, her lips softening just enough to take her expression from professional to almost shy flirtation.

R'oan doesn't offer much of a reaction to whether Tess is right or not, only the bare curve of his brows upwards before he shrugs a dismissive shoulder. The one attached to his injured hand, unfortunately, before he stills it in the water again. "Or maybe it's something else," he suggests.

Tess shifts forward on the pretense of checking his hand is positioned well in the ice and that the towel still wraps it well enough to protect his skin, bringing her face and exposed neck into personal (not professional) range while she does. She affects an idle tone of distraction as she queries, "Would you like me to try to find out?" The flick of her glance up at him is far too innocent to be trusted.

"No," drawls R'oan to that (even if his gaze dips down there while she leans forward). "We'd need to know each other for you to try."

"And you don't want that?" Tess asks with curiosity as she straightens, getting out of his space. "To know one another?"

"Isn't that already the case?" is what R'oan counters back with dry amusement.

Tess arches a brow, lips pressing together into a smile, possibly in spite of of herself for a moment later she's looking down at her lap, clearing her throat and schooling her expression. "As it happens, we've never been properly introduced," the healer points out looking up at the older man.

The slide of R'oan's gaze over Tess meets a smile with reservation, only taking in the younger woman as he agrees, "No. We haven't." And it doesn't seem as if he's going to introduce himself now, either.

"I'm Tess," the healer dares make the offer. Evidently she would like to know him, or perhaps would simply like to be known by him.

"It doesn't matter," is not a very encouraging reply to someone's introduction, even as the brownrider's fingers lift to slide against Tess' jaw, the first attempt at contact there that brings the crook of a smile, finally. "We both know how that'd end, anyways. You're probably smarter, going with the whole not knowing me thing."

Tess leans into his touch just slightly, so she can lean toward him, to murmur, "Maybe you haven't noticed, Etrevth's lifemate," since she still 'doesn't know his name,' "but I like to play games. I thought," she tilts her chin just out of his fingers - but still close, a challenge of sorts, "that you did, too. Was I wrong? Maybe you're too old for that sort of thing?" The last is definitely a tease, cheeky smile appearing complete with dimples to reinforce it.

This, too, might be a game in the way R'oan's fingers reach for Tess, but this time they firmly curl against her chin to draw her closer for a kiss, despite the noise and movement of other Healers just outside their curtained cot. It won't be a quick thing, either, but rather a skilled, thorough ravishing of her lips by his.

There's reticence in Tess' lips and a small squeak of surprise (not protest) that is quickly silenced between her own efforts to do so and the contact of their mouths when they meet. Her reticence is overcome by the skill of his kiss. When the kiss breaks, she looks up at him through her lashes. "You're awfully forward, stranger," the healer murmurs, before leaning to press her own kiss back, though intended to be briefer and end with her rising and moving away from where he sits, out of arm's reach.

"Afraid someone's going to see?" challenges R'oan back as she slips away, allowing that rather than abandoning the ice and his cot. "Or hear you?" That last is added like a promise, that of course what he would do would illicit noise from the healer, as his gaze follows her.

"Yes, but doesn't that make it all the more exciting of a game?" Tess queries, her hands folding behind her back, as if to reinforce that she's currently keeping her hands to herself. "Higher stakes," she adds. There's a moment and then, "But real stakes, R'oan," his name is used because this part isn't so much a game. "I love my family. I'm willing to let them keep the illusion that I might one day do what they wish of me, which requires my virtue intact." Though clearly it's not. "I will ask you to help me maintain the illusion, to play high stakes games with me, if that's what you wish."

There's a challenge in the gaze that R'oan levels on Tess as she folds her hands away, before he tells her dryly, "And if I don't?" A pause as some darker thoughts flicker through his gaze, his lips drawing into the hint of a frown. "You're just a warm body, darling. Nothing more. Your stakes mean nothing to me."

"Then, darling, we may have to limit the games we play," Tess answers back, unfazed by his words, moving closer now, once again to 'check his hand', and you know, whisper in his ear, "Don't pretend you haven't thought about having me again," she knows better, or thinks she does.

"So have you," counters R'oan to that accusation, reaching to pull the tie of her apron with slow, purposeful intent as he turns his head to watch her even as she checks on his hand. And the way he watches her, it is a suggestive thing yet patient, a challenge there in grey-green eyes.

"Many times," Tess doesn't have a problem admitting that the smile she gives him salacious. She doesn't reach to stop him with the tie of her apron, and it does seem she's actually checking on his hand this time because she spends a studious moment looking at the flesh under the towel, the swelling reduced some, but evidently not as much as she'd like for she only replaces the towel. "But if you want me to act on those thoughts, you're going to have to find a way to care about my stakes." That much is simply said. She'll even flash him another smile, this one seductive, "I would so love if you could summon the effort from somewhere." His secret reserve of giving-a-shits, maybe~

The apron tie is undone, though once it is, R'oan only reaches further to hook his fingers against the waistband of her pants. "Sorry, love," is drawled in answer to that, the brownrider meeting smile with the challenge of his gaze. "You're going to find a way not to give a shit on your end."

"Oh, darling," Tess sighs, leaning to kiss him, but lightly now, sadly. "If only a warm body were worth severing ties with my entire family," which it's not. Imagine that! She shifts with the intention to sit back down on her stool and reach to re-tie her apron.

"Suit yourself," R'oan agrees, as if he's not the one here that made any decision. But as she sits back down, his patient apparently breaks for keeping his fingers still in that bowl, drawing them out even as he starts to push to his feet from the cot. "Someone else can look at this."

"R'oan," is soft, "I'm a healer. A good one. Please let me at least do this?" Tess looks up at him and her expression isn't a mask of game-playing but something honest, even a little vulnerable and soft.

If that manages to earn some sympathy from the brownrider, some buried shits given, R'oan only answers her with a flat, "Make it quick." That is all that he will allow, not returning to the cot or the bowl, but rather waiting right where he stands for her to do whatever she might need to do. (Hopefully his fingers have stopped swelling far enough.)

Tess reaches for his hand to take in how much the swelling has reduced (substantially). "If you want it to heal, you need to keep the swelling down," she tells him the facts as she moves to pull a few supplies from the cabinet. "If you need ice, you can get it here. You should keep your hand elevated whenever you can," all simple things, but decidedly delivered as healerly instruction. "The longer you don't, the longer it doesn't heal, the longer it swells and the more likely it is you lose your hand the next time you come in." She adds as she splints the finger and then wraps the affected finger buddy-buddy to the next finger over. "If you change your mind, for any reason..." she succinctly explains where her room is situated.

"I'll let you know," drawls R'oan in response, though whether it is likely or not isn't given much expression as he tests those splinted fingers on first instinct. He didn't seem to pay much attention to her instructions, that impatience spilling over to distraction.

That's apparently it, for Tess is ducking her chin and moving to exit the curtained area. There are probably other patients waiting for her.