Logs:Following the Trail
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 10 January, 2015 |
| Who: Treinan, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros tries to locate the man he saved in the storm. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
  |
>---< 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.
>-----------------------------------------< 11D 10M 36T I10, autumn dusk >---< Two months and countless internal pep talks later, during the day when the infirmary is (theoretically) slow, V'ros hems-and-haws him way in. He hovers around the entrance for a few minutes, fidgeting in an obvious way, until he spots a hapless apprentice coming his way. "Excuse.. me, uh, I wanted to.. talk to someone who was.. here.. the night of the.. storm? When, um, Aishani.. she.." He gestures, lamely, with his hands, so he doesn't have to speak the words aloud - the night that Reaches' junior goldrider died in that unfortunately timed storm, and meanwhile, they saved plenty lives of unknown sailors. "One of the.. sailors.. he was hurt and he came here," but the apprentice is already walking away, giving the brownrider apprehensive looks over his shoulder. So, V'ros just stands there, shuffling his feet and looking around like a puppy looking for a toy. "Don't mind Gavron," says a slender, quiet voice from just behind V'ros; it belongs to a young man a few turns older than that first apprentice, and a few turns younger than V'ros himself, his dark blond hair flopping somewhat awkwardly over dark brown eyes. "He's only been posted here a little while, and he doesn't seem to like it much. You had a question about a patient of ours? I'm Senior Apprentice Treinan; I'll help you if I can." "Uh, okay," V'ros says, turning around to face the second apprentice. "Hi, Treinan, I'm.. I'm V'ros, brown Zmeyth's, and I.." He scratches the back of his head, obviously trying to find the words to use to convey his need. "I helped that night at the.. the storm, I brought a guy, back here.. they took him here, and I was trying to.. to see how I could find him. I had.. have.. some questions for him." His wary gaze skips off, then back on Treinan. "You.. wouldn't know his name? Or.. where I can find him, would you?" Treinan hesitates, finding his own uncertainty as this explanation is made. "We're not supposed to give out information on patients," he explains, drawing his hands together behind his back. "It's about privacy. But... it's not the details of his treatment you're after." His own gaze flicks around the room, rather as if he's going out of his way to make sure no one is close enough to hear. Eyes wide, as he glances back at V'ros: "You don't want to hurt him or anything? You saved him. So that would be all right." ... wouldn't it? "Hurt him? No, why would I want to.. do that." V'ros frowns, his forehead furrowing unpleasantly, and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from moving. "I just had a question.. about.. the storm. He tried to tell me that night, but with everything.." His shoulders lift and fall, as casually as he can. "Just want to talk. Nothing big. It would be alright." He stares at the apprentice intently; no shuffling or awkward blushing this time. "It would be all right," repeats Treinan, as much as if he's convincing himself as anything else; it certainly helps that V'ros seems sure. "Yes, of course it would be all right. Of course." It doesn't mean those soft-toned words have gained any volume, though, or that the young man looks any more comfortable. What it does mean is that he gestures towards the back rooms of the infirmary and then begins to trot in that direction, evidently intending V'ros to accompany him. "Healer archives are my speciality," he explains, quickly. "They're what I do most. And research. Your man shouldn't be difficult to find." An owlish blink follows the apprentice's words and his redirection to the back rooms of the infirmary. V'ros does follow, at a more sedate pace, with his shoulders hunched. "Ahh.. okay. I don't know.. his name, or how we're going to find him, but if you do.. research. He's taller than me, dark skin, dark hair.. I think he had.. brown eyes? No, they were.. kind of.. golden." His frown is back, as he thinks hard about what that particular sailor looked like, given how long ago that was. It can't be often that a non-healer is allowed access to the healer records; the glance Treinan aims in V'ros' direction, as he unlocks the door, is cautious and wary, half as if he's having second thoughts... even if the door does click open. Inside, there are the predictable rows and rows of shelves; the apprentice appears to know where he's headed, though, ultimately reaching for a stack of files. "How old? He was... on one of the ships? Any distinguishing features? Or specific injuries?" The brownrider's eyes widen, more, when he sees all the rows and rows of shelving filled with records; what's so unpredictable about medical records is anyone's guess. "Uh.. thirties? Had one of those.." V'ros hooks his finger, putting it in front of his nose. "Noses.. uh.. I didn't see any injuries, but that ship.. he was on.. it was on fire. Could have had burns. I didn't.. notice any. There was a lot going on, you know?" As serious as he is, it seems Treinan can't help himself; "What was it like? Exciting, and also terrifying? I was here in the Infirmary, of course, but it's not the same, once they're here; we just work and you don't have a moment to think or breathe. I'm," a pause, his smile wry, "not very good at trauma healing." V'ros looks startled by the turn of events. "It was.. terrifying," somberly. "I could hardly see. It was raining. Some of the ships were on fire. Ships were.. sinking, and everyone had to try to.. to see.. in the dark." He shakes his head, slowly, pitifully. "I'm in Snowdrift. We do a lot of.. search and rescue. I'm not very good at that either." He commiserates, except, he doesn't smile about it, or seem remotely sympathetic; just honest. Treinan's smile - tentative; hesitant - is one of understanding, and, it seems, equal commiseration. "I understand," he says, solemnly. "I do. Maybe... this one?" He offers the first page of the file towards the brownrider: Simiron is the name of the man in question. Thirty-four turns old, sailor out of Tillek. Admitted with minor burns and exposure, which resulted in pneumonia. Nose wrinkling, "I don't think he'll be working again; his lungs were damaged." V'ros' fingers pull the page forward, his expression eager as is eyes scan the words written down. "Tillek," he says, in astonishment and some disgust. "He's there.. I mean, he's not here, anymore, right?" His eyes lift to Treinan. "He's been back there for months," asserts Treinan, firmly. "If this is your man. I think so. I mean, it sounds like him?" He's not certain, plainly. "But even if he's not, this man, this Simiron, might know the man you're after? So it would be a start." Which is - at least a little - hopeful. "You could hunt for him at Tillek. At the... docks? Maybe? I don't know. I don't think he said what he was going to do, when he left." "Hm," is quiet, soft. "This.. it could be him, and you're right. He might know who it is if it isn't.. him." V'ros holds the page back out to the apprentice. "Thanks, for.. helping. I might have stood around for hours otherwise," finally with a hint of a smile surfacing. "Hope it won't bring you any trouble." Treinan accepts the page back with what could almost be described as reverence; it gets slid back into the file, the file then carefully put back in its rightful place. It's only once he has completed this task that he turns his attention back on to V'ros. "You're welcome," is prompt. "I'll... tell them it was research for my journeyman project, if I have to." It's a bold statement, one that immediately brings a flush to his cheeks; clearly, lying is not one of Treinan's skills. "Good... luck? With finding him." "Yeah, thanks. If you.. ever need anything.. for your project?" The dragonrider just lets that hang in the air, and gives the apprentice a short nod of continued gratitude. Then, V'ros turns on his heel, giving the room one last skeptical look, before he moseys his way on out. He has what he came for, and another piece of the puzzle. |
Leave A Comment