Logs:After A'rist Gets His Bronzerider Scar
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 25 November, 2013 |
| Who: A'rist, Telavi, Treinan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After A'rist gets his Bronzerider Scar(tm), he gets stitches. Telavi's supportive... literally. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 5, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day. |
| Mentions: J'vain/Mentions, L'sha/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
    |
| J'vain is an old hand at this, even if he only has one left. J'vain has seen blood like this before, which isn't even the gouting arterial kind. Newly-summoned Telavi, though... she may have seen blood before, hers and others'-- not to mention unknown others', spilled on a ship's floor-- but she's looking pale. "Cope," the bluerider tells her anyway. "Trial by blood, ha? Ha!" and lowers his voice to mutter something else that has a note of urgency but not as much so as one might expect. Some might think this would be different, that blood-soaked strips of shirt around A'rist's leg are cause for panic, but the young bronzerider hardly seems to be aware of his injury. His eyes are on the bronze at the end of his arm, whose mental aura is intense, if contained (for now) by rider's and gold's influence. A'rist barely notices J'vain's help, and seems to see Telavi only peripherally, when first they meet. "Gotta go through the dragon infirmary," interrupts whatever it was J'vain was trying to tell his counterpart. Both assistants look back at him at that, but Telavi's the one who lifts her chin and says, "Dragon infirmary's good. We'll do that." But she smacks J'vain on the shoulder first, before the bluerider can escape to look over weyrlings who haven't had the chance to injure themselves yet. More warily, not getting very close to Lythronath at all, "Can I help you? To lean on or anything," on the side his dragon isn't? "Let's... let's go this way." Is she good for anything other than directions? Solith is, at least; Solith can and does, at her request, clear a path for others intending to cross theirs en route to the lake-- including another dragon, who informs his rider, who tells a pair of little kids who at first are very reluctant because blood! Exciting! A'rist doesn't hesitate in giving his, "Yes," acceptance to the offer of help. The arm that had been J'vain's (okay, not that arm) is held out for Telavi as the bluerider takes his leave. Lythronath steps far enough forward that he can look squarely at the weyrlingmaster, without A'rist in the way. Look's all he does, though. Well, look, and then snort hot air out at the ground. Telavi glances at her leathers, her still-unbloodied leathers, but only for a split second. Then she's taking A'rist's arm (fine, not like J'vain's was taken) and playing crutch. Her eyes slide right off Lythronath, no staring him down, though she does wave briefly: not an offered hand for him to sniff-- or bite-- but a brief up-in-the-air gesture because, "Helping. That's what we're doing. Hel-ping." Keep that in mind, dragon. From there, it's a trek, the greenrider sneaking worried peeks here and there at her charge. Her murmured references to a rock here, a muddy patch there, gradually become 'halfway there' and later 'almost there' until there's the dragon infirmary at last. "No, we need to stay out here," she tells the healer who'd drag them past where Lythronath could go, trying to project calmness. "No, we really do," she knows that much. Lythronath watches that hand, and keeps his incredulity about how helpful it is to himself. Well, and any dragon who cares to listen in - and even then it's a muffled incredulity, between the efforts of A'rist and any residual gold influence. A'rist is patient enough with her instruction at first, but toward the end starts to look a bit edgy. So when it gets to Telavi projecting calm to the healer (or, trying), he just looks at the healer and bluntly states, "Or else he'll gut everyone." The healer's series of responses is ignored; A'rist simply pushes off from Lythronath and goes about to finding a spot to sit. Though, clearly, the logic side of his brain is failing, and he just sort of... lurches over that way. There's a waft of less-than-fresh air, enough so that Telavi sniffs once, but at least Solith doesn't seem to feel the need to more overtly comment. Or maybe she's just sniffing because of the smell of the blood. "Let's not have gutting, shall w--" only she doesn't get to finish that because it's either go along with the lurching or drop A'rist on his ass, and she's not there yet. She will, however, nudge him towards where a wide-eyed apprentice is hurrying up with the stool, and if Treinan has to do an unintentionally comic dance to try and get it in the right place before A'rist lurches onward, that's just not Telavi's problem. "There. Sit." Stay. No gutting! If he does sit, and doesn't fall off, maybe the higher-ranked healer can actually get a look. Blood. Lythronath makes one big scraping step and nearly knocks that healer over. From there, it's just much too close, and scraping his displeasure out on the floor with his claws. A'rist does manage to sit, tilting the stool up onto two legs before he settles, one hand in behind him to grip the edge. And he's trying to focus again on his dragon, but there's not that same solidity of purpose there. Not now that he's not moving. "Go quick," is maybe good advice. "Please," is shaky and makes his dragon grunt. There's a squeak from Treinan, a scuttling from the journeyman before he can find his feet. Tela slews a look at Lythronath, the whites of her eyes showing all around the pupil, and shifts to stand behind the weyrling; if his hand gives way, he still shouldn't fall, not now. "Numbweed first," she calls over his shoulder, less suggesting than highly recommending. But the journeyman is loath to get too close. « He should fix it, » says Solith, simply but not exactly calmly despite her words. « It's his job. Let him do it. » Still over A'rist's shoulder, Tela more mouths than says-- something, something that has the journeyman crouching low and at least trying to get at the wound. "It was talons, I heard," Telavi says. "Dirty," the journeyman says darkly, keeping pressure on it when he's not actively looking at or working on it. "It's going to need stitches." But cleaning, first. There's the sound of small wheels, Treinan bringing over a wheeled cart. Wheels, a sound Lythronath is not familiar with. He glares, demands, « FIX IT. » Treinan all at once has a bronze dragon's teeth showing right in his face. Solith receives no thanks, no acknowledgement, for the input he's used. A'rist sort of waves a hand, at Telavi's suggestion, at Lythronath's demands, maybe at a flashing spot in his vision, who knows. "Just quick," is a recommendation. That hand waves a few times more, faster. "Pain's fine." Sort of. Perhaps it's the hand-waving that does it; none of them may ever really remember, afterward-- except in nightmarish flashbacks, especially for poor Treinan who may have wet himself while scrambling for cover-- exactly how they got to the point of A'rist being bandaged and nobody eaten. Telavi does manage to pry her hands off the weyrling's shoulders where the journeyman had instructed her to make sure he stayed still, one knuckle at a time, but she's still a little wild-eyed. "Better?" Maybe saying it out loud will make it more true. "Better." It may help that 'better' is relative. Lythronath snaps his teeth on the air where Treinan just was as the apprentice vacates, but no, the worst the healer has come to is spit. And maybe a smack or two from A'rist. The young bronzerider's hands are still now, in his lap. When Telavi starts to remove her fingers, A'rist remembers in a bit of a lurch to sit forward and support his own eight, the pantleg that was slit (for ease of access) flopping. "Good," squeaks out. Lythronath grumbles, and stays close, enough to nudge fresh stitches hard with his nose. Because that's going to make them feel much better. Telavi winces instinctively, just watching, but maybe the numbweed will take care of it; she sighs, straightens, and scrapes her palms on the sides of her trous before trying to take in what the journeyman has to say: something about sitting there for a while longer, liquids, a blanket against shock, then taking it easy, letting them know if there's puffiness or other signs of infection, so on and so forth, not even a joke about cutting the thing off to see if they're listening. Not with Lythronath around, at least. If Tela minds being sent to fetch-and-carry in Treinan's absence, what with her exalted rank and all, it doesn't particularly show; she does, however, sit down with her own blanket and her own drink-- hers is klah, and it's spiked, too-- and stay quiet for a while before she asks, "What," no, "How did it even happen?" A'rist takes the time that buys him to ease off of the stool, until he can sit with his legs stretched out before him, and inch back until his back has found a wall against which to rest. There's no resistance to the blanket when it's given him. In the silence, he sighs heavily, and closes his eyes. When Telavi speaks, the don't open. "L'sha-" starts out accusatory. He rests his fingers gently over the wound, breathes, starts over. "L'sha's green," more evehanded, "was taunting him. Couldn't get him to come down. So I blocked him." Shrug, and his head lolls off to one side as he stretches the non-injured leg. In all this, Lythronath's demeanour doesn't much change. But that could be for the best. Telavi's looking perplexed at first-- pronouns-- and then her expression doesn't so much clear as become less clouded as she glances to Lythronath instead. She's gone so far as to sit on the floor too, but with her shoulder propped against the wall so she can keep an eye on A'rist when she feels like it. "Hmm," she says at last. She doesn't say, 'Be more careful next time.' "So we'd have been bandaging her up, instead of you," if with that slight lift that invites speculation to the contrary. "Or L'sha," A'rist half-lolls, half-nods. "Green hid behind him, he figured he'd stand and be okay." The most likely source of the rider's derision echoes, « Hid. » Those fingers prod lightly around the edges of the stitches, testing. And then A'rist's eyes do open, and he turns his head to look squarely at the weyrlingmaster. "Lyn did try to stop, for me." 'Stand and be okay.' That's when Telavi starts using her palm for an eyeshade-- and then a mouth-shade, for hiding. It's a moment after he's already looking at her before she returns that gaze, and looking back would make it harder to conceal her expression if she were trying at all: the transition into something like relief... and then a different sort of worry, addition rather than replacement. For him. "That's something," but that's tentative. A'rist doesn't miss those expressions, and shifts uncomfortably, moving his injured leg cautiously while his cheeks take on an extra shade or two of red. Lythronath starts to scrape his talons, slowly. "Well," comes only after a series of facial contortions, the bronzerider undecided as to how embarrassed, guilty, or defensive he should be, "he didn't hurt anyone after. Either." And he shrugs that blanket up a bit higher over his chest, and grimaces a little, aware of that wound once more. Scraping gets Telavi's attention tracking that way instead, but it's not long before she's peeking back at the weyrling-in-a-blanket, red like he's been cooked up for dinner. "That's good too," she offers after a long moment. Tentatively still at first, but a little more rueful, "Our class had a crash too. By the lake, I don't know if that's something you'd heard about? Maybe they should put a sign up, you know, warning." So it happens. Storytime could happen, too. A'rist doesn't exactly snuggle into that blanket, but he does grab at it just at the top where it lays over his chest, and lets his head come to rest against the wall. He lets his eyes close again, lips in a grim line. "Was it a crash, or was it a charge?" She studies him, thoughtful, and the rock that he has for a pillow; her gaze slips ever so slightly out of focus, then, and she doesn't get up to find a substitute. "Both, actually," Telavi muses. "Solith and-- two of the dragonets were grappling, playing, and a third charged into the mix." So did she. "It didn't help that the ground was all slippery from the oil they'd managed to spill. Most of the blood wound up from the broken nose, though," 'the broken nose,' as though it were somehow wandering around all on its own. A'rist waits a moment after the nosey end of the story, his jaw shifting a bit, back and forth, as he processes. At length, "I do think it started out as play. He just..." There's a shrug. "Tried to talk him down, just... talking doesn't work. I don't know. It's like every time I try come at him as a person, I just bounce off." That, apparently, is reason enough tug one edge of the blanket right up over his shoulder. Lythronath clicks his claws on the ground, and starts to bob his head. There's a murmur that might be assent from Telavi, for playing, and she doesn't after all elaborate on their class' injuries; as he continues there's not even that listening noise again, just listening. That click-and-bob does get a brief look and a bit of a stifled sigh from her: more of that, really? A few more silent moments pass, thinking; this must go beyond her training. But then she wonders of A'rist, "When you get on best... when you're not trying to get him to do something or not do something, what's that like? Are you talking then?" Lythronath's noise and motion earns a longer look from A'rist, one that sticks through Telavi's thinking. When the weyrlingmaster speaks, the weyrling looks askance. "No," is direct and simple. It's only when Lythronath stops with his... things... that A'rist sighs. "Not really," is sort of a revision. And with that, he's drawing his legs up beneath the blanket, and reaching one hand back against the wall. "I think we should get to the barracks." Maybe Quinlys would demand to know what it is like. Telavi says, "Whatever it is... try to reach him that way nex-- Careful, okay?" She'd looked away on the 'try,' looked to Lythronath until the rustling alerted her; now she's getting up, enviably quickly. "They were making you up a cot," she says plainly. "For the night, so it's not jostled. Let me give you a hand." That hand, the one she offers. "That's," as he shifts up onto one leg and does an awkward stand, seeing Telavi's hand only once he's halfway there, and grabbing it nonetheless, "how come he didn't eat anyone I think." Once A'rist is balanced, the toe of the injured leg is lowered, slowly, until it touches the ground. "A cot," isn't enthusiastic, but it is at least accepting. "A quiet cot. No snoring except your own," and Tela's glance at not-eating Lythronath makes that a plural 'your,' much as her tone had nodded in the general direction of a joke. She might look a lightweight at times, but she's sturdy in supporting him, quick to adjust to changes in balance-- and not fussing about the blanket, whether he takes it with him to the cot or leaves it there; she can always come back for it. But, quieter, "Quinlys would like to know that, I'm pretty sure, that it did help. I'll be talking to the healers and then her, after I leave you. Anything... more, that you want me to pass along?" A'rist is more conscientious about using Telavi's support now than he was upon his arrival into the infirmary. With her help, and a blanket that's looking more like some sort of failed cloak, he does get there, carefully hauling his leg up onto the cot, carefully stretching it out, but not yet lying back. Lythronath stalks forward in the dragon couch, watchful eye on Telavi, talons purposefully clicking with every step. "No," A'rist denies the offer. "Nothing I can't talk about in person. When we're back." A bit more bravely, "We won't be here long anyway." "No, I don't think you will," Telavi agrees. One way or the other! If she were wearing heels, she could click those right back... but soft-soled boots don't have nearly the same effect, for all that they ease her on her way. |
Leave A Comment