Difference between revisions of "Logs:Where The Books Are"

Regan is at the table closest to the front desk with a huge book open in front of her. While the scribe on duty at the front desk is relaxed and seems to even be doodling on some scrap paper, Regan's own posture is rigid, her back held straight against the back of her chair. Her finger hovers over the book and slowly moves down the page before flicking back up to the top. Her lips keep silently mouthing the same words over and over, matching the rhythm of her finger as it goes up and down the same page.

Many books, in different sizes and shapes, fill the slim arms of High Reaches' youngest goldrider, who exits the council chambers and enters the records room, obviously with a purpose. Busy trying to keep all the books from falling to the floor, Farideh doesn't pay much attention to who or what is around, and without a glance at its occupants, drops her armload heavily onto the table nearest the front desk. "Faranth," she mutters under her breath, smoothing her hands down the front of her blouse; only then, does she look up, and immediately Regan catches her eye. "Oh," is a tad surprised, cheeks flushing, "I didn't-- sorry."

Regan is focused enough on her reading that she is blissfully unaware of Farideh's initial entrance. The drop of books, though, causes the girl to jump with surprise. The healer's arm jolts as she jumps, knocking her large book askew. The apprentice healer hastily straightens it and gently pats the tome, as if apologizing to the innocent text. She looks up at Farideh and seems to at least vaguely recognize her, prompting her to attempt a smile. "Oh! No, please. It's fine. Did you need me to move?" She glances at Farideh's pile of books and adds, "It looks important."

"Move?" Farideh's eyebrows lift in mild surprise and her cheeks retain their ruddy color. "No, of course not. You were here first and that would be terribly rude of me. It's just more studying material-- anatomy, history, ledgers, records--" She waves her hand dismissively and rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, and then gives the apprentice an inquisitive, if friendly, smile. "Are you sure I'm not going to be a bother? I don't want to-- I could go back to the council chambers," she says.

Lest Farideh's cheeks feel alone in their blushing, Regan's begin to flush as well. She shuffles her chair away from Farideh to make more room for the weyrling, but its wooden legs scrape on the stone floor and cause an unpleasant SCREECH to ring out across the quiet room. Regan's cheeks darken and her sharp posture collapses, her shoulders sinking in embarrassment. "Sorry about that." But when Farideh mentions her studies, Regan immediately perks up and her eyebrows raise with enthusiastic interest. "Anatomy? I'm reading about that myself." She gestures to her book, which is still open to the same page. It prominently features a human skeleton. "What parts are you focusing on?"

The weyrling hesitates a moment longer, and then lowers herself into the nearest chair, pulling her books closer so they aren't stacked wilynily over the table. "Oh." Farideh's smile is indulgent, her fingers flipping open the topmost book in her pile. "Dragon anatomy-- for-- well, I'm supposed to know," she replies, pressing the pads of her fingers into the pages to smooth them out over the spine. "Are you--" As her eyes settle on the apprentice's knot, her words cease, and then laughingly, "You're a healer apprentice?"

Regan's posture shifts from embarrassed to relieved as Farideh takes a seat. Now that she knows she hasn't scared the weyrling away, she returns to her rigid posture against the back of her chair--Regan's version of 'relaxed'. She follows the weyrling's gaze to her healer's knot and nods curtly. "Yes, I am. I'm posted here right now." The apprentice looks at her own studies, but she steals a glance towards Farideh's book, her hands twitching with barely restrained enthusiasm. In a deferential tone, she tentatively asks, "May I take a look at your copy?"

"Posted from the Hall? Where were you from before that?" Abruptly, Farideh giggles, and covers her mouth, sliding the records attendant staring at them disapprovingly a wide-eyed look. "Sorry. I didn't even ask your name and I'm asking you all these questions--" She sucks in a breath, and during her exhale, moves the book over to Regan. "Sure. I don't want to read it. I have to do for lessons and all that. It's useful when it comes to my dragon, but I don't particularly care to name all of the bones in the dragon skeleton or the muscles. That's what dragonhealers are for," she tacks on, leaning back against her chair and stretching her legs out.

And now those twitchy, enthusiastic hands can be released! Regan eagerly pulls over Farideh's top book, her grey eyes quickly flitting over the details on the open page. The apprentice manages to pull her attention away from the two open books, but only barely. "My family is from Crom Hold. I'm Regan. You're..." She hesitates before finishing with a hopeful, "Farideh, right? I watched you impress." The girl fidgets nervously and slips her hands back around her own book, as if it offers protection from social awkwardness. "I mean, I try to keep track of who's who." As for the comments on dragonhealing, Regan's lips twitch downward. "Yes, dragonhealers offer a very important service. I'm sure you offer a key perspective, though, in diagnostics. Since you have your connection to your dragon."

"Crom," Farideh repeats, with all of the inflection needed, "You're not far from your home, then." Her chin dips as she inclines her head in a sign of approval and affirmation. "Yes, Farideh, and did you? You chose not to stand for Niahvth's clutch?" she asks, hazels eyes curious on the other girl's face; if she notices the nervousness, the awkwardness, she doesn't comment on it, instead offering a polite smile. "I am sure you could see it that way. That they see it that way, and it's useful in that Roszadyth can tell me what or where or how it hurts, but when it comes to actually treating anything that she suffers from, I would rather an experienced dragonhealer diagnose her."

"No, not far. But my studies keep me where the books are." Regan meets Farideh's gaze, while her hand gently strokes the edges of her text. "I thought I was of more service in my craft." The apprentice smiles and gestures broadly to her own human anatomy book and Farideh's dragon anatomy. "We need those experienced healers, as you say. To help bridge this gap between human and dragon, for example." She certainly seems more at ease talking about these bones and bodies rather than home.

"Only because you're good at it? Or because you want to do it?" Farideh crosses her arms snugly over her chest, sending the healer apprentice an idle glance. "Believe me-- you don't want to get stuck doing something you're not suited to, or bored of, or-- anything that makes it miserable, really." She lends Regan one ear, and focus her gaze, meanwhile, on two weyrbrats arguing over a children's book by the shelves. "What type of healing are you specializing in, Regan?"

Regan hesitates for a moment as Farideh's question catches her off guard. "I...I want to do it. I want to do something I'm good at. And my mentors have invested a lot of effort into me by this point." Her gaze lingers on the weyrling's face while Farideh gives her career advice. She shakes her head firmly, replying, "Bored? I don't think that's a risk." She taps the skeleton page as proof. "Bodies will endlessly surprise you. Look at everything going on in this skeleton. All the different shapes, the joints. And that's just the bones." The weyrbrats earn themselves an icy glare from Regan, as if serious studies were the only valid activity in this not-so-sacred space. "I'm focusing on trauma, but also general practice. Ideally you go ages without having an emergency to deal with, so they're a good pair."

"That's good. You'll make a lovely healer I'm sure. Posted to a Hold? Treating dehydrated field workers and leg wounds, maybe even a concussion or two," Farideh says, rambling on without any genuine interest in what she's saying. "Hm? Oh, yes, well--" She makes a pretense of sweeping the anatomy drawing with her eyes, but they're moving on shortly thereafter. "That's an honorable profession. I am sure you will succeed. Regan, if you will excuse me?" And then she's up, leaving her books on the table, walking towards the shelves housing the scrolls and hides.

"Thank you. I hope I can adequately treat people wherever I'm posted." Judging from Regan's second glower at those bickering weyrbrats, though, she hopes those people will be on the older side of the age spectrum. The healer simply nods when Farideh excuses herself, and she seamlessly returns to her book. Back she goes to skimming up and down the skeleton, silently mouthing the names of each bone as she goes over it.