The Scavengers
Boys always like to see girls kiss. I don't get it; girls don't want to see boys kiss. ~Dominique Swain
OOC Date: March 7, 2010
IC Date: Day 21, month 2, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Who: Gabrion, Taikrin, K'del, Milani, Leova
Where: Council Chambers, Records Room, and Dragon Infirmary, HRW
Gabrion and Taikrin head out to collect items for the scavenger hunt. After they interrupt K'del at work, Gabe embarrasses Taikrin by teasing her about kissing Milani, and they wind up helping Leova with an injured dragon.
Gabrion appears at the entry to K'del's weyr, with someone else behind him. His face is ... interesting-looking; the brusies have started to fade to glorious yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. He looks cheerful enough despite that. On seeing that K'del is, in fact, here, he clears his through and scuffs his foot on the stone to announce his presence.
Having already been interrupted once this afternoon, K'del doesn't look too surprised at the sound of that scuffing foot. He's settled on the couch, though, all curled up and comfortable with the fire just in front of him, and he doesn't move to stand. Just: "Come on in." He /does/ turn his head to look at the new arrivals, his expression narrowing distinctly at the sight of Gabrion's face.
Taikrin is not hiding behind Gabrion, really! Because that would be silly, given not only that she's still quite a bit taller than the boy but that he's still looking pretty rough around the edges. Hovering uncertainly behind Gabe is just a /strategic/ move, really, and the nervous whisper is just to lull everyone into a false sense of security. "Y'/sure/ it's okay for us t'be here? I dunno 'bout this whole game thing, but this's--" She jumps at the greeting, then stiffens her spine in defensive response while directing a gruff, "Uh. Sir," towards K'del.
Gabrion steps forward into the weyr, though he seems to shrink a little, when K'del looks at him that way. "It's fine," he says to Taikrin, distractedly. "He's just the weyrleader, not a Lord Holder or something." Thus says the weyrbrat! "Hello, weyrleader," he greets K'del very politely. "We were wondering if we could have one of those wine seals, for the scavenger hunt. I hope we haven't interrupted you."
K'del's gaze leaves Gabrion's face long enough to consider Taikrin, enough recognition lingering there that he manages an easy enough smile for her. "It's fine," he assures them both, unconsciously echoing the male candidate. "Come on in, let me dig something up for you. If I wasn't willing to be interrupted, wouldn't have signed up, would I?" Even if, by his expression, he's possibly regretting it. /Now/ he draws himself from the couch, heading towards the desk in the corner.
"S'worse, Gabe, not better," is the muttered remark back to the other candidate, but Taikrin otherwise subsides without further complaint. She continues to drift in Gabrion's wake, gaze darting around the room to assess occupants an exits in a habitual sort of way. "We ain't meanin' t'be a bother," she adds, despite the reassurances. "Guard Jerron said we weren't t'interrupt if y'were busy." That would be the guard assigned to Taikrin today, then. She's silent for a moment, neck craning to follow K'del's movements, then blurts suddenly, "Yer family really makes /wine/, sir? They ain't all riders?"
Gabrion grins at Taikrin, but he takes K'del's word at face value. "See, told you it was fine," he tells her. "Thank you, sir," he adds, for K'del's benefit. He gets a kick out of Taikrin's question. "My mom's a rider, but she comes from a trader family," he tells her, then looks back to K'del. "You came from out of the weyr too, right, weyrleader?"
"Know you're not," says K'del, easily, putting that in before the questions about his background. /Those/ questions make him laugh, and he turns his head about, the rest of him still facing the desk, to shake it firmly. "First rider in my family, s'far as I know," he reports. "We-- /they/ grow grapes. Brother-in-law's family makes the wine." His handles fumble around in the desk: he's clearly not /that/ prepared. "Plenty of riders're hold bred. Or craft, or trader or whatever."
Taikrin does not look terribly pleased at everyone's amusement, though she attempts to halt the burgeoning scowl with a toothily-unnatural smile. "Well, I just reckoned maybe th'/important/ riders were weyrbred, like. Weyrwoman said she was, an' her da an' all," is the defensive response that's only a few hairs shy of a snap. Her arms fold across her chest, the casted one tucked carefully atop the other. "Ain't th'dragons prefer someone raised local, like? Uh, sir?" At least some of her overt nervousness has been lost in the rising tide of irritation.
"Ezalea wasn't," Gabe points out, perhaps too cheerfully, given the history there. "Right? She was from one of those little holds, wasn't she?" He looks to K'del for confirmation. "I don't think it matters to the dragons where somebody is born." Not that he knows, because who does? but that's not going to stop him from holding forth about his opinions.
Apologetic, K'del says, "Didn't mean to laugh at you." And that seems genuine enough, his gaze reaching out towards Taikrin: he's smiling, still, but not in a laughing way. "But--right. Ezalea wasn't. She's from Balen. And Satiet, our former Weyrwoman, she was from a fishing hold in Tillek, I think." He finally seems to get what he wants from the desk, and takes a couple of steps back towards the pair. "Not really sure /what/ it is they look for. Just know that they know who they want, and there doesn't much seem to be rhyme or reason to it."
"Eza-- Ezawho?" Taikrin looks, uncertainly, from K'del to Gabrion then back again, still wary for amusement directed her way. At mention of 'weyrwoman', though, a measure of comprehension dawns. "I wouldn'a reckoned, them bein' so keen on outsiders." Her response is gruff, gaze lowering. She moves to gently nudge Gabe's back with an elbow, then, with an abrupt change of subject. "What's all else on our list, then? We ain't s'pposed t'get th'lecture from th'Weyrleader too, is we?"
"No, that's W'chek," Gabe says sourly, ducking the question about Ezalea. "I already /got/ a lecture from him." He gestures toward his much-abused face. "We could go see if the Headwoman's in, though? We're supposed to get uh... a kiss from her." Which ought to be interesting.
K'del opens his mouth, presumably to explain Ezalea, but her evident comprehension forstalls himself. Offering over the seal, once he gets close enough, his face has turned more serious-- probably due to mention of W'chek. "Reckon that counts for a lecture and a half." Poor face. But; "Bet Milani'd be willing to kiss a cheek, or something. But... you'll have to work the rest out for yourselves, I guess."
Taikrin's good fist tightens at mention of W'chek, and the scowl that'd been threatening to emerge all afternoon finally makes a full appearance. "Like t'give him a lecture, I would," is muttered half under her breath. Still, she reaches out to take the seal, offering a curt nod to K'del. "Uh, thanks. Weyrleader, sir. Best we shouldn't bother y'all afternoon, like." A pause, then, as Taikrin expression grows tighter in an entirely different way and her voice grows strangled. "A /kiss/ from th'Headwoman?"
Gabrion aims an elbow at Taikrin's side. "He says it counts!" he says, triumphant. "Nice. Thanks, Weyrleader." He's all smiles: two down, however many to go. As for the kiss: "Yeah," he says to Taikrin as he turns to head out of the weyr. "Are you into girls?"
"You're welcome," says K'del, more firm and formal than his other statements, on the whole, have been. "Good luck?" His expression begins to twitch pretty quickly, though; he obviously finds Taikrin's reaction to the kissing /distinctly/ amusing. Thus, he stands, watching them go.
Taikrin turns to follow after Gabrion-- and promptly trips over her own feet at his question and comes to a complate standstill. She splutters for a moment, then demands, "What th' bloody-- what th'bloody shells kinda question is /that/?!" She remains there for a moment, staring at Gabrion's retreating back, before darting a quick glance over her shoulder at K'del. Movement suddenly returns, then, in a graceless lumber after the other candidate, as she calls out in an even more strangled voice, "/Gabe/!!"
"Well, /I'm/ not, really," Gabe is saying to Taikrin as they head down the corridor. "So I thought if you were, then you know, you could ask her. If not, then I guess it doesn't really matter one way or the other who she kisses. Hello, Headwoman!" he says brightly as he enters the room and spots Milani there.
"But that ain't some kinda question y'just come out an' ask when th'/Weyrleader's/ standin' right there!" Taikrin is spluttering on after Gabe, trailing back a pace or two with cheeks flushed bright pink. "I ain't got no problem' askin' her, mind, y'just can't--" She breaks off abruptly at Gabe's greeting, and goes even more flushed around the edges. "Uh, Headwoman. Hey. We was just, uh, lookin' for ya."
"Shhh!" is the remarkd from the records-keeper on duty. Milani is sat about halfway back in the room, going through what look like old ledgers maybe and the double-echo of her title lifts her gaze from the books, except that then she sneezes promptly. "Oh hey there, G--achoo." A hand waves and then she digs in her pocket for a hanky and blows her nose. "Dust!" Millie exclaims once she's dealt with the issue. "How can I help you both?"
Gabrion gives the records-keeper an apologetic grimace and crosses the room to get closer to Milani, so he can speak more quietly. "Hi," he says with a wicked grin. His face is quite distinctive, still - the two shiners have begun to fade into a glorious meld of yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. "Taikrin wanted to ask you for a kiss," he says, and smirks at the convict-candidate.
The flush in Taikrin's cheeks recedes not a hair at being repremanded; indeed, her expression sinks from mere embarrasment to outright mortification. "Sorry!" The stage-whisper isn't exactly quiet, either, but it's an improvement. She trails after Gabrion, drawing to a halt as if attempting to hide behind a slight 15 year old boy wasn't completly ridiculously. "Yeah we-- I /did/?!" If it were possible to sink into the floor, Taikrin would be well on her way to Pern's core at this point. Her voice is strangled as she attempts, poorly, to recover. "I mean, uh-- yeah. Wanted t'ask. Fer that."
Milani props her chin up on her hand observing the byplay between candidates with some amusement. "So you wanted to /ask/ for one or you actually /want/ one?" she asks with wicked mirth in her eyes. "Because you know, if you actually /want/ one I have several ways to give you one." Chipper.
"...several ways?" Gabe twists his face in an attempt to quirk one eyebrow. "I don't think she wants tongue," he says. "Right, Taikrin?" He does his best to look oh-so-innocent as he looks at her for confirmation.
"I don't want any tongue!" Taikrin's voice is so strangled, and the words so run together in haste that she's nearly incomprehensible. "She stops, then, eyes squeezing shut as she takes a deep, deep breath. When she releases it, she's somewhat easier to understand though no less pink. "Just lookin' fer one, y'know, 'cause of that game'r whatever. Whatever it is yer givin' out." Her attempt at nonchalance is quite laughable, especially given the way her gaze is fixed on a spot just over Milani's shoulder.
Milani's eyes lift towards the ceiling. Faranth preserve us from teenaged boys. Taikrin's reaction however draws a sympathetic look and the headwoman reaches into her pocket and draws out a little white card. On the card, the clear imprint of a set of lips and underneath in tidy handwriting: 'One kiss, from Milani.' "You don't have to look so stricken," she tells the dicing candidate with a smile and offers the card over. "Here's the 'easy' way out of that particular challenge. No tongue involved."
Gabrion's mouth drops open. "A piece of paper?" he yelps in disbelief. "That's it? Aww, man. She doesn't have to actually kiss you? Where's the fun in that?" he complains. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks disgruntled over being cheated out of watching Taikrin and Milani actually kiss.
Taikrin actually looks somewhat disappointed, too, as the paper is produced, though she does still reach out to take it. "Oh. Well. Uh. That was easy." The blush is fading from her cheeks, finally, though her gaze still refuses to settle anywhere on Milani. "Guess y'really thought of everything, uh, ma'am." It takes a moment the headwoman's words to register, but when they do, her head snaps up abruptly. "I ain't afraid'r nothin'. Figured y'wouldn't want t'be kissin' dirty criminal-types, anyways." Her tone is defensive, now, as all of the energy she'd spent being embarrased is shifted instead towards defending her convict-honor.
"There's an actual kiss right there," Milani points out to Gabrion and shoots him a little look. "This isn't meant to be a spectator sport, you know." But she looks back up at Taikrin and catches that hint of disappointment. "No, I don't have a problem with kissing you at all, but I did think that some of you wouldn't actually want me to /really/ kiss you." Pause. "So, the question still stands. Do you /want/ me to kiss you?"
Gabrion looks at Taikrin to see how she answers that question, both eyebrows raised, a big grin on his face - he's only the tiniest bit fazed by Milani's look.
Taikrin tries very hard to keep the blush back, though she's not entirely successful. For a moment, it looks as though she might back down, but a quick glance at Gabrion seems to harden her resolve. "Wanna do it right, me. Don't want nobody said we cheated or nothin'." The card is tossed towards Gabrion's head, though it flutters oddly in the way that non-aerodynamic paper often does. Her whole body tenses, just in case this is actually kiss == punch in the face, but she presses on. "Yeah. Want a real one, me."
"It wouldn't be cheating," Milani says quite seriously and rolls her eyes at Gabrion again. "A real one it is then," the headwoman says blithely and rises from her chair to lean forward and kiss the convict lightly, right on the mouth. Gabe gets his wish?
Gabrion ducks dramatically, anyway, and then hops forward to pick up the card where it landed on the floor, juuuust in case they need it later. He watches the rest of the proceedings with gleeful amusement all over his face.
Taikrin remains absolutely, precisely, rock-solid still throughout all the time it takes Milani to lean foward and deliver the kiss. It's only afterwards that she pulls back, hot color suffusing her face. "Uh. Thanks." Her voice is incredibly gruff, and her hand scrubs through her poorly-sheared hair in a habitual nervous gesture. "Reckon we got what we came for, Gabrion?" The gaze that shifts over to the other candidate is rather dazed. "Two kisses fer th'price of one, like?"
"Yeah, I think we did," Gabrion says with a big grin for Taikrin. "Thanks, Milani!" He holds up the card to show Taikrin that he's still got it, and says, "We could see about go finding one of the others, if you want. Better get out of their hair here or that record-keeper is probably going to give us another lecture," he jokes.
"Lucky both of you!" MIlani sing-songs and then considers Gabe for a moment. "THough you know, you had the better line," and she gestures to her own face to indicate the mess that's on his. "You could've asked me to kiss it and make it better." Deadpan-innocence. "But go on with you both," a little shooing motion with her hands. "Go find the harper to write you an epic about this."
"Uh, yeah. We should-- get out of th'Headwoman's hair," Taikrin echoes, still a bit dazed, as she shuffles closer to Gabrion, apparently ready to follow his lead yet again into utter doom. "We, uh-- yeah. We'll, just-- do that," is directed towards Milani, though Taikrin is refusing to look at the older woman again. "Thanks."
Gabrion gestures to bring Taikrin along with him, sings out, "Bye!" to Milani, and trots back out to the hallway - they can linger longer and converse there, where they won't disturb people reading and working.
They can't have gone more than a couple steps before Taikrin reaches out to cuff Gabrion's shoulder -- and not gently. "Oi!! What's th'matter with you?! Ain't nobody told you I'm a /very/ dangerous criminal who's as like t'knife ya as look atcha?"
"Ow!" Gabe yelps, and ducks, but too late to avoid being smacked. Then he starts to laugh. "But the look on your face! C'mon, I had to. And anyway, you did awesome." He grins at Taikrin again, and offers his hand for a high-five.
If Taikrin were /truly/ angry, she'd probably be pummeling Gabe by now. As it is, she levels a glare that would probably be more effective if the corners of her lips weren't pulling upwards. "Yeah, well, y'better watch it." Reluctantly -- or perhaps not so reluctantly, given that it is /Taikrin/ -- she raises her good hand to return the high-five. "'Least we got the stuff. How much more we gotta do? Next time, /you're/ the one gettin' kissed."
Gabrion giggles gleefully. "Well, if we go get that bone from P'ax, I probably will," he warns. "So maybe you don't want to see that. Who should we bug next? I think someone's supposed to armwrestle Z'yi. Which I would totally lose. Or we could get some fruit from Leova or a song from Rorkes..."
"Armwrestle, huh? Bet I could do that if he'll do left arm." Taikrin is suddenly thoughtful at the list of possibilities. "You kissin' on P'ax though? He's the one what took y't'pick that friend of yours, ain't he?" Eyebrows draw together as she squints at the younger candidate. "Ain't he a little /old/ fer you?"
Gabrion shrugs. "He's a little older, I guess, is that a big deal?" It isn't, apparently, to him. "We just went to visit. I wanted to visit Firistan, he gave me a ride. The searching... I sure didn't expect Yyth to search all those people." He wrinkles his nose. "Zekaro's such a turd, I'd rather she'd dropped him between than searched him, that's just me though." Abruptly, he seems to regret saying anything. "Don't tell him I said that, okay?" he pleads.
Taikrin continues to eye Gabrion, obviously unconvinced. "Boy like you should be playin' with boys yer own age. Like that Firistan, y'know." And there's a knowing look in her gaze; she's certainly on to them. The revelation abot Gabrion's feelings about Zekaro apparently isn't one: she doesn't react beyond a shrug. "Whatever. Ain't plannin' t'talk t'him no time soon." She shifts, then, heading down the corridor. "Gettin' kinda hungry, me. Why don't we go an' get that fruit?"
"Him too," Gabe says, looking smug for a moment. He agrees readily with Taikrin's proposal. "Okay," he says. "I wonder where Leova is. Guess we can start asking around? If we find a rider, they can get their dragon to ask hers where she's at."
Taikrin rolls her eyes, but doesn't comment on Gabe's choice of, ah, playmates. "Reckon I gotta check in with Jerron so he knows I ain't murdered you, yet." The guard assigned to Taikrin, that is. "Well, we better start lookin'. C'mon. Jerron's prolly in the caverns watchin' the chore groups."
Dragon Infirmary
The evening's quiet and dark outside. Inside... not so quiet. A worried Avalanche rider would be pacing if he weren't so wobbly, the smell of drink rising off the underlying smell of sweat and too-strong cologne. His brown follows him with yellow-shot eyes and, now, whines low in his chest. Both of the dragonhealers working on him look up, simultaneously, and U'sot mutters something at Leova before striding over to collar the man.
"They said she was here, she should be..." Gabe is saying to Taikrin as they clear the entryway to the dragon infirmary. He breaks off and blinks when he sees that apparently Things Are Going Down, and stops walking, too, reaching for Taikrin's arm to halt her and watching with wide eyes to see what exactly is going on.
Taikrin is trailing along behind Gabrion, and a little off to the side. "Could'a been nicer 'bout it-- oh!" She too comes to a halt just as Gabrion grabs her arm. "Woah." Equally wide-eyed, she stares unabashedly at the brown and his obviously drunk rider. "They could'a told us /this/..."
By now there's some back-and-forthing, mostly -forthing, between the two men, though the senior dragonhealer does keep his voice low and terse in lieu of increasing the newly arrived pair's vocabulary or, more importantly, upsetting the dragon further. As for Leova, she's turning, hands splayed across the gauze bandage across one of the brown's knees, ichor upwelling slowly in the graze on the other. And the thing about Gabrion's walking more-or-less in front is that he's the one whom she calls out, "You. 'Prentice. Wash up."
"Me? What?" Even as surprise shows on Gabrion's still-bruised-and-tender face, he's giving Taikrin an apologetic glance and moving to the nearest washstand to obey. It doesn't occur to him to do otherwise. It takes a few minutes to scrub his hands and arms to the elbows, rinse them, scrub them again, and dry them, but he does it carefully and thoroughly and then, holding hands and arms carefully away from his clothing and anything else, he heads over to Leova's side. "I usually do people," he warns her. "I haven't really been trained on dragons at all." Nonetheless, there he is to do her bidding.
Taikrin gapes openly as Gabrion is called away; she trails after him as far as the sink, obviously at a loss. Once he moves away, she remains, pushing her back against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "Shards, Gabe... hope y'know whacher doin'."
"Knew that. Be careful, don't jerk around, and /stay calm/," Leova tells the apprentice-turned-candidate. She moves sideways a step. Gestures for him to take her place in keeping the pressure. Her, "What the hell happened to your face, anyhow?" has that same businesslike quality as the rest. "And," now that Taikrin's gotten to talking closer by, "Who's your friend." En route to collecting the second big bandage, she gives the slightly taller woman a brief look, one that doesn't linger. She's busy: unfolding the cloth, shaking out the creases.
Gabrion knows how to apply pressure, at least: that's a principle that can't possibly vary much from human to dragon. "Got punched in the nose," he says simply as he presses on the gauze. "Oh, her? That's Taikrin. She's a candidate. She's in my scavenger hunt group. Do you need her to help, too?" he asks, glancing briefly back at Taikrin, and then turning his attention back to the bleeding dragon.
Taikrin scuffs her uncasted arm back through her rough-cropped hair, obviously nervous in her present surroundings. "They could'a /warned/ us," she repeats in an under-the-breath mutter. At the sound of her name, she gives a jerk then raises her hand in half-hearted greeting. Ever-so-slowly she edges around the perimeter of the room, craning her neck to get a good look at the injured dragon. "What, uh--" Her voice is rough, and the throat-clearing she gives doesn't much help. "-- uh, happened t'him?"
"No kidding," says Leova dryly, pressing green handprints over the brown's other knee. He's quite still, though he's cocked his head, eyes spinning between them and his rider who's now crying into a much put-upon U'sot's shoulder. Another day, he might be a warm walnut brown but right now his color's washed out by more than just glowlight. "Thought candidates weren't supposed to do that sort of thing. Who?" As for, "Tai... krihn? -kreen? No. Don't know her. /He/ is Diltainth. Went and grazed the Rim, what's left of it. You two Impress? Don't drink and fly. That much."
"Wasn't, like, a planned thing," Gabe says simply, about his injury. When Leova describes what happened to the dragon, he winces. "Man. That bites. This must hurt, Diltainth," he says, addressing the dragon just as he might a human. "Leova'll get you fixed up though, she knows what she's doing." Looking over at Leova, he lowers his voice to say of Taikrin, "She's one of the convict candidates. She's alright, though, she really is."
"S'/Tai/-krihn," the convict-candidate offers, offhandedly. She's settled somewhere just off to the side, where she can keep a good view on the dragon, dragonhealers, and exits -- just in case. "Diltainth? Huh." Her head tips backwards a bit, allowing a view all the way up the dragon's length. "Th'rider drinkin' makes th'dragon drunk?" The question is musingly asked; she's not really expecting an answer. She doesn't catch the remark about being a convict, luckily; the full force of her attention is fixed on the ailing brown. "Ain't never been so close... they s'pposed t'look that color?"
"Keeping your mouth shut, are you," Leova grunts low in her throat at that, though there's at least an iota of respect there. It doesn't slow her from instructing, "He don't need you telling him that. Not a kid. My Vrianth, she been talking to him all this time, a lot going on that you don't see." She doesn't look back at Taikrin at that quieter comment, not right away. Just sinks back on her heels and mutters more to herself than anyone, counting, waiting. The grazes aren't bleeding the way they had been, though, the ichored handprints only gradually widening as she changes position. So she gets back to what it turns out she had heard after all, her voice slower now. "So. /Tai/-krihn. You go by Tai? Anyhow. No. He's gone grayed, sorta. And for the drinking... Some dragons want to please their riders more'n others. Even when they're being stupid."
"Oh," Gabe says, embarrassed. He's keeping his mouth shut, and happy to move on with other topics of conversation. "Sorry. I was just trying to be polite." He grimaces a little bit when Leova talks about dragons wanting to please their riders - maybe it's sympathy, maybe something else. "Never seen one quite this color, myself," he tells Taikrin.
"Some's call me that." Taikrin gives a one-shouldered shrug, heedless of the fact that nobody's actually /looking/ at her. "Don't mind it none." She's quiet for a moment more, still studying the brown; now her gaze has settled on the weeping wounds. "Why's he grey? 'Cause he lost blood? That's th'green stuff, ain't it? Dragon blood? Don't look like so much..." Her forehead wrinkles, voice deepening with what might possibly be concern. "He gonna-- gonna be okay, yeah? It don't look so bad."
"Could tell him you'll be careful, you want to be polite. Reminds me: don't take this as a license to go around /touching/ dragons, hm?" Leova straightens up some, releasing the pressure, surveying it critically. The side of her palm smooths against the matte brown hide, where it emerges from the gauze and the gloss of numbweed. The brownrider's crying has quieted some, down to the odd gasp and hiccup. The greenrider's voice is quiet, too. "Diltainth here... he's a strong flier. Used to be one of the few biggies in Upper Flight, back when we had Fall, swerving around this way and that... but it's Avalanche for him now. Weyrleader's wing." Leova moves over to assess the progress of the other knee, then, murmuring to Gabrion to lift up some. Slowly. "Green stuff, it's dragon blood all right, we call it ichor. Going to be just fine. Could've been because of blood, could've been because of age, but mostly it's shock. What I didn't say was... well, let's talk about that a little later. When I get you the fruit."
"No, 'course not," Gabe says, as if that should be obvious. "Not unless they want to be touched." He carefully eases off the pressure he's been applying to the brown's wound, watching closely as Leova works, eyes bright with curiosity.
"What's that mean, Avalanche?" Taikrin shuffles just a tiny bit closer, peering at where Gabrion's been applying pressure. "He's old? He don't look so old." Not like Taikrin would know an old dragon from a young one, really. "Bigger'n yer normal ones, eh Gabe?" There's a hint of awe in her voice, though her expression is otherwise cautiously blank. "That's right." She blinks, suddenly, dropping her gaze to focus on Leova. "Shards, I forget we came in 'ere for that stuff."
"Name of the wing. They're in groups. Wings, we call them. Different patches on the jackets... That's better. Looking stable." Leova straightens with a last pat for the dragon. "Go ahead and get clean, Gabrion. And if you need anything for your face, don't mind if you take the shortcut to the other infirmary /this/ time. Reckon Taikrin and me can handle it. Hang on, though, Tai." She's already heading off to report to U'sot, to update the rider likewise.
Gabrion looks grateful. "Wouldn't mind a bit of numbweed, maybe, I'm achey," he remarks, and heads off to wash his hands and duck into the infirmary, though he calls out to Taikrin, "I'll meet you outside in a few," before he disappears.
OOC Date: March 7, 2010
IC Date: Day 21, month 2, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Who: Gabrion, Taikrin, K'del, Milani, Leova
Where: Council Chambers, Records Room, and Dragon Infirmary, HRW
Gabrion and Taikrin head out to collect items for the scavenger hunt. After they interrupt K'del at work, Gabe embarrasses Taikrin by teasing her about kissing Milani, and they wind up helping Leova with an injured dragon.
Gabrion appears at the entry to K'del's weyr, with someone else behind him. His face is ... interesting-looking; the brusies have started to fade to glorious yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. He looks cheerful enough despite that. On seeing that K'del is, in fact, here, he clears his through and scuffs his foot on the stone to announce his presence.
Having already been interrupted once this afternoon, K'del doesn't look too surprised at the sound of that scuffing foot. He's settled on the couch, though, all curled up and comfortable with the fire just in front of him, and he doesn't move to stand. Just: "Come on in." He /does/ turn his head to look at the new arrivals, his expression narrowing distinctly at the sight of Gabrion's face.
Taikrin is not hiding behind Gabrion, really! Because that would be silly, given not only that she's still quite a bit taller than the boy but that he's still looking pretty rough around the edges. Hovering uncertainly behind Gabe is just a /strategic/ move, really, and the nervous whisper is just to lull everyone into a false sense of security. "Y'/sure/ it's okay for us t'be here? I dunno 'bout this whole game thing, but this's--" She jumps at the greeting, then stiffens her spine in defensive response while directing a gruff, "Uh. Sir," towards K'del.
Gabrion steps forward into the weyr, though he seems to shrink a little, when K'del looks at him that way. "It's fine," he says to Taikrin, distractedly. "He's just the weyrleader, not a Lord Holder or something." Thus says the weyrbrat! "Hello, weyrleader," he greets K'del very politely. "We were wondering if we could have one of those wine seals, for the scavenger hunt. I hope we haven't interrupted you."
K'del's gaze leaves Gabrion's face long enough to consider Taikrin, enough recognition lingering there that he manages an easy enough smile for her. "It's fine," he assures them both, unconsciously echoing the male candidate. "Come on in, let me dig something up for you. If I wasn't willing to be interrupted, wouldn't have signed up, would I?" Even if, by his expression, he's possibly regretting it. /Now/ he draws himself from the couch, heading towards the desk in the corner.
"S'worse, Gabe, not better," is the muttered remark back to the other candidate, but Taikrin otherwise subsides without further complaint. She continues to drift in Gabrion's wake, gaze darting around the room to assess occupants an exits in a habitual sort of way. "We ain't meanin' t'be a bother," she adds, despite the reassurances. "Guard Jerron said we weren't t'interrupt if y'were busy." That would be the guard assigned to Taikrin today, then. She's silent for a moment, neck craning to follow K'del's movements, then blurts suddenly, "Yer family really makes /wine/, sir? They ain't all riders?"
Gabrion grins at Taikrin, but he takes K'del's word at face value. "See, told you it was fine," he tells her. "Thank you, sir," he adds, for K'del's benefit. He gets a kick out of Taikrin's question. "My mom's a rider, but she comes from a trader family," he tells her, then looks back to K'del. "You came from out of the weyr too, right, weyrleader?"
"Know you're not," says K'del, easily, putting that in before the questions about his background. /Those/ questions make him laugh, and he turns his head about, the rest of him still facing the desk, to shake it firmly. "First rider in my family, s'far as I know," he reports. "We-- /they/ grow grapes. Brother-in-law's family makes the wine." His handles fumble around in the desk: he's clearly not /that/ prepared. "Plenty of riders're hold bred. Or craft, or trader or whatever."
Taikrin does not look terribly pleased at everyone's amusement, though she attempts to halt the burgeoning scowl with a toothily-unnatural smile. "Well, I just reckoned maybe th'/important/ riders were weyrbred, like. Weyrwoman said she was, an' her da an' all," is the defensive response that's only a few hairs shy of a snap. Her arms fold across her chest, the casted one tucked carefully atop the other. "Ain't th'dragons prefer someone raised local, like? Uh, sir?" At least some of her overt nervousness has been lost in the rising tide of irritation.
"Ezalea wasn't," Gabe points out, perhaps too cheerfully, given the history there. "Right? She was from one of those little holds, wasn't she?" He looks to K'del for confirmation. "I don't think it matters to the dragons where somebody is born." Not that he knows, because who does? but that's not going to stop him from holding forth about his opinions.
Apologetic, K'del says, "Didn't mean to laugh at you." And that seems genuine enough, his gaze reaching out towards Taikrin: he's smiling, still, but not in a laughing way. "But--right. Ezalea wasn't. She's from Balen. And Satiet, our former Weyrwoman, she was from a fishing hold in Tillek, I think." He finally seems to get what he wants from the desk, and takes a couple of steps back towards the pair. "Not really sure /what/ it is they look for. Just know that they know who they want, and there doesn't much seem to be rhyme or reason to it."
"Eza-- Ezawho?" Taikrin looks, uncertainly, from K'del to Gabrion then back again, still wary for amusement directed her way. At mention of 'weyrwoman', though, a measure of comprehension dawns. "I wouldn'a reckoned, them bein' so keen on outsiders." Her response is gruff, gaze lowering. She moves to gently nudge Gabe's back with an elbow, then, with an abrupt change of subject. "What's all else on our list, then? We ain't s'pposed t'get th'lecture from th'Weyrleader too, is we?"
"No, that's W'chek," Gabe says sourly, ducking the question about Ezalea. "I already /got/ a lecture from him." He gestures toward his much-abused face. "We could go see if the Headwoman's in, though? We're supposed to get uh... a kiss from her." Which ought to be interesting.
K'del opens his mouth, presumably to explain Ezalea, but her evident comprehension forstalls himself. Offering over the seal, once he gets close enough, his face has turned more serious-- probably due to mention of W'chek. "Reckon that counts for a lecture and a half." Poor face. But; "Bet Milani'd be willing to kiss a cheek, or something. But... you'll have to work the rest out for yourselves, I guess."
Taikrin's good fist tightens at mention of W'chek, and the scowl that'd been threatening to emerge all afternoon finally makes a full appearance. "Like t'give him a lecture, I would," is muttered half under her breath. Still, she reaches out to take the seal, offering a curt nod to K'del. "Uh, thanks. Weyrleader, sir. Best we shouldn't bother y'all afternoon, like." A pause, then, as Taikrin expression grows tighter in an entirely different way and her voice grows strangled. "A /kiss/ from th'Headwoman?"
Gabrion aims an elbow at Taikrin's side. "He says it counts!" he says, triumphant. "Nice. Thanks, Weyrleader." He's all smiles: two down, however many to go. As for the kiss: "Yeah," he says to Taikrin as he turns to head out of the weyr. "Are you into girls?"
"You're welcome," says K'del, more firm and formal than his other statements, on the whole, have been. "Good luck?" His expression begins to twitch pretty quickly, though; he obviously finds Taikrin's reaction to the kissing /distinctly/ amusing. Thus, he stands, watching them go.
Taikrin turns to follow after Gabrion-- and promptly trips over her own feet at his question and comes to a complate standstill. She splutters for a moment, then demands, "What th' bloody-- what th'bloody shells kinda question is /that/?!" She remains there for a moment, staring at Gabrion's retreating back, before darting a quick glance over her shoulder at K'del. Movement suddenly returns, then, in a graceless lumber after the other candidate, as she calls out in an even more strangled voice, "/Gabe/!!"
"Well, /I'm/ not, really," Gabe is saying to Taikrin as they head down the corridor. "So I thought if you were, then you know, you could ask her. If not, then I guess it doesn't really matter one way or the other who she kisses. Hello, Headwoman!" he says brightly as he enters the room and spots Milani there.
"But that ain't some kinda question y'just come out an' ask when th'/Weyrleader's/ standin' right there!" Taikrin is spluttering on after Gabe, trailing back a pace or two with cheeks flushed bright pink. "I ain't got no problem' askin' her, mind, y'just can't--" She breaks off abruptly at Gabe's greeting, and goes even more flushed around the edges. "Uh, Headwoman. Hey. We was just, uh, lookin' for ya."
"Shhh!" is the remarkd from the records-keeper on duty. Milani is sat about halfway back in the room, going through what look like old ledgers maybe and the double-echo of her title lifts her gaze from the books, except that then she sneezes promptly. "Oh hey there, G--achoo." A hand waves and then she digs in her pocket for a hanky and blows her nose. "Dust!" Millie exclaims once she's dealt with the issue. "How can I help you both?"
Gabrion gives the records-keeper an apologetic grimace and crosses the room to get closer to Milani, so he can speak more quietly. "Hi," he says with a wicked grin. His face is quite distinctive, still - the two shiners have begun to fade into a glorious meld of yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. "Taikrin wanted to ask you for a kiss," he says, and smirks at the convict-candidate.
The flush in Taikrin's cheeks recedes not a hair at being repremanded; indeed, her expression sinks from mere embarrasment to outright mortification. "Sorry!" The stage-whisper isn't exactly quiet, either, but it's an improvement. She trails after Gabrion, drawing to a halt as if attempting to hide behind a slight 15 year old boy wasn't completly ridiculously. "Yeah we-- I /did/?!" If it were possible to sink into the floor, Taikrin would be well on her way to Pern's core at this point. Her voice is strangled as she attempts, poorly, to recover. "I mean, uh-- yeah. Wanted t'ask. Fer that."
Milani props her chin up on her hand observing the byplay between candidates with some amusement. "So you wanted to /ask/ for one or you actually /want/ one?" she asks with wicked mirth in her eyes. "Because you know, if you actually /want/ one I have several ways to give you one." Chipper.
"...several ways?" Gabe twists his face in an attempt to quirk one eyebrow. "I don't think she wants tongue," he says. "Right, Taikrin?" He does his best to look oh-so-innocent as he looks at her for confirmation.
"I don't want any tongue!" Taikrin's voice is so strangled, and the words so run together in haste that she's nearly incomprehensible. "She stops, then, eyes squeezing shut as she takes a deep, deep breath. When she releases it, she's somewhat easier to understand though no less pink. "Just lookin' fer one, y'know, 'cause of that game'r whatever. Whatever it is yer givin' out." Her attempt at nonchalance is quite laughable, especially given the way her gaze is fixed on a spot just over Milani's shoulder.
Milani's eyes lift towards the ceiling. Faranth preserve us from teenaged boys. Taikrin's reaction however draws a sympathetic look and the headwoman reaches into her pocket and draws out a little white card. On the card, the clear imprint of a set of lips and underneath in tidy handwriting: 'One kiss, from Milani.' "You don't have to look so stricken," she tells the dicing candidate with a smile and offers the card over. "Here's the 'easy' way out of that particular challenge. No tongue involved."
Gabrion's mouth drops open. "A piece of paper?" he yelps in disbelief. "That's it? Aww, man. She doesn't have to actually kiss you? Where's the fun in that?" he complains. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks disgruntled over being cheated out of watching Taikrin and Milani actually kiss.
Taikrin actually looks somewhat disappointed, too, as the paper is produced, though she does still reach out to take it. "Oh. Well. Uh. That was easy." The blush is fading from her cheeks, finally, though her gaze still refuses to settle anywhere on Milani. "Guess y'really thought of everything, uh, ma'am." It takes a moment the headwoman's words to register, but when they do, her head snaps up abruptly. "I ain't afraid'r nothin'. Figured y'wouldn't want t'be kissin' dirty criminal-types, anyways." Her tone is defensive, now, as all of the energy she'd spent being embarrased is shifted instead towards defending her convict-honor.
"There's an actual kiss right there," Milani points out to Gabrion and shoots him a little look. "This isn't meant to be a spectator sport, you know." But she looks back up at Taikrin and catches that hint of disappointment. "No, I don't have a problem with kissing you at all, but I did think that some of you wouldn't actually want me to /really/ kiss you." Pause. "So, the question still stands. Do you /want/ me to kiss you?"
Gabrion looks at Taikrin to see how she answers that question, both eyebrows raised, a big grin on his face - he's only the tiniest bit fazed by Milani's look.
Taikrin tries very hard to keep the blush back, though she's not entirely successful. For a moment, it looks as though she might back down, but a quick glance at Gabrion seems to harden her resolve. "Wanna do it right, me. Don't want nobody said we cheated or nothin'." The card is tossed towards Gabrion's head, though it flutters oddly in the way that non-aerodynamic paper often does. Her whole body tenses, just in case this is actually kiss == punch in the face, but she presses on. "Yeah. Want a real one, me."
"It wouldn't be cheating," Milani says quite seriously and rolls her eyes at Gabrion again. "A real one it is then," the headwoman says blithely and rises from her chair to lean forward and kiss the convict lightly, right on the mouth. Gabe gets his wish?
Gabrion ducks dramatically, anyway, and then hops forward to pick up the card where it landed on the floor, juuuust in case they need it later. He watches the rest of the proceedings with gleeful amusement all over his face.
Taikrin remains absolutely, precisely, rock-solid still throughout all the time it takes Milani to lean foward and deliver the kiss. It's only afterwards that she pulls back, hot color suffusing her face. "Uh. Thanks." Her voice is incredibly gruff, and her hand scrubs through her poorly-sheared hair in a habitual nervous gesture. "Reckon we got what we came for, Gabrion?" The gaze that shifts over to the other candidate is rather dazed. "Two kisses fer th'price of one, like?"
"Yeah, I think we did," Gabrion says with a big grin for Taikrin. "Thanks, Milani!" He holds up the card to show Taikrin that he's still got it, and says, "We could see about go finding one of the others, if you want. Better get out of their hair here or that record-keeper is probably going to give us another lecture," he jokes.
"Lucky both of you!" MIlani sing-songs and then considers Gabe for a moment. "THough you know, you had the better line," and she gestures to her own face to indicate the mess that's on his. "You could've asked me to kiss it and make it better." Deadpan-innocence. "But go on with you both," a little shooing motion with her hands. "Go find the harper to write you an epic about this."
"Uh, yeah. We should-- get out of th'Headwoman's hair," Taikrin echoes, still a bit dazed, as she shuffles closer to Gabrion, apparently ready to follow his lead yet again into utter doom. "We, uh-- yeah. We'll, just-- do that," is directed towards Milani, though Taikrin is refusing to look at the older woman again. "Thanks."
Gabrion gestures to bring Taikrin along with him, sings out, "Bye!" to Milani, and trots back out to the hallway - they can linger longer and converse there, where they won't disturb people reading and working.
They can't have gone more than a couple steps before Taikrin reaches out to cuff Gabrion's shoulder -- and not gently. "Oi!! What's th'matter with you?! Ain't nobody told you I'm a /very/ dangerous criminal who's as like t'knife ya as look atcha?"
"Ow!" Gabe yelps, and ducks, but too late to avoid being smacked. Then he starts to laugh. "But the look on your face! C'mon, I had to. And anyway, you did awesome." He grins at Taikrin again, and offers his hand for a high-five.
If Taikrin were /truly/ angry, she'd probably be pummeling Gabe by now. As it is, she levels a glare that would probably be more effective if the corners of her lips weren't pulling upwards. "Yeah, well, y'better watch it." Reluctantly -- or perhaps not so reluctantly, given that it is /Taikrin/ -- she raises her good hand to return the high-five. "'Least we got the stuff. How much more we gotta do? Next time, /you're/ the one gettin' kissed."
Gabrion giggles gleefully. "Well, if we go get that bone from P'ax, I probably will," he warns. "So maybe you don't want to see that. Who should we bug next? I think someone's supposed to armwrestle Z'yi. Which I would totally lose. Or we could get some fruit from Leova or a song from Rorkes..."
"Armwrestle, huh? Bet I could do that if he'll do left arm." Taikrin is suddenly thoughtful at the list of possibilities. "You kissin' on P'ax though? He's the one what took y't'pick that friend of yours, ain't he?" Eyebrows draw together as she squints at the younger candidate. "Ain't he a little /old/ fer you?"
Gabrion shrugs. "He's a little older, I guess, is that a big deal?" It isn't, apparently, to him. "We just went to visit. I wanted to visit Firistan, he gave me a ride. The searching... I sure didn't expect Yyth to search all those people." He wrinkles his nose. "Zekaro's such a turd, I'd rather she'd dropped him between than searched him, that's just me though." Abruptly, he seems to regret saying anything. "Don't tell him I said that, okay?" he pleads.
Taikrin continues to eye Gabrion, obviously unconvinced. "Boy like you should be playin' with boys yer own age. Like that Firistan, y'know." And there's a knowing look in her gaze; she's certainly on to them. The revelation abot Gabrion's feelings about Zekaro apparently isn't one: she doesn't react beyond a shrug. "Whatever. Ain't plannin' t'talk t'him no time soon." She shifts, then, heading down the corridor. "Gettin' kinda hungry, me. Why don't we go an' get that fruit?"
"Him too," Gabe says, looking smug for a moment. He agrees readily with Taikrin's proposal. "Okay," he says. "I wonder where Leova is. Guess we can start asking around? If we find a rider, they can get their dragon to ask hers where she's at."
Taikrin rolls her eyes, but doesn't comment on Gabe's choice of, ah, playmates. "Reckon I gotta check in with Jerron so he knows I ain't murdered you, yet." The guard assigned to Taikrin, that is. "Well, we better start lookin'. C'mon. Jerron's prolly in the caverns watchin' the chore groups."
Dragon Infirmary
The evening's quiet and dark outside. Inside... not so quiet. A worried Avalanche rider would be pacing if he weren't so wobbly, the smell of drink rising off the underlying smell of sweat and too-strong cologne. His brown follows him with yellow-shot eyes and, now, whines low in his chest. Both of the dragonhealers working on him look up, simultaneously, and U'sot mutters something at Leova before striding over to collar the man.
"They said she was here, she should be..." Gabe is saying to Taikrin as they clear the entryway to the dragon infirmary. He breaks off and blinks when he sees that apparently Things Are Going Down, and stops walking, too, reaching for Taikrin's arm to halt her and watching with wide eyes to see what exactly is going on.
Taikrin is trailing along behind Gabrion, and a little off to the side. "Could'a been nicer 'bout it-- oh!" She too comes to a halt just as Gabrion grabs her arm. "Woah." Equally wide-eyed, she stares unabashedly at the brown and his obviously drunk rider. "They could'a told us /this/..."
By now there's some back-and-forthing, mostly -forthing, between the two men, though the senior dragonhealer does keep his voice low and terse in lieu of increasing the newly arrived pair's vocabulary or, more importantly, upsetting the dragon further. As for Leova, she's turning, hands splayed across the gauze bandage across one of the brown's knees, ichor upwelling slowly in the graze on the other. And the thing about Gabrion's walking more-or-less in front is that he's the one whom she calls out, "You. 'Prentice. Wash up."
"Me? What?" Even as surprise shows on Gabrion's still-bruised-and-tender face, he's giving Taikrin an apologetic glance and moving to the nearest washstand to obey. It doesn't occur to him to do otherwise. It takes a few minutes to scrub his hands and arms to the elbows, rinse them, scrub them again, and dry them, but he does it carefully and thoroughly and then, holding hands and arms carefully away from his clothing and anything else, he heads over to Leova's side. "I usually do people," he warns her. "I haven't really been trained on dragons at all." Nonetheless, there he is to do her bidding.
Taikrin gapes openly as Gabrion is called away; she trails after him as far as the sink, obviously at a loss. Once he moves away, she remains, pushing her back against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "Shards, Gabe... hope y'know whacher doin'."
"Knew that. Be careful, don't jerk around, and /stay calm/," Leova tells the apprentice-turned-candidate. She moves sideways a step. Gestures for him to take her place in keeping the pressure. Her, "What the hell happened to your face, anyhow?" has that same businesslike quality as the rest. "And," now that Taikrin's gotten to talking closer by, "Who's your friend." En route to collecting the second big bandage, she gives the slightly taller woman a brief look, one that doesn't linger. She's busy: unfolding the cloth, shaking out the creases.
Gabrion knows how to apply pressure, at least: that's a principle that can't possibly vary much from human to dragon. "Got punched in the nose," he says simply as he presses on the gauze. "Oh, her? That's Taikrin. She's a candidate. She's in my scavenger hunt group. Do you need her to help, too?" he asks, glancing briefly back at Taikrin, and then turning his attention back to the bleeding dragon.
Taikrin scuffs her uncasted arm back through her rough-cropped hair, obviously nervous in her present surroundings. "They could'a /warned/ us," she repeats in an under-the-breath mutter. At the sound of her name, she gives a jerk then raises her hand in half-hearted greeting. Ever-so-slowly she edges around the perimeter of the room, craning her neck to get a good look at the injured dragon. "What, uh--" Her voice is rough, and the throat-clearing she gives doesn't much help. "-- uh, happened t'him?"
"No kidding," says Leova dryly, pressing green handprints over the brown's other knee. He's quite still, though he's cocked his head, eyes spinning between them and his rider who's now crying into a much put-upon U'sot's shoulder. Another day, he might be a warm walnut brown but right now his color's washed out by more than just glowlight. "Thought candidates weren't supposed to do that sort of thing. Who?" As for, "Tai... krihn? -kreen? No. Don't know her. /He/ is Diltainth. Went and grazed the Rim, what's left of it. You two Impress? Don't drink and fly. That much."
"Wasn't, like, a planned thing," Gabe says simply, about his injury. When Leova describes what happened to the dragon, he winces. "Man. That bites. This must hurt, Diltainth," he says, addressing the dragon just as he might a human. "Leova'll get you fixed up though, she knows what she's doing." Looking over at Leova, he lowers his voice to say of Taikrin, "She's one of the convict candidates. She's alright, though, she really is."
"S'/Tai/-krihn," the convict-candidate offers, offhandedly. She's settled somewhere just off to the side, where she can keep a good view on the dragon, dragonhealers, and exits -- just in case. "Diltainth? Huh." Her head tips backwards a bit, allowing a view all the way up the dragon's length. "Th'rider drinkin' makes th'dragon drunk?" The question is musingly asked; she's not really expecting an answer. She doesn't catch the remark about being a convict, luckily; the full force of her attention is fixed on the ailing brown. "Ain't never been so close... they s'pposed t'look that color?"
"Keeping your mouth shut, are you," Leova grunts low in her throat at that, though there's at least an iota of respect there. It doesn't slow her from instructing, "He don't need you telling him that. Not a kid. My Vrianth, she been talking to him all this time, a lot going on that you don't see." She doesn't look back at Taikrin at that quieter comment, not right away. Just sinks back on her heels and mutters more to herself than anyone, counting, waiting. The grazes aren't bleeding the way they had been, though, the ichored handprints only gradually widening as she changes position. So she gets back to what it turns out she had heard after all, her voice slower now. "So. /Tai/-krihn. You go by Tai? Anyhow. No. He's gone grayed, sorta. And for the drinking... Some dragons want to please their riders more'n others. Even when they're being stupid."
"Oh," Gabe says, embarrassed. He's keeping his mouth shut, and happy to move on with other topics of conversation. "Sorry. I was just trying to be polite." He grimaces a little bit when Leova talks about dragons wanting to please their riders - maybe it's sympathy, maybe something else. "Never seen one quite this color, myself," he tells Taikrin.
"Some's call me that." Taikrin gives a one-shouldered shrug, heedless of the fact that nobody's actually /looking/ at her. "Don't mind it none." She's quiet for a moment more, still studying the brown; now her gaze has settled on the weeping wounds. "Why's he grey? 'Cause he lost blood? That's th'green stuff, ain't it? Dragon blood? Don't look like so much..." Her forehead wrinkles, voice deepening with what might possibly be concern. "He gonna-- gonna be okay, yeah? It don't look so bad."
"Could tell him you'll be careful, you want to be polite. Reminds me: don't take this as a license to go around /touching/ dragons, hm?" Leova straightens up some, releasing the pressure, surveying it critically. The side of her palm smooths against the matte brown hide, where it emerges from the gauze and the gloss of numbweed. The brownrider's crying has quieted some, down to the odd gasp and hiccup. The greenrider's voice is quiet, too. "Diltainth here... he's a strong flier. Used to be one of the few biggies in Upper Flight, back when we had Fall, swerving around this way and that... but it's Avalanche for him now. Weyrleader's wing." Leova moves over to assess the progress of the other knee, then, murmuring to Gabrion to lift up some. Slowly. "Green stuff, it's dragon blood all right, we call it ichor. Going to be just fine. Could've been because of blood, could've been because of age, but mostly it's shock. What I didn't say was... well, let's talk about that a little later. When I get you the fruit."
"No, 'course not," Gabe says, as if that should be obvious. "Not unless they want to be touched." He carefully eases off the pressure he's been applying to the brown's wound, watching closely as Leova works, eyes bright with curiosity.
"What's that mean, Avalanche?" Taikrin shuffles just a tiny bit closer, peering at where Gabrion's been applying pressure. "He's old? He don't look so old." Not like Taikrin would know an old dragon from a young one, really. "Bigger'n yer normal ones, eh Gabe?" There's a hint of awe in her voice, though her expression is otherwise cautiously blank. "That's right." She blinks, suddenly, dropping her gaze to focus on Leova. "Shards, I forget we came in 'ere for that stuff."
"Name of the wing. They're in groups. Wings, we call them. Different patches on the jackets... That's better. Looking stable." Leova straightens with a last pat for the dragon. "Go ahead and get clean, Gabrion. And if you need anything for your face, don't mind if you take the shortcut to the other infirmary /this/ time. Reckon Taikrin and me can handle it. Hang on, though, Tai." She's already heading off to report to U'sot, to update the rider likewise.
Gabrion looks grateful. "Wouldn't mind a bit of numbweed, maybe, I'm achey," he remarks, and heads off to wash his hands and duck into the infirmary, though he calls out to Taikrin, "I'll meet you outside in a few," before he disappears.