Logs:Odd Ones
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| RL Date: 1 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, R'oan, Edyis |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Edyis stumble upon R'oan, who's holed up in High Reaches' dragon infirmary because of Lythronath. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| It has been a few hours since Fort's Weyrwoman has come and left from High Reaches, visiting their Dragon Infirmary specifically and rumor has it, forced R'oan into bed. Since then, the brownrider has woken back up, given up on the mussed and sweaty sheets of his cot to retreat into the wallow that his dragon has been placed in. He sits, leaning, against the brown's side, head hanging between his arms in a way where he could be asleep, though just as likely he is just staring at nothing. Etrevth sleeps, however uncomfortably and restlessly given the complex system of weights that keeps him from moving his wing while the stitches set and the bandages that bind them and itch his skin. It is his rider's weight that keeps him still for the most part, rumbles of discomfort catching often in his throat. There are all sorts of help in the infirmary - dragon and human both - and the laundry has its own special talents. It's with an armload of freshly-laundered towels that Farideh enters, light of step, wearing a little half-apron stuffed with other hand-towels that don't fit in her already over-burdened arms. She's humming along as she walks, completely unconcerned with the world around her, her dark head bobbing with her footfalls so that the top knot on her head bounces with each. A friendly smile for a familiar infirmary aide and then she's unloading her items on the nearest counter, to sort them before putting them in their rightful place. Her eyes skim the cavern, as large as it is, while her hands move with purpose, but they still when she spots the Fortian brownrider and his injured dragon. Wiping her hands on her apron - forgetting about her chores? - she tentatively walks towards them, wearing a wary expression. "Hi?" "What do you want," is a dry question to Farideh before the Fortian ever looks up, though he doesn't seem to place her even when he does. Grey-green eyes slide over the laundress, taking in the young woman with a hint of distraction that is rather different than the last time he did the same. Sleepless shadows still haunt under his eyes, stubble already growing light and blonde along his jaw. In essence, he doesn't look like he's gotten much sleep. "You look--" Farideh wrinkles her nose, and stops short of the wallow, staring at the man who not too long ago was at least better looking than he is now, in his sleepless state. "Horrible. What happened?" Being that she's out, delivering laundry for the day, there's little chance that she was in the laundry to hear this day's glorious gossip, trickled down from the kitchen. Her lips purse and she glances over the metal contraption on the brown. "Did he get in a fight?" Edyis slips in from the caverns, having heard the gossip from the latest greenflight. Dark eyes search out the complex system holding the wing immobile, slipping over to study the brown with dark brows knitted together. It's a few moments later that she recognizes the rider and the Laundress, but she seems hesitant to intrude, instead inching closer to look at the stitching and the damage on the wing. Hopefully without disturbing anyone. "You don't look too great yourself," R'oan counters with a drawl. About his dragon, he adds dismissively, "More like lost one." Edyis' presence as she draws closer is enough to pull on Etrevth's consciousness, starting to stir again before a frustrated roar marks him waking as he tries to readjust his wings and fails. "Fuck." The rider is springing to his feet, twisting towards his dragon to place hands against hide until Etrevth calms again, between R'oan's influence and a distant one. He doesn't see Edyis yet, though the outburst passes in a handful of seconds. "Really?" Self-conscious fingers reach up to smooth back any hairs that might have come loose, and then scrub at her face, after which a frown appears. "It's hard to get sleep with all the other candi--" Etrevth's roaring stills her tongue and has her stepping back a few paces, eyes wide. "Is he-- are we--" Farideh's expression is strained, her eyes seeping around the room until they land on Edyis, but rather than relief, there's confusion. Edyis winces as the dragon struggles, brows drawn together until deep lines show. When the pair settle, her expression softens and she glances upward at the pullies, mouthing as though counting. Finally she speaks up, moving closer to rider and laundress "Must be difficult, keeping him still when it is only the one wing injured. It doesn't look like he lost any of the membrane though." She seems relieved in that. "Lythronath?" She asks, of the rider before offering the puzzled Farideh a smile. "He can't sleep continually; has to wake up sometime, and if you've ever woken up in a strange place and unable to move--," R'oan explains in a murmur at Farideh's abandoned questions, banging his head briefly against Etrevth's side before he pushes away from his dragon as the brown calms. For a relative degree of calm, of course, as his whirling gaze slides around the infirmary, touching on both young women before the dragon lets out a soft whiney rumbling aimed to them. "You aren't going to guilt them into giving you attention, you big baby." It the rider's gaze that narrows slightly at the name of the other dragon, though he only ends up rolling a shoulder dismissively. The candidate looks from Edyis to R'oan, and then to Etrevth with a series of lines between her brows. "Does he need anything? You shouldn't speak for other people. I would be happy to give him attention." Farideh's chin lifts, her eyes challenging; it is his dragon, but even dragons have needs! Not those kinds of needs. Sort of. "Was there an accident?" she asks, this to Edyis, since she's saying names and seem to be in a much more agreeable mood than the brownrider. Edyis isn't so sure about not being guilted by the whimpering brown. "It isn't very often you get to see wing injuries, thankfully." But also not as thankfully for those interested in learning the process of mending them. She grins at Farideh, then and the rider. "I have to concur with the lady. I am easily guilt-able as Alida and Ilicaeth can attest." A beat. " It was the greenflight wasn't it?" She asks R'oan again before studying the handsome brown. "Would oiling help calm him?" How often does a guy get two women offering to oil his dragon after all? "Your dragonhealers are quite adept at providing him everything that he needs," R'oan answers to that question flatly, only to be undermined by Etrevth's encouraging rumble at Edyis' offer of oiling. He gives up with a mocking throw of his hands upwards for Etrevth, retreating back to his cot and throwing himself down on the edge carelessly to get himself out of the way. "Solith's. He got in the way of Lythronath." Etrevth punctuates the conversation with another whiney noise. "And yes, you would have won if he hadn't. Yes, of course. She wanted you to catch." A disgruntled expression settles, and even after Edyis' offer to oil the brown, Farideh doesn't look convinced enough to help after his rider's flat answer. She does give him a glare, once he's cot-bound, and blows out an annoyed breath. "Lythronath. That's that bronze with the--" except she stops, her mouth pulling into a grimace; laundry gossip, again. "How long does something like that take to heal? Or doesn't it? Will he be able to fly ever again?" Real concern manifests itself in her voice. Edyis grins at that rumble, and at the brownrider. She moves to get the buckets and paddles and brushes, rolling up her sleeves. "With the?" She asks, dark eyes directed to the laundress, moving over to start near the dragon's face. It seems a procedure she isn't unused to, though she does look carefully to make sure that there aren't other injuries to avoid. "Naturally we have the best Dragonhealers of any weyr." Personal bias possibly bleeding in. She leaves the questions of flying again and heal time to the rider. "He's a handsome brown." She purrs as much to rider as to dragon, starting to work slowly, incredibly careful not to move too suddenly or get oil anywhere where it shouldn't go. "I will leave his injuries alone." She states to R'oan. A flat groan slips from R'oan's lips as he slides a look to the all-too-pleased brown. "Don't say that. It'll go straight to his head." Etrevth doesn't seem to be other wise injured, and with the promise of oiling, he has started to still himself despite the discomfort of his wing. He answers Farideh more seriously, though it is a careless thing for the topic they discuss, "His will, as soon as the membrane mends together. Though dragonhealers haven't given me a timeframe, yet. If he'd lost enough or if his cartilage had been hit, it might be a different story. He'd be a dragon that couldn't fly, instead." "The one that's odd, the one that sat on the sands before Niahvth clutched." Slim arms cross over Farideh's chest, her lips back to pursing as she regards the injured brown. "I wouldn't want to be in a flight with him, though they say his rider is just as reckless." She studies Etrevth quietly, before turning her head to look at R'oan with uplifted eyebrows. "That easily it could happen? Does it-- happen-- often? You never hear stories about the maimed dragons, or not-- now." Not that Thread is no longer, not when there's nothing to fight, except each other. The former-scribe frowns, but she nods. "He isn't exactly a typical example of a dragon no. A'rist has to work at keeping him in check. They are out of the first clutch I stood for." There are conflicting emotions in the statement, working her way over the brown's hide with the appropriate fawning sounds. "Sometimes a little bit of an ego boost does a male good." She smiles at the brownrider. "I don't know about Fort, Cadejoth had the same thing happen though, and I believe he was out for quite a while." "This isn't the first flight injury and it won't be the last. Etrevth tends to stay out of it. Or tries to," R'oan answers, his gaze sliding to his injured dragon at his obvious failure this time. "They aren't themselves during mating flights. All the competition. Though--." He stops himself from commenting on Lythronath to these two Candidates here, but there's a thoughtful look at Farideh for the gossip the laundress provides. The brownrider's brow even curves up, inviting more. "A'rist, that's his name," her voice warm with approval, coupled with a charming smile. "They say he's just as wild as his dragon. Of course, that's just hearsay, but--" Slender shoulders lift in a shrug and Farideh heaves the smallest of sighs. "They aren't? I thought it was the riders who weren't themselves," and it's her turn to lift brows to the brownrider, in turn inviting him to elaborate more on the subject. "Enough to completely forget their scruples." "He's different too." Edyis says quietly as she oils, "He isn't wild so much as..." She struggles to find something that fits. "He has to try harder than anybody to fit in, it wears on him. He's a good sort of person though, blood painting bronze aside." She falls quiet too, dark eyes shifting back to R'oan at Farideh's question. She might smirk a little at the word scruples, it might be at Farideh's expense. Maybe. "Neither is mutually exclusive," drawls R'oan in return to Farideh's question, matching gaze for gaze with the hint of a crooked, knowing smirk there. "It's easy to forget that dragons are driven by instinct, until they get the instinct to rise and then that's all they're driven by. All we are driven by, because the riders get taken along for that ride." He adds, "You could have the calmest, most loving dragon and you throw him into a mating flight, and he will have the same needs as every other dragon there." "Painting blood?" Count Farideh as revolted by that, and she's a candidate. Her nose scrunches up and she looks at the brown, as if in a new light. "That's-- but was it worth it?" she poses to the brownrider, looking back at him, significantly curious. "It has to be if you keep doing it, or, can't you stop it? Any dragon? Anywhere? Anytime?" "Lythronath is different." Is all she repeats to Farideh, echoing it as she finishes oiling the brown with an affectionate smile. "There that should help settle you in a bit shouldn't it." She puts the implements away and wipes her hands on her apron. "I think I might have a bottle, or two of good rum stashed away too if that will help you sleep." She states to the Rider, preparing to head back out. Where Etrevth is certainly pleased with the oiling, R'oan's attention is easy to get through the offer of a bottle. He drawls lightly, a smile flashing on his lips, "I wouldn't say no to one." And perhaps if he had that bottle, Farideh's questions wouldn't already be driving to him annoyance, withdrawal and lack of sleep making a sharp edge to his words as he tells the young woman, "It doesn't really matter, does it? They do what they have to do, just like we do what we have to. And obviously not every one ends up in injuries, unless you have a different dragon chasing with the rest--." The brownrider's sharp-edged words put the candidate on the defensive, her face mirroring his annoyance in tone. "I guess it doesn't. You shouldn't waste your good rum on a stupid-idiot-like him, Edyis," Farideh announces to the other candidate, then puts her nose haughty in the air and spins on her heel, stomping out the way she came in. Those towels will have to put themselves away, or some hapless infirmary aide. The scribe sighs, watching the laundress flounce off. After she's out of earshot, "I think I can arrange to make a trip back by with one." She adds with a lift of a finger, "If you think you can manage to be on your best behavior and less cranky. Let me know if there's anything else that will help keep him settled, the more still he stays the faster it will heal." There's a wink tossed on the end before she's stepping back out into the bowl. |
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