Difference between revisions of "Logs:Setbacks; Progressions"

It's her turn to play 'dragon nurse,' and - as always - Alida is a little ahead of time on the schedule, a sound and affectionate slap given to Ilicaeth's neck before the craggy blue leaves his rider behind in favor of a perch somewhere above the dragonhealing complex. As the braided and bunned blonde enters the complex, she sheds her outer wear, leaving it on a peg, and finally stepping smartly along until she reaches the 'front desk' to check in.

Poor Dathath's been here, back here, for a couple hours now. He gives a dingy-eyed look at Ilicaeth's rider as she comes in, less yellow now than it had been, and even his headknobs have a bit of droop to them. C'thoun is slumped in a chair next to him, his head in his hands. Leova lifts amber eyes, yellow in a non-draconic way. "Afternoon," is only half a grunt. "Ready to," here comes the technical term, "diagnose?"

Oh boy...Dathath. Alida looks both concerned and yet slightly humored (after her clear green gaze shows her nothing *horrible* is wrong with the old brown) at the sight of the dragon, the blonde looking over quickly to Leova, then murmuring, "Back atcha'..." just before she nods with only a fractional hint of uncertainty, then cants her head a little towards the brownpair in unvoiced question: them?

"Aye." Leova gives her that one-cornered smile. "Wash up and," she gestures. All Alida's. C'thoun, meanwhile, hasn't moved. He has muttered, is still, fits and quiet spurts. Dathath's favoring his leg, but not his hindleg, one foreleg braced on the other so his wrapped-up forepaw is off the ground.

"Yep..." is all Alida murmurs with a faint, likewise one-sided smirk-smile to Leova, the same darker humor flashing in green eyes as they meet ambers for a moment...the blonde then turning towards her work of washing up, first. A bare minute later, she's toweling hands and arms off, straightening up. She's nearly-always been confident in her approach and treatments, and today is no different from the norm, the woman pacing over towards the brownpair, and murmuring what might seem a non-polite, "Heya, Fart... Droopy. How 'bout we do another check-over now, see where things stand?" Though her features are schooled to neutrality, the bluerider's tone is touched with hints of a certain easy comraderie, deft fingers seeking to grip the old man's forearm lightly before they transfer themselves to whatever patch of Dathath's hide is nearest. NOT his wrapped-up forepaw. Not yet.

The brownrider doesn't look up right away, but apparently they have forged the sort of relationship where he doesn't take offense. His mouth wavers, almost a smile, when she touches his arm. "Hey, Chalker. Been checked. Stupid accident." Which is where Leova, shadowing Alida from a couple paces' distance, interjects: "S'what you get, turning yourself into a training tool. Patience." Man and dragon sigh simultaneously. "Fine." Dathath's hide feels normal enough, though he could use an oiling in the next day or two. Not hot. Not clammy.

There's an acknowledging grunt of returned (and accepted) greeting from Alida at her 'nickname,' the woman first nodding at C'thoun, then glancing only partially back over her shoulder to offer Leova a faint smirk. Back to the man is murmured, "They tell me the same thing: patience. See what patience gets me?" An airy little wave of hand at the man and his brown - her voice drab in its spare humor - presages that hand settling upon the dragon's hide, and soon the guard's clinical inquiry, "Okay... Tell me how yer" (the plural, since riders' and dragons' mind overlap) "feeling, right now. Any pain..." (she manages to say this with a straight face) "...swelling? Discomfort?" That searching hand (and green eyes) slide upward from C'thoun to fixate first on Dathath's pinwheeling yellow eyes, then slip again to his hide as the bluie moves to gauge the springiness of said hide as her hand slides closer, closer towards the bandaged paw.

He doesn't chuckle exactly, but his grunt approaches that quality. That, and melancholy. "It was the stupidest thing," C'thoun says. "Feeling stupid, that's what I am, what do you think?" Dathath watches the movement, eyes more brownish-yellowish than truly yellow, and sighs unhappily but permits the approach. Or touch, if Alida should go that far. The bandage is something of a giveaway, and that pad of ice draped across it. "Hurts him to move, shells. Thought we were done needing the queens." For calming.

By now, all Alida does is flick her eyes temporarily over to C'thoun when he speaks between points as she gauges Dathath's condition and mood, the blonde shrugging a little at the man's unhappiness. She knows how *she'd* feel, so there's no want to acknowledge such. For now, all the bluie does is drift the lightest ghost-touch over those bandages - more assessing the injury with her other senses - and making note of the ice pad within wrappings. A very gentle patting of the wrist above the 'owie' ensues (if the brown allows), and Alida looks up again directly into Dathath's eyes as she states with calm firmness, "I'm going to check this out, now. I'll be careful." Promise. Even if the brown doesn't remember the perhaps odd tenderness (and stubborn intractibility) of her care, his rider hopefully does. If she gets to the proper point, the bandage is gently spread, the pack slowly lifted, and the condition of the hide beneath judged first. Even though dragon hide is thick, it too can be subject to frostnip.

There's a low whine of discomfort at the movement but no signs of frostbite, so probably the icepack's been changed: time on, time off. The brown's hide is scraped beneath the protective cloth, slick and shiny with an unguent that smells of numbweed and a few other things, shiny also with swelling. No ichor. Dathath watches her closely, nigh as closely as Leova does, the latter observing with arms crossed against interference. C'thoun's muttering again, something about listening to her, she is being careful, it's going to be all right.

« Yer gonna be fine... » Ilicaeth firmly, helpfully supports his rider's careful examination, the blue's parched, gritty baritone a puff of mica-laden dust just under the brown's 'front door.' Hello there. "Lookin' good, so far..." Alida's easy alto reassures both dragon and man, her pale head unconsciously bobbing once as she finds what she'd thought to beneath that bandage. "How'd..." No; wait. That would be folly with these two, in their current mood...especially with what Alida's already heard from C'thoun and Leova. Instead, she shifts tack to, "When did this happen, exactly? Landing or take-off, 'r...?" As she inquires, those deft hands pluck away more bandage, and very lightly press fingers at the nearest joint within that paw where wrist meets paw. Is it *here*?

Dathath supposes he is, but he's all groans and complaints that his rider's attitude can't help exactly. It might approach being contagious, if Ilicaeth's minded to listen that long. "Landing," C'thoun mumbles. "It had to be landing. We thought we had it so good, we knew it was healing an' still had to be careful, we," yes. That hurts. Dathath projects to everyone how it is not good, despite the numbweed and the queen-calming and the lightness of the touch. Even Leova's looking like her stomach's turned, a hiss of a zap Vrianth's follow-up protectiveness. The brown groans.

"Yep..." is all Alida allows to C'thoun's mumble, while inwardly adjusting her assessment of the injury. Compression by all of the brown's weight and perhaps twist by motion during the landing, given his favoring of the formerly broken rear leg. Ilicaeth's listening to keep the brown's mind on him and off the prodding of his fresh injury, the blue silently indulging the non-stop complaining...until that pain hits him through even their light link. Ouch. As soon as the blue echos such (and Vrianth's 'zappy' warning) to his rider, Alida's instantly withdrawing her touch, her mouth twisting a little in a faint wince. It's nothing compared to some of the hurts she's bourne up under before, but she's no dragon...and definitely not Dathath. And so, her plan of very gentle and cautious flexion of that paw goes right out the door, the blonde instead very gingerly checking the numbweed and herb slathering, then cautiously re-settling ice pack before re-wrapping the paw. She'll not spare any words during the time she's busy being extra cautious about not paining the brown, her green eyes intent on the injury the whole time, as well. Once done, there's a brief sigh, and then 'lida rises slowly, pursing her lips and looking between brown and Leova. "Strain...sprain..." is noted conservatively, with only a vague hint of questioning. "Can't assess it further, right now." Due to the pain and 'tenderness' of the subject.

"I could have told you that," C'thoun complains. Leova laughs, quiet, low. "Good on you for holding back," she tells the brownrider, as though he'd done it on purpose. "We'll change out the ice after a bit, give him a breather. Now," the rewrapping must pass muster, for she moves into quizzing Alida: strains. Sprains. The difference. What they do for each. What the prognosis is. Paws versus legs, forelimbs versus hind. C'thoun, who's heard this before, is starting to look dejected again with a mutter about how they'd been so close, so close.

Alida, who seems about to inject a tart rejoinder to C'thoun's 'wailings,' merely rolls her eyes a little as she keeps those greens studiously upon Leova as the other woman checks the blonde's work. It's sound. With the quizzing come sure answers from the ex-guard, her tone low and even, factual, a mix of textbook *and* a growing body of actual experience. Added with a little leftover empathy is the bluie's sighed-out, "Wrist joint's always a little more vulnerable. Any joint, really, but that one bears more balance an' weight on one critical point." At least 'palm' and digits can spread out the load, though the latter are more slender. And, while the man grumbles about his and his brown's circumstances, Alida's... Well, she's keeping as composed of a face as she can, and moving to wipe her hands off on a nearby towel, then returning to the brown. Perhaps uncharacteristically, one slightly-numbed hand's fingers reach out, stroke the old and surly Dathath upon one of his shoulders, the woman murmuring something nearly impossible to overhear before she turns away towards C'thoun. "I know y' heard it all before...but he'll be fine. *IF* ya don't push it anymore." Imagine *her* telling someone else to be patient. Still, Alida seems genuinely concerned for her charge(es), though such is heavily veiled behind her usual impassive demeanor. A small shrug sees her turning to face her 'boss' again. She's done, right?

C'thoun mutters. If. If. But he's clearly reassured by Alida's approach to things, and if he'll need reminders here and there through the remainder of her shift, he'll also make a trip to the kitchen later on to bring back something good by way of thanks. "We'd better. Ain't a whole lot more to go wrong." If the dragonhealer, make that the dragonhealerss know better, Leova at least doesn't say. Instead, she accompanies the other woman to the sink for more cleaning. Low-voiced, so the brownrider won't hear, "What do you make of where he's at? C'thoun, not Dathath." Then, speculative, "Would you recommend a move to Sleet?" Long-term. More than now.

Well, at least the hard-headed old guff *is* listening. Maybe this sprain has shocked him enough to quit chancing his lifemate's mobility with his own wants. During the rest of her shift, Alida always takes a bit of extra time to not only re-check the icing, but to actually chat with the brownpair whenever possible for just a moment or two. And for Leova? There's a quick flare of deeply-etched caution with green eyes, and then a moment or two of pause before she murmurs a soft, "Not yet." Beat. "Let this little fuck-up simmer in 'is mind. Let *him* make the choice...if 'e will. Better a willing transfer than an order...'specially to a proud pair like *them*." A quick glance to the settling pair presages the blonde's slightly terse, "But 'is Wingleader, 'second oughta' keep an eye on 'em both...just in case. If 'e starts pushin' Dathath too much again... then the dragonhealers take it up with 'is 'leader."

"We'll do that, aye," the older dragonhealer reassures, comfortable in her square stance. Quiet in her voice. Aware of Alida's reactions, not just her observations. "Something to consider, too." She lays it out there calmly, that other consideration, teaching. "We wouldn't take it at face value, necessarily, if he'd been all 'my dragon's fault,' 'he just got a wild hair,' that sort of thing. Wouldn't take this that way, either, that it's all C'thoun's. Or most, even. Sounds like what he's doing is more taking responsibility, for the pair of 'em, rather than 'he started it' or a real true 'I pushed him'... much as he might think it in the moment after what went wrong. They're a team, hm?" They're a team, too, says the smile of one dragonhealer for the other. "Hard to say what was any old accident and what was real risk. Vrianth looked into it," as Vrianth does, "but if we hadn't neither of us wanted to look, we'd have booted it higher than it needed to go. You get me?"

That caution is back in the younger woman's eyes again, but veiled, much like her reactions are enough times, to Leova's teaching words, though the blonde nods once to the first 'words of business' from the greenrider. After a moment to further digest, there's a quiet answer of "I'll remember that." Statement of fact, as if Alida's already taken it to heart and is currently mulling through this true partnership between human and dragon from a slightly different perspective, for once. Outside, Ilicaeth huffs lightly, his scouring sands lightly scuffing the fringes of his rider's mind. See, he told her so. At least she's *finally* admitting it...now that another *human* said such. Snort.