[Log] Firepants
Who: R'dur, T'bay, Yselle
When: Unknown
Where: Workroom, Telgar Weyr
What: When Yselle takes a tumble, everybody gets on R'dur's case.
Telgar's Workroom
Telgar's workroom is usually aflutter with activity. When the skies are clear of Thread and the main caverns taken care of, many of the residents gather here to work on hobbies and projects of one sort or another. Leather strips hang neatly on pegs along the northern wall, while varying hues of threads in an array of widths dangle beside them. Thin strips of wood are gathered into baskets that line the wall beneath the pegs and, one would assume, are used in making other baskets. The eastern wall boasts a long, if narrow wooden table. Materials and hides litter its top which are likely works in progress left by owners for the now. A small hearth and nearby table complete the room as they occur by the southern-most stone wall. Mugs, cups and small plates claim the table as home while there always seems to be something brewing over the heat. Glowbaskets are scattered about the cavern for use by whomever needs them. They manage to add a warm glow that tends to pervade those who enter here.
Contents:
Yselle
Obvious exits:
Bowl
Yselle is asleep in here, head on a table, backside on one chair, feet on another. My that looks comfortable.
R'dur ambles unhurriedly into the work room, laden with a carefully folded set of riding straps. These he sets down at the first table he reaches, flexing his arms and grimacing as he takes a break for a few moments. The straps are eyed, readjusted meticulously; then he spares a quick glance for the room itself. Yselle, then, is noted with a small frown, brows furrowing as the brownrider eyes her for several moments. Then, giving his straps another glance and pushing them back from the edge of the table, R'dur creeps over to the greenrider uncertainly. Next to her he stands, plainly wavering over a decision. Finally, though, he offers, very quietly, "Yselle?" Hopefully, that'll be enough to wake her, or so he seems to think.
Well, it's enough to stir her, anyway. She doesn't wake exactly, but her head rises a little from the table. "Wha?" Unfortunately, she /had/ her balance last time. Her head doesn't descend quite in the direction in which it rose. In fact, she loses her balance entirely, and begins to topple towards R'dur. Now, that's enough to wake anyone up. She's going to plant her face on the ground if nothing stops her.
R'dur's first instinct is to jump back, eyes widening; however, he quickly quells that reaction and reaches to catch Yselle, if he's not too late already. "Yselle! Wake up, Yselle!" he cautions her quickly, voice rising above the murmur of earlier.
He's pretty close to too late. Yselle is by now awake enough to reach out and try and halt her fall. Her instinct is to protect her stomach, one hand covering it, the other reaching for the floor. The next minute, she's crashed with the most evil epithet poor R'dur has probably heard since... the last one.
R'dur follows Yselle's curse with one of his own, then a flurry of question. "Yselle! Are you okay? Is... everything okay? I mean, are you and--Do you want a healer? I can get a healer if you want. Alidaeth and I--we can--that is, if you want? Are you sure you're okay? Is anything broken? You didn't land on--?" He wrings his hands, pale and panicky as he stares down at the fallen rider--too busy worrying to even help her up for the moment.
T'bay pushes aside the curtain, a small leather pouch held aloft in one hand as though it were used to ward off danger, though it could be to make advantage of the eerie glowlight within. The batch of cursing and the woman on the floor give him full pause. Expressions in variety play across his face: hanky panky? Accident? Argument? Unfortunately, it is the last that clings, pulling his brows together and his lips into a frown. "Just what is going on here? Yselle, do you need help?" Like R'dur isn't already offering, sheesh.
Yselle has gone a pasty white colour. It's all the rage, no really. The cursing continues. She shuffles herself to a sitting position on the ground, holding her wrist gingerly. "Oh shells," she groans. "Shut up a sec, R'dur." Nice. She doesn't stop holding her tummy for more than a second. "You'd better get a healer if you can," and that will, perhaps not entirely coincidently, get him out of her hair for a moment or seven. "T'bay, thank Faranth." Never has she seemed so pleased to see that particular brownrider.
"I--yes, ma'am." Meekly, R'dur subsides into silence, though he still fidgets and worries and belatedly looks like he's going to help the weyrsecond up. But her request stops him, and he nods quickly. "T'bay! I--I--I have to get a healer!" he announces with a sudden frantic purposefulness. And without further ado, he turns and dashes back toward the bowl to do just that.
T'bay's scowl darkens, the larger man blocking the entryway for a good long moment to look (even upward) at his taller agemate. "That sounds like a good idea." His elbows just out from his waist, hands firmly planted on hips, and when he steps aside, it is not an easy pathway left for R'dur to exit. Once he's gone, T'bay steps quickly to Yselle's side, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out to her. "If you're hurt, you shouldn't move, it could make things worse. Rest, use this as a pillow. He'll be back." At least he has some faith.
"It's just my wrist," Yselle mutters, edging carefully along the ground, and taking the jacket gratefully. "Must've fallen asleep in here again. I fell over. Thanks T'bay," She doesn't get up though, apparently she's not so complacent as all that. "I don't think I fell on the baby," she /does/ sound worried though. Pregnancy will do that.
When R'dur enters again, he's dragging a frazzled-looking healer by the wrist along with him, worry for Yselle making him brusque with her. "Hurry--she's in here," he urges the woman. "Yselle? Yselle, are you okay? I got the healer. She--um, what hurts? Is it--what's wrong, I mean? What did you land on?" Once more, he barrages the poor greenrider with questions, and hangs back from her--giving T'bay a quick nervous look.
T'bay kneels down by her side, folds his arms. "Fallen asleep in here -again-?" The disapproval in his voice is clear and plain, the goatee on his chin twitching as he contains his rage. "You fell over? Is that all of the story?" His voice softens, but his brows caterpillar together. "You know you can tell me, talk to me, if there's something else going on here." R'dur's hasty return brings a soft growl in the man's throat, animal protectiveness, and though he moves aside, he suggests to R'dur, "Take it easy. If she's afraid, you're making it worse."
The healer sighs, "Who's hurt?" she asks immediately when she enters. "Ah, wingleader," someone with /sense/. "This belong to you?" she indicates R'dur. "Can someone please explain what happened? Young man," that to R'dur, "See that toweling over there? Go rip it up for bandages." To T'bay, she whispers, "It won't do any good, but it'll stop him getting under my feet. Now, what... hm," only now does she spy Yselle on the ground, and heads thataway.
"Well so would you if it were such an effort to get up on your dragon and go home," Yselle grumbles sulkily. Such a lovely mood she's in. "Really, I fell over," she glances at T'bay, frowning in confusion, then, "Oh. No. He didn't do anything to me. /R'dur/? C'mon, T'bay, - R'dur? No." For the healer, she says, "I fell from the chair. I think the baby's okay, but... could you check?" her lip trembles. She says nothing about the wrist she's holding just yet."
T'bay takes a deep breath, looking again over the man who is his own age, dagnabbit, "I suppose it, he, does," he assents, exhaling that sigh slowly and loudly, punctuated. "Yeah, bandages," he pointlessly echoes, sounding more than a little ignorantly goofy. "And she hurt her wrist. Check that, too." More quietly, "You sure? I know he's panicked, but I would be, too, if I'd hurt a...woman in your condition." For good measure, an extra glare's sent R'dur's way.
Immediately, under T'bay's words R'dur quiets, shrinking guiltily down and studying his feet awkwardly. He does brighten again, though, when the healer gives him something to do. He jumps over to the table and begins to slowly cut the towels into neat strips. He's silent for several momemnts, glancing back at Yselle and blushing. Then, to the healer, he asks, "Um. How--how should I section it? The towels, I mean. Really long, thin ones? Or short and fat? Or different sizes--I can do different sizes if you want. Or make them all the same--however you want them." So much for being out of her hair.
Just when the healer is sitting next to Yselle to look her over, the two brownriders capture her attention. "Did you hit her, young man?" she asks R'dur, glaring at him sternly. "Because, I'll have you know, the Weyrleader will have your hide if you did. He won't put up with you treating his second in that way." Glare. Unfortunately, this tirade stops her from explaining the finger points of bandage ripping.
"He didn't /hit/ me," Yselle mutters through clenched teeth. "Check the baby first," she says, pulling her wrist out of view. So there. She's not a terribly good patient, as these things go. "I haven't felt him move since, since I fell."
R'dur pales further at that, straightening stiffly and staring in shock at the healer. "I--no, ma'am!" he says desperately. "I never--I wouldn't--She fell. It was an accident. I didn't mean to--" He breaks off, biting his lower lip, brows knit. "The--Are you sure? What if--oh, shards," he continues, staring at Yselle. "We need more bandages," notes the brownrider weakly. He turns back around to that task, shredding the towels into meticulous strips of varying sizes. Focusing his attention on something requiring such precision seems to calm him, or at least distract him, for the time being.
T'bay backs off, as the healer takes up the battle cry. Instead, the broad shouldered and broad-bellied rider dons a smirk, so quick to forget his tender years. "You can tie 'em into a banner, for all it--what? Him?" T'bay sniffs mightily, that man-sound where unwholesome fluids are shifted about in the sinus cavities, and goes 'mffff' under his breath. "If there's long strips, something to support or brace her wrist, find that, too, kid. And if I find out you're not telling it true, get extras for your neck."
"Right," the healer continues. "I'll tell you this right now, if you've injured the weyrsecond's child, you'll probably want to clean out your weyr, because I'll be taking it straight to the weyrleader. - Now dear," she's a lot nicer to her patient, "Why don't you lie down just there and we'll see just what this little one is doing, hm?" She helps lower Yselle's head back down, stuffing T'bay's jacket underneath for a pillow, and begins to palpate the abdomen, asking questions about how far along she is, when she last felt movement and so on.
Yselle lies back but cranes her head up to watch the healer work. "He /didn't/ hit me," she hisses through her teeth. "T'bay, come and hold my hand?"
"A ban--yes, sir," R'dur begins to question T'bay, before nodding and continuing his task dutifully, making more of the strip longer to provide support for Yselle's injured wrist. "Will these--will these do?" he asks after a time, holding up the first few strips for inspection. They're almost identical in size, neatly made. He very pointedly doesn't meet T'bay's eyes, or look at Yselle and the healer, either. All in all, he looks very suspicious and guilty.
T'bay kneels down again near Yselle, offering her his warm hands to hold her own, something against the draft of the work room floor. T'bay scowls up from under his furrowed brows, doing his best evil man impression though he's currently near floor level. "They're not even," he quips. "C'mon boy! Look for something solid, something like a sapling branch, a rolled hide, something strong enough to hit someone with a good one."
"I /like/ your style," the healer tells T'bay, watching R'dur cheerfully for a moment before getting back to her work. "Aha, there we are," she says in satisfaction. "I think, weyrsecond, your baby was just asleep. Can you feel that?" nobody seems the slightest bit worried that the father of the child might have an interest in its wellbeing. The healer fossicks in her bag for a large funnel-shaped instrument which she lays on the weyrsecond's stomach, and touches her ear to.
Yselle grabs onto T'bay with her uninjured hand. "I hope this is over soon," she mutters, still peering at the healer. "Oh," she smiles at the movement. "I do feel it too. Thank Faranth."
R'dur glances down at the strips he holds, nodding quickly. "Yes, sir," he agrees again, turning back to the table and trimming off the edge of one, then eyeing it critically. He repeats the process, perfecting the flaws T'bay pointed out--or maybe just making them more flawed in the end. After several tries, though, he seems to give up for the moment, and instead casts about for that sturdy object. He mumbles to himself, casting through piles of stuff in his search. Briefly, at the healer's diagnosis, he sags against the table in relief; then it's back to the task at hand. He makes quite a mess of the table before he finally emerges triumphant from beneath it, holding a relatively sturdy-looking stick he found on the floor. "Will this do, sir? Ma'am?" he asks hopefully, peering intently at the stick in his hands.
T'bay does his best impersonation of a concerned male relative near a potentially injured pregnant woman, holding her hand and scowling fit to melt snow. "Good! Good. Now about that wrist. Have you found them yet, R'dur?" What, he gets a name now? "If so, bring them here." The stick is stared at, T'bay releasing Yselle's hand to get to his feet. "It, then, if that's all you've managed. Bring it here." He holds his hand out, his expression stern but relieved.
"Heartbeat strong," the healer pronounces. "So, it doesn't hurt here? Or here? If you start bleeding I want to know about it right away. And if you're in that weyr of yours I expect someone to be sent to pick me or one of the other healers up immediately, okay? Now let's look at that wrist," Yselle releases it to her. Apparently now she's happy enough to be looked at properly. "Hm, it's a bit swollen," the healer prods and pokes it around, finally announcing, "It just looks like a sprain. Keep it up in a sling for a sevenday or so, and try not to do much with it. Pity you're not her wingleader," she looks at T'bay now, "You could ground her. As it is..." she snorts, "I know riders. Just don't come crying to me if you make it worse." After all the bandage and splint-making, she fishes in her bag and gets her own supplies. How rude is that?
"Can I sit up now?" Apparently Yselle is completely over this lying on the floor gig. "I'll have to speak to the headwoman about the spinner webs under that table." Her free hand trails to her abdomen again. She strokes it lightly.
"There's nothing in here," R'dur says, more than a little whininess in his tone. He still doesn't look at T'bay, or Yselle, or the healer; he shuffles forward until he sees feet right in his way, and then he offers the stick toward T'bay blindly. Then, it's a quick, questioning glance over at Yselle. Finally, he dares pester the healer again. "Are you sure she shouldn't stay in the infirmary? Just in case? Or maybe you should stay with her in her weyr. Just to... just in case. Somebody should, anyway. I mean, what if something happens and she needs and she can't and--and--" he breaks off, eyes wide.
T'bay snatches the stick almost brutally, holding it threateningly aloft for a moment in R'dur's direction before turning his back and snapping it over his knee, avoiding wood splinters toward the faces of the two on the floor. "Bring the bandages. Tie it up." He holds out the sticks, now plural, to the healer. "If she won't ground herself and give it time to heal, at least make it harder for her to reinjure. And," his eyes narrow, taking in R'dur again as if it is for the first time. "You serious about not hurting her? Cause if that's so, maybe -you- better stay with her and make sure she's alright. Couldn't hurt, and I promise, healer, Sarevith'd sit right outside with Dianneth and keep the stripling in line." Yeah, cause he's such a mean, baaad dragon.
"Or maybe the baby's father would be more appropriate," the healer suggests, with a suspicious eye for R'dur. "Someone who, you know, has some sense." She continues to bind Yselle's wrist, allowing the weyrsecond up. "It's not a bad idea."
"Hey!" Yselle grumbles. "Firstly, there's Dianneth, so I'm not alone, secondly, no sharding way, and thirdly, I outrank all of you. No, no, and again no."
R'dur steps quickly away from T'bay then, nodding. "Yes, sir," he agrees. "I mean, I--I am serious, sir--and I will--would, if you--if she--if nobody minds." He's mumbling, looking at the ground again. "But--" Yselle's refusals bring a protest to his lips, however, as he stares up (or down, as the case may be) at her. "You shouldn't--really, it's a good idea, Yselle. I mean, I don't want something to... I just... 'M sorry."
T'bay smacks himself in the head, flat palm to forehead, then rolls his eyes. "Right, the baby's father. Brilliant! Well, here he is, boy wonder." He regards R'dur plainly, then turns his cool gaze on Yselle. "Yes, but I have friends who share your rank, Weyrsecond, who'd feel as I do that you need some rest." R'dur gets the first sign of approval in T'bay's nod his direction, even scowl free. "That's the spirit. She's horrid at taking care of herself, we both know that. What say just overnight? By then you'll have rested, Ys, and will know if you're feeling better, hm?"
The healer looks at R'dur in plain disbelief. "I am /not/ going to ask how he managed that," she says. "I'll leave you to sort this one out, wingleader," and with that, she flounces out. That leaves Yselle to fight this battle on her own. "I'm already better," she grumbles, pushing herself up with her good hand. "V'lano is /never/ going to say I have to have R'dur in my weyr. Look R'dur, you're a nice guy and everything, but..." grr. "Tel would probably, oh no, he's got that hot date, well..." she stamps her foot childishly, "Don't push me around, wingleader." Oooh, so tough.
R'dur flushes uncomfortably at T'bay's and the healer's words, glancing down again. Not even the praise the wingleader next offers him brightens his mood. Yselle certainly doesn't help, for R'dur now looks stricken. "I--I understand, ma'am," he mumbles indistinctly to her. "I, er. I should... I mean, I'm not--I didn't mean..." He bites his lower lip, shifts his weight. "Maybe I should just... go?" he suggets, almost hopefully. He certainly gives the door a longing look, though he wavers between the urge to flee and his worry, the urge to do something, anything, for Yselle.
T'bay folds and refolds his arms, using his bulk as an intimidator. "V'lano would say you need someone to look after you if you've been injured, though he wouldn't dictate to you who that need be. Now, if Tel's got a hot date, and I'm Claret's fetch and carry boy, who'se that leave?" Casting a commanding glance to R'dur, he shakes his head. "Don't go anywhere, firepants. Look, he made a reasonable offer. Healer even agreed. Don't make me go over your head, Weyrsecond."
"Well, hmf, I'd like to see V'lano make me do anything," Yselle folds /her/ arms. "Ow," someone forgot their wrist was sprained. "Look, R'dur, you really /are/ a nice boy, I mean, shells, look, the baby's fine, okay? I can feel him moving."
Fidgety R'dur gives T'bay a startled look, eyes wide. "Sir! I don't think--I don't think--that is to say, if she... doesn't want--shouldn't force--not necessary--" He speaks in disjointed fragments of sentences, thoughts all out of order as he fluidly changes sides on the issue.
T'bay continues the gruff voluntary uncle routine, unwavering. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Both of you protest your way right up to that ledge, do you hear me? I'll provide an escort, and you can fight about it late--what? The baby's moving? C'mon, R'dur, you hafta want to feel this. Hold still, Yselle, give the man a rub, huhn?" What, he's a man all of the sudden? Woah.
"Fine," Yselle says, all of a sudden. "I'm sure you won't mind my couch, R'dur." Hey, what's with that sudden about-face anyway? "But don't think you get to boss me around again, T'bay. And we don't need an escort. And /I/ say who touches my tummy," grrrr. Grudgingly, "R'dur, would you like to feel it?" Like it was all her idea.
R'dur raises one hand to rub the back of his neck, still unsettled. "No, really. That's not really... necessary, sir," he protests again, stepping away from the pair. "I--I have. Before. Not today. A while back. Couch is fine. I like the couch--you have a nice couch, I'm sure--I don't think I rememb--Couch is fine." Blush.
T'bay, delighted at this about-face in the expectant mother, raises his hands, back off with them in the air, palms outward. "Yes, ma'am," he agrees, congenially. "I'm just looking out for your health." R'dur's flush is noted, approvingly, and T'bay makes certain the path out is clear, intending to follow them out and be sure they keep their arrangement.
"You remember the couch," Yselle says, and then louder, so T'bay can hear them, "We made out there," that phrase seems to relieve her feelings somewhat. "I'm older than you, too, T'bay," Yselle reminds him. What that's got to do with anything is anyone's guess. "And Dianneth says.... shells, you're no help, why can't you forget a mate once in a while? You forget everything else. And by the way, V'lano doesn't tell me what to do either." She /flounces/.
Hack, cough, hack. R'dur reddens further, perhaps from trying to recover his breath after that unfortunate choking, or perhaps from mere horrified embarrassment. "I remember the couch," he does agree after a moment, meekly.
T'bay's palms join one another behind his head, the fingers clasping there in a position of standing repose. A slow grin creeps across his face, gradually blatantly becoming a pleased smile. "Dianneth sometimes knows what's best. And, I'm glad you have fond memories of the couch." Smug grin. "Yes'm," he agrees, not protesting her statements. "Maybe you'd best go make it up-- with bedding, of course."
Having vented her feelings, Yselle says, "I believe I'll go and get something for the pain in my arm. You don't have to come any time soon, R'dur," or at all, her tone suggests. "Incidently, I have some memories of Sarevith catching Dianneth too," smirk.
Mortified, R'dur can only nod bleakly to Yselle. Then, he quickly agrees, "Oh! Oh, yes. I'll--I'll go get Alidaeth and explain to him and... stuff." He takes off, fleeing at last, and he in the process leaves behind on the table the entire reason he came to the workroom: his straps. But tonight, that's the least of his worries.
T'bay nods solemnly, for once failing to don his own customary flush. "Yes'm, I remember, as does Sarevith. But we were at least on the bed, where it's softer." Just the slightest hint claims his eartips, proving he's the slightest bit vulnerable. After R'dur's departed, T'bay gathers the straps. "I'll return these at drills. You get good rest."