Logs:Past & Present
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| RL Date: 30 March, 2015 |
| Who: C'stian, Tess |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Castian and Tess met a long time ago and were friends. They grew up and apart, and now find themselves once more in the same place. |
| Where: Healer Hall and Infirmary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 5, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Bymarin/Mentions, Calia/Mentions, Donal/Mentions, Gussarel/Mentions, Gustel/Mentions, Kaila/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Milataeri/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Nala/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: History snippets to hash out how their friendship started and continued, etc., for a base for how things are now. Many thanks to C'stian for being up for this! I had a blast. :D |
| Castian: 13 turns old, Tess: 12 turns old It was a regrettably gloomy spring day when Tess arrived at Healer Hall. The Fortian green who brought her didn't stay, and after she had presented her letter from the sponsoring journeyman and taken all the necessary administrative steps to receive the apprentice knot, not yet frayed or marred with stains, she was delivered into Castian's care. At twelve, she's all bones, bright hair in well-tended fancy braids down either side of her head that survived the flight well, and brimming with excitement. She doesn't say anything beyond the usual pleasantries until the Journeyman making the introductions is gone, then her face explodes into a smile. "Castian, I want you to show me everything." It's both request and demand born of the enthusiasm that is so obvious. The elder apprentice is hardly much older than Tess is, though his mannerisms suggest that the Hall is his /home/ in every way that matters. He's comfortable here, among the various trappings of the Healer's art. Indeed, he was even interrupted in copying some of his mother's herbology notes, and the charcoal is still on his thumb. He hardly notices as he rubs at his forehead, leaving a smudge, and offers Tess a slightly exasperated look. "I can't show you /everything/," he points out. "There are rooms I'm not even allowed in!" There's no ire in his tone, however... just the habit of someone who's used to speaking to at least one very /literal/ instructor. Tess's blonde brows rise, her lips pressed with a slightly disbelieving downtilt at the edges, but one dramatic sigh later and she saying, "Fine, fine, then everything you can show me. I want to know everything. Well, that I'm allowed to know," but the cheeky edge to the close-lipped smile suggests she wants to know everything she's not allowed to know, too. "And before I'm done here, we can probably find ways into all those rooms. If you like. If you're adventurous enough. Are you?" Then abruptly, curiously, "Are you from here?" "I never said I didn't already /know/ ways into all those rooms," Castian points out, the edge of his mouth twitching slightly upwards. The girl's perky; on another day, he might have been annoyed by her chipper attitude, but he seems to be taking it in stride today. "I just said I'm not /allowed/ in some of them. And yes, I'm from here; my mother is Healer Calia. You'll probably learn herb-lore from her." The first remark earns a bright, surprised smile. "Mysterious," Tess decides, "I like it. I like you. Can we be friends?" Chipper, she certainly is and decidedly more forward than any well-bred girl has a right to be. "Healer Calia, herb lore, your mother." She repeats the trio of facts in a way that suggests she's committing them to memory. Castian regards the girl curiously, as if trying to figure out where she would be filed. He's thirteen, after all: girls are often fascinating, but equally often completely incomprehensible. "Uhm. So, we might as well start with the herb garden, since it's pretty important and it's a chore that gets assigned pretty often. Did you do any gardening at wherever you're from?" This is presumably meant to be a polite opening for her to explain where she's from; Castian's idea of 'polite' may be a little blunt. Tess considers him with a shrewd (for a twelve turn old) look, "That is not a yes," she points out, "but don't worry," flippantly, "it will be. I can feel it." Then the matter of friendship is dismissed, since it's already a done deal, in her mind anyway. "The herb garden. Is it very large? Lots of plants? I can't imagine it's not." She manages to cease her babble there, though the restraint she exercises is obvious. "I never have. I've probably destroyed more plants than helped them grow. My mother is always on me for ruining my dresses when I rough-house with Gus," which doesn't really answer the question he didn't actually ask. "I'm not always great at friends," Castian finally admits, rubbing his nose and leaving another smudge of charcoal. "Healer Nolan says that it's because I am..." He draws himself up and puffs out his chest, clearly imitating someone, and adds in a stuffy tone, "'...socially challenged, due to growing up within a sheltered scholarly environment.'" He slumps back into his own natural position and adds, "In other words, when I was little, there weren't enough other kids around to play with, so I'm sometimes better at studying than friends." The obvious impression makes Tess laugh brightly. "Well, I happen to like studying and being friends, although I haven't done much of the former, beyond reading every book they couldn't keep me from getting my hands on. I didn't care for the romances the river runners kept on their boats, but-" She shrugs. Can't win them all! "And I don't mind if you're not always great at being friends. My brother says I'm like tree sap. One touch and you're never rid of me." Isn't that complimentary? She says it with a bold grin though, so she must be proud of it. "Huh. I guess that means you get in people's hair," Castian remarks dryly, though he grins as he says it. Look! A pun! Still, he does turn to lead the younger apprentice off to the herb-gardens. "And yeah, like you guessed earlier, they're pretty big. Most places seem to have smaller gardens, from what I hear, but the plants are pretty important to Healers. Some of them help numb things, some of them help bring down fevers, some of them help bruises heal." "Ha!" Tess grins at the boy, falling into step mostly beside him, only slightly behind him - just enough to let him lead. Her eyes are bright for the new sights and sounds, listening attentively to her guide. For as much as this is his home so thoroughly, that's exactly how much Tess wants to make it hers as well.
Youth affords many opportunities for growth and Tess has done better with some than others as is usually the case. Castian will always be her first friend at Healer, even if it took some time to really have a friendship, and even if she might've made some who've ended up closer friends as time has drawn on. Now, at fifteen, Tess is more a young woman than the child she was. Her hair is messier since there's no one about to scold her for it, and her time is better spent with her books, with her fellow apprentices, and volunteering in the infirmary. Given their now three-turn long acquaintance, it should be little surprise to Castian to feel a prod of finger against shoulder, just above the armpit, where it can subtly be done without Tess looking anything but studious as their healer instructor for Infirmary Management drones on about inventory sheets and methods kept in different infirmaries around Pern. It's probably interesting to someone, just not Tess. The note reads, "Study group tonight? I can steal cookies from the kitchen," as a bribe for his participation, if needed. "Kaila will be there," as added incentive, even if Tess doesn't know know if her fellow apprentice likes the other or not. The finger-prod is, perhaps, all that keeps Castian from literally falling asleep sitting up; the class would be dull enough if the instructor did not have a monotone voice. Though Tess can't see her fellow student's facial reaction to reading the note, it's certainly obvious when the tips of his ears turn red. After a moment, he crumples the note and nods once, silently, without turning around; the instructor happens to be looking their way, and he's clearly not going to risk looking unattentive. It really would be more efficient if Castian would pass the note back so she didn't need to waste another page, but Tess has come to expect it, so her sigh is only barely audible. It's some moments, and then the same familiar light prod that probably would feel better if she moved closer to his spine and practiced some of the massage techniques from more interesting classes, but remains just a prod against that soft connective tissue and skin below the actual joint. The new note reads, "Does he," presumably the teacher, "know that out there are only so many actual infirmaries on Pern and that by the time we actually have to manage one ourselves, we'll have had turns of experience working under other people and can learn that way?" 'That way' has the necessary lines for emphasis. Then, "My mother visited," and with careful script, "my father," the Holder of one of Fort's Major Minor Holds, Fort River, a fact now known through their acquaintance but one she doesn't speak of often, "couldn't be spared for the afternoon. They want to me to consider a betrothal. Gag." Castian reads the note -- a bit longer this time -- and bends over his desk to write a reply. "I feel like by the time he finishes this explanation, we'll be old enough to /teach/ this class." The comment about parents -- and betrothals -- earns a pause while he considers what best to scribble down. After all, fathers are perhaps something of a raw nerve around Castian, who has no clue who his is other than 'some rider'. When he does finally write a reply, it's surprisingly short: "That's awkward. Why?" "Oh, we will," is the easy thing to write in answer to her dark haired friend. The pencil can be heard to pause after that. Fathers and family are always harder, some of that they share, if for very different reasons. "They still think this is a hobby. That I'll come home and marry someone useful to the alliances of the Hold. They still think the Hold is more important than my Craft," in the way that's written, with such deep strokes, is more than craft. It's craft in the way that perhaps Castian can appreciate from Tess now that she's been here some turns and dedicated herself so thoroughly. It means home. "I'm going to have to tell them eventually that I won't marry. They might disown me. Good riddance." But even the script belies the words. Who would want that? Estrangement from one's family? It's what people say when there isn't a better choice. Castian almost turns around to look at Tess as he reads the note, but catches himself in time. Instead, he scribbles down, "Whatever happens, you have a family here now." He, after all, has devoted his entire life to the path of a Healer and has no intention of ever being anything else. To him, Healer Hall /is/ a family. But after a moment, he scribbles down as well, "/Never/ marry, though? I mean, I've seen the way Donal looks at you during class when he thinks you aren't looking!" After all, if you can't tease your friends, who CAN you tease? Tess' smile has to be hidden behind her hand before it can give them away, but she's an expert at note-passing (but only when it's boring, note-taking otherwise), so it's easily done with a shift of her hand before she's writing back. She writes slowly so each stroke seems individual rather than part of a greater whole. Maybe she's just doodling to stay awake! "Thanks," but really, thanks, that much might be inferred though it's written simply. "Oh, Donal. He just hates that I won't let him feel under my shirt when we snog. He's going to flunk out soon, I know it. And all because I'm getting boo--" It's struck through, "Breasts." If their note is intercepted, at least she'll not be punished for using slang for anatomical features. "I can't marry, without my father's say so, and he'll only say so to someone old and ugly and traditional. I'm not spending my life knocked up and managing the household for some minor lordling with six other illegitimate spawn." The doodle accompanying is probably supposed to be a baby, but it has horns and a tale like it might've been bred of a dragon and human combined. Her strength is not in sketching, but cartoony doodles do alright. "If your husband-to-be is cheating on you with something that has a tail," comes Castian's reply, "and this affair is actually producing /illegitimate offspring/," and this is written with emphasis, "I think some of our instructors would /love/ to have a chance to study /that/ terrifying situation. So at least you wouldn't have to worry about your ugly minor lordling or his spawn for long!" Silver linings, right? That Tess bursts out laughing is the end of this note exchange. The instructor isn't that dim for all the dryness. At least Tess manages to tuck the note where no one can see it and showing she was, in fact, listening, she manages to play it off as though what he said were that amusing to her. She still gets extra duties, but that's the worst of it and Tess never really minds extra duties - it's a chance to practice the craft she loves so well, after all.
As the time draws near when the various apprentices need to start thinking about what they want to focus their studies on, so too does the workload increase for their studies; it's as if the instructors, perversely, want to ensure they don't have any time to consider their future specializations. Thus, one little band of apprentices has gathered in the library in hopes of preparing for their next round of tests. Of course, this group can get distracted, and today is no exception; for all that the apprentices /intended/ to study, they've already distracted themselves by guessing -- or daydreaming -- where they might end up once they walk the tables and take their next knot. "/Wherever/ they post me, the women will be pleased," Donal quips, leaning across the table with a grin. Castian puts aside his sketchbook, rolling his eyes. "I think you mean the women everywhere /else/ will be, Donal," he quips in answer. "Just ask half of our classmates, hm?" Everyone knows Tess meant to be on time. She always has the best intentions for those sorts of things, but the most timely she gets is for class, and even then it's the biggest concern of many of her instructors. She arrives now with the usual bounce in her step, sliding into the chair beside Donal and flashing a smile at him as she seconds Castian's comment by saying, "I know I will." The plate of food she's concealed between two of the books she's carrying is produced and slid onto the table with books swiftly propped open to largely conceal its existence from the casual observer. There's a host of vegetables and some cookies. Brain food. "What about you, Cas? Kaila?" Her glance slides curiously between the two. "Oh, anywhere but a Weyr," Kaila's answer is quick, the young woman not bothering to glance up from her book. She has a knack for looking studious even when there's distractions a-plenty. Donal lays a hand over his heart, as if Castian and Tess have wounded him to the quick. That hurts, guys. That /hurts/. "Honestly? I'd be fine staying here," Castian admits, glancing over and offering Tess a nod in greeting. "But if I went somewhere... I don't know. Somewhere with new things to see and learn. Somewhere with a different climate, different plants to work with. Maybe the Southern continent?" He pauses, and then adds, "But like Kai says, definitely not a weyr. Though, I imagine, not for the same reasons." "I think a Weyr would be exciting!" Tess declares, only to be given an appropriately quelling look from the Journeyman on duty. This is a library after all. Lowering her voice she raises her brows at the anti-Weyr contingent. "Why wouldn't you want a Weyr?" Kaila's eyes draw up from the book to give Tess a dubious look and counter, "Why would you think a Weyr would be exciting? It's probably the same reasons: they're savages." Simply put. "Do you really need to ask?" Castian remarks, glancing over at Tess with his eyebrows quirked upwards. Still, Kaila's comment sets a faint tension to his shoulders; if those in the weyrs are savages, after all, then Castian is half-savage. Donal snorts, seemingly oblivious to Castian's annoyance. "You ask me, I think it'd be wonderful. I hear when someone loses a flight, all they want is sex... and they'll settle for the first person they find." Castian's tension does not decrease at this remark, for some reason. Tess has a snort for Kaila's words, "They are not. They just have dragons and that makes life different than what we're used to." She rolls her eyes at them, shooting Castian a 'never you mind them' look. "I do, but I'll ask you later, when we're not flanked by Narrow and Narrower," a finger flick toward her own head indicates this description is of their minds. "Augh," Kaila squawks at the implication and closes her book, standing. "Just because you want to be wild, Tess, doesn't mean the rest of us have to like the same. I'm going to study in my room," and with that she's sweeping off in the usual fashion. It's nothing new. Tess and Kaila have been friends for turns, but they don't always see eye to eye. They do always manage to make up, though. Donal blinks. "What? What'd I say?" When Castian ignores him, Donal throws his hands in the air and leaves the table as well. "Hey, Kays, wait up! You're more fun than these two tonight!" Castian runs a hand through his hair, leaving a smudge of charcoal on his forehead. He's apparently been sketching once again, and still has it on his hand. "So much for study group. Sorry, Tess." Only Tess' eyes move to watch Donal go. Then the blonde is slipping from her chair into Donal's vacated seat across from the brunette. She has a smile for him (it's rare when she doesn't though, so nothing new. "It just means all the cookies are for you," since she doesn't often indulge. "We should have invited Bymarin. Being Weyrbred, he'd've known how to shut them up, don't you think?" After a beat she leans forward, forearms against the table, "Do you want to tell me why not a Weyr? I know you don't think they're savages." She knows the bones of his history, surely, but she often asks questions people suppose she should know the answer to just to hear how they answer. "I don't know. It feels..." Castian frowns, still sort of half-hunched over the table where he was trying to study. After a moment, he straightens to meet Tess' gaze straight on. "A position at a weyr would be awkward, wouldn't it? Wondering whether this rider, or that one, might be the father I never knew. Wondering after each flight if there were going to be more accidental children." Tess considers Castian's words. She has an excellent 'listening' expression (because she really is listening, and even cares about what' being said. Her eye rest steadily on his face, though not in a way that makes it weird or uncomfortable. That kind of attentiveness isn't the sort that can be taught but is natural affinity. "If you think about it logically, which," she asides, "isn't to say you should strip away all you feeling from it, because that can't be healthy," back to the point: "It shouldn't be awkward. Of those patient you meet in a Weyr, only a certain proportion of them are going to be the right gender and age to possibly be him, and proportionally, you'll probably see more who don't fit the mold than do. And the answer to accidental children must be yes, so you oughtn't waste time wondering. It's as much a natural part of the way life is in a Weyr, from the obstetrics readings I've done on the subject, as it is for us to be tested after we've learned a section of information." She's not dismissing his concerns, simply looking at them from a different perspective that might be applied to them to ultimately reduce them. "Because 'logic' always counters emotion," Castian remarks, a little sourly. Still, that temper that often boils over doesn't make an appearance at his friend's expense this time, and after a moment he grimaces. "No, I mean, I know you're right. But still. There's plenty of other places, so why go through that if I don't have to?" Tess' lip curve into a sympathetic smile at the first. "Of course not, Cas, and I'm not suggesting it does. One hand slides on the table toward one of his, and offering of casual physical support. "It's just that we don't get much of a choice about our postings, in the end, and if you did end up at a Weyr, I wouldn't want it to be the worst thing ever for you, you know? It might even end up being a good thing for you. Even if you never find out who your father is, you can... I don't know, find a way to make some kind of peace with it?" She doesn't point out that it seems to bother him, but does she need to? "No, it wouldn't be the worst thing," Castian allows, with a shrug. "But you know, if we're daydreaming about where we'd /like/ to be posted, I'm not going to pick one of the Weyrs." "Alright then," Tess isn't one to press too hard, or at least not one to press tactlessly, so she's ready to let it go. "So we'll just hope that it'll be you and me here at the Hall. Donal can go off to some Weyr down south," since they have so much control over it all, "and Kaila can go... I don't know, do you think High Reaches or Telgar suit her frigid personality better?" She doesn't really mean that; she's going for a laugh, or at least a cracked smile. "Hmm. Reaches, I think," Castian answers with a grin. "I'm sure she'd like the snow there, right?" Then he turns to the study materials laid out across the table and adds a little more sourly, "Though none of us will be going /anywhere/ anytime soon if we fail this exam." "True." Tess answers with a sigh, finally cracking the book that will (theoretically) help her. "I guess I shouldn't have pissed Kays off, since this is what she's good at." She eyes the text on communicable diseases. "Oh well, I'm sure we can figure it out. We always manage, don't we? Except that one time. And that other time. But this is different." She tries for an encouraging smile before sighing at the book again. "Well, as long as we don't let ourselves get distracted, like we did that one time. And that other time," Castian points out. "Which, admittedly, should be easier without Donal." Tess laughs, which earns another look and this time a shh from the Journeyman on duty. The apprentice manages to look contrite in answer, but murmurs to Castian, "We'd better get to it, before I get us kicked out," with a hint of a smile that completely belies her earlier contrition, daring, even to sneak a hand between the propped up books to snag a roasted vegetable and pop it into her mouth, chewing with gusto. Food tastes better when it's forbidden!
The rider who flew Search left the Hall several hours past, and it's getting on towards dinner. Yet the youth who was found shows no signs of heading to the dining hall. Instead, Castian has perched himself atop one of the garden walls, one foot atop the stones and the other dangling below, his arms resting on the raised leg. He stares up into the twilight shades of the sky, as if the stars will settle his uneasy thoughts. Tess' head is covered with a flower-embroidered kerchief, her twin braids snaking out from beneath its long pointed edge as she moves from stowing gardening tools. She must've seen Castian on the wall at some point, but duties are duties so it's not until they're done that she moves to approach him, "Cas?" Castian stirs, glancing down at Tess. "Oh. Hey." He pauses, taking in her attire and his location, and then adds, "Am I in your way? I just needed to do a bit of thinking." "No, we were working over there today, and I'm done," Tess answers with a smile and nod to the direction where the last shift of the day had been weeding and doing upkeep. "Did you need to do a bit of talking along with your thinking? I know an excellent listener who'd like to be a mindhealer someday and could use the practice." There's an element of humor there, but it's underscored by some suspicion of the serious nature of needing to think. "What's there to say?" Castian's tone turns sharp, as he raises his hands in mild dismay. "Shards, Tess, they want me to stand as a Candidate! And my /mother/ thinks I should! I don't even understand that." Tess probably had an answer for the first, but it's forgotten in the surprised rounding of her eyes, the 'o' formed by her mouth. It happens rarely that the blonde is shocked into silence, but now is one of those moments. It takes three breaths before she speaks. "Wow," is not particularly enlightening. She moves to climb onto the wall to sit beside him. "Wow," it's worth saying twice. "What do you think?" A sigh. "She's probably right," Castian admits, finally letting his foot drop from the wall. He remains there, legs dangling, for a moment. "I mean, it's this big sharding honor to be asked, right? So I go, make some new ties, meet some people, don't Impress, and come back to finish walking the tables a bit late. And there'll be riders I knew as my fellow Candidates, and it'll be good for the Hall. New ties, new people to talk to, all that." He doesn't sound entirely convinced. Tess listens; she could use a little work on her eye contact if one were looking objectively at it because right now she's staring at Castian as if he's a new species of plant freshly popped from the garden dirt. She's still round-eyed when he finishes and then after a beat asks the question: "What if you Impress?" "Not all Candidates do. Not even /most/ Candidates," Castian points out, finally hopping down from the wall. He doesn't really meet Tess's gaze as he does so, however. "If I /did/ -- which I won't -- that would mean I was supposed to, right? That's what the riders always say. And when I don't, it'll just... prove that I'm not my father. That the Hall is where I always belonged." The young woman's eyes return to their normal state as she looks out to the garden and asks quietly, "Would you want to, if you did?" Impress. Tess looks back to him, thoughtful. "I'm not sure that Impressing would make you your father anyway, for what it's worth." "Not like I have a clue who he even /is/," Castian mutters. "I just wouldn't want him to think I'm /trying/ to be like him. I just..." He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Augh. I don't sharding /know/, Tess. It's just... I feel like if I /didn't/ go, I'd always wonder. But I'm a /Healer/, not some wannabe rider." "He might not know who you are either," Tess offers quietly, probably trying to be helpful. She's definitely been thrown off her game by this revelation. She breathes. "I'm not sure, because I've never been a rider, but I'm not sure that being a rider makes you any less a Healer than becoming a husband or a father would make you less a Healer. Then again, I guess it does change your whole life when you Impress, and maybe the other things don't exactly?" It's not like she has much life experience to go on with any of these things. She falls silent. "Well, it doesn't matter," Castian says sharply. After a moment, he adds in a somewhat more collected voice, "Because I'll humor my mother and go, make some good connections for the Hall, fail to Impress, come back, walk the tables like planned, and then we can laugh about the anecdotes I bring back." It's probably the shift in tone that has Tess saying, "Okay," like she means it. "Sounds like a good plan, Cas." Then, "I'll keep track of what you miss and take extra good notes for you so you can catch up fast." The offer is genuine. "I'll hold you to that," Castian offers, with a hint of humor to his tone now. "Can't be dropping behind in my work just because I'm spending a couple months up some mountain, after all. And I'm going to expect you to pick up the slack around here in the herb garden; Faranth knows, Donal sure as hell won't." Tess's lips curve into a gently sloping smile. "I suppose, for the sake of your sanity, I could manage it. But if I kill everything for lack of a green thumb, I won't be held accountable for my good intentions." It's a quip back, though it lacks a little of her usual flourish. She shifts to slide off the wall, "You can write to me. To talk. If you want. It's not as good as in person, but... in case." Just in case. And then she's moving to retreat to deal with whatever her private reaction to his news might be, in private. Today (C'stian: 23 turns old, Tess: 22 turns old)
The walls of this oval cavern have been smoothed, and white-washed and get regular cleaning from the way they gleam subtly on any given day. Cots line the walls and stand in aisles towards the back of the cavern, ready to serve human patients. At the far end of the cavern, a short passageway is blocked off by a curtain and leads into the central hub for the dragon infirmary. Several ground weyrs that face out onto the Bowl all exit on the inner side, into this hub which is well stocked for the treatment of dragon injuries and spacious enough to accomodate the smalle dragons. Supplies are stored in various drawers and glass-fronted cabinets that display a myriad of the most commonly used items. A discreet door off to the side provides access to the still room where more sensitive items are also kept. A large sink with functional plumbing -- including hot and cold taps -- is located toward the southernmost corner.
It might be the swelling of that black eye that gives Tess enough of an edge to see and recognize C'stian before he sees her. She was just coming from one of the cots where a patient is just leaving to return unused, still sterile supplies and she stops dead in her tracks. Profile and a moment of time is enough for recognition. The unknowingly held breath is released and she manages a smile (more brittle than her usual) as she resumes her path, affecting a casual manner as she draws near to say, "You know, they have healers for that here." "I'm aware," the young bronzerider answers in a clipped tone, without turning around. "But they probably have other concerns, and I'm perfectly capable of tending to myself..." And it's then that his slow turn from the supplies brings Tess into his view. His mood brightens somewhat as he offers her a wry grin. "...aaaaand you know that, don't you. First Egg, Tess, what're you doing here?" Tess leans to place the items she carries where they belong before straightening and lifting one hand to look at her well-tended nails as though they might need a touch-up filing. "Oh, I don't know, Cas, I might be able to squeeze an ounce of caring and concern out of somewhere." Only after she's had her fun does she beam at him. It's only the items in his hands that keep her from throwing her arms around him in a hug, probably, and not those turns that have separated them from their former acquaintance. "Haven't you heard?" She leans a little toward him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm here to heal the Weyr." She glances to the supplies in his hands, "You're next, apparently." "'Cas'," the bronzerider repeats. "Shards, it seems like forever since anyone's called me that. It's good to see you, though, and not just for the nickname!" C'stian puts the supplies aside, evidently surrendering to the inevitable; he's not going to just be able to sneak off and tend to himself in his own weyr. "You weren't at the Hall the last few times Liesanth and I went there." "Well, that's what you get for leaving behind everyone who did call you that and coming here and getting a fancy new name and a fancy new dragon and a fancy new father," Tess tells him loftily. Really, he's just lucky he's already injured; it's probably the only thing that keeps her from poking him in the chest to make each of those points more meaningful. "They told me you'd been by, those times." Now her tone is more genuine, though the apology is only lightly there. "Guess it wasn't meant to be," this is a little more sad, before she's shaking her head quickly to try to dismiss it all like it doesn't matter (ha). "Anyway, that eye. What happened?" C'stian takes the commentary good-naturedly right up until 'new father', and then his expression shuts down somewhat, becoming harder to read. He may be accepting it's not really N'muir's fault, but part of it is still a raw nerve. He seizes on the question to steer the topic away. "Got between two drunk riders, trying to break up a fight before it got too serious. /Literally/ between them. Ended up stopping a fist with my face, which -- just for the record -- isn't the way I'd recommend doing it." Fortunately for C'stian, Tess seems willing (for now) to veer completely away from sensitive topics. It's with humor but no hesitation that she tells him, "I'd just flash them my tatas and have done. You bronzeriders don't have that kind of weapon in your arsenals, so I suppose you'll have to take tour lumps." She grins at him, possibly falling into an old habit of probing to see what makes him uncomfortable all too soon. She gestures to the nearest cot for him to sit before reaching for the supplies he'd procured. "They might keep fighting, just over something new," C'stian points out, a little dryly. Still, he does take a seat on the cot to let his friend examine his abused eye. "You'll have to meet Liesanth, you know. I think you'd get along with him; you two have an oddly similar personality in some ways." "Well, who could blame them," Tess tuts before flashing a smile to C'stian. For all their long acquaintance, the examination of his bruised eye is kept quite professional. "I think you'll live," is her pronouncement, "Provided the next fight you stop doesn't involve knives or something," she adds wryly. She dips her fingers into one jar to coat them as a measure of protection from the numbweed she begins to deftly apply to the affected area. "I'd like to meet him. Your other half," the words are said thoughtfully. "How are you, C'stian?" She must use his new name rather than the nickname with history as a mark of respect for his new life, or perhaps to key that she means how is he with all 'this.' It's sort of a big question, but Tess has never shied away from those. "It's... weird how normal it feels now," C'stian admits after a moment. "At first, I kept thinking I was just a Healer who somehow now had a dragon. It took most of a year before I finally started to think of myself as a rider, and even longer before I stopped thinking I might've Impressed him by mistake when he was meant for someone else. But I've never /regretted/ our bond. And being able to /fly/..." For a moment, a smile touches his face. The genuineness of his words must be what makes Tess smile so gently. It could practically be called tender. "Well, good. Want to tell me about him? About what it was like to find him? Does he appreciate all that you were before him?" There's a moment's silence now, before C'stian continues. "Finding him wasn't the best experience, I admit. There was an 'incident' at the hatching," he explains finally. "Two of the hatchlings got tangled up getting out of their shell. The green got her eye put out, the bronze got his back torn open. Both badly hurt. The little bronze stumbled over towards the Candidates and collapsed, and I... well, I was too much the Healer. I stepped forward to check on him. He looked up at me, and suddenly he was in my head. There wasn't an 'I' or a 'him' really, just an 'us'. And it was /our/ back that was torn open." "Oh," the word is soft, sympathetic. "I'm sorry. That must have been difficult for you." Tess looks almost like she's tempted to reach around and feel the bronzerider's back just to check for a scar that is not there in the flesh, but she manages to keep her fingers to the task of his eye, which is nearly done being numbed. "I probably should have heard about that." Perhaps she even did. "But I didn't like hearing about you, after." Were all those times he visited really accidental missings? One might fairly wonder. "It was what it was," C'stian replies. "I managed to help calm him -- once I'd managed to calm myself -- but the pain wasn't pleasant, no. And Liesanth's always been self-conscious about the scars." He grins, despite himself. "Maybe that's why he's always so sharding determined to prove himself. Always has to try to be the Strongest and the Fastest and the Loudest and whatever else, and if he decides he wants to do something, he doesn't mull it over; he just tries to /go/ for it." Tess listens and then flippantly says, "I can't imagine why you'd think we're the least bit similar," underscored with humor. "I'm glad that you've found happiness with him and your life here. Or so it sounds like." This allows him to correct her if she's wrong. "When do I get to meet him?" There's eagerness there paired with her eternal curiosity. She's finished now with his eye and she takes to wiping her fingers on a rag and then goes about cleaning them with some of the other supplies lest she accidentally numb something important. "If you'd like, you can meet him now, though we'll have to go out into the Bowl," C'stian notes, with a gesture around the Infirmary. "He's a little too big for the doors in here, after all." The question about happiness isn't immediately answered, as if he's weighing the pros and cons, but after a moment he adds, "It's better than I thought it would be be. There's been problems -- a shortage of supplies, a friend who I fought with, another friend who left, the... thing with my wingleader -- but I've made friends, too, and there's Liesanth." Apparently, the bronze counts as a huge mark in the 'pro' column. "I want to," Tess tells him after a moment's consideration, "But I really am at work here, and I'd like to think I'm a smidgen more responsible with adult things now that I'm actually an adult and off at my first official posting and all that," she flicks a hand to where a knot would be if she were wearing one (which she isn't). "But soon? And you'll tell me more about the supply shortage, the friend you fought with, the friend who left, the thing with your wingleader, your other friends, and you'll paint my repaired table with flowers for me. How's that sound?" See how she snuck that last one in? Slick. At least Tess is smiling at him with warmth in a way he might remember from the days when they were friends. "Of course we... wait, what?" C'stian caught that last one at the last moment; he's wise to his friend's ways. "How large is this table, anyway? Because I'm not going to promise to paint some enormous banquet table. I have my own actual work I have to do, too, you know!" Tess smiles indulgently (dimples showing!) at the bronzerider, "Oh, you know, just this little thing I picked up from the stores." Which must mean it wasn't custom built anyway, so he's probably safe when it comes to banquet-sized tables. "Anyway, it will give you a chance to check out my swanky new digs. It's bigger than my room at the hall," which must have been small, the luxury of it in the privacy, "if only just." This much should alleviate table size fears. "You know, if you want privacy -- at least from anyone other than riders -- having your weyr way up the sharding mountain with no stairs is definitely one way to do it," C'stian remarks with a laugh. "I even managed to find an old one that has a natural spring in it. Little warm soaking pool, all my own." "Seriously?" Tess' interest is certainly sparked by that. "I don't suppose you'd let an old friend who's used to not having to share bathes with the boys use your bath every now and again to remember the good old days?" She wheedles, obviously. "I'm not sure it counts as a /bath/ so much as a soaking pool," C'stian cautions. "But I might be able to be convinced. For some kind of favor in return." Standing from the cot, he offers Tess a mischievous grin. "I'll let you get back to work, though. It /is/ good to see you, though." "Well, I suppose," Tess says in a tone of faked boredom, only to grin the moment it's had its intended effect and reach for him, meaning to hug him, briefly, but with genuine care. Perhaps she's over the whole not wanting to hear about him after thing. It has been turns after all! "We'll catch up later, when we're both off-duty," C'stian assures her, returning the hug with genuine affection. "Or you can find me in the dragon infirmary sometimes; I've been cross-trained as a dragonhealer, so I spend time there. Less now that I'm wingsecond, but still. We'll probably be on duty one room apart some of the time." "Careful, Cas," Tess warns playfully, "I'm dying to get my fingers into the dragonhealing stuff. I might just make you take on more actual duties as a teacher." It's not really a tease even if it sounds that way; she's pretty much definitely going to make him. Make him~ She smiles. "Alright, now go, if we don't make you go now, we won't stop talking, and then both of us will be in trouble." Her lips quirk, "Like the old days." With a laugh and a wave farewell, C'stian departs the infirmary, in a better mood than he has been in some time. Despite the shiner he's sporting. |
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