Monaco Bay Weyr - Infirmary
A long series of caves, each well lit with electric lights and featuring walls and floors laborously chipped smooth. A triage cavern/waiting room serves as the nexus between the doorway to the lower caverns and the tunnel leading to the infirmary weyr and is furnished with a soft rug, comfortable chairs, and a bookshelf with books to read while waiting. To the one side of this central area is an emergency surgery cave: steel-topped cabinets on wheels situated around a central table, with a sink and storage cabinet. To the other side, narrow man-made hallway links the healer's office, a small staff conference room, an examination cave, another surgery room, a storage cave, and several caves set aside for those patients who need to stay in the infirmary for an extended period of time.
"Well, I suppose they all have their moments. When Fuerioth has her bad days, best to hide."
Pro-tip: noon in the middle of the sevenday isn't a very busy time for the Monaco infirmary. As a matter of fact, there's only a single patient being seen currently, all the rest of the infirmary laying open. A senior journeyman is currently lecturing a bunch of fresh-faced infirmary workers — all of them candidates by the look of it. There's a tremendous amount of fresh-faced youths, and then there's Xhaevyr, who looks like he really isn't fucking sure about being here right now, and is calculating how far he'd have to run to escape Szeta's wrath if he withdrew. (Answer: too far for him to get there before she does, so he's STUCK HERE. Learning how to roll bandages. oh the humanity)
Well, Xhaevyr won't have to go too far because there's a very pissed off red faced greenrider making his way in, resting his arm in one sleeve and it's all sorts of ugly colors itself. The man takes in a deep breath, and lets it out with a low grumbling litany of idiots who don't know what they're doing and why the fuck should they be allowed to elave the ground. He takes a seat in the waiting area, tapping his boot on the floor in irritation.
"You," it's decided, "Go fill this chart out and find out what's wrong with him now." That's from the senior healer on duty, determining that Xhaevyr is dubiously competent enough to handle intake. Probably not a smart move, but whatever, the senior journeyman might be gone next sevenday! Xhaevyr pulls himself up regardless, entering into the waiting room with the upright posture of a man from the genteel halls of Fort's crafter complex. "And, ah, how may the infirmary be of assistance to you today, sir…?" He holds the clipboard awkwardly, not used to this kind of thing. BUT WHAT DOES HE DO WITH HIS HANDS
R'sian remembers where he is and when he hears that voice, the red in his face slowly pales and he keeps those green eyes aimed at the floor because if it is who he thinks it is, he's gonna have outies become innies and no elbow length gloves are gonna rectify that situation. After a nervous lick to the edge of his mouth, he chances a glance at the corner of his eyes and sags in relief when he sees it's not that healer. The greenrider closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and schools his words precisely so he doesn't accidently summon IT. "I was crashed into by an errant rider while dismounting and I injured by arm. Just wanted to get it checked out so I can return to work." Work. More like his weyr with a cold drink, who's he kidding. DO JAZZ HANDS.
A fine tenor with a full rasp and more than a measure of Fort's lofty vowels: Xhaevyr's tonality is unique to be certain. His grey eyes make a brief assessment of R'sian's own posture, slate gaze focusing in on the arm. But Xhaevyr does pause at the explanation. "Do you mean to say that another rider crashed into you and caused that much damage?" He seems very surprised by it. "I'm sorry, rider…?" A prompt for a name, his hand hovering over that section on this damn intake form.
"He crashed into ME with his DRAGON," R'sian hisses as he shrugs the jacket off of his shoulder, resting the injured arm in his lap. "Thankfully he didn't hurt Tzombeth. Idiot. They were in the air for a while, how could they now see a green dragon on the ground as they came barreling in is beyond me!" He winces, holding his arm while peering around quickly. Still no scary healer, so he just grumps in his seat. "I was standing on her back turning to dismount when I was clipped. Arm was twisted in the straps and wrenched on the way down. Don't think it's broken." Someone is gonna be, though!
"That seems… excessively ill-advised," Xhaevyr manages to say with some small level of aplomb given the topic of one dragonrider HITTING ANOTHER WITH HIS DRAGON. "I see." Xhaevyr pencils in a few brief notes regarding the situation that R'sian has filled in, and then with pointed cant of eyebrows inquires, "And your name is, sir?" Because you know. SOME THINGS ONLY GET ANSWERED when you very pointedly ask them. "Once I have this I think we can get you seen immediately." Because the whole rest of the place is freakin' vacant, other than healers and candidates.
"Oh, right. I'm R'sian. Mildly important, I suppose," he drawls sourly. Sniff. After glancing around, he opens his mouth to ask a question but then given the trend of things, he refrains. The answer is likely right infront of his face. After running fingers through his black hair to straighten it out a little bit, he just relaxes in his seat. "New Candidate?"
"R'sian. Thank you." Xhaevyr jots the name down and gestures for the greenrider to rise and follow him. "We'll get you settled in the back. And yes. Fresh from the Smithcraft," with wry, wry voice to that last bit. "Xhaevyr." A hesitatation. "Candidate Xhaevyr, I suppose it is these days." At least it's a break from the tourist village's plumbing problems.
Oh the plumbing problems. Hopefully they don't do the low budget 'water saving' privy cause we all know that it takes more water to clean up one trip and ain't no body have the olfactory senses to spare for that. "Well met, Candidate Xhaevyr. Monaco's extended greetings to you and condolences on your Candidacy." R'sian raises his brows, grinning widely as he rises to his feet. "It's not too bad, you came in when the tamer of the golds is due to be on the sands."
Water management is CRITICAL. In most places. Maybe not so much Monaco, come to think. "Thank you kindly," the Smith-candidate replies with authenticity for Monaco's greetings from the other man, shooting a wry smile touched not at all with his traditional smugness. Smugness has been stripped away for the time being, leaving only… Xhaevyr. "Well, one of the other golds is the one to have Searched me," he says, "So I think I understand what you're saying. This way, if you don't mind," leading the rider past the front counter and into the mass of cubicles. He has no clue where tf they are going but seems pretty into winging it.
If the healers truly cared where they were supposed to go, they should've said something from the get go instead of letting this poor innocent Candidate go about his day in a place that regularly deals with life and death! Like the kitchens! R'sian is content to follow Xhaevyr for now, his steps smooth and quiet. The rider prefers a clean and steril environment, but even he considers the squeaky sounds on the floor from boots to be unclean. At least he doesn't openly complain about it anymore. "Well, I suppose they all have their moments. When Fuerioth has her bad days, best to hide."
"I'll remember that," Xhaevyr says, though he's vowed by now to avoid the queens as much as possible after the latest repercussion of interacting with goldriders. "Here, this one looks likely. Have a seat and let me see if I can't drum up the healer for you." With fine propriety he hooks the chart on the latch by the cubbie he's directing R'sian toward, and moving with purpose off to find a Healer. This shouldn't take long. And honestly, how much trouble could R'sian get into in five minutes before Xhae returns with a Healer escort?
R'sian responds with a curt nod and sits where directed. As Xhaevyr wanders to do as he mentioned, the greenrider begins to take a visual tour of his little cubical. These places, both the cleanest and dirtiest in any weyr, hold or hall. Those critical green eyes begin to scour every available surface - the walls and things hung from them. The various implements of a healers trade arranged neatly across the room. Even the very seat he sits on himself. How many other sick people have sat on these chairs? Were they disinfected? With a quick shake of his head, the greenrider shoves the thoughts away. He can't be too particular about this Infirmary. As he begins to relax in his seat, he glances over to jars and then double takes, peering at the lids. There's a dust bunny, the tiniest little mote of fluff clinging to the rim of what should be a tightly snug lid. Did the mote get caught in the threads? Is it simply clinging externally? Has the jar been cleaned recently? He'll just sit there and imagine every worse case plague scenario out there while he waits. You know, normal everyday stuff. « Stop it, you're being ridiculous. »
And VOILA, here's the Fortian transplant back with someone who is most certainly not Fortian. The man is as tall as the candidate he accompanies however, though build on much more slender lines. "Ah, R'sian. Let's have a look then, shall we?" The Healer brusquely rinses his hands with redwort (there you go) and gestures for Xhaevyr to attend him. "Now what numbskull in particular did this to you?" the Healer questions, even as Xhae hovers with a totally unlike-him level of uncertainty about his stance. (but what does he do with his hands)
R'sian turns in his seat to present the ugly looking forearm and elbow to the Healer while he scowls at the memory of the incident. "It's that numskull K'tee and his brown Litterth! The dragon can't ever just land next to folks, so we told him he needed to be out in the open away from people. Gets too damn excited and I have a feeling," R'sian hisses with a finger held up to accentuate his seething words, "That that idiot is overwhelming the dragon so he can't pay attention to what he's doing."
"Oh ho, look at this beauty." The islander does his poking and prodding and range of motion tests within the beautiful bloom of bruise covering the forearm and elbow of the rider. Xhaevyr meanwhile hops into the conversation, eyes flicking back to the Healer's work here and there. "Is that a… thing, then? A rider overwhelming his dragon?" He seems genuinely curious, the candidate does, as if such a thing has never even crossed his mind as the faintest possibility.
R'sian twists in his seat, his mouth moving in the silent owowowowoowoowwie while the man does his work. His free hand might be gripping the seat to a white knuckled hue. There might be a little bit of a glossy green-eyed 'help me' glance over to Xhaevyr but the man doesn't utter a peep to disturb the Healer. He just swallows it down and clears his throat, composing himself the best he can. "Well, dragons are individuals in their own right. Yes, they're essentially a part of us, the part we never knew was missing. They're still their own, they get tired and confused and overwhemled and overstimulated like the rest of us. It's up to us riders to support them like they support us. That jackass needs retraining." Dragons are gonna dragon no matter what. If they want to steal laundry and sprinkle skivvies across the weyr or help move trees in a natural disaster, they're gonna do it because they're awesome like that.
Sorry buddy. Xhaevyr isn't going to volunteer as tribute to get R'sian out of getting his arm checked, no matter how freaking painful it looks — and it does. The Healer finally announces, "A very bad sprain, but no signs of fracture. Ice it and no reliance on that joint or picking anything up by that arm," as he jots down notes on the cart Xhae started. Xhaevyr, however, is less concerned about the man's injury and more about what he's saying, having — let's be honest here, having never really thought about dragons like that before. "That sounds incredibly fucked up," is what the candidate says, realizing only thereafter how it may sound in CONTEXT. "Not you, sir," regarding the Healer. "But that a dragonrider would put that level of strain," NO PUN INTENDED, "on his lifemate."
Once his arm is RELEASED from the Healer, R'sian kneads it gently with his own hand and murmurs his thanks to the man before glancing over to Xhaevyr, managing the tiniest of crooked smiles at the very least. "Well, you figure every day people put that level of strain on everyday people, why should dragons be any different? It's not as though it's ill intended when it comes to rider and dragons. They can feel their lifemates emotions so it helps with the mouth and mind filter. You're privy to emotions outsiders will never be unless they show it on the outside. My girl always looks angry on the outside, but she's as sweet as candy on the inside. Dragon. Mind-wise. I won't share the details on my other girl."
The Healer dismisses both of them, with a bid to Xhaevyr to see the rider out of the infirmary and then to return to the lecture and bandage rolling party in the back. The once-Smith holds the cubby curtain aside for R'sian because it's the properly mannerful thing to do, saying in reply after a moment, "I'll take your word on that, sir." The inner composure of any girl associated with R'sian, and he knows too well to not piss off an injured person, much less one with a dragon that apparently is always angry-looking. "I hope you heal quickly, for what it's worth. And that your wingmate," he assumes it's a wingmate anyhow, "Learns how to better park his dragon."
Jacket readjusted, R'sian offers a nod of thanks to Xhaevyr as he leaves the cubicle for release. The greenrider won't share details, guaranteed all of it will just make the rest of the weyr's feelings hurt, forcing them to bathe in their boring procreation. He tests the slow movement of his arm, then nods with a frown. "If he doesn't, I'm gonna park him somewhere he's not going to be able to get out of." His angry looking dragon is cute, though! At least to him and her mother.
And that, friends, is why there's nothing else quite like a mother's love. Xhaevyr will be finding nothing of the sort here, and ends up right back where he started: being lectured by a Healer and rolling bandage. Full circle… or something.