Logs:Checking Out
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| RL Date: 20 June, 2014 |
| Who: Oliwer, Tayte |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Tayte miscarries for a second time. Oliwer happens to be on duty when she wants to go home. It shouldn't be a problem that the baby might've been his, right? |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: G'laer/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Miscarriage. Angst. Talk of violence. Altcestuous talk. Back-dated. |
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| Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients. About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
It's not a terribly long wait, as these things go. Oliwer is in a sedately cheerful sort of mood, the sort that suggests he's not fully prepared to find who he finds on the other side of the curtain he steps through. The surprise makes him pause, staring dumbly for several seconds before clearing his throat and plastering on a pleasant smile. "Tayte. You're-- you're the, uh..." His voice trails off lamely and he tries again. "I was told you're wanting to get out of here?" Tayte's eyes were on the curtain, expectantly, so she misses none of what goes on on Oliwer's face. Of course, she wasn't expecting him either. On her face there's visible surprise, and a flush and already there are mutinous tears escaping a couple at a time. Shit. "Oliwer. Where's-?" Does she even know the name of the last healer on shift? "Gone for the day. I can find someone else, though. If you'd be more comfortable. With someone else." Would he be more comfortable with that? It doesn't matter. He's the healer, not the patient. Oliwer glances down at the chart he had in hand when he came in. Surely, he was already aware of her reason for being here, but it's easier to pretend to read that than have to see any of her tears. She bites her lower lip. The tears steal silently down her cheeks. "No, it's fine." Is it? Tayte's voice is tight, even a little squeaky by the last word. Again she bites her lip. But the words steal out of her anyway. "I'm sorry, Oli." Those words seem to be fueled by the tears that start to roll down a little faster now as her shoulders shake. Does he know why she was here? Has he put it together? "Sorry?" That has Oliwer looking up at Tayte again, expression earnest but strangely unreadable otherwise. His feet are moving to draw him closer and he gestures at the edge of the cot in silent request to join her. "You never need to apologize for something like this. Not to anyone. It's not your fault." Tayte's lower lip quivers, but there's a nod for him to come, if he likes. Her eyes follow him, and then very quietly, "But he might have been yours." Nevermind that she has no idea if Oliwer even wanted children. Guilt comes naturally to the custodian of life, even if it oughtn't. The healer sits, reaching with the intention of gently drawing one of Tayte's hands into both of his. His smile is small but kind. "They might have been," he admits, glancing down at her hand and clearing his throat before he continues. "Even so." It's still not her fault. "Are you okay?" He probably means emotionally more than physically. "No," Tayte admits. "I've killed as many children as I've brought into the world. Only half of those have been of certain parentage." And now the rest comes with a rush of tears. "And I wasn't supposed to tell you. You weren't ever supposed to know. And you'll tell him like you told him before, and now I'm not pregnant and he'll kill me for sure." Thankfully, Tayte's words are a little garbled because of the sobs and she's not speaking overly loudly anyway, or they might get concerned company. Maybe Tayte doesn't even care if he does kill her at this point; she looks broken anyway. It would be a lot easier for Oliwer to remain in comfort mode if something, possibly several things, Tayte says didn't strike him so sharply. It snuffs the warmness out of his expression and, in its place, is a pale, nauseated discord of incredulity and certainty. "Tayte." His voice is firm, now, if not quite demanding. He doesn't want to believe it. But he can't not. "Oh, Tayte. I'm so sorry." It's not nearly enough, judging by the pained lilt of his voice. "What did he do?" The blonde just shakes her head. Maybe it's because the tears have become too much for words, or maybe she's too afraid to give him the details. Tayte does manage to get out, "He let me go because of the baby. Because it might've been yours. I'd only just found out," though it takes time for those words to make it as they're broken up between when she's sobbing and when she can speak. Whether that's the truth or not, Oliwer believes her. He needs to, perhaps. But it doesn't change the fact that G'laer visited her in the first place (the second place?), and that weighs heavily on his mind. The healer does his best to be comforting now that the shock has settled into his own uncomfortable thoughts, and words aren't coming easily. "It will be okay, dearheart," is what he manages. There's an awful lot more crying. But eventually it subsides into sniffles. "May I go home?" Tayte asks the Nice Man meekly. "Of course. Yes. Only," says Oliwer, wanting to oblige the poor woman but still clearly somewhat worried. "Would you mind terribly if I send my firelizard with you? To keep an eye on you and let me know if you need... anything." Like a rescue crew. "He's quite well-behaved." "I'm going to ask K'del if I can stay with him a few days before going back to the dorms." Gossip be damned. Tayte answers as she uses the sheet covering her lap to dab at her eyes. "I don't know how he or Cadejoth would feel about your blue hanging around. So probably best not." And then, "And it might just make him angrier. He'll be angry that you know. That you saw me here." For just a moment Tayte sounds much younger than she is in her fear. She draws the sheet back up to her eyes again, holding it there a long moment before letting it slip back down to her lap. "Oh. No. No, I'm glad to hear that you'll be staying with someone." Especially someone as high profile as the Weyrleader. "Very glad. It's a relief. I would have offered myself," but that would have been a lot more awkward than G'laer finding out the firelizard was hanging around Tayte. "I don't know if I can not say something to him, though. It's not right for him to make you afraid like this. I'm so sorry." Oliwer has said that already, but he'd probably like to say it a lot more. If Tayte had any blood left in her face, she might blush as she relates, "He's my daughter's father," which she quickly amends with, "Adopted." Only those words seem to only be giving her panicked mind time to think. "But if you talk to him..." She can't finish. Look what happened last time. Oliwer has a brief smile for mention of the Weyrleader's relationship with her daughter. He focuses on the man more personally connected to him, though. The one she's staying with the Weyrleader out of fear of. "Did he hurt you?" It's clear that Tayte doesn't want to tell him from the way she bites her lip and twists the sheets between her hands. Is that answer enough? After a moment she nods just a little tiny bit. "Can I go home now?" It's asked so softly. Maybe she feels as though this has become more interrogation than discharge interview. It really has become more of an interrogation than discharge interview. But Oliwer is, fortunately for her, not a very good interrogator. The nod itself is enough for him and he returns one of his own when she asks if she can go home. "Of course." The healer smiles. It's a weak echo of his usual smile. He seems to want to say more, but instead he simply rises. It's going to be a damned long shift. "Oliwer," Tayte addresses him as he rises. It looks like she wants to say something more, maybe apologize again. but after a bitten-lip moment she simply asks, "Could you find someone - preferably a little larger - to walk me to my room to get my things and then over to the Weyrleader's weyr?" He pauses to look back at her and there's only a moment of thought before Oliwer is offering a nod. "Of course. I think I know just the man. Let me see if he's free and I'll send him back." Another smile flickers in and out of existence before he's heading out to see if the young man he's noticed entirely too often in the dragon infirmary is there today. |
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