Office Hours :: Infirmary (Open)

[Invisible]

“Can’t stay here,” K’mar mumbled as he closed his eyes to avoid seeing the wobbly room again. One eye again cracked open at the urging of his brown. “He’ll need feeding and everything else. Can’t have him here not eating and he won’t go.” It’s true Volsteath had settled down right where he was and be damned with anyone’s way he might be in. “I’m fine. Really. Don’t need to be kept here.”

He pushed himself up to sit and then was when the wobbling caught up with him. He managed, barely, to not deliver the contents of his stomach onto the floor. As he was sick Volsteath sat up again to watch, eyes whirling rapidly once more. When the vomiting portion of the conversation ended K’mar let out a groan and collapsed back again. “Gotta tell weyrlingmaster,” he got out. “I’dalyn.”

[blueaid]

In her career, Rivaly surely suffered greater disgraces than a weyrling vomiting into a basin; as long as he's not vomiting on her, she can't have much cause for complaint. Politely, quickly conscious of K'mar's desire to remain in control, she ignored his nausea and addressed his protestations instead. "One of us is a Healer, K'mar, and one of us is a weyrling. Which one do you think ought to be listened to when it comes to head injuries?" Her smile teased a little, though likely a lost cause given his wobbliness.

Once he settled back, clearly in no danger or rushing out, Rivaly neatly changed his basin for a clean one-- and mutely left the fouled one for a lucky infirmary assistant to clean out. She returned within moments, never out of earshot, able to say while she walked around collecting things, "I'dalyn. Of course. I'll send a note to him with your whereabouts. Surely one of the other weyrlings can see to your dragon for now?" The question aimed more at Volsteath than K'mar, asking the dragon's cooperation.

She drew her stool over a mite closer, now with a cup in one hand and a damp-looking cloth in the other. "Before you protest, K'mar," she began lightly. "It's just cool water with a little peppermint, to take the bad taste out of your mouth. Swish it, spit it out, no foul drinks. And this." The cloth she withholds while the cup is outstretched. "Is for your head, but swish and spit first, hmmn?"

[Invisible]

It might not have been much of a bother to her, but losing his last couple meals in such a manner was quite too much for K’mar. He hid his embarrassment as best he could and when asked about who to trust managed a sullen, “It’s my head. Should trust me to know my own head.”Sullen is K’mar’s natural state and he can do it well even when the room wobbles and his stomach threatens more embarrassments to him whenever he moves.

When Rivaly mentions someone else helping with Volsteath there’s a sudden shaking of K’mar’s head that nearly results in a repeat of previous actions. Luckily this time there’s no need to aim for the bucket. “Let someone else? I can’t let someone else. Who would do a good job? No one. Not as good as me.” Worried eyes seek out the brown who must reassure his rider that none one would do as good a job because the weyrling settles down once more. “Will have them bring what I need or something here. I can do it. Can take care of my own dragon!”

Taking care of himself is always another matter, but that doesn’t mean he’ll trust a healer to do it! Despite her assurances that the cup contains nothing vile he still stares at it a moment with distrust. Finally, with a loud and weary sigh he takes a sip because his mouth does already taste quite foul. Once he’s rinsed his mouth out, not thrilled to be spitting in front of someone at all, he lays his head back down. “Just bumped my head,” he manages in a mumble. “Don’t see the big deal.”

[blueaid]

Sitting beside K'mar's chair, calm and resolute in her decision to keep the weyrling over night, Rivaly made no effort to argue with his single-minded determination. Rather, she asked only one innocuous-seeming question, one without accusation but light with curiosity. "Why does it bother you that you might need help, K'mar?"

Once his head hit the pillow again, she laid the cool wash-cloth across his forehead, wrung to the point that it didn't drink but still felt soft and chill with the memory of a drenching. As long as he was staying put, she wasn't going to fuss over him unnecessarily, and she lingered to get an answer to her half-rhetorical question, looking up while she put together a hasty note to explain his whereabouts to I'dalyn.

Good luck to I'dalyn trying to read a Healer's chicken-scratch.

[Invisible]

Eyes drifting open and closed in no particular pattern K’mar opens them wide at the question. He looks with fuzzy suspicion at Rivaly. “Shells. You’re no ordinary healer are you? I’m not answering any questions that do not pertain to my condition.” He goes so far as to turn his head away from the healer and stare the other direction while trying to keep his eyes open.

Volsteath is less than pleased with the whole thing and to make his displeasure known he rises to his feet and then circles around like a cat looking for a place to nap. Finally he settles back down and slightly red whirling eyes watch his rider and the woman near him until she moves away.

[blueaid]

With him looking the other way, there's no accounting for what expression Rivaly wore in response to his question-then-comment. She stayed a few extra moments beside the cot, collecting the tray with the unused instruments, removing the cup with the mint-water, leaving everything antiseptically clean for K'mar's temporary sojourn.

That quiet way, the way Healers learn to walk so as not to disturb the rest of the invalid, brought her steps away from the cot near noiselessly. The afternoon was not yet advanced enough to end her day with one grouchy patient, so she worked quietly on bookkeeping, labeling, keeping up charts, and all the dull minutiae of keeping an infirmary running smoothly; she did not return to the weyrling's bedside the rest of the night.

The cloth for K'mar's forehead was removed before the evening expired, and a well-intending infirmary aide checked to see if he needed something to help him sleep through the night or some dinner, but everyone was pretty much happy to let K'mar and Volsteath brood in silence if that's what made them happy. Presumably, in the morning, there'd be a check-up before the weyrling was released-- and hopefully Volsteath doesn't run rampant for missing a meal!

[Invisible]

Grumpy K’mar and worried Volsteath were not too much trouble. Other than Volsteath not being aware of his own size and trying to knock things over in his attempts to get closer to where K’mar lies. The growing hunger in his belly makes him even less concerned with what goes on around him. His belly tells him he should be fed and there is no rider with a bucket and then some of meat to fill in that hunger. That is no good and he complains to K’mar.

K’mar, confined as he is, sulks. He hates being in the infirmary. Lying in bed is not going to get anything done and the growing urgency of Volsteath’s hunger does not help him at all. He keeps asking for a drink, an endless thirst upon him even if the water he gets does nothing to fix that. What he’d rather have, of course, would be wine. By now he’d have had another few drinks. Stuck in the infirmary as he was there was no way that was going to happen.

At least he was quiet, right? Other than constantly asking for water. The fun part came after he’d been there an hour or two. When an older woman came bustling in looking alarmed. There was something in her appearance that made her to be one of K’mar’s relatives. Rather than hurry to her son she approached the nearest infirmary assistant who directed her to Rivaly as the healer who tended her son. Kami cast worried glances at both her son the weyrling and the brown dragon who made him such.

[anhydrous]

Stalking down the corridors with a black eye and a bucket full of freshly butchered meat, the weyrlingmaster had received more than a few wary glances on his way from the barracks to the infirmary. Blood dripped steadily from the pail at his side, marking his trail down the twisting hallways as he worried inwardly.

How long had that note been sitting on his desk? He had barely been able to make out the words ‘K’mar’ and ‘overnight stay,’ but that was all it took to send the irate brownrider in the direction of the healers in a flurry of franticly muttered curses. No one had bothered to come find him; they just deposited the dire information in the barracks and just assumed their chore done. Lazy, he scoffed.

With a furrow in his brow and something close to a snarl on his lips, I’dalyn shot down a wayward glare that sent the offending drudge scurrying. Usually a placid man, it was safe to say that I’dalyn’s patience had been tried today. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything, but it was hard telling how many hours K’mar had been unable to feed Volsteath and he doubted anyone had taken the thought to bring the poor beast a meal.

With a scowl that had been steadily deepening since the morning’s incident, I’dalyn entered the infirmary and made his way quickly to K’mar’s bed. The man hasn’t hard to find, Volsteath’s anxious form appearing distinctly out of place among the freshly pressed linens and other sterilized supplies. He noted the reddening whirl of the brown’s eyes as he dropped the bucket of meat near the young dragon, the blood pooling around the bottom of the metal pail as I’dalyn’s gaze swept over K’mar.

He was conscious, that had to be a good sign. He couldn’t find any blood or gaping wounds, another plus. With a mood that had suddenly shifted from pissed to relieved, I’dalyn thoughtlessly rubbed at his scabbing scratches and tender eye. The action that had meant to clear his mind instead brought a wince, but he ignored the slight pain in favor of gleaning information instead. “What happened, K’mar?” He queried distractedly, eyes roaming for the healer who had treated his weyrling.

[blueaid]

Rivaly managed to get a fair bit of work done between turning K'mar over to the infirmary assistants and the arrival of first the weyrling's mother and then his Weyrlingmaster. She turned a seemingly deaf ear on the brownrider's constant requests for water, though the young man that doled out cup after cup kept up a vigilant report on just how many fluids he was delivering. It was all added to the little clipboard that hung from K'mar's bedpost, right there next to the words "mild concussion" and some scribbling that no one but the Healer would ever again decipher.

What finally stirred her to leave the counter where she'd been finishing up a day's notes was not the black-eyed, black-mood arrival of the Weyrlingmaster; she regarded him with unflappable placidity while he did the stalking around, the wincing. What drew her up at first was the arrival of a bloody pail in her immaculately clean and antiseptic infirmary. Her mouth worked silently a few moments while her eyes hung from the mess just waiting to happen, while she stood up with an impotent step taken toward Volsteath. The lady doth protest!

Then there was I'dalyn, questioning her patient. Okay, granted, it's his weyrling, but the tilt of her head and the change in her course were patent. Though she must know perfectly well, she stopped at the foot of K'mar's cot with her fingers laid just a mite possessively across the flawlessly white sheets, with a how-may-I-help-you smile draped artfully from her lips, and she asked pleasantly, "I'm sorry, who are you?" Code for: Mine mine mine.

[Invisible]

Like a dog sniffing out a bone Volsteath’s head came up when I’dalyn was almost in the infirmary with the meat. His eyes whirled faster as the bucket of meat appeared and he watched it travel. When it came to rest by him he didn’t need to be told to eat. For all his hunger he didn’t dive right in but reached in to take out a single piece to chew and swallow. This care with his meal might have had something to do with the way K’mar tried to sit up. Alerted by Volsteath to the arrival of both a meal and the weyrlingmaster he managed to half get up before a groan escaped and he had to lie back down.

He had not noticed his mother who held back when she saw a healer and the weyrlingmaster gathering at her son’s cot. Instead she grabbed the infirmary assistant again and began to grill him for information while awaiting a chance to get to see her son. Unaware of the power struggle over him K’mar endeavored to answer his weyrlingmaster’s question. “I was refilling the oil, sir. That’s what my job was. But when I got to the last of it I slipped. Someone had spilled oil before and I didn’t notice. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t get it all finished.” Unsaid, but for a glance towards Rivaly, was the information that he had not been allowed to finish his work, but had instead been kept here.

[anhydrous]

As Rivaly approached with her queries I’dalyn glanced to his shoulder, perhaps to signal that he was indeed wearing his knots and didn’t need to be bothered answering such a question, although, it could have just as easily been to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten them that day. Either way, he spared a few terse words to Rivaly without any attitude that would deem him hostile. His irritation was gone already, a serious set to his features replacing the previous annoyance.

“Weyrlingmaster I’dalyn,” he said without hesitation, gaze flickering back to K’mar instantly as the weyrling groaned and lied back down. Something was wrong, although he wasn’t sure what. Assuming that this woman would tell him, after a moment he thoughtfully added, “And you?” He couldn’t recall her name, but it was plain that she was a healer. She had the false smile and impatient gleam in her eyes, neither of which did her pretty little form any justice.

“Might want to take a step back,” the brownrider suggested placidly, aware of the blood that was slowly seeping outward from the pail of meat. It was a necessary mess, seeing as the dragon had missed at least one feeding while his rider had been confined to the infirmary. Maybe he had missed two, I’dalyn considered inwardly, noting Volsteath’s obvious immediate attention to the meal, and yet his self-restraint. Perhaps there was a smart one in the bunch.

With a wave of his hand, I’dalyn shooed away K’mar’s explanations and apologies. “Don’t worry about the chores, that doesn’t matter. What is keeping you here? And why didn’t you send for someone to bring Volsteath a meal?” There was little in his voice besides curiosity, a reprimand beyond him at this point. He thought K’mar would have the sense to take care of his dragon after waiting so long to receive one, but the pain in the weyrling’s voice was all too apparent. I’dalyn had yet to see any visible wounds, but perhaps the brownrider had jarred something in his fall.

[blueaid]

Impatient? No no no, Rivaly's all manner of patient! It's a Mindhealer's patience, though, the kind that always seem to be leading someone down the primrose path only to douse them with a bucket of ice-water at the end of it. She balanced precariously between pretentious and empathetic, just now leaning toward the former as if it might give her a leg-up on the Weyrlingmaster.

Still placid, still projecting the aura of possession, she smiled like she'd been enlightened when I'dalyn supplied his name and title. Any efforts to draw her attention to the knot are lost on her, as she just ahhs with quiet understanding and drops a nod, reaching almost mechanically toward the chart, turning back the top page. "I'm Rivaly. Did you not get my note? K'mar hit his head." She added a quick look toward the bed-ridden weyrling, a silent apology for talking about him in the third person while he was right there. "Surely, being someone as concerned for his health as I am, you'll understand that I'd rather keep him here overnight than see something as trivial as a bump on the head turn nasty, I'dalyn?"

Some people would ask a question like that and sound like they were baiting, like they were leading an argument or trying to one-up themselves, but Rivaly's tone was tremendously calm, assuming that she and I'dalyn were on the same page. When the talk turned to Volsteath, toward whom she glanced with a brief passage of tolerant disgust for the mess his food was making, away from whom she slid with one sideways step, she left it for K'mar to answer. The long-suffering infirmary aide was all ready with a mop, leaning on the handle, watching K'mar's mother pump his co-worker for information.

Rivaly made no effort to withdraw from the conversation, though she provided herself with the business of reviewing her notes while the talk turned to aspects that hardly concerned her; let dragonhealers worry about starving dragonets. From her pocket, a pair of perfectly smudge-free spectacles were withdrawn and poised precisely across her nose, bringing the whole chicken-scratch into focus for her-- might as well be the riddle of the sphynx for the rest of the world. As long as I'dalyn was here interrupting the peace and order of the infirmary, she was going to be right there to insist on placidity, thank you.

[Invisible]

I was very hungry[/color] Volsteath told K’mar when I’dalyn remarked about having sent for food. He paused in his eating to look over at the cot with his rider and the others around it. What is wrong now? The female seems upset.[/color] It’s the mess K’mar answered as he closed his eyes to see if that would help the headache he’d seemed to have gotten. She’s upset about the blood I think. Well, I can hardly eat without some blood. You may tell her I will be as careful as I can be.[/color] With that said down went the brown’s head once more to take another chunk of meat for chewing.

“He says he won’t make any more of a mess than he has to,” K’mar tells Rivaly when his eyes open again. “He’s usually neater than most of the others.” Assurances shared he turned his head just a fraction to look at the weyrlingmaster. “I’m sorry, sir. I kept falling asleep and he kept saying it could wait a little longer and I should have, but- I don’t know. My head really hurts right now.” One hand moved to rub at the back of his head making him wince. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

[anhydrous]

I’dalyn was finding this conversation irritating. There was the tone of assuredness and self-importance that he couldn’t quite stand erupting from this woman, and every word out of the healer’s mouth deepened his frown. He wished more than anything that he could continue this visit without her interference, but it didn’t seem that she was going to be moving off to her duties any time soon. For now he was wearing what could be considered a bemused smile, nodding at her words but offering nothing of substance for her to reply to.

Paying the pained weyrling far more attention than the healer, I’dalyn noted an abundance of empty glasses scattering K’mar’s bedside. Sensing the problem, I’dalyn attempted to catch the eye of the infirmary aide and beckon him closer. “Could you please get this dragon some water? In a bucket, preferably?” For as smart as this healer was attempting to seem, she lacked something in the knowledge of dragons. The poor beast hadn’t been offered anything at all! He was little more than a bloody baby, he needed to be looked after, too. Sighing awkwardly, this obvious overlook compacted his irritation.

Once again waving away the apologies, I’dalyn pressed his lips together to bite back a reprimand. It would fall on deaf ears if those grimaces weren’t being faked. “You’re not being a pain, if you were, I’d tell you.” Pointing to the various glasses that had been left by the aide, I’dalyn offered one bit of advice before turning to the healer. “The next time you’re thirsty like that K’mar, you might ask Volsteath if he’d like a drink.”

Burying his agitation as best he could, the weyrlingmaster offered up his voice to Rivaly. “He will only stay the night here if the dragon is looked after as well. You can’t ignore a young dragon’s needs, no matter the state of the rider. He is not old enough to be separated yet, and although I know that you are not a dragonhealer, but if you hope to keep K’mar healthy you can’t malnourish and dehydrate his dragon.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke, his feet planted rather firmly while he waited for the infirmiary aide to return with a bucket of water. He would stand here and butt heads with the healer for the rest of the evening if he had to. This was just ridiculous.

[blueaid]

No, it didn't seem likely that Rivaly would be shuffling off soon to attend other work. Contrarily, every little betrayal from I'dalyn-- the deeper frown, the stern stance-- had the effect of further rooting her to the spot. "Actually," she began, setting her spectacles just a hair higher, not that they needed it but it had the air of being a habitual gesture of erudition. "I can ignore a young dragon's need for quite some time, if we're really on the matter of what I can and cannot do, I'dalyn. But my capacity to ignore a dragon's health isn't precisely what you meant, is it?" She smiled; were it not for the particular cleverness of the smile, the particular satisfaction of mincing words, it would almost be a pretty expression. Alas. "Lucky for us, you've come to enlighten me."

She permitted herself the momentary distraction of writing something in the margin of the clipboard, thereby allowing the chance to look away from I'dalyn's cross-armed stance, to provide a brief interlude where the butting-of-heads might defuse of its own accord. "If you mean to stay here all night and lecture me and order around the staff." Yes, she was a little ruffled at the notion of attending lessons for which she hadn't asked. She lifted her chin again, looked from the infirmary aide skittering off to collect a bucket of water then up to the Weyrlingmaster with the most tolerant of smiles still in place. "Then I suppose I'd better get you a stool."

The situation, the budding argument was rather ridiculous, but the fact remained: Rivaly was not a dragonhealer, nor a dragonrider, nor in any way inclined to realize that a thirsty weyrling would have anything to do with a thirsty dragonet. And she hardly seemed likely to apologize for her ignorance. "Otherwise, I'dalyn, I'm happy to say that K'mar likely has only a minor concussion and will be fit to return to his duties in the morning, with only a little lightening of his load."

At the end, she added a questioning look toward the bed-ridden weyrling, as if she might gauge his reaction to borderline good news. Happy? Yes? No?