Reky
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Post by Reky on Aug 13, 2011 10:01:50 GMT -5
After the fire had been put out, the Weyr continued to be busy, making room for the influx of patients to the infirmary, setting up the makeshift kitchen and organizing food donations from other Weyr and holds. Samael's involvement in all of the hustle and bustle had been minimal; she had been whisked away by a healer, informed that she would have to stay with them for a while, and promptly prescribed a flask of fellis wine. Numb and fast asleep, the shrapnel was removed from her arms and palm and all her burns disinfected and bandaged.
When she surfaced from her slumber in the morning, the was groggy and disoriented. Her arms throbbed with whatever dull pain managed to push through the fellis' effects. There was no numbweed to silence it completely. Instead, her bandages were stained with the ghastly hue of redwort. For a second, her heart leapt and caught in her through, wondering if she had bled through the dressings, but then realize she hadn't and relaxed back against her pillow.
Naireth, she said, exhasperated, searching out her dragon's mind. Naireth had slept outside the infirmary the entire night. Had the dragon bay not been filled with human patients to make the most of the space, Naireth would have been inside, as close to Samael as possible. She refused to be moved until she needed to eat or her rider was released; where the great tan was, Samael was not far off.
SamaelMine, you are in pain, [/i] the tan observed. Yeah... a bit. I'm okay... I think they said something about that. They had to be careful my burns don't get infected, so redwort 'stead of numbweed... She sighed heavily. I'm stuck here for a while, Naireth. I don't want to...Naireth wished for you to get better. The healers said to stay, so you must listen to them. I will not let you hurt yourself, SamaelMine.Don't I know it, Sam frowned, resigning herself to a day of boredom. What was she supposed to do? Her hands and arms hurt. She wasn't supposed to leave. She turned onto her side dejectedly, curling her legs up under the sheet. She supposed she could eat something and just go back to sleep...[/size][/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 13, 2011 22:26:43 GMT -5
"Good morning Naireth," the Tanrider said as he passed the pale subqueen coiled in front of the infirmary. He looked up to her when he said it, but kept walking, not anticipating any response. Behind him prowled his own dragon, wings partially mantled over her back like a speckled brown cloak that wagged from side to side as she progressed. Where Q'sis passed into the wide infirmary bay without issue, Unath went rigid just inside the entryway, her neck snapping into a sharp S. She blinked a few times as a stream of directions coursed into her head, then turned around with a rumble and proceeded back out.
Her forked tail-tips twitched when she noticed Naireth, and stomped over to get a sniff of the other Tan. Sniffing involved mashing her blunt nose into Naireth's shoulder. Unath pulled her head back after a few seconds, tilting it from side to side. Then she wandered away, tail dragging a line across the ash on the ground.
Q'sis navigated the orderly rows of bodies, taking long steps straight over those in the center rather than pestering himself to go the longer but less crowded route around the perimeter. Most of the patients were asleep anyway, and the few awake weren't in much of a state to protest. He had visually searched the entire bay as he entered, and thus headed straight for the actual beds at the back a few select casualties enjoyed, mostly the longer-term, non-critical cases.
He looked in on two or three strangers before he found her, building up a smile on his wearied face as he stepped into the rudimentary niche where her bed rested. "Hey," he said, laying down the numerous parcels encumbering his arms on the floor. Then Q'sis turned and left. A minute later he reappeared, carrying a sturdy whitewood chair in his left hand and a small bed tray in his right. He positioned the chair behind the various oblong containers he had set on the ground, then lifted the tray over Samael.
As he lowered the stunted prop-legs of the tray to either side of her, Q'sis offered a belated, whimsical "excuse me," then retreated to sit in the chair he had brought. "They got the smoke out of here pretty quick," he muttered approvingly as he leaned down to rummage through his things. A second later one of his hands rose up at his fellow Tanrider, bearing a flask of redfruit extract so cold traces of water had condensed along the sides. Q'sis raised his head, peering over the bedside at Samael's bandages. His offering of the flask wavered, and he sat back up to get a better look.
He glanced to the foot of the bed, where the slate that recorded all her ails undoubtedly rested, but he did not reach for it. "Both your arms were hit?" The trader appeared pale, even with the loss of his Summer tan behind him. He had washed, thoroughly, yesterday and today, so he did not smell like the dining hall's devastation anymore. A brown wherhide jacket he had recently extended with a few tricks of seaming still hung around his shoulders, though it was warm enough to do without on this side of the infirmary. A pair of gloves hung out of the right side jacket pocket. Everything one needed to know about the morning's atmosphere was written into his heavy, weather-resistant attire.
Q'sis reached over and laid the flask on the table rather than handing it straight off to her. He started to open another of his boxes, then raised his head again and looked around the sparingly private niche. "Where's the flit?"
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Reky
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Post by Reky on Aug 18, 2011 12:02:52 GMT -5
Naireth was vaguely aware of Q'sis' greeting, but even so, she chose to ignore him as he passed. He was of no consequence to her at the moment. He had done nothing to offend Hers quite yet, and until he did, she had more important things to worry about. The tan might as well been hooked up to Samael by tubes and wires for the focus she put on the woman's body rhythms. Her dismal sighs and resting heartbeat were monitored closely through the mental link. Any sign of distress and Naireth was ready to contact the nearest healer. It didn't occur to her minuscule brain that the healers were likely busy with matters more urgent than Samael's barely-elevated heartrate; all Naireth had a mind for was Samael's eternal wellbeing.
Samael, as a result, noticed no difference in Naireth's behavior when Q'sis passed, and only a mild wave of confusion as she found Unath's nose squashed against her. Unaware of the reason, however, Samael was equally unaware of her impending visitor. She laid quietly in her bed, frowning slightly. Naireth's presence was like an uncomfortably warm towel wrapped around the insides of her head. She should have liked to be physically curled up next to her dragon's spice-scented hide, but the way Naireth made up for being kept outside the infirmary was uncomfortable. Naireth, relax, Samael said pitifully, and the dragon in her head became less intense.
Q'sis' appearance and smile tugged a similarly weary expression onto Samael's face. The man left and she figured he'd be coming back - at least, he had better, or he would hear of it later. In the meantime, Samael propped up her pillow and leaned against it, more upright than she had been before but still lounging. Having noticed Samael's movement, Naireth stiffened in her outside territory. I shall alert a healer, the tan announced, and Samael frowned. What? Why? Naireth, no. Don't. And Naireth didn't.
The tired rider smiled down at the tray over her thighs and at the slight creak as Q'sis sat down. She was immensely grateful for the unexpected company. The day had promised to be incredibly boring without it. Now she would at least have a good conversation to tire her out again, hopefully a good breakfast and then she could go back to sleep without feeling entirely useless. "I guess they did," she said, admiring the healers' hard work. "They sure got a lot done while I was asleep." Half the patients she saw around wouldn't have fit in the infirmary when the healers drugged her up. By the time she woke, so much had changed that she felt incredibly disoriented.
She had been slow in moving for the proffered juice and found Q'sis looking over her wounds instead. Her eyes followed his to the redwort-stained bandages. The throb of her arms intensified as she acknowledged their painful existence and she frowned in defiance. Rebelling against her disability, she raised them the way, illustrating the way she had blocked the blast. It smarted something fierce and she put them down. "Yeah. Better than my face, though, I guess." She coughed and something pulled at the back of her head. Now aware of the bandage there, she worried how much hair she was missing. She was sick of dealing with her injuries already and even sicker of talking about them. Predictably, she didn't protest to the subject change.
"Balto?" she squeaked, coughing again. She'd been sleeping so long... "I... I don't know, actually. I just woke up. Guess he's off idolizing someone else." She felt his consciousness not far off but didn't bother with any further investigation. In truth, the black firelizard was prowling out in the fields, stomping bugs and kicking up ash. He would not fly ever again, he decided, because the beastly whers he saw in the night were the greatest things he had ever seen.
Sam rested her head to the side, cheek on her pillow to look at Q'sis with minimal effort. "How's the damage?" she asked quietly. "Well, I guess... how are you, too? Were you up all night?" She hoped not and her voice conveyed that. Sleep was important and she felt like she had hogged it all to herself. [/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 18, 2011 16:23:01 GMT -5
As long as the firelizard was not here. Aside from his own objections, firelizards tended to encourage, even demand activity to suit their frivolous, joyful existences. They were not good companions in most cases, and least of all when one needed nothing but rest. He watched Samael's arms rise, plummet, and flinched when the cough shook her.
"Try with just your wrists and hands then," he said, pointing to the cold bottle with its miniature glass stopper. "That will do for the cough till the healers get around to you." The redfruit cider was thankfully too pale to be easily misconstrued as blood. "I wasn't up actually. The tea the healers have been making for the cough, hyssop I think-- they laced mine with fellis." Q'sis sniffed at good intentions. "Now they expect me to drink it every morning and night and trust they will not try to control more than my lungs." Q'sis shook his head as he pulled a wooden box from one of his travel packages and laid it out on the tray. "I admit this morning's dose has produced no ill effects."
He reached over her to unlatch the box, but did not swing it open. Waiting inside were three fishrolls wrapped in hand-cloths, and a couple of utensils for picking them apart. Q'sis had not known the extent of the other Tanrider's injuries, but he did value a crumb-free bed as much as the next man-- sanitation that eating by hand might not afford. "Open the box a little and see if the scent is too rich first," he cautioned, bending down yet again to recover the final element of the breakfast: a clay bowl full of dried raspberries. "They were ruining these by sticking them in some kind of porridge. Everything is setup down the beach. The healers are too lazy to bring anything up here but cups of uncooked oats." He picked a few raspberries out for himself before settling back in his chair. His dark eyebrows lifted challengingly as he ate the fruits.
Then he leaned back in his seat, draping his arms over the rests. All the chairs around the Weyr tended to be just a little small for him, but this one was serviceable. His legs only had to overextend a little to keep his feet in comfortable positions on the floor. He moistened his lips in an artful pause, though there was no stopping the gravelly edge to his winded voice. It would pass, like the cough. "An Iron, Purple, Viridian, and a fighter. The Purple was Weyrlingmaster F'del's. The rest were just 'folk. The Headwoman..." He turned the last dark, withered raspberry over his fingers, then tossed it into his mouth. "Mm. Weyrwoman Fajra's boy."
Q'sis smiled at her, but his voice came out on a held note of disapproval: "Kitchens were filthy enough to let the fire breed, but most of the casualties occurred where you had been. There was an explosion when the fire made contact with a flamethrower." He paused, but did not ask if she remembered. "Then the efforts to put out the flames were hindered due to a conspicuous lack of supplies. We have yet to receive official word on who is responsible for that. The kitchens and the hall are completely destroyed. It will be some days' worth of tithes before they open again."
The fingers of his right hand squeezed around the tip of the armrest. "I saw Naireth and looked for you, but didn't see. You were there somewhere..." He shook his head. "When you got out you were on your feet. Some girl had you. Candidate. Haven't found out her name yet." He took a deep breath, and steered his expression away from scowling. He managed to pull it off like a sigh, like he was just disappointed: "Fajra is the one who thought to use the flamethrower in such a place, and left it behind for the fire to catch."
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Reky
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Post by Reky on Aug 18, 2011 17:43:41 GMT -5
Samael was glad for the food Q'sis bore. She wondered, selfishly, if he had thought of her specifically, if he had brought things only for her, or if she was just part of some routine round to acquaintances. She figured she should be grateful anyways and carefully moved her tender arms to bottle to unstopper it. She took her time lifting it to her lips, being kind to her injury. A long drink spent listening to Q'sis was extended to last herself longer before she needed to move again, and held the open bottle close for convenience.
"I could taste the fellis in my wine," she said. "Medicine. They said my arms were a mess... Probably for the best that they knocked me out." She smiled at her own expense. "Hopefully they'll get some of that tea to me before I fall back asleep-- oh, what's in there?" She waited for him to unlatch the new box before leaning carefully forward to test the smell. She deposited her flask on the tray in favor of the fishrolls. They were a bit strong for breakfast, but she muscled through the initial discomfort. She just wanted to eat. She wanted to eat a lot. Her eyes were probably bigger than her stomach.
"In porridge?" she said, scrunching up her face in disgust. "That's not right. Thanks for the breakfast, though. Shells. Especially if the healers aren't actually grabbing food for us." Slowly, she went about cutting the first fishroll into manageable bites. He began listing off colors and at first she didn't know why. Then... was F'del's. Were weyrfolk. They were dead. Osro was dead. She had speared a slice of fishroll with her form but had not the stomach to eat it now. She set the utensils down and leaned back.
Osro. F'del. The Headwoman. Osro. She had known the boy. Of all the children who frequented the creche, there were a few she doted on especially, and Osro had been so much fun. He was a good boy. Even Naireth acknowledged his presence every now and then. Samael took a deep, shaking breath. Q'sis continued on and she nodded now and then to prove she was listening, even if she didn't quite want to. She didn't want to hear about the death, destruction, accusations. It was a flamethrower that hit her and it worried her. All of a sudden, she felt less comfortable with one of them strapped to her back.
"Wow... Okay. Right," she forced out. She nodded again to herself, as if it would help. "Okay. But it couldn't be Fajra's fault. She knows how to take care of a flamethrower, and I should know, because she taught me most of it." She raised her fork, winced, and stared at the fishroll on the end. She set it back down. "Faranth... Osro." She felt ridiculous. He wasn't even her kid. He was Fajra's. She wasn't even very close to Fajra. And she was being a sissy. If she wanted to get better, she had to be positive, right? Moping wasn't going to heal her burns. "It'll get better," she said, mostly to herself. "They'll... fix the kitchens, and all that." Samael waved her fork and shoved the piece of fishroll into her mouth. Chew, swallow.
"Thanks for... for the food. Y'know. And for coming around. I just..." She poked another slice. "Well, I would have had to hear it sooner or later." She laughed quietly, but it was hardly a happy sound. [/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 18, 2011 20:35:30 GMT -5
As Samael digested the news, Q'sis rose and headed around to that irresistible slate mounted on the foot of the bed. He returned and balanced it on his lap, reading through the healer scribbles as the other Tanrider projected what she would, he glancing up at her occasionally, without expression. When he finished reading, he got back up to replace the slate.
"I'm not going to keep telling you things if you won't eat," he informed her as he sat down in his bedside throne the second time. This was followed by a purposeful observation of the rise and fall of her fork, till another bite of fishroll disappeared. Then he added: "There's nothing more to tell. They will fix it all." Nor would he elaborate or argue with a bedridden woman. Q'sis looked to where the bandage to the back of Samael's head wrapped around front. He reached over to nudge some of her hair that had gotten trapped under the cloth back out. "If I had known, I would have thought better on this," he muttered, retracting his hand. He waited till Samael had finished eating to take the box and the bowl back, leaving the bottle. Then he fished through the parcel at his feet one last time.
He presented that which he might have "thought better" on. Replacing the food on Samael's tray was a thin cherrywood case, a small cup, and last of all an egg-shaped rock that had been boiled and polished. The rock was about the length of Samael's hand, light grey with amber striations. The bottom of it was wrapped in an old rag speckled by dry paint. Q'sis put the rock at the center of the tray, then held off on his explanation for a moment just to grin at her. Then he opened the case: inside were a couple small paintbrushes, and a set of paint wells of which only five remained full. Of the five, two were brown, one green, one white, and one black. The faded shadows of the other colors that had abounded in the set originally haunted the empty wells.
The brush-tips were frayed, but not unusable for an amateur. Q'sis removed one and held it out to Samael, to see if her burnt hands could bear it. "If you do not have visitors, this will be better than staring at the ceiling. You'll need a healer to help you set it up, because you will need the tray and you must fill the cup with water. Ask me when you need a new stone and I will bring you one. This material is light." He lifted the rock with one hand, as if the act proved his description.
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Reky
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Post by Reky on Aug 23, 2011 22:07:42 GMT -5
The fleeting proximity of Q'sis' hands to her head was nothing but a small gesture. Still, the kindness and closeness of it had Samael pausing for a moment, afraid to move while he freed her hair. Burns lingered under the bandage, as the slate would detail, and Samael would deal with a patch of boyish hair for a while if it even grew back at all. The worst of the injuries were on her forearms, speckled with shrapnel and burned quite well, palms scraped and raw. A few other spots on her body had been licked by flame and the clothes she had been wearing were done for, leaving the tanrider coughing in a spare nightgown.
Samael's palms could not quite bear touch of the brush handle, even if it appeared so effortless in Q'sis' hands. The skin was rough and still tender, so she rested it in the nest of her fingers alone and waved it as a delicate baton. A soft smile crept onto her tired face as she peered at the few remaining paints. White and brown caught her attention first. She was no painter, but general color theory was firmly etched into her mind from her childhood at Boll. Dyes were diluted to produce a lighter hue, but placed on white, a watery brown would be light brown. White paint and brown paint would produce her mind's obsession: the hue of Naireth's hide. Not exactly, but close.
"This looks like fun," she said, eyes lighting up. For all the sickening sorrow she felt for the dead and for the damage done, she also felt like she was being weak and needed to buck up. A distraction was welcome. Anything to keep her mind off Osro, off her burns. She assured Naireth again that she was fine and commanded the dragon be calmer, being met with quick obedience. "I've never really painted much before, but..." She shrugged. She had worked with her hands plenty. Not that stringing fine beads would translate exactly into setting brush to stone, but at least it was a leg up.
"Thank you," she said again, and meant it. "If I need company I guess I'll just talk to my rock." She laughed at her own little joke, coughed, and rested the brush on the paint case. [/blockquote] |
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 25, 2011 20:07:29 GMT -5
"I will be along when I can. You know what a demanding lady Unath can be." Or rather, Samael could probably remember exactly how much work Weyrlinghood entailed at this pre-fledgling stage. Not just Unath to oil and feed, but chores, and lessons, and even drills, pathetic as they were with a flock of young dragons hobbling about the Bowl. Q'sis sat back in his chair, watching the other Tanrider maneuver the brush between her fingers, his jaw tightening as he saw how she kept it away from her palm.
When she laid the brush back in its little cache, he leaned forward to close the case top and latch the simple peg lock. His hand lingered over the thin wooden cover, tracing a line down the polished grain, and he frowned at Samael. "I can always bring you the good food in the mornings, but the rest of the day you will have to fend for yourself. I'll have Unath talk to Naireth if there's anything to say." A man began screaming out in the main infirmary, having apparently just woken for the day.
Q'sis turned his ear on the noise, scowling, then rose from his chair and walked out of sight. He returned dragging a Fort Healer Journeyman who put up no resistance at all, though his face was tight with annoyance. "That one," Q'sis said, releasing the man and gesturing at Sam. "Give 'er the tea for the cough so she can sleep." The Journeyman eyed the Tan Weyrling for a moment, then moved with ritual dignity over to the foot of the bed. He picked up Samael's slate and read over it, then stepped gracefully out of the room with the ailment list in-hand.
The Tideturner pointedly watched the healer leave, then turned to begin clearing the painting supplies off the tray and onto the sidetable. "They're keeping those Forties here till some of the casualties get released." He shook his head as he laid the rock down last among the other items, but did not sit again by Samael's side. He stood over her, looking down. "There are so many reasons this shouldn't have happened." The Weyrling was just setting the bed-tray on the floor when the Journeyman returned. "I'll leave you then," Q'sis said, packing up the used dishes in the box he had carried them up in. He departed and the dour-faced healer replaced him in the chair, lifting a mug of tea to Samael's lips.
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