[Log] Talking It Out

[brazenbronzer]

Who: F'niah, Reighley
When: Day 6, Month 5, Turn 9
Where: Infirmary, Fort Weyr
What: F'niah drops by the infirmary and talks to Reighley.

Infirmary
     This large cavern, used for healing both humans and dragons, is large enough to hold several dragons comfortably. Now, however, a number of the stone couches have been converted into partioned cubicles in which human patients can recuperate from illnesses or wounds, if they're too weak to return to their weyr, hold or crafthall. One end of the room, nearest the door to the living cavern, is lined with additional cots. A large, white circle, with a purple caduceus in the center has been painted on one wall. Another wall has been painted white. The rest have been left their natural cavern color. A sink with hot and cold running taps is mounted on the wall next to the doorway to the south. Covering half of the eastern wall are several cabinets with glass fronts and storage drawers. Looking in the cabinets you can see a vast collection of herbs and medicines used by the Healers.

Contents:
First Aid Basket

Obvious exits:
Bowl Living Cavern

F'niah
     Layers of lean muscle soften this man's six-foot two-inch frame. Though wide shoulders skim to trim hips, and down through athletically-toned legs, it's his hands that catch attention: overlarge like puppy paws. Silky bronze-brown hair has been cut knuckle-long all over his head. Eyes of muted green appraise the world from over an aquiline nose. A decidedly lantern jaw ends his not-unpleasant face, but the finishing touch is an air of near-constant alarm that bodes ill for breakables. Sef has the sort of face that ages well, though he's probably between 34 and 39 Turns. His voice is usually a smooth baritone, though prone to cracking.
     He wears a dark blue, heavy tunic over a lighter-weight, long-sleeved shirt of ecru. Both are embroidered with a matching leaf pattern at the cuff and the armholes, though that embroidery is faded now with age. A deep comforting black makes up the hue of his trous, the fabric worked until it's soft and nappy. They're cut comfortably full over his hips and legs, almost requiring the braided sisal belt to hold them up. Each leg 'breaks' just at the top of his boots. On his hip is a simple twist of Fort's brown and black, a strand of blue marking his dragon.

Greenflights aren't at all uncommon at a Weyr, and with the advent of Spring they seem to be even more frequent than in the colder months. Fort's infirmary is well acquainted with the aftermaths of flights, from black eyes and bruised knuckles to hangovers and (especially in the winter) hypothermia. Which is why, when it's announced that Liauth's taken to the skies, the journeymen roll their eyes and send the apprentices for wine and extra bandages.

Not long after the cries that signal the green's capture F'niah staggers in from the bowl, shaking like he has the ague, arms wrapped tight around his chest. He looks around vaguely, not really seeing the people, but aware enough to keep from bumping into curtains and chairs.

One of said apprentices is Reighley, the girl bustling around the infirmary, peeking in on the infirmary's scattered patients over her journeyman's shoulder. Hovering over one of the patients by the door, she's thus one of the first to spot F'niah, offering the bluerider a cheery wave. "Hi, F'niah!" she greets him, and then notices his odd manner. "Are you okay?" the girl asks, stepping away from the sick man to hover by the rider.

F'niah nods - most probably it's a nod, for it lasts longer than the general shivering - and attempts a thin smile down at the girl. "Liauth," he explains, aiming one of the head jerks back toward the bowl where, presumably, Saneth waits. "We didn't... can I sit? Down?" There's a pause before he adds, "In a chair?"

"Oh," says Reighley, blinking, chewing on the inside of her cheek a moment. Then, nodding quickly, she turns to take the rider's arm and tug him over to one of the empty beds. "Here, sit. It's better than chairs," she tells him. "Are you okay? Is Saneth okay? You want me to get you something, like, I don't know, klah or something? I can if you want me to," the apprentice volunteers.

F'niah's got no problem with bed vs. chair, for he drops onto the bed like someone kicked him in the knees. "Saneth's good." He manages another shaky smile for her, now that they're closer to the same height. "Klah? No. Uh... wine, in a... I have to stop, um, you know, shaking. First." One hand frees itself long enough to demonstrate, and sure enough, he's twitching like the oldest Uncle on the coldest winter day. "What're you, um, doing? Here?"

Reighley's lips purse, and she gives F'niah a stern look. "Wine's not good for you," she tells him. Still, she bustles off and returns with a glass half-filled with it--all, apparently, he's wheedling out of her. She offers it to him carefully, lest his shaky hands drop it. "I'm healing," she then notes matter-of-factly, as though that were obvious. "I apprenticed. Are you /sure/ you're okay? Because I don't think you're supposed to shake like that."

F'niah's wrapped himself into a tiny ball by the time she returns, which at least contains the shivering even if it doesn't stop it. He doesn't even reach for the glass but nods for her to put it on the beside table instead. "I'm... I always do this. Whenever Saneth chases but doesn't catch." A vague look around the room and he adds, "I didn't want to, to sit through it in my weyr." He tries another small smile. "You know?"

"Not really," Reighley admits with a shrug, frowning at the huddled rider. "But I'm trying. Does he do this a lot? Chase, I mean? Not catch? I feel bad for him--it's no fun losing." Her nose wrinkles slightly. "I'm sorry, though. Is he hiding outside, too? He can come in, if he wants, you know, and sit, too."

The rider's, "Could he?" is equal parts relief and hope; seconds later the small blue has made his way into the infirmary and makes a direct line over to his boy. Saneth doesn't look even a quarter as bad as F'niah, though his eyes are whirling a rapid orange. "He, he doesn't. Chase a lot, I mean." He drops his voice to add, "Some greens are too big for him, if you know what I mean."

"Well, we /do/ heal them, too," Reighley points out, grinning. Then, to the blue, she adds, "Hi, Saneth." She offers him a smile, glancing between him and his rider. "I... guess so. I mean, he /is/... Well." She's nicer than to point out the blue's deficiencies, though she does add after a moment, "Anyway, I'm sure it's not his fault--he'll catch one of them /some/time. A good one, better than, um, this one that's mean and wouldn't let him." She beams briefly at Saneth, nodding convincingly.

Saneth grunts, the end of the sound skreeling up into a near-whine. "Shush, Saneth," F'niah chides, not bothering to translate the complaint. Then for Reighley, "Thank you. Can we, can we talk about something else, though? Takes my mind off..." He doesn't finish the thought. "--If you're apprenticing, why aren't you at the Hall?"

"Off losing?" Reighley answers, with characteristic youthful tactlessness. But, nodding, she agrees, "Of course. Um, well. Because I'm young, really. I mean, I was twelve when I did it, right? I just turned thirteen, just a few days ago--three, to be exact--so the Masterhealer said I could stay here, at the Weyr, and work with the Weyrhealer. I just go to the Hall for lessons every month." Pause. "I have to go meet with her again, though. Jaria, I mean. She said we'd look at it again when I turned thirteen."

F'niah says "Happy Turnday," with the kneejerk reaction of the terminally polite. "Think you'd like it there - more time for lessons and less for people like me. --Injured, I mean. And no time to study?"

"Thanks," Reighley replies with another bright smile for the bluerider. "And... Well." She purses her lips, frowning downward a moment. "I like it here, really. I mean, all my friends are here, and my family, and... stuff. I like it. It's like home. I don't really want to go off," admits the girl after a moment.

Saneth settles as close to Sef's bed as he can manage, his head curling around to hover over the man. "You'll learn more there than you can here, though," F'niah says encouragingly as the shuddering slowly begins to subside. "I was at Harper close to a turn before I got Searched, and I learned more than I even could've at home."

Reighley frowns, brows knitting as she looks up at F'niah. "Do you /want/ me to go away?" she asks then, sounding hurt.

F'niah blinks at her once, twice. "What -I- want has nothing to do with it. You're the one apprenticing."

Reighley doesn't look terribly reassured. "It /sounds/ like you're trying to talk me into going away," she insists.

F'niah counters with, "It sounds like you don't want to go," and a jerky smile. "Jenna was talking about some of us riders going into crafting during the Interval. Who knows, maybe I'd take her up on it. So you'd see me and Saneth around the hall."

Reighley's smile is sheepish, and she looks down again. "I don't, really. I like it here. And I get to work with the Weyrhealer, which is just as good as being at the Hall, right? Lots of practical application," she tells the rider. Pause. "You can really apprentice now that the Pass is over? That just seems... weird."

The bluerider hesitates, but adultness forces him to say, "I don't know if it is, Reighley. I don't know if you -can- get your knot without doing any training at Healer." As an experiment he lowers his heels to the floor; when they stay there without any bouncing he slowly shivers his arms apart as well. "I'll say. It's been twenty turns since I was in a classroom -- well, nineteen if you count being a Weyrling. All of the students will be closer to your age than mine."

Reighley directs an unhappy frown at F'niah, but drops that subject in favor of the latter. "Just how old /are/ you, anyway?" she queries.

"I've thirty-six turns," he answers promptly. "Thirty-seven come autumn."

Reighley just gawks at F'niah. "You're the same age as my dad!" she exclaims--way to make a guy feel good about himself.

It worked too, if his sour grimace is any indicator. "I'm not surprised. My nieces and nephews - well, the oldest ones, anyway - are old enough to have children of their own."

Reighley grins again at F'niah, nodding. "I'm thirteen, and my brother's nearly sixteen. Do you have any kids?" the girl keeps asking those prying questions.

"None that I know of." His shaking has subsided almost entirely, save for an occasional spasm. He looks toward the wine, but reaches up a hand for Saneth instead. "Saneth doesn't chase much, like I said, and I've never had any, um..." He stops to squint doubtfully at the girl. "...How much do you /really/ want to know?"

"I think a 'no' works?" Reighley notes, wrinkling her nose, but grinning all the while. "I don't want kids, either. I mean, not my own. Maybe I'll foster some, you know? I was here when Jenna had her baby, and it just... Ew. Ew. I'm not ever having kids," she affirms.

F'niah points out with painful honesty, "Well, I *might* have children. If I do, their mother never told me about them. So that's not really a no. --You don't want children? Well, first step is wanting boys. Or girls," he adds, a bit more doubtfully, "Though it's trickier that way."

Reighley just stares at F'niah in silence for several long seconds. Finally: "So... you're going to apprentice again, right?" she asks pointedly, with a too-bright smile.

F'niah blinks at her again before again stretching out a hand for the wine. After one quick swallow he doesn't drink again, just holds it in both hands. "I haven't decided yet. It's a... Twenty turns I haven't thought of much beyond Saneth and Thread. Now Thread's gone, and..." He shakes his head instead of finishing. "I don't know."

"I think you should do it," Reighley says encouragingly. "I mean, sure, you'll be the oldest apprentice ever, but if you like doing it, and you don't have anything else to do, then, well. Seems like it'd be nice to do."

"But do I -want- to be a harper?" he argues back. "Ignore my age, ignore Saneth. Twenty turns ago I did, but twenty turns ago I wasn't who I am now." He pauses for a breath, as if he'll continue, then shakes his head again and looks at his wine.

Reighley looks briefly confused, and asks, "Well, what do you want to be now? You can't find Thread any more--it's all gone now."

"I don't know," he tells his hands. "Is it, though? You know the story of Lessa, surely?" He looks up, pale eyes trying to catch hers. "If someone jumped back like she did and told us we were needed..." A faint smile quirks and is gone. "I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one packing his bags. Or her bags."

"Of course," Reighley replies automatically. And then she pauses, blinking at F'niah. "Do... do you really think somebody'll do that? Jump back and get us? Could we go forward to /them/?" she wonders.

F'niah shrugs, the smooth movement interrupted by another twitch. "Dunno. Maybe. I'm certainly not going to try and find them to ask. I'm just saying that... shells. I'm not sure -what- I'm saying. I just don't know if we can continue on like we did. Interval's longer than a Pass, after all."

"But we've been having them for... ever," Reighley notes, brows knitting. "I mean, you have a Pass, and then you have an Interval. That's... just how it goes, right? And /some/body has to stay here and keep going so there /are/ people for the next Pass."

F'niah nods as though he's thought of this too. "Right. But who?" He waves a hand vaguely at the walls. "This is a Weyr at full fighting strength. Oh, we may be down a wing or two, but if Thread fell tomorrow we could meet it. Two hundred turns from now, though, we'll be down to oh, a quarter of these numbers. So what do all of us -here-, -now- do? What do we have to look forward to, save gradually being whittled away?"

Reighley frowns, sitting on her hands as she studies her feet. "I dunno. I just... I don't know. I'm only thirteen," she tells him after a moment, as though that were a defense. "I don't even remember Thread, really. I don't think I'd like it very much."

F'niah says "It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. They were the scariest turns of my life, and they brought me Saneth. I can't even begin to describe them to you: the fear of flying against it for the first time, the sheer -relief- to have survived another fall. The times when friends didn't return, or when you woke up in the infirmary and all you could remember was screaming."

Reighley looks dubious, scared, even. "I don't think I'd like it," she repeats again, quietly. "It doesn't sound very exciting, or exhilarating."

F'niah shrugs again, a tilting smile creeping over his face. "I didn't mention any of the good, though. Like flying - oh Reighley, there's nothing like flight. When it's you, and Saneth, and the air, and your wings... Or watching him breathe fire, the flames licking at the Thread and curling it into helpless, harmless ash. Shells. There's nothing like it. /Nothing/."

"You can fly without Thread," Reighley points out, shaking her head. "And flame, too. Is it really so much better when you know you might get hurt?"

F'niah shakes his head slowly, groping for the words. "I... I don't know. I'm just saying you shouldn't be afraid of... of... Of Impressing. Not that you would be," he adds hurriedly. "There won't be Thread until, shells. Probably your great-great grandchildren. Or mine. But flying and fighting Thread don't have anything to do with one another. Sort of."

"Not having kids, remember?" Reighley reminds F'niah, though teasingly. "I'm not... scared of it, though. I mean, not--really. Not really. What's it like, though? I mean, other than the flying stuff?"

"What's what like?" He glances toward Saneth, then back. "Impressing? It's impossible to describe. Or something else?"

"Having a dragon in general, I guess," Reighley clarifies.

F'niah takes a sip from his wine, expression thoughtful. "I... don't know if I can tell you that, either. Not that I don't -want- to, it's just that... I can't. There's absolutely nothing to... well, wait. You don't have a firelizard, do you?"

"No..." Reighley says slowly, staring raptly at F'niah and quirking her brows."

His face falls, and with a single sudden movement he replaces the glass of wine back onto the side table. "Shells. Uh, sorry." Almost dispassionately he studies his hands, his fingers, noting the lack of tremble. "Well that's something. --Look, Reighley, I can -try-, but it's not going to... well, I don't think it's going to explain anything. Still want me to try?"

Reighley offers F'niah a quick smile, nodding. "Yeah, sure," she encourages him. "You might as well."

Sef flexes his fingers, then lunges to his feet to pace. "It's... Saneth's always there for me. Always. He was looking for me." He stops to face her. "For /me/. If I hadn't been there... He wanted me and he loves me and, and he'll never leave me. Not ever. And I wouldn't do a single thing to hurt him. If he wants to chase a green, I'll let him. If he wants to chase Niyath, he can do that too. He's not perfect, but neither am I. We... we /suit/ each other. Does any of that make even the slightest bit of sense, or am I just babbling again?"

Reighley frowns again, studying the pacing bluerider. "I guess it does," she agrees, nodding slowly, sneaking a look over at Saneth. "I... I guess you just have to feel it for yourself, to understand?"

F'niah resumes his pacing as she speaks, though with a glance to show he's listening. "That's really the only... the only way, yeah. Every dragon is different, like every person is different. If you asked R'tran the same question, or M'yr, or Jenna, you'd get different answers. It isn't that Saneth completes me; it isn't that Saneth /is/ me. He's just... we just... it -happened-. And we were lucky enough for it to happen during a Pass, so Saneth could do what he was born to do."

Reighley taps a finger to her lips a moment, nodding. "I guess that makes sense," she agrees slowly. "About it being different. I mean, everything's different for different people, so that should be the same. I think." Pause. She purses her lips. "If I impress, I wouldn't get to do that," she notes.

"What, think?" He shoots a teasing smile her way, then stops at Saneth's shoulder, hand reaching up effortlessly to touch his 'mate. "No really, you wouldn't get to do what?"

Reighley gives F'niah an unimpressed look. "Fight /Thread/," she says, stressing the word. "You know, what dragons are born to do."

F'niah ahs, nods, leans against Saneth's leg. The blue has settled down in readily apparent happiness, orange eyes long since shifted to a smug blue-green. "No, no you wouldn't. At the same time, if you go to be a Healer you won't get to work on Threadscore, either."

"Did you ever get scored?" Reighley wonders curiously. "I've never really seen one. We never went outside when it Thread...ed. Thread... fell," she hits on the right word with a wrinkle of her nose. "So nobody ever actually got hurt in it."

F'niah says "Little things. Mostly ash. Saneth, though..." He gives the blue a slap, earning a rumble from the nearly-asleep dragon. "He's got some on his haunches, and he got some wingtips, too. Those are harder to see, though. Want to look at them?"

"Can I really?" Reighley hops up from her seat at once, looking eager to investigate.

"Of course." He waves for her to walk with him, moves down Saneth's length to his hind legs. "Up there, see?" He points at a faintly shiny knot of scar tissue fairly high up on the dusky haunches. Doubtfully, "Or do you need me to lift you up?"

Reighley follows F'niah around Saneth's side, stopping beside him and sticking her hands on her hips as she looks up. "Um. Can you give me a boost?" she asks after a moment, glancing at the man. "It's... real high. And you're lots taller than me, so."

"That I am," he says with a grin. Then kneeling, he catches her about the waist and places her firmly on one shoulder. He stands, using one arm to balance, then rises up onto his toes as if that extra inch of height will allow her to see all. "There, you see? Uh... don't touch it; not now."

Reighley bites her lip nervously when F'niah picks her up, the girl bracing herself against him and then his dragon as she leans forward enough to inspect the old score. She's very careful to keep her hands away from it, however. "It looks... It must have hurt," she remarks after a moment, quietly. "It looks really painful. How... How do you go up there again, after you get hurt like that? I don't... I don't think I could."

The warning against touching is obvious as soon as Reighley places her hands on Saneth: the blue starts shivering his skin like a runner plagued by bugs. "Whoops," says his rider, stepping back, both hands coming up to steady her. "Sorry, should've been more clear. Saneth doesn't like being touched. --Yeah, it did. Hurt me too, for a while. I limped about as long as he did, when I didn't remember to block it out. You ready to come down, or want to look a bit longer?"

"Oh!" Reighley blushes at once, withdrawing her hands. She gives the blue an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Saneth. I didn't mean to," she tells him, frowning. Then, glancing down at F'niah again, she nods, moving to hop down carefully. "Okay. What do you mean, block it out, though?"

It's obvious that Sef's been handling Reighley-sized things for quite some time in the way he lets her drop gently to the floor (and not, say, onto his feet). "Uh, block it out." Aware that the second repetition was no more explanatory than the first he adds, "There's me, and then there's Saneth. Sometimes we get confused - that's why the weyrling barracks are on the other side of the bowl - but generally I can tell who's me, and who's him. S'why," he adds in a burst, "Why flights are such a... a... why they're difficult."

"Because it's hard to keep straight," deduces Reighley, "who's him and who's you. It must be very confusing." She frowns slightly, glancing over at Saneth again, then F'niah. "It's hard to imagine, though, because I'm just... Well, me." A shrug.

"It can be," he agrees, ambling back toward Saneth's front. "The first couple of months, especially. He's hungry, I'm hungry; I'm sleepy, he's tired. But as we - he - got older, it got easier to separate. Now generally there's only, um, slippage during flights."

Reighley trails after F'niah as he heads back around the blue, shooting quick looks back over her shoulder at Saneth as she does so. "I get it," she agrees. "Because that's, um. Well. I get it." She makes a face as she watches the dragon and then finally looks back at the rider. "Speaking of. Are you feeling better now? You stopped shaking," she remember his reason for coming in the first place.

F'niah studies his hand again, grinning as he makes a fist and then spreads his fingers. "Right as rain. Thanks, Reighley. It helped to have someone to talk to. Goes away on its own in any case, but it's easier to have someone else there, you know? Just to talk."

Reighley beams up at F'niah, nodding quickly. "I understand. I think we've got this whole branch of healers that are just there to talk to people, you know?" she tells him. "Because that's just so--so thera--therapeutic. Is that the word?"

"Therapeutic, right," he nods. "It's not -quite- the same, but close, I guess. I never understood the mindhealers. --What sort of healing are you interested in?"

Reighley frowns slightly, then shrugs. "I don't know yet, really," she confesses. "I like fixing people, you know? Like, after the hatching when so many people got hurt, that's when I decided I wanted to do it," she admits.

F'niah says "So... stitching people up again? Rather than mixing medicines or whatever?"

"That sounds more fun," Reighley agrees, nodding quickly. "Mixing stuff... That just seems boring after you do it for so long. I wouldn't like to do that all my life."

F'niah grins quickly. "Probably not, no. Did you like, um, helping?" Jawline flushing, he waves a hand toward where Jenna lately resided. "I mean, midwifing?"

"Weeell," Reighley says slowly. "It was okay. Not the best thing ever, but okay." A shrug. "I think, I think I just have to do s'more stuff and think about it a while. I mean, I don't have to pick a specialty until I'm a journeyman, and that's /turns/ away. I'm only thirteen."

"Not going to be the youngest journeyman ever?" he teases, though gently. "I should let you get back to your... um, whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted."

Reighley grins. "Well... Maybe. We'll see," she tells him cheerfully. "And. Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you later. Bye," adds the girl as he starts to prepare to leave.

"Clear skies, Reighley," he answers, Saneth shoving himself to his feet and all but galloping out of the infirmary ahead of him. "We've got some flying to do. Mind your lessons!"

"Bye!" Reighley calls again, waving after F'niah as she turns back to working.

F'niah walks out the door to the Living Cavern, shutting it behind him carefully. The noise level rises and then drops precipitously during the opening and shutting of the door.