Logs:Visiting The Quarantined

Visiting The Quarantined
"I told you you wouldn't like to know me if you did."
RL Date: 16 November, 2015
Who: Lys, C'ris
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: Lys drops in on C'ris; it's a bad idea.
Where: Tidy, Tiny Weyr, High Reaches
When: Day 17, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10)

Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions




The cozy aura continues inside the weyr. The rider's quarters are smaller still than the ledge, with a dragon's couch near the entrance and just enough room for a person to squeeze by it, marked always with fresh scrapes from dragon claws. The back room has enough space for the single bed and the clothes press that occupy it and little else. At least the bed manages to appear comfortable, with a quilt in soft colors and a homemade knitted blanket of greens and blues folded at the end. An adorable little fireplace inset in the wall is ideally located to warm both dragon and rider in the depth of the Reaches winter. The fire is dead in the hearth, long since burned out despite there being plenty of kindling stocked and ready for it, but there is no one to care for it. No one has cleaned the weyr in a while, that much is obvious, with half-eaten trays of food gathering in the limited space to make it seem more of a mess. And C'ris himself--. He's stripped his shirt off at one point, curled half under and half out of tangled blankets. The rash on his chest hasn't grown, but neither has it gone away. He sleeps, for the moment, but his drawn breaths are wheezing things. He is being watched, at least, as he sleeps; a cornflower blue has curled up on the dragon's couch, his whirling eyes never leaving the rider in his own bed. Lys isn't supposed to be here, not with a weyrling dragon to care for. And yet, that's exactly who arrives on the ledge by way of elevator dragon (probably substantially bribed), with a cloth mask wrapped around her nose and mouth, tied behind her head, a tray supported in both arms and a thermos tucked under one. "Hello dragon," she greets the blue as she enters. "You don't need to wake him." There's a pause as Lys stops in the entry to take in the dead fire, the trays. "I'm just going to clean up a little," she tells the blue, not seeming to care especially if he's listening. She finds a spot on the clothing press to set down the tray and thermos before moving to tend to the hearth first. Mivength is listening, only issuing a low snort in response, but he certainly doesn't wake his rider as his attention returns swiftly to C'ris. And C'ris doesn't wake, not immediately. It is only after she has the fire built and the weyr has started to warm up, whether because of that heat or some noise made while Lys transports those trays back out to the ledge, that he stirs. Blearily, he peers through crusted eyes towards the soft sounds, taking him a moment to place the greenrider through the fog of thoughts. But then, immediately, the bluerider is protesting in what is almost a whine, "Oh, no. No, no, no. You can't be here. No." "I think you'll find I can," Lys pauses in her path to tell him, eyes expressive above her mask, a single blonde brow arched at him imperiously. "Now, you stay where you are, and I'll finish with this and then if you have fresh linens, I'll change your sheets while you eat." For all that Lys is sort of C'ris' student, she sounds awfully bossy just now. "No," is a sharp answer from the usually soft bluerider, stirring further and starting to push himself out of bed with slow movements. C'ris' own determination meets imperious looks, his jaw set. "You can't touch my sheets. You-- Evyth is too young. Where is Quinlys?" He glances at Mivength, eyes narrowing at their private conversation. The blue only yawns and then his whirling eyes finally close, pretending to sleep. "The plague doesn't affect dragons," Lys tells him quite calmly. "Quinlys isn't in the infirmary anymore," which is where Quinlys isn't. "I'll wash my hands really well, I wore a mask. I'm taking all the precautions the healer hall put out," is probably meant to be soothing. All the precautions except avoiding contact with the ill. "I'll be done sooner if you don't decide to fight me," she offers as wise advice, stepping to move out with the trays in her arms now to put with the rest. "Quinlys was in the infirmary? She was sick?" Just like that, worry and guilt come crashing down on the bluerider, forgetting for the moment his intention for getting to his feet as he struggles to digest the news. C'ris' hands lift to scrub over his face, to rake through dirty hair. And when she does return, his voice breaks a little on feelings when he pleads, "Please, please go. I won't fight you just-- please." "She wasn't sick," Lys returns and sets to stacking the remaining trays. "Precautionary measure. She thought she might have been exposed." She shrugs. "I will go just as soon as I've finished what I've come for. Which won't take long. "Now. Sit down where you'd like to eat and I'll get your tray of food and tea," maybe she's given up on the linens, "and then I'll leave. If you keep complaining, I'll find a way to come back in a couple of hours to tend your fire." She threatens kindness. C'ris seems to give in, since he only wraps his soft quilt around his shoulders and drags himself from the bed to sit by the hearth, something grateful there in his expression for the warmth he has been missing for who knows how long. "And-- the other weyrlings? What is happening in the Weyr?" he seems to finally be giving in to ask. "Where are your fresh sheets?" Lys asks as she returns from taking out the last set of trays, on her way to picking up the fresh one she brought to bring and set before C'ris. She must not have really given in on that point after all. "There haven't been many cases in the Weyr. Much better than Fort," the solemnity around Lys' eyes probably indicates a grimace beneath the mask. "Riders are dying there." Abruptly, she has a stern look for the bluerider, "But you won't, here. Your mother is worried sick about you, and you'd better not leave her." Y'hear? It's probably direct observation that brought the weyrling to this point, since one of the boxes on the tray proves to contain the type of pastries C'ris often brings the weyrlings from her. There is a very telling sheen to C'ris' brown eyes as he does pick up that box of pastries, nodding simply in agreement even as his hands, closed around the pastries, falls back into his lap. "Yet. They aren't dying yet," mumbles the bluerider quietly, but he only shakes his head, setting a look back to Lys. "Lessons are still going, right? You guys-- no one is falling behind, right?" He seems to be putting up a passive resistance to the care; he simply doesn't answer where his linens are. But there is only that clothing press in the room to act as storage. There are reasons Lys never apprenticed to healer. Among them is a lack of good bedside manner, as might be guessed from the sharp look she gives the bluerider. "Yet, but you're to be thinking about getting well. Lessons are still going. Not even a break for global emergency," she exaggerates with a roll of her eyes. As she speaks, she moves to start going through C'ris' things. Two can play the stubborn game. One can win! She starts with the obvious: the clothing press. "If someone's fallen behind, I haven't noticed. The dragons are excited to be hunting. Looking forward to gliding." "I am. Thinking about getting well, want to get well. I just--," C'ris starts, but he gives up on his explanation and watches Lys move about instead for a moment. He'll even start to pick at a pastry, at least consuming some of it. "And how are you, Lys?" Lys is shameless about going through his things, pulling open drawers until she finds what she's seeking. "I'm healthy," and here rubbing his face in it. Setting them atop it, she rounds the bed to start efficiently stripping the sheets. "So far everyone I care about who's still alive is well." Her shoulders roll in a shrug that is just a little too tense to be so careless as she'd like it to seem. "Lys--. I asked because I want to know," is the bluerider's quiet counter to her answer, his gaze following her as she moves. This, at least, C'ris can focus on even if he can't seem to remember the tray of food for the moment. "If you don't want to talk about it, or tell me, or-- Whatever your reasons are, that's ok. But just so long as you know I am here to listen. I care." There's a grimace that goes unseen under the mask as Lys rounds the bed to put her back to him and start tucking the sheet into place. "You don't know me, C'ris," is said back to him. "Not really. You probably wouldn't like to if you did." C'ris doesn't argue against her answer, but rather he only invites softly, "Try me. I want to know you." Lys is silent some moments then her motions slow a moment, marking some decision. "I'm adjusting. I'd like, most, to just go be with Evyth and only Evyth most of my day every day, but life doesn't work that way. I never thought I'd be a rider. Never thought I'd--" She cuts off, eyes on the bed, then she reaches for a pillow to start stuffing it into a fresh case. "Life can work that way," counters C'ris in a simple encouragement, his attention focused on the young woman. "Talk to Quinlys. If you need time alone with Evyth-- The classes aren't as important as what you are learning. Learning to be a dragonrider, whatever that means for you. And there are ground weyrs; Quinlys might be able to get you nights alone with your dragon, at least." But he catches himself from further rambling, wincing in apology before he falls silent to allow her to continue. "No," Lys sighs, "No, you don't get it." She shakes her head. "This was a bad idea." She probably means talking to him, or trying, not visiting a plagued bluerider to do weyr chores for him. She grabs the second pillow and makes with pushing it into the case. "I'm sorry," C'ris apologizes quietly, his lips catching in a frown at Lys' reaction. "Tell me, then. What I don't get." He's willing and eager to learn, paying close attention to the greenrider. "I'm not-- I'm not sure you can," Lys tells him, but gently, because she believes it might be true. "Your mother loves you. You care about people. And I've never really had that. A little, in the last handful of turns, but even then, mostly in passing, and a lot of them have left me. Evyth loves me in a way I've never known possible. I could go without food and water forever, if I had Evyth," okay, not really. "But people don't go through life that way. Because they'd starve, or die of thirst. But finding that for the first time in my life is-- really big." That frown lingers, but C'ris tips his head in a nod even as he remembers to pick at his abandoned pastry again, consuming a bit more. "Is it?" is his question after, inviting her to continue lightly. "And you-- Are you afraid you're going to lose her? Because you won't. She won't leave you." "It is," is simple confirmation. "No, I know she won't. That's really the only reason--" Lys purses her lips and shakes her head, moving to get the sheet and lay it out, tucking where appropriate. "I'd like you better if you didn't try as hard, C'ris. It feels like you're always trying to teach me something. I won't always be your student." C'ris falls silent at that, his brown gaze steady for a moment and watching Lys tuck in his sheet. But when he speaks, it is with simple, short syllables as he says, "Thank you, Lys. For the tray and-- that." Lys is silent as she finishes with the bed. She doesn't say more as she crosses toward the ledge, taking the dirty sheets. "I'll have someone come up for the trays, the sheets, and you should put out your chamber pot," she tells him, practically. It's only when she's about to leave that she says, "I told you you wouldn't like to know me if you did." That seems to be all there is from her for she's gone to the ledge, gone to meet her ride, and perform decontamination procedures. "I don't think you know me, either," is C'ris' quiet response, whether it is heard or not before she leaves. The tray ends up as the rest were, abandoned in front of the hearth only half eaten, before he drags himself back into bed.

Comments

Quinlys (21:06, 16 November 2015 (PST)) said...

... you are both in so much trouble.

Lys (21:52, 16 November 2015 (PST)) said...

I WASHED MY HANDS!

Edyis (22:05, 16 November 2015 (PST)) said...

You went through his things.... I'm NEVER GETTING SICK.

Lys (08:01, 17 November 2015 (PST)) said...

Look. He practically gave me permission. (And besides, I used to go through Irianke's things all the time, in a professional capacity. This is nothing out of the ordinary~)