We Have Ways Of Making You Talk
Location: Baths and Infirmary
Time: Wee hours of Day 29, Month 2, Turn 2
Players: Roa, 'The Healer' (Aivey), Jensen, T'zen, Yevide, N'ka, Tialith, Uneth, Ulyath, Actual Healer (NPC by Yevide), various curious mobs of people (NPCed by Yevide).
Scene: A late night bath becomes something much much more.
It is the wee hours of the night. so wee, in fact, that some might argue it's morning. The baths are empty, save for a single small figure sitting in one of the heated pools. There's soapsand on the ledge and a little loofa for scrubbing, but long taxing days have finally taken their toll and the Telgari doesn't wash, but dozes. Her head is tilted back on the ledge, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. She's been that way for perhaps twenty minutes now.
Throughout the whole of the bathing process, Roa would have been undisturbed. Likely not all that uncommon given the hour, but something eerie might now be found in that total silence. Only the sloshing of the water offers any hint of normalcy within the bathing cavern, and though slightly dark, the cavern remains tranquil. It's the perfect place to take a nap, no doubt. Roa remains undisturbed.
Roa starts suddenly, jerking her head up and looking around. She blinks heavily, hands lifting to rub her eyes, before peering around again. But...all seems normal, if quiet. And darker. The girl frowns faintly and turns, climbing out of the water and walking over to the alcove where she stored her towel and clothing. With a wide if quiet yawn, she begins to dry and dress, head hanging a little. A brief nap didn't seem to quite cover it.
Everything is still in place, not even the slightest bit touched or different from how it'd been placed. Indeed, everything -seems- the same if you didn't count the quiet, the dark and the creepy factor of being totally alone in the baths this late at night. Truly the only thing that seems even remotely off is that perhaps the floor nearest the entrance glistens with dampness, but fortunately there's a wooden bucket and mop tucked alongside the bathing cavern wall.
Another yawn as Roa sleepily braids her long hair and winds it up to the nape of her neck. Then, draping scarf and coat over her shoulder, eyes half-closed from exhaustion, she walks towards the door, feet on a collision path with that wet spot. She's got boots on, after all, and she walks through puddles all the time. Except that this isn't water.
The entire experience is disorienting. One moment, she's looking at the wall. The next, she staring up at the ceiling and...falling? The sound of bone smacking tile reverberates through the room and Roa can only stare upwards in silent shock, spots dancing before her eyes for a moment. Then it all goes black.
One, two and three seconds pass before a slender shape appears from the shadows of the doorway. Its movements are quick and precise, taking it to the side of the fallen rider. From a bag the figure carries with it, two coiled ropes are taken. Roa's wrists are bound first, her ankles next. The figure checks the tightness and security of the restraints before sliding toward Roa's head. Right about the time Roa should be coming to, something is pressed against her lips. In a calming tone, the figure says, "Here now, drink some of this. You had yourself quite the fall. Try not to move, ok?" Should Roa dare a look, she'd find herself looking at a healer. A healer in full-blown healer garb, mask and all.
The goldrider begins to squint and move her head a little a few beats after the last of the ropes secure her ankles. She moans faintly, eyes squeezing shut as the back of her head throbs angrily. She is still for a moment, unanswering the voice addressing her. She has to deal with another voice first.
Roa! I'm fine, Tia. I just fell. Getting up now. You are sure? I'm sure, love. Please don't fret.
Eyes slowly open and blink in the darkness, orienting towards a...healer? Is she in the infirmary? But something is put to her lips and she swallows it reflexively. It's not until after that she realizes wrists and ankles...don't move.
Sickeningly motherly, the 'healer' smoothes a hand over Roa's forehead. "You had a nasty fall. Hit your head on the floor. You're lucky you're alive, Roa." The healer looks away, toward Roa's bound wrists and ankles then looks back at her with a smile, "I'd hope you're smart enough to not have that gold of yours call out for help. You'll be dead before it ever gets here and you'll take her with you. If you work with me, I'll let you go. Free and clear." She settles back on her heels, the bag she'd pulled the rope from situated in her lap. It's not completely deflated yet and still shows signs of having things within it. "Poison, if you're wondering. What you drank just now. Tell me what I want to know and I'll give you the antidote. Don't and you'll die. It's simple. I like simple."
More blinking happens as the voice speaks again, and Roa slowly turns her head towards the face, covered as it is, that matches the voice. Healers don't...usually...tie you up. Or...oh. Eyes widen, a quick expression of horror smoothed away and her lips smack together, attempting to tease forth the flavors that were recently in her mouth. Eyes search, silently, for an features she might discern beneath the getup. Eye shape or color. The arch of eyebrows. What does that voice sound like? Maybe...she is dreaming? But she finds her mouth saying, around sudden dryness, "And what is it you want to know?"
Mask and kerchief disallow for any unique physical matches; the healer could just as easily be any female in the appropriate age range, her voice carries no discernible dialect or speech patterns. The healer is infuriatingly -average- aside from her frigid bedside manner. "Don't worry Roa. They're all very easy, very simple questions. I want you to tell me about the Captain - Jensen. I want to know what he tells you that he won't tell anyone else. I do urge you not to lie to me, Roa, because we really don't have that much time before the poison starts working. I'd hate for you to have to die." Again, the healer plays the part of comforter by smoothing the back of a gloved hand against Roa's cheek. Quietly she whispers, "Start talking."
The girl licks her lips, this time turning her head away slightly at that gentle touch. Roa's eyes squeeze shut again. "My head hurts," she whispers. "S'hard to think and...that's not a question." Then she looks back, allowing some of the genuine terror she feels to leak out into her face. "W-what's it going to feel like? When the poison starts?" Buy time. Buy time. *Think*, girl.
"You'll know when you feel it, now won't you?" The healer asks sweetly, "Be sure to let me know. I'm rather curious myself." Straightening, the healer says, "I want to know what you know about the Captain. Tell me what his secrets are - he has secrets, everyone has secrets and I'm sure he confides in you. I must warn you though. I don't like being disappointed so make sure I like what I hear."
A slow blink. A shuddering breath. "You...gave me a poison and you don't know what it does?" The thing about this moment is that it's dangerous, it's life threatening, and it's so utterly surreal that for a moment, one might forget about those first two. "Jensen?" she asks again, and stares up at the ceiling. "He's allergic," she whispers. And then swallows sharply. "To nuts. A certain kind from Ista. Won't tell anyone else. Too stubborn." Her eyes close and she sniffles softly. "And someone left a dagger in his wall."
"One poison is just as good as any other," The healer helpfully comments, "So long as the person is dead in the end, what's it matter how they got there?" In an idle, playful way she shrugs her shoulders, "But you're putting words in my mouth, Roa. I have an -idea- of what it does. It'll be interesting to see if I'm right." As Jensen's secrets are spilled, she nods slowly and approvingly, "That's good. That's real good if I plan on feeding him nuts or giving him decorating tips, Roa. I want to know what he intends to do here. Who the people are that he loves and trusts more then his own life." She pauses for thought, "I'd think you were one of them if you weren't in this situation with me right now. Maybe he doesn't care for you as much as I thought. Do you think..." She settles in closer, propping her chin atop closed fists, Conversationally, she finishes her earlier question. "Do you think I was wrong about that Roa? Should I have picked someone else to poison?"
Roa's lips, the very corners, twist upwards and her voice is cool. Almost cold. "Oh. You absolutely picked the wrong person to poison," are the words whispered as the figure leans closer. "He intends..." she grits her teeth as her head again throbs furiously, and there a new pressure now. Her lifemate nudging against the barrier her rider has erected. "...to be a guard. Not much to him." She blinks back tears. "She's going to come soon. I won't be able to stop her. She'll alert the weyr."
"We'll see just how true that is soon, Roa, won't we?" The healer asks in that same, amiable manner, "Like it or not, you're going to help me with what I have planned." Sedately, she smiles at the threat, or what is perceived as a threat in regards to the rider's lifemate. "Riders have amazing control. If she alerts the weyr you will die. I promise you that. I might get caught and all this will be put to an end. Is that something you're willing to risk your life for?" The healer leaves the question rhetorical, quickly switching focus, "Your Captain is a man with intent and purpose. I'm growing impatient now, Roa. Up to now I've been nice. Tell me what I need to know or I will leave you here to die. Tell me what your Jensen fears. Tell me what he intends to do here and tell me one last thing," Beneath her mask, the healer's lips curve into a cruel smile that causes a slight disturbance upon the surface of the mask, "Tell me if you love him."
The goldrider wordlessly studies this other figure. This healer that is anything but. She weighs her options silently, trying to pick among a variety of bad ones. Tasted like old tea. Do you know enough about poisons to rely on that? If she leaves you, Tia can bring others. In time? Would you give your life for his safety? Her answer, maybe to one question, maybe to all, is a single word. Flat. Toneless. "No." Stupid girl.
And maybe, the fact that this woman, goldrider, potential leader of many, would risk so much for a *Captain*, gives 'the Healer' all the answers she really needs.
"I warned you about lying to me," The healer comments placidly, "But if you insist, then I'll be the more honest of us both and keep to my word and let you die. A shame. I was hoping to stick around long enough to see the effects of this particular poison," The healer straightens from her lean, the sack held loosely in both hands, "Then again, you did answer one of my questions. Here's your last chance. I think you have all of - oh maybe a minute... two tops before you start to feel it... tell me what Jensen's intents are here and I will give you the antidote."
Maybe it's water and maybe it's sweat that trickles from the rider's brow. Certainly she's trembling, her whole body quivering with the fear that's starting to press in on all sides. Plus the pain in her head. Plus Tialith's insistence. Is. She. All. Right. Plus her own stupid stupid decision. "L-let's j-just wait a m-minute then and s-s-see what h-happens, s-shall we?" Her own life. Tialith's life. Tia. Her eyes close and she relents. "To keep us safe," she whispers. "That's all. He just means to keep all of us safe."
"Safe from what?" The Healer wonders bemusedly, "For it being his job, he's really doing poorly, isn't he? I mean, here you are all tied up and poisoned with no place to go. I'd talk to him about that if I were you. Saying you get the chance and all." Moving to stand, the Healer says, "If it helps to think of just how heart broken he'll be when they find your body in the morning, go ahead and think it. Some people actually find it endearing when men cry."
And she stares as the healer is standing. "Just safe," Roa adds. "It doesn't matter from what. From you, I suppose." As to whether or not he's doing a good job, well, that doesn't much need a response.
"Threats don't matter, Roa?" The Healer lingers to ask, "Really now, I'd rethink that if I were you. And my-" She makes a soft tsking noise, "All of that from a Caucus student /and/ goldrider. I thought you all were suppose to be brilliant." The Healer looks to consider something, before kneeling back down at Roa's side. "I'll tell you a little secret. Jensen has every right to be afraid, and to try and keep you all safe from what's coming. It's going to be fun, I promise you that. I haven't lied to you yet, either, have I? I want you to tell him that for me. Make sure he knows it." She reaches into the satchel to withdraw a small glass phial. It's held up before the goldrider as the Healer pulls the stopper out, "Now I think this should do the trick. Bottoms up!" The phial is pressed against Roa's lips and upended to spill the entire contents into her mouth. The taste might just be exceedingly familiar: fellis. The phial is retracted and slipped into the bag still held by the healer. Again, the hand comes out to rest comfortingly against Roa's face before slipping down to her shoulder. Her words are as haunting as the mirth behind them: "Sleep well, Roa." Pressure applied to the goldrider's shoulder tips her over the edge of the pool and into the water - any last, fleeting sight of the healer is that of her disappearing through the entrance to the baths, the healer quite careful to take a side approach to avoid the puddle intended earlier for Roa and now her would-be rescuers.
Roa listens. What else can she do..until the vial is pressed to her lips and she gags, jerking forward, trying to reject what's already sliding down her throat. Fellis. Fellis! There isn't even time to respond before she's tipped over into the water with an innocent-sounded splash. Her body jerks, legs kick, but the fellis kicks harder, and despite her struggle for air, the adrenaline panic that surges through her system because now she *is* going to die...eyes close, kicking stops, and her body and thoughts go limp.
In the very wee hours of the morning, long before dawn on Day 29, Month 2, Turn 2, a surge of fury and sheer, cold, pressing panic invades the thoughts of the dragons of the Reaches. Tialith is terrified. HELP HER! Images are blurred and rushed. A dark ceiling. A face, shadowed, in a healer mask. Sound of water. Warm water. Everywhere. No air. No consciousness.
Tialith> Snap. That's the sound of a once slumbering blue dragon coming to full wakefulness in a blink. Tialith? Yours in trouble? Where?
Tialith> To Uneth: THERE! Rather than being helpful, the gold simply pounds those images in Uneth's mind again and again and again.
The baths are quiet and usual. Save that they are dimmer, cast more deeply in shadows. And there is something shining on the floor right in front of the doorway. Clear and reflective, like water. And perhaps, in one of the warm baths that bubbles merrily, a shadow in the water where none should be.
Tialith> The blue dragon is in the air. No doubt there's a surprised green wondering what happened to her pillow. And a rider, waking to a rush of wind. Water. Warm. No one is at our baths. Where is yours, Tialith? The one not for us? Somewhere else?
Tialith> To Uneth: I am telling you! She is THERE! Again those images, fast and useless, but there's a smell now too. Sweetsand and plants and steam.
Tialith> Ulyath reaches out urgently, a gust of Igenite heat; the older queen's mind is heavier, more layered, built up over the turns, and all that weight is now applied as she leans into Tialith, demanding order and calm. And an answer Where? How?
When you aren't accustomed to suddenly having a very loud voice booming about inside your head, one that doesn't seem to have any sort of corporeal source, you might freak out. Jensen was out in the hallway, on his way to klah and, later, practice with the men, when it happened. Hands immediately clamped over his ears, but that didn't help. Tialith's voice was, is, everywhere. He staggered against the wall, turned around quickly... Nobody. And whose voice is that? Does it matter? Help... help who? ... Warm water. Darkness. Warm water. Baths. Jen's headlong run for the bathing cavern is slowed when his boots hit the slippery stuff at the entrance. He grabs for the wall, winces when his shoulder crashes into stone, and rights himself. His progress is clumsy until he clears the shiny mess on the floor, but then it's all quickness. "Hello? Who's-" The shadow in the water is a mite concerning. He's reaches that particular pool and has cleared the edge in seconds. Splashing occurs as he wades over to the, yes, body, and it doesn't take him long to get to fishing whoever's in there out.
Tialith> A moment of aggravating silence. And then an urgent, though somewhat sheepish reply. Mine comes. I must get him. I cannot go where yours is. At least the blue is fast in the air.
Tialith> To Ulyath: The presence and maturity of this other queen stills the younger gold's frantic thoughts enough to make them come at least more slowly. The images are sent again. Backgrounds can be seen. The walls of the bathing chamber. Warm water bubbling. The smell of sweetsand and a bitter, bitter taste.
The shadowy, submerged figure is small, the dimness obscuring features, leaving behind a general form. Slight. Some sort of cloth billowing about the hips and legs. If the guard reaches in and hauls, he'll find he's nabbed a little Telgari goldrider, fully dressed, hair braided, wrists and ankles bound. Limp. Unconscious. Flop.
Oh, Jensen will be reaching in and hauling, with his hands under the arms of... "Roa?" Once he's got her head at least out of the water and sees the braided hair, he suspects, and when he very carefully turns her around in his arms, sees her face in the very dim light - it doesn't take long for him to recognize features he's become so familiar with - his expression crumbles. "Oh no, no, no. Roa, darlin', sweetheart, open your eyes. You hear me, baby? C'mon, show me you're alive, Roa. Roa!" A little shaking follows, one arm around her now as his other hand smoothes a few strands of wet hair from her forehead. "Damnit." Without hesitating he turns and wades back to the edge of the pool, fully intent on getting out with her cradled in both arms again and tucked in some against his chest.
Tialith> Ulyath maintains that pressure, bearing down, calm, even. She is awake, she is coming. Where is this?
Tialith> To Ulyath: As calmness is pressed down onto Tialith like so much sand, cohesive thoughts begin to carefully assemble. The bathing place. Theirs. They have her, but she does not wake.
Footsteps come thundering down the tunnel, and T'zen practically leaps into the baths, which has the odd fortunate effect of completely clearing whatever slipperiness there may be near the doorway. He was looking for a small goldrider. What he sees is some massive monster in the dim glows. "Hey- Wha-? Who goes there?" Out comes his knife, held wildly in front of him.
Swaying limply in Jensen's arms, Roa remains unconscious. She is, at least, breathing slowly, the shallow rise and fall of her chest suggesting some sort of life is still kicking around, at least.
Tialith> Uneth swoops into the dragon barracks, sensing where the panicked gold is, warbling excitedly.
Though he doesn't answer, Jensen does call out, "This girl's in some peril, need t'get 'er to the infirmary." One leg swings over the side of the pool, he steadies his balance, then the other follows. Roa is still held very securely. "Grab me one o'those towels, would you, uh, T'zen?" A guess, really, but an educated one considering that familiar drawling voice.
Tialith> Tialith is sitting in her couch, head raised, statue still. Her eyes whirl yellow and crimson as she rumbles softly, snarling under her breath.
T'zen has a moment where he realizes Jensen is a monster. Or rather, a monster is holding Roa. Or rather.. it's Jensen holding Roa. Give the man a break. He was sound asleep only minutes before. Blinking away each realization, T'zen finally sheaths his knife, and rushes forward to Jensen. "Uneth was all over me like the Weyr was fallin' down. Faranth! What happened to Roa?" He detours to grab said towels, and holds them out to the guard. He looks at the girl again. "Shards and shells, Jensen. She's all tied up!"
Fully clothed, Roa's skirt and top hang down, dripping onto pretty much anything that comes in contact with them. Still no movement at all.
Tialith> Uneth is too excited to be calming, just yet. Mine has found yours. She is safe.
Tialith> The gold's head swivels sharply, that yellow and red regard falling squarely on the smaller blue. I cannot hear her.
Yevide's voice is loud out in the corridor, her usually warm alto raised to make itself heard above the sound of those others woken by Tialith's cry for help. "Move aside, go back to bed. You are not needed. You too. Back to bed." The Weyrwoman is coming closer, and a few moments later appears in the doorway; she's put herself together in a rush, tunic not fastened properly, loose trousers hanging out over her boots where she hasn't paused to tuck them in. She halts upon sighting the small tableau, and then fixes her blue eyes on Jensen. "Captain?" His title is a question, and an instruction that he provide information.
"A detail I'm all too aware of," Jen mutters, not at all happy and not to mention terribly distressed and trying to be the Captain at the same time. Such warring notions are likely to make anyone a little testy. "Thanks." For the towels. It's rather difficult reaching one hand out from under Roa's legs for one of them - only one - but he manages. It dangles from that hand as he looks up, Yevide's presence noted when she addresses him. "It's Roa." And his voice might shake a little on that particular note. "Someone tied 'er up, tossed her in the pool, I don't... Not a good idea, folks usin' this room until... Can I take 'er?" Please?
The knife comes out again. Jensen's hands are busy, after all, and there's no way the bluerider is leaving Roa in bonds. Her ankles are in easy reach, and he's already cutting at the ropes before anyone has a chance to comment. Waking up very quickly, and not into a good mood. "I find out who it was.." And then the Weyrwoman strides in. He gives her only a cursory glance, and then something else causes him to pale a bit. "Ah.. we gotta wake her. Right soon. Tialith's saying she can't hear 'er. Tryin' to get Uneth to help, but.." He finally gives Yevide a look. "Might help from the senior gold, y'know? Reassure the dragon."
Tialith> The blue dragon is taken aback by that golden glare of doom. He manages a contrite mental stammer. I am sorry, gold Tialith. Please. Mine says yours lives. Will hear her soon.
Yevide doesn't bat an eyelash at T'zen's almost-order, simply inclining her head; this heralds a pause during which such communication is presumably made. No comment, though. What she says instead is, "The infirmary." Curious heads are poking around the doorframe by now, and the Weyrwoman brings up a hand to beckon a couple in. "You, ensure nobody enters until the Captain's men come. You, run ahead to alert the healers." She pivots on her heel, collecting herself even as she speaks, carefully tucking her sleeves into her bracelets, straightening her appearance. "The infirmary, Captain." Her customary warmth is missing from her tone, replaced with something grimmer.
Tialith> Tialith turns away again to glower at some spec on the wall across the way. A low rumble begins in her throat again. Then I wait, is the response, heavy and cold as a block of ice.
Tialith> Ulyath ramps up her efforts to a new level, pushing aside what must surely be anxiety on her part to lean in on Tialith, almost forcibly imposing calm; the heat of the Igenite desert, an almost overwhelmingly maternal presence. Reach in for her, Tialith. You know where to find her. Bring her closer to the surface. An order, not an entreaty, overflowing with confidence that the younger queen can do just that.
Tialith> To Ulyath: There is quiet attention in the slowing miasma of worry and then, for a long moment, the link with Ulyath closes as Tialith obeys, seeking the so-familiar touch of her rider. Somewhere in the darkness. Then, a snap, like an open palm smacking a table, announces the younger gold's return. She is there. She cannot come out. It is too heavy all around.
The look Jensen shoots T'zen when he comes near with that knife is very brief and very protective. But, oh, the ropes. Right. "The infirmary. Yeah. Thank you." And, with towel still in hand, he starts off for the exit after one last grateful look for Yevide and her quick action. It's nice to not have to be that person for once, especially since all of his instincts are very urgently screaming at him to take the little goldrider someplace safe. And hey, it's also what he /wants/ to do. He exits without waiting, passes any curious onlookers without looking at them.
T'zen manages to get the ankles and wrists free just barely before Jensen moves off, and then follows behind, knife now held as though expecting an assailant any time. "Sooner the better." He pauses. "Uneth says Tialith doesn't seemed panicked anymore. Strong dragon." He breaths a sigh of relief. Crisis averted for the moment, one hopes.
Yevide turns on her heel to follow Jensen, still assembling herself, pulling herself into a state of dignity more befitting her station; there's a stumble in her step suddenly, one hand going up to catch at the Captain's shoulder. She has steadied herself almost instantly, but there's a tight smile as her chin lifts, ducking again for a sharp nod. "Tialith has found her in there." And then her lips press together into something that's less of a smile. "She can't wake her." Then, perhaps musing on the wisdom of keeping further comments out of the public arena, she silently falls into step.
Infirmary
The infirmary is divided into two sections. The larger of these is given over to injured dragons and is joined to the bowl by an immense tunnel. No less than six stone couches fill this area, with stations between each for medical supplies and personnel. The other side of the infirmary is for human patients and is furnished with double rows of cots. A large alcove near the exit to the living cavern houses the healers' area, where they store their supplies and can retreat for a moment of quiet before wading into the battle between life and death again.
The infirmary is quiet at this time of night, but Yevide's advance messenger has evidently roused some activity, for a journeyman healer is busy clearing off a cot to one side, bundling up a series of implements that were apparently the victims of some sort of inventory, to judge by the clipboard. Tall, heavily built, the man looks more suited to work as a smith than a healer, but there's nothing lacking in his manner by way of confidence. "Get her over here, please." His request is crisp as he bundles up the last of the tools of his trade, one large hand smoothing off the sheets with a swipe.
Another figure that waits, silent and disturbingly still, in the shadows on the dragon's side, is the thought-screaming gold herself, eyes trained on the door and then following the procession of those that enter through it. Tialith is all shadows and glowing eyes, yellow and white swirling and spinning.
Not at all reluctant about obeying orders from a healer in this particular scenario, Jensen does as told and carries Roa over to the indicated cot. "She's, uh... not okay." And that isn't easy to say. Laying the little goldrider down is a task very gently done, Jen making sure her head ends up on the pillow before pulling his arms away and straightening. That done he does the only thing he can think of. He lingers and frets, his brow furrowed, his concern so very obvious. All that's missing is the hand-wringing.
T'zen follows on the heels of Jensen, and finds a place a step or two away from the bed's end. He finally sheaths the knife again, and glances over to the shadowy from of the gold. Disturbing, yes, but he has another reason for looking. He's shaking his head, murmuring. "Nah, Une. You done good. She's here. Go.. ah.. sleep or something."
Yevide comes to a halt near the head of the cot, aiming an unaccustomed scowl at those who would crowd into the infirmary afterwards; her face is made for smiling, crows feet angling cheerfully upwards, and the grimness suffices to see Roa's gawkers backing up en masse. "I can see how you won your post, with clever observations like that," the healer fairly snaps, leaning forward to run hands over Roa's limbs with a gentleness at odds with his tone, pulling aside her skirts with scant regard for her modesty. "Tell me what happened." Yevide's presence is noted with a slightly more respectful nod, but now the man's inspecting Roa's head, thumbs carefully pulling her eyelids up.
"Got no patience just now for sass." Listening to a healer is one thing, taking attitude from one is another. Jensen's eyes narrow, but he swallows his temper and focuses. "Don't rightly know. Came in, found her in the water. Uh, the baths." That helps. "She, uh... She's breathin', right? I mean-" Jen's hand lifts, fingers lost in his hair. "Jays."
A low warning rumble from the yellow-eyed gold as healer hands brusquely slide all over something that belongs to her. She rises and moves as close as she is able, even lowering her body to snake that wedge head closer. As close as she can reach before the smallness of the room inhibits forward progression.
Roa remains limp as her body is examined. When eyelids are pushed up, wide pupils shrink at the sudden light, but it's an automated response. There's no flinching or fluttering of eyelids.
T'zen watches the healer examine Roa, and he begins shifting more and more, clearly uncomfortable. "Well?" He says suddenly, eyeing the nearing dragon. "So wake'er up already."
"Will somebody please?" One of the healer's large hands gestures at Tialith, but he's intent on his work, offering the unconscious Roa (or her pupils) a nod of approval before he gently eases her head up, fingers inspecting the shape of her skull. Yevide raises a hand to silently indicate that she will deal with Tialith, and tilts her head to one side; if orders are issued, they are silent. "She's given herself a right whack on the head," the healer informs his waiting audience, ditching the use of correct medical terms. "We've just got you out of here, girl," he informs his unconscious patient, eyes closing for a moment as fingers tangle through her wet hair carefully. "I don't think you're waking up soon, are you?"
N'ka elbows his way through the crowd, only to be halted by a look that says 'stay back' as clearly as any words can. His hands fly up in defense, and he stays his ground by the door. He stands on his tip toes, stretches his neck out, and tries to get a better look at the crowd around the bed. He's not very successful, however.
Tialith> Ulyath's intensity has eased, but she's still commanding; is this the authority that comes with her new position as senior, or is it simply the weight of extra turns allowing her to be so firm. There is something of Yevide in her manner now, almost maternal. They have her there. You must not make the healer nervous, you must pull your head back a little. You will still be able to see. Her tone assumes compliance.
Tialith> To Ulyath: This time, there is bucking against the sturdy thoughts of the other gold. Hers. It is her *right*! But age or seniority wins over youthful impropriety and there is a grudging shiver of acquiescence sent Ulyath's way.
Slowly, quite reluctantly, and with a final low growl, Tialith's head withdraws a full six feet back. Eyes whirl a little faster for it, but she remains slightly removed.
Jensen doesn't like the sound of that. "Soon? But she's gonna, right?" His eyes flick to Tialith, a moment of recognition occurring, then looks down at the closed eyes, Roa's closed eyes. His head tilts, expression crumbling again. Eventually he'll notice he's pretty much entirely soaked, his pajama bottoms and sweater clinging, but right now that isn't very important, is it.
T'zen peers at the healer, and then flicks a look at Jensen. "She's not wakin' up yet?" His eyes fall back on the limp form of the goldrider on the bed. He slowly steps back away from the bed, head slowly shaking, eyes intense. "Roa.."
N'ka mutters to someone near him, but apparently the answer isn't to his liking. He glowers, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the stone doorway. As if only not noticing the golden head peeking around, he appears shocked at the sight of her, his posture straightening. Cupping his ear, he tries to hear more of the conversation around the crowded cot.
There's a huff from the healer, who settles Roa carefully down, reaching for her pulse with one large, meaty finger. "It is my most fervent hope that she will, Captain. A moment's silence, please?" The words are crisp, and pause abruptly for that growl of Tialith's. Something does phase the man after all, it seems, for he watches until the queen subsides. Yevide, for her part, is watching intently, fingers needlessly tucking her curls away behind her ears. "Perhaps a word later, Captain." Those words, they bode.
The dragon maintains her distance, watching. Waiting. The pulse in Roa's wrist is solid. Constant. Her breathing, if a little shallow, occurs reliably as well.
"Just fix 'er, will ya?" Jensen's face tenses, a grimace tugging down the corners of his mouth. Roa being unconscious? Makes for an unhappy Captain. His arms fold over his chest and he glances over at the small group of people. The glare he sends them is acidic. One eyebrow lifts at Yevide. "Many as you want, so long as they take place in this room. 'Cause I ain't leavin', not 'til she wakes up." With that he strides away from Roa's cot, over to the small gathering, and says in a voice loud enough to be heard in the quiet of the infirmary, "Any o'you not qualified t'be a healer or otherwise not supposed t'be here, go on about your lives." Murmurs of speculation follow those who listen, and he isn't waiting to see who doesn't. Turning again, he returns to hovering in the vicinity of little goldrider and begins to pace. Back and forth, back and forth.
As Jensen is hollering, T'zen is staring at Roa. His face starts shifting in various emotions. Concern, anger, fear. Finally, enough is enough. As Jensen comes back to pace, T'zen turns to leave. "Gotta go," he says simply, striding out through those gathered by the door, his jaw set.
This is not the moment for a confrontation, and Yevide certainly knows that much about leadership; Jensen is not summoned elsewhere. Instead, the Weyrwoman trains blue eyes on him thoughtfully, arms folding across her chest for a moment as she extracts whatever it is she seeks from the sight of the Captain's pacing. "Get yourself a chair, then." That's the healer's cranky instruction from where he's inspecting Roa's tongue, smelling her breath, checking her pupils once more. "She's had a dose of something, so she'll be sleeping until she's clear of it. No sign she's damaged, her reactions are still there. Heart's thumping away nicely."
Jensen spares a look at T'zen, something fierce in it. Something common. Concern, anger, and fear? Yeah, he understands that all too well at the moment. And though he doesn't say anything to the bluerider /now/, no doubt words will be exchanged come another time. A less heightened time. His pacing stops abruptly and he assumes a place at the side of the cot. "She's asleep though? And clear of it means wakin' up, right?" That's a small comfort. Chair. Oh, right. He searches the room for one, spots a good choice, and aims himself towards it. So it can be dragged over to the cot of course, and so he can plant himself in it. He sits, bent over, elbows on knees, hands clasped, but only briefly. A moment later he's pacing again.
N'ka shifts, as does the crowd around him, to allow the retreating rider to go. He takes the momentary distraction to weasel his way further into the room, slinking closer to the cot. His ear is still cupped, and his eyes widen at what bits and pieces he catches. Good gossip, if nothing else.
"I don't suppose there's the remotest chance of silence while I do this, is there?" The healer's still snapping, but his tone has modified considerably under Tialith's eye, and he contents himself to a low rumble of discontent. "We have other patients." It's Yevide's turn now to silence him, and she achieves this with a soft clearing of her throat, following up with a fixed stare that brings the healer, at least, to silence. "Captain, still yourself," she murmurs, her low alto restored to its usual even tones. "As the journeymen says, patients will be sleeping."
Tialith lowers her neck and head so they drape across the ground, as it seems the one she waits for will not be moving anytime soon. Indeed, Roa lies, still and limp, the water dripping from her skirt making a soft *pib pib* sound as it splats against the stone floor.
Jensen isn't rendered so powerless by Yevide's voice, but he does stop pacing and certainly doesn't ask any more questions, which should be a relief to everyone really. What he does do is fix the senior with a Look, shake his head, and take his seat once more. Bent, elbows on knees, hands clasped. But this time he stays, watching the small drops leaking from that drenched skirt make their mark on the floor over, and over, and over. "Could maybe get 'er some dry clothes," he mutters, glancing at the healer, then Yevide, then staring again at the floor. Nothing more from him, nope.
"We can do better than that," the healer informs Jensen, finally straightening up from Roa. But this is a job for others, and it would seem they have been waiting, for aides and apprentices arrive to spring into action with screens for Roa's modesty, gowns and towels. Leaving Yevide and Jensen on the far side, the Weyrwoman contemplating the puddle seeping out from behind the screen. "You took the guards off her, Captain." Her tone is noncommittal, alto carefully controlled.
"That I did, Weyrwoman," is Jensen's soft response, muffled somewhat because his mouth is pressed to his hands. He looks at her; his jaw clenches. "That I did." And there's something very obvious in his expression, something very easy to read. He very much regrets that decision.
Some soft shuffling sounds behind the screen and several wet *splats* as sodden clothes and boots are dropped into a bag to be carried away. When the screen is pushed away Roa lies, barefoot, black hair undone (to ease the tension on her scalp) and spilling absurdly long, in a white infirmary gown. She looks, divested of her usual clothing, hairstyle and knot, just...like a child, or someone barely older. Save for the large golden head resting behind her, it might be easy to forget she's anything more than a skinny little girl.
N'ka remains where he is, mostly ignoring the shooing attempt by Jensen. He's far too curious to give up his spot. He even stands on his tip toes to try and see past the crowd. Not effective. His lips press into a thin line, and he appears to be concentrating rather hard towards the group, hand still cupped around his ear.
Yevide pauses to study Roa as she reemerges into view, whatever words might have spilled next from her lips cut off. The healer, for his part, leans down to give Roa a going-over once more, then stands; his report is delivered to Yevide rather than Jensen. "She'll need to sleep until she wakes, Weyrwoman. Nothing we can do until then." Yevide accepts this with a nod, and watches the man out of sight before she speaks again. "Am I to take it you considered her free of danger, Captain?"
Jensen likely wouldn't have expected anything be said to /him/, but that isn't going to stop him from listening to that report, his eyes fixed on Roa's small form. His reaction to seeing her there isn't surprise, after all he's seen her in such a state before, but the fact that she's /here/ is something he's trying very hard to deal with. He waits until the healer is gone and doesn't look at Yevide when he answers. "Comes a time when you gotta put what's personal away." He swallows. "She's very dear t'me. Would've kept 'em on 'er..." After a pause he says, "Clearly she ain't." Free. Of danger. His jaw clenches again.
"I think the time has come to store the personal away, Captain, and focus on the problem at hand," Yevide agrees evenly, hand one resting on the back of the man's chair. "I appreciate your personal concern, but this was a grave error of judgment on your part. I know she protested her guards - she protested them to me, as well. This time, when she wakes, there will not be a mistake."
"And whose error of judgment was it led to folk like that maniac in the stores bein' here in the first place?" Jen straightens, tilts his head to eye Yevide solemnly. "You tellin' me I screwed up 'cause you don't think I know?" Pause. "Trust me. I know. I'm more'n willin' to take the blame for this." And, with that hanging in the air, he returns to watching Roa.
N'ka appears to have finally grown weary of watching the crowd. As all of his eavesdropping techniques have failed, the brownrider finally turns to take his leave, elbowing through the small crowd that still insists on standing in the doorway.
Yevide returns Jensen's gaze evenly, lips pressed together in a manner very much at odds with her habitual smiles. "Blame is not constructive, Captain. In fact, under the circumstances, it borders on the self-indulgent. Weyrleader S'lien is..." The Weyrwoman trails away, pressing her lips together more firmly still. Her chin comes up, and her gaze fixes on an apprentice. "Would you mind, apprentice?" A jerk of her chin indicates the door, and the young man scuttles to see it shut, closing out the last of the eavesdroppers. That done, Yevide continues, words quiet. "I will be required to defend my weyr on this. I am not interested in blaming you, although I cannot speak for the Weyrleader. I am interested in hearing what you will do now."
"Might be you and I have different ideas when it comes to the meanin' of blame," Jensen mutters very dryly. Weyrleader S'lien is? He straightens again, watches the door's shutting, and lifts an eyebrow at Yevide. His voice is very even. "Me and the forty-four others with me came here to see your throne held for you while you adjust. Seein' as how we weren't told there'd be psycho killers hidin' out in dark rooms filled with traps, preyin' on girls, drownin' and sneakin' about, you're gonna have to give me some time to adjust." His eyes lower. "I'll stay with 'er until she wakes up. I'll be the one to tell 'er she's under guard again. And I'll start searchin' for our miscreant."
Yevide dismisses this with a sharp gesture of hand, the other still curling around the back of Jensen's chair. "You have had two months since Turnover, Captain. And now, quite clearly, you have run out of time to adjust. I must have something to tell the waiting world, and very soon. If I do not, I would be very surprised to see the Caucus remain in place." She falls silent, drawing in a breath through her broad, flat nose. "I imagine the Headmaster will not be far behind me. If I can spot this, I assure you that he will."
"You can tell the waiting world you've let somethin' dark creep into your Weyr, and hopefully tell 'em too that you're gonna do all you can. The fact that folk around here have been damn near somnolent since the exiles were put away is somethin' of a concern to me." All of this said in that same even, very calm tone, Jensen spares a glance upwards. "As for what I can give you, it's a promise. I promise to catch whoever's doin' this. And I promise to do it quick as I can. And I'd like somethin' from you." He stands. "Weyr ain't right. Hasn't been. Not up to me t'see to that. Your people need t'be roused from thinkin' they're safe. And it ain't all about what's fallin' from the sky."
Silence for some time, save for the sound of healers moving about quietly, the noises of an infirmary slumbering. Yevide looks down to meet Jensen's glance, exhaling that breath out hard through her nose. "At this point, I expect the Weyrleader will say that it is far too late to find another man to fix this problem. You at least know the weyr. That being the case, we will do whatever it is that we can to aid you. Certainly Ulyath will be asking the dragons if they know of this. They cannot lie to her. What is it you would like from me?"
"I assure you, Weyrwoman, you have a problem on your hands. A problem that's closer to home than you might be willin' to accept. Can't say you're gonna need me, but I've got more'n my share of experience with what might be comin'." Jensen's chin lifts. "I want cooperation and readiness. That's all. And maybe for you to remember that I get the job done. Might not be the way you imagined, in the end, but now ain't the time t'be choosy. /That/ bein' the case, this," and he gestures at Roa without looking at her, "won't happen again."
More silence: Yevide is considering every single response before it's offered, lips still pressed together in a thin line that suits her face not at all. "Might I suggest, Captain, that when you speak to the Weyrleader about this there is a little less 'I want' and a little more by way of apology. You took your guards off her. In his mind, it will come back to that. In my mind, it comes back to that."
Jensen's expression is impassive and very practiced. When speaking to one's superiors, temporary or no, it's important to be diplomatic, right? "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Just try t'remember there are forty-four men here who oughtn't be, who were sent here by /your/ request. They've families, children, wives where they ain't. You don't like the way I handle things, you send me back. Them too. You won't really be doin' them any great harm." His eyebrows lift. "See, I get the feelin' we weren't told the entire truth. So forgive my bein' a little touchy." Pause. "Said I'm well aware o'what I did. Won't happen again." And he sits, because suddenly having this discussion is tiring in every way possible.
Jensen's expression is impassive and very practiced. When speaking to one's superiors, temporary or no, it's important to be diplomatic, right? "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Just try t'remember there are forty-four men here who oughtn't be, who were sent here by /your/ request. They've families, children, wives where they ain't. You don't like the way I handle things, you send me back. Them too. You won't really be doin' them any great harm." His eyebrows lift. "See, I get the feelin' we weren't told the entire truth. So forgive my bein' a little touchy." Pause. "Said I'm well aware o'what I did. Won't happen again." And he sits, because suddenly having this discussion is tiring in every way possible.
"Your men are paid to be here, and doing a duty they swore to do. If they crave sympathy for the tears they weep into their pillows at night, Captain, then find me others." Yevide's words are curt, but a moment later her hand uncurls from the back of his chair, coming up to cover her eyes for a moment. "This is not helpful, on either of our parts. We will leave that part of the conversation. Captain, unless my Weyrleader says otherwise, you shall have all you need to remedy this. Consider this a chance to redeem yourself."
Jensen has fallen silent, though there are certain key muscles twitching in his face that suggest he might be tucking some things deep, deep down. "You expect the rest of Pern t'kiss your boots 'cause you and yours fly against Thread, die so us on the ground can be safe, and you get your tithing and marks. But me and my men, we ain't even worth the consideration? That it? Deaths we get aren't heroic enough?" Again he glances up at her, shakes his head, and looks away. His hands are clasped, mouth pressed into them. "I'll do my job, Weyrwoman," is all he says, in the end.
"Captain." Yevide's tone is low, warning. "You are disconcerted, so this will pass. I do not expect to hear you speak so again. I do not ask anybody to kiss anything at all, but I expect the respect due my station, and Roa would tell just the same if she were awake." She draws herself up, signally failing to increase her stature. "Dragonmen do their duty, and ask for respect, and for a tithe. You do your duty, and you are paid, and when you do it well, you are respected for it."
Jensen says nothing, and doesn't look at her. No, he's staring at Roa. And though he'd likely love to throw something back at the goldrider standing there beside him, he doesn't. When Yevide is done he nods once and repeats what he said moments ago, "I'll do my job, Weyrwoman." And that's that.
Yevide, it seems, knows when to push no further. "If I doubted that, Captain, I would not be telling the Weyrleader that I believe it. I will have word sent to me when Roa wakens. I am sure your men will be in to find you once they have secured the baths. We will, I regret to say, require the use of them once more sooner rather than later. Is there anything I can have sent to you?"
"They're good men, they enjoy the work. They enjoy bein' respected too." Still, Jensen does not look at her. Anything sent... "No. Just gonna make myself comfy if you don't mind." Though he doesn't move to do that, simply sits and watches the little goldrider there on the cot.
Another moment, and Yevide nods; she is behind him, he will not see this, and so a moment later she speaks as well. "Then I shall go and speak to the Weyrleader. If you would be so good as to keep us updated very regularly, Captain." She steps back, and although this is a signal, the enormous healer comes striding across once more, ignoring Jensen entirely as he leans over Roa once more, checking pupils, pulse, breathing.
"Fine." Jensen doesn't turn to give Yevide one last look, nor does he try to slip in another rough comment. What he does do is, once the healer's returned, rise out of his chair just enough so he can inch it closer to Roa's cot. There he plants himself, giving said healer one look and leaning back. Settling in for the possibly long wait.
Time: Wee hours of Day 29, Month 2, Turn 2
Players: Roa, 'The Healer' (Aivey), Jensen, T'zen, Yevide, N'ka, Tialith, Uneth, Ulyath, Actual Healer (NPC by Yevide), various curious mobs of people (NPCed by Yevide).
Scene: A late night bath becomes something much much more.
It is the wee hours of the night. so wee, in fact, that some might argue it's morning. The baths are empty, save for a single small figure sitting in one of the heated pools. There's soapsand on the ledge and a little loofa for scrubbing, but long taxing days have finally taken their toll and the Telgari doesn't wash, but dozes. Her head is tilted back on the ledge, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. She's been that way for perhaps twenty minutes now.
Throughout the whole of the bathing process, Roa would have been undisturbed. Likely not all that uncommon given the hour, but something eerie might now be found in that total silence. Only the sloshing of the water offers any hint of normalcy within the bathing cavern, and though slightly dark, the cavern remains tranquil. It's the perfect place to take a nap, no doubt. Roa remains undisturbed.
Roa starts suddenly, jerking her head up and looking around. She blinks heavily, hands lifting to rub her eyes, before peering around again. But...all seems normal, if quiet. And darker. The girl frowns faintly and turns, climbing out of the water and walking over to the alcove where she stored her towel and clothing. With a wide if quiet yawn, she begins to dry and dress, head hanging a little. A brief nap didn't seem to quite cover it.
Everything is still in place, not even the slightest bit touched or different from how it'd been placed. Indeed, everything -seems- the same if you didn't count the quiet, the dark and the creepy factor of being totally alone in the baths this late at night. Truly the only thing that seems even remotely off is that perhaps the floor nearest the entrance glistens with dampness, but fortunately there's a wooden bucket and mop tucked alongside the bathing cavern wall.
Another yawn as Roa sleepily braids her long hair and winds it up to the nape of her neck. Then, draping scarf and coat over her shoulder, eyes half-closed from exhaustion, she walks towards the door, feet on a collision path with that wet spot. She's got boots on, after all, and she walks through puddles all the time. Except that this isn't water.
The entire experience is disorienting. One moment, she's looking at the wall. The next, she staring up at the ceiling and...falling? The sound of bone smacking tile reverberates through the room and Roa can only stare upwards in silent shock, spots dancing before her eyes for a moment. Then it all goes black.
One, two and three seconds pass before a slender shape appears from the shadows of the doorway. Its movements are quick and precise, taking it to the side of the fallen rider. From a bag the figure carries with it, two coiled ropes are taken. Roa's wrists are bound first, her ankles next. The figure checks the tightness and security of the restraints before sliding toward Roa's head. Right about the time Roa should be coming to, something is pressed against her lips. In a calming tone, the figure says, "Here now, drink some of this. You had yourself quite the fall. Try not to move, ok?" Should Roa dare a look, she'd find herself looking at a healer. A healer in full-blown healer garb, mask and all.
The goldrider begins to squint and move her head a little a few beats after the last of the ropes secure her ankles. She moans faintly, eyes squeezing shut as the back of her head throbs angrily. She is still for a moment, unanswering the voice addressing her. She has to deal with another voice first.
Roa! I'm fine, Tia. I just fell. Getting up now. You are sure? I'm sure, love. Please don't fret.
Eyes slowly open and blink in the darkness, orienting towards a...healer? Is she in the infirmary? But something is put to her lips and she swallows it reflexively. It's not until after that she realizes wrists and ankles...don't move.
Sickeningly motherly, the 'healer' smoothes a hand over Roa's forehead. "You had a nasty fall. Hit your head on the floor. You're lucky you're alive, Roa." The healer looks away, toward Roa's bound wrists and ankles then looks back at her with a smile, "I'd hope you're smart enough to not have that gold of yours call out for help. You'll be dead before it ever gets here and you'll take her with you. If you work with me, I'll let you go. Free and clear." She settles back on her heels, the bag she'd pulled the rope from situated in her lap. It's not completely deflated yet and still shows signs of having things within it. "Poison, if you're wondering. What you drank just now. Tell me what I want to know and I'll give you the antidote. Don't and you'll die. It's simple. I like simple."
More blinking happens as the voice speaks again, and Roa slowly turns her head towards the face, covered as it is, that matches the voice. Healers don't...usually...tie you up. Or...oh. Eyes widen, a quick expression of horror smoothed away and her lips smack together, attempting to tease forth the flavors that were recently in her mouth. Eyes search, silently, for an features she might discern beneath the getup. Eye shape or color. The arch of eyebrows. What does that voice sound like? Maybe...she is dreaming? But she finds her mouth saying, around sudden dryness, "And what is it you want to know?"
Mask and kerchief disallow for any unique physical matches; the healer could just as easily be any female in the appropriate age range, her voice carries no discernible dialect or speech patterns. The healer is infuriatingly -average- aside from her frigid bedside manner. "Don't worry Roa. They're all very easy, very simple questions. I want you to tell me about the Captain - Jensen. I want to know what he tells you that he won't tell anyone else. I do urge you not to lie to me, Roa, because we really don't have that much time before the poison starts working. I'd hate for you to have to die." Again, the healer plays the part of comforter by smoothing the back of a gloved hand against Roa's cheek. Quietly she whispers, "Start talking."
The girl licks her lips, this time turning her head away slightly at that gentle touch. Roa's eyes squeeze shut again. "My head hurts," she whispers. "S'hard to think and...that's not a question." Then she looks back, allowing some of the genuine terror she feels to leak out into her face. "W-what's it going to feel like? When the poison starts?" Buy time. Buy time. *Think*, girl.
"You'll know when you feel it, now won't you?" The healer asks sweetly, "Be sure to let me know. I'm rather curious myself." Straightening, the healer says, "I want to know what you know about the Captain. Tell me what his secrets are - he has secrets, everyone has secrets and I'm sure he confides in you. I must warn you though. I don't like being disappointed so make sure I like what I hear."
A slow blink. A shuddering breath. "You...gave me a poison and you don't know what it does?" The thing about this moment is that it's dangerous, it's life threatening, and it's so utterly surreal that for a moment, one might forget about those first two. "Jensen?" she asks again, and stares up at the ceiling. "He's allergic," she whispers. And then swallows sharply. "To nuts. A certain kind from Ista. Won't tell anyone else. Too stubborn." Her eyes close and she sniffles softly. "And someone left a dagger in his wall."
"One poison is just as good as any other," The healer helpfully comments, "So long as the person is dead in the end, what's it matter how they got there?" In an idle, playful way she shrugs her shoulders, "But you're putting words in my mouth, Roa. I have an -idea- of what it does. It'll be interesting to see if I'm right." As Jensen's secrets are spilled, she nods slowly and approvingly, "That's good. That's real good if I plan on feeding him nuts or giving him decorating tips, Roa. I want to know what he intends to do here. Who the people are that he loves and trusts more then his own life." She pauses for thought, "I'd think you were one of them if you weren't in this situation with me right now. Maybe he doesn't care for you as much as I thought. Do you think..." She settles in closer, propping her chin atop closed fists, Conversationally, she finishes her earlier question. "Do you think I was wrong about that Roa? Should I have picked someone else to poison?"
Roa's lips, the very corners, twist upwards and her voice is cool. Almost cold. "Oh. You absolutely picked the wrong person to poison," are the words whispered as the figure leans closer. "He intends..." she grits her teeth as her head again throbs furiously, and there a new pressure now. Her lifemate nudging against the barrier her rider has erected. "...to be a guard. Not much to him." She blinks back tears. "She's going to come soon. I won't be able to stop her. She'll alert the weyr."
"We'll see just how true that is soon, Roa, won't we?" The healer asks in that same, amiable manner, "Like it or not, you're going to help me with what I have planned." Sedately, she smiles at the threat, or what is perceived as a threat in regards to the rider's lifemate. "Riders have amazing control. If she alerts the weyr you will die. I promise you that. I might get caught and all this will be put to an end. Is that something you're willing to risk your life for?" The healer leaves the question rhetorical, quickly switching focus, "Your Captain is a man with intent and purpose. I'm growing impatient now, Roa. Up to now I've been nice. Tell me what I need to know or I will leave you here to die. Tell me what your Jensen fears. Tell me what he intends to do here and tell me one last thing," Beneath her mask, the healer's lips curve into a cruel smile that causes a slight disturbance upon the surface of the mask, "Tell me if you love him."
The goldrider wordlessly studies this other figure. This healer that is anything but. She weighs her options silently, trying to pick among a variety of bad ones. Tasted like old tea. Do you know enough about poisons to rely on that? If she leaves you, Tia can bring others. In time? Would you give your life for his safety? Her answer, maybe to one question, maybe to all, is a single word. Flat. Toneless. "No." Stupid girl.
And maybe, the fact that this woman, goldrider, potential leader of many, would risk so much for a *Captain*, gives 'the Healer' all the answers she really needs.
"I warned you about lying to me," The healer comments placidly, "But if you insist, then I'll be the more honest of us both and keep to my word and let you die. A shame. I was hoping to stick around long enough to see the effects of this particular poison," The healer straightens from her lean, the sack held loosely in both hands, "Then again, you did answer one of my questions. Here's your last chance. I think you have all of - oh maybe a minute... two tops before you start to feel it... tell me what Jensen's intents are here and I will give you the antidote."
Maybe it's water and maybe it's sweat that trickles from the rider's brow. Certainly she's trembling, her whole body quivering with the fear that's starting to press in on all sides. Plus the pain in her head. Plus Tialith's insistence. Is. She. All. Right. Plus her own stupid stupid decision. "L-let's j-just wait a m-minute then and s-s-see what h-happens, s-shall we?" Her own life. Tialith's life. Tia. Her eyes close and she relents. "To keep us safe," she whispers. "That's all. He just means to keep all of us safe."
"Safe from what?" The Healer wonders bemusedly, "For it being his job, he's really doing poorly, isn't he? I mean, here you are all tied up and poisoned with no place to go. I'd talk to him about that if I were you. Saying you get the chance and all." Moving to stand, the Healer says, "If it helps to think of just how heart broken he'll be when they find your body in the morning, go ahead and think it. Some people actually find it endearing when men cry."
And she stares as the healer is standing. "Just safe," Roa adds. "It doesn't matter from what. From you, I suppose." As to whether or not he's doing a good job, well, that doesn't much need a response.
"Threats don't matter, Roa?" The Healer lingers to ask, "Really now, I'd rethink that if I were you. And my-" She makes a soft tsking noise, "All of that from a Caucus student /and/ goldrider. I thought you all were suppose to be brilliant." The Healer looks to consider something, before kneeling back down at Roa's side. "I'll tell you a little secret. Jensen has every right to be afraid, and to try and keep you all safe from what's coming. It's going to be fun, I promise you that. I haven't lied to you yet, either, have I? I want you to tell him that for me. Make sure he knows it." She reaches into the satchel to withdraw a small glass phial. It's held up before the goldrider as the Healer pulls the stopper out, "Now I think this should do the trick. Bottoms up!" The phial is pressed against Roa's lips and upended to spill the entire contents into her mouth. The taste might just be exceedingly familiar: fellis. The phial is retracted and slipped into the bag still held by the healer. Again, the hand comes out to rest comfortingly against Roa's face before slipping down to her shoulder. Her words are as haunting as the mirth behind them: "Sleep well, Roa." Pressure applied to the goldrider's shoulder tips her over the edge of the pool and into the water - any last, fleeting sight of the healer is that of her disappearing through the entrance to the baths, the healer quite careful to take a side approach to avoid the puddle intended earlier for Roa and now her would-be rescuers.
Roa listens. What else can she do..until the vial is pressed to her lips and she gags, jerking forward, trying to reject what's already sliding down her throat. Fellis. Fellis! There isn't even time to respond before she's tipped over into the water with an innocent-sounded splash. Her body jerks, legs kick, but the fellis kicks harder, and despite her struggle for air, the adrenaline panic that surges through her system because now she *is* going to die...eyes close, kicking stops, and her body and thoughts go limp.
In the very wee hours of the morning, long before dawn on Day 29, Month 2, Turn 2, a surge of fury and sheer, cold, pressing panic invades the thoughts of the dragons of the Reaches. Tialith is terrified. HELP HER! Images are blurred and rushed. A dark ceiling. A face, shadowed, in a healer mask. Sound of water. Warm water. Everywhere. No air. No consciousness.
Tialith> Snap. That's the sound of a once slumbering blue dragon coming to full wakefulness in a blink. Tialith? Yours in trouble? Where?
Tialith> To Uneth: THERE! Rather than being helpful, the gold simply pounds those images in Uneth's mind again and again and again.
The baths are quiet and usual. Save that they are dimmer, cast more deeply in shadows. And there is something shining on the floor right in front of the doorway. Clear and reflective, like water. And perhaps, in one of the warm baths that bubbles merrily, a shadow in the water where none should be.
Tialith> The blue dragon is in the air. No doubt there's a surprised green wondering what happened to her pillow. And a rider, waking to a rush of wind. Water. Warm. No one is at our baths. Where is yours, Tialith? The one not for us? Somewhere else?
Tialith> To Uneth: I am telling you! She is THERE! Again those images, fast and useless, but there's a smell now too. Sweetsand and plants and steam.
Tialith> Ulyath reaches out urgently, a gust of Igenite heat; the older queen's mind is heavier, more layered, built up over the turns, and all that weight is now applied as she leans into Tialith, demanding order and calm. And an answer Where? How?
When you aren't accustomed to suddenly having a very loud voice booming about inside your head, one that doesn't seem to have any sort of corporeal source, you might freak out. Jensen was out in the hallway, on his way to klah and, later, practice with the men, when it happened. Hands immediately clamped over his ears, but that didn't help. Tialith's voice was, is, everywhere. He staggered against the wall, turned around quickly... Nobody. And whose voice is that? Does it matter? Help... help who? ... Warm water. Darkness. Warm water. Baths. Jen's headlong run for the bathing cavern is slowed when his boots hit the slippery stuff at the entrance. He grabs for the wall, winces when his shoulder crashes into stone, and rights himself. His progress is clumsy until he clears the shiny mess on the floor, but then it's all quickness. "Hello? Who's-" The shadow in the water is a mite concerning. He's reaches that particular pool and has cleared the edge in seconds. Splashing occurs as he wades over to the, yes, body, and it doesn't take him long to get to fishing whoever's in there out.
Tialith> A moment of aggravating silence. And then an urgent, though somewhat sheepish reply. Mine comes. I must get him. I cannot go where yours is. At least the blue is fast in the air.
Tialith> To Ulyath: The presence and maturity of this other queen stills the younger gold's frantic thoughts enough to make them come at least more slowly. The images are sent again. Backgrounds can be seen. The walls of the bathing chamber. Warm water bubbling. The smell of sweetsand and a bitter, bitter taste.
The shadowy, submerged figure is small, the dimness obscuring features, leaving behind a general form. Slight. Some sort of cloth billowing about the hips and legs. If the guard reaches in and hauls, he'll find he's nabbed a little Telgari goldrider, fully dressed, hair braided, wrists and ankles bound. Limp. Unconscious. Flop.
Oh, Jensen will be reaching in and hauling, with his hands under the arms of... "Roa?" Once he's got her head at least out of the water and sees the braided hair, he suspects, and when he very carefully turns her around in his arms, sees her face in the very dim light - it doesn't take long for him to recognize features he's become so familiar with - his expression crumbles. "Oh no, no, no. Roa, darlin', sweetheart, open your eyes. You hear me, baby? C'mon, show me you're alive, Roa. Roa!" A little shaking follows, one arm around her now as his other hand smoothes a few strands of wet hair from her forehead. "Damnit." Without hesitating he turns and wades back to the edge of the pool, fully intent on getting out with her cradled in both arms again and tucked in some against his chest.
Tialith> Ulyath maintains that pressure, bearing down, calm, even. She is awake, she is coming. Where is this?
Tialith> To Ulyath: As calmness is pressed down onto Tialith like so much sand, cohesive thoughts begin to carefully assemble. The bathing place. Theirs. They have her, but she does not wake.
Footsteps come thundering down the tunnel, and T'zen practically leaps into the baths, which has the odd fortunate effect of completely clearing whatever slipperiness there may be near the doorway. He was looking for a small goldrider. What he sees is some massive monster in the dim glows. "Hey- Wha-? Who goes there?" Out comes his knife, held wildly in front of him.
Swaying limply in Jensen's arms, Roa remains unconscious. She is, at least, breathing slowly, the shallow rise and fall of her chest suggesting some sort of life is still kicking around, at least.
Tialith> Uneth swoops into the dragon barracks, sensing where the panicked gold is, warbling excitedly.
Though he doesn't answer, Jensen does call out, "This girl's in some peril, need t'get 'er to the infirmary." One leg swings over the side of the pool, he steadies his balance, then the other follows. Roa is still held very securely. "Grab me one o'those towels, would you, uh, T'zen?" A guess, really, but an educated one considering that familiar drawling voice.
Tialith> Tialith is sitting in her couch, head raised, statue still. Her eyes whirl yellow and crimson as she rumbles softly, snarling under her breath.
T'zen has a moment where he realizes Jensen is a monster. Or rather, a monster is holding Roa. Or rather.. it's Jensen holding Roa. Give the man a break. He was sound asleep only minutes before. Blinking away each realization, T'zen finally sheaths his knife, and rushes forward to Jensen. "Uneth was all over me like the Weyr was fallin' down. Faranth! What happened to Roa?" He detours to grab said towels, and holds them out to the guard. He looks at the girl again. "Shards and shells, Jensen. She's all tied up!"
Fully clothed, Roa's skirt and top hang down, dripping onto pretty much anything that comes in contact with them. Still no movement at all.
Tialith> Uneth is too excited to be calming, just yet. Mine has found yours. She is safe.
Tialith> The gold's head swivels sharply, that yellow and red regard falling squarely on the smaller blue. I cannot hear her.
Yevide's voice is loud out in the corridor, her usually warm alto raised to make itself heard above the sound of those others woken by Tialith's cry for help. "Move aside, go back to bed. You are not needed. You too. Back to bed." The Weyrwoman is coming closer, and a few moments later appears in the doorway; she's put herself together in a rush, tunic not fastened properly, loose trousers hanging out over her boots where she hasn't paused to tuck them in. She halts upon sighting the small tableau, and then fixes her blue eyes on Jensen. "Captain?" His title is a question, and an instruction that he provide information.
"A detail I'm all too aware of," Jen mutters, not at all happy and not to mention terribly distressed and trying to be the Captain at the same time. Such warring notions are likely to make anyone a little testy. "Thanks." For the towels. It's rather difficult reaching one hand out from under Roa's legs for one of them - only one - but he manages. It dangles from that hand as he looks up, Yevide's presence noted when she addresses him. "It's Roa." And his voice might shake a little on that particular note. "Someone tied 'er up, tossed her in the pool, I don't... Not a good idea, folks usin' this room until... Can I take 'er?" Please?
The knife comes out again. Jensen's hands are busy, after all, and there's no way the bluerider is leaving Roa in bonds. Her ankles are in easy reach, and he's already cutting at the ropes before anyone has a chance to comment. Waking up very quickly, and not into a good mood. "I find out who it was.." And then the Weyrwoman strides in. He gives her only a cursory glance, and then something else causes him to pale a bit. "Ah.. we gotta wake her. Right soon. Tialith's saying she can't hear 'er. Tryin' to get Uneth to help, but.." He finally gives Yevide a look. "Might help from the senior gold, y'know? Reassure the dragon."
Tialith> The blue dragon is taken aback by that golden glare of doom. He manages a contrite mental stammer. I am sorry, gold Tialith. Please. Mine says yours lives. Will hear her soon.
Yevide doesn't bat an eyelash at T'zen's almost-order, simply inclining her head; this heralds a pause during which such communication is presumably made. No comment, though. What she says instead is, "The infirmary." Curious heads are poking around the doorframe by now, and the Weyrwoman brings up a hand to beckon a couple in. "You, ensure nobody enters until the Captain's men come. You, run ahead to alert the healers." She pivots on her heel, collecting herself even as she speaks, carefully tucking her sleeves into her bracelets, straightening her appearance. "The infirmary, Captain." Her customary warmth is missing from her tone, replaced with something grimmer.
Tialith> Tialith turns away again to glower at some spec on the wall across the way. A low rumble begins in her throat again. Then I wait, is the response, heavy and cold as a block of ice.
Tialith> Ulyath ramps up her efforts to a new level, pushing aside what must surely be anxiety on her part to lean in on Tialith, almost forcibly imposing calm; the heat of the Igenite desert, an almost overwhelmingly maternal presence. Reach in for her, Tialith. You know where to find her. Bring her closer to the surface. An order, not an entreaty, overflowing with confidence that the younger queen can do just that.
Tialith> To Ulyath: There is quiet attention in the slowing miasma of worry and then, for a long moment, the link with Ulyath closes as Tialith obeys, seeking the so-familiar touch of her rider. Somewhere in the darkness. Then, a snap, like an open palm smacking a table, announces the younger gold's return. She is there. She cannot come out. It is too heavy all around.
The look Jensen shoots T'zen when he comes near with that knife is very brief and very protective. But, oh, the ropes. Right. "The infirmary. Yeah. Thank you." And, with towel still in hand, he starts off for the exit after one last grateful look for Yevide and her quick action. It's nice to not have to be that person for once, especially since all of his instincts are very urgently screaming at him to take the little goldrider someplace safe. And hey, it's also what he /wants/ to do. He exits without waiting, passes any curious onlookers without looking at them.
T'zen manages to get the ankles and wrists free just barely before Jensen moves off, and then follows behind, knife now held as though expecting an assailant any time. "Sooner the better." He pauses. "Uneth says Tialith doesn't seemed panicked anymore. Strong dragon." He breaths a sigh of relief. Crisis averted for the moment, one hopes.
Yevide turns on her heel to follow Jensen, still assembling herself, pulling herself into a state of dignity more befitting her station; there's a stumble in her step suddenly, one hand going up to catch at the Captain's shoulder. She has steadied herself almost instantly, but there's a tight smile as her chin lifts, ducking again for a sharp nod. "Tialith has found her in there." And then her lips press together into something that's less of a smile. "She can't wake her." Then, perhaps musing on the wisdom of keeping further comments out of the public arena, she silently falls into step.
Infirmary
The infirmary is divided into two sections. The larger of these is given over to injured dragons and is joined to the bowl by an immense tunnel. No less than six stone couches fill this area, with stations between each for medical supplies and personnel. The other side of the infirmary is for human patients and is furnished with double rows of cots. A large alcove near the exit to the living cavern houses the healers' area, where they store their supplies and can retreat for a moment of quiet before wading into the battle between life and death again.
The infirmary is quiet at this time of night, but Yevide's advance messenger has evidently roused some activity, for a journeyman healer is busy clearing off a cot to one side, bundling up a series of implements that were apparently the victims of some sort of inventory, to judge by the clipboard. Tall, heavily built, the man looks more suited to work as a smith than a healer, but there's nothing lacking in his manner by way of confidence. "Get her over here, please." His request is crisp as he bundles up the last of the tools of his trade, one large hand smoothing off the sheets with a swipe.
Another figure that waits, silent and disturbingly still, in the shadows on the dragon's side, is the thought-screaming gold herself, eyes trained on the door and then following the procession of those that enter through it. Tialith is all shadows and glowing eyes, yellow and white swirling and spinning.
Not at all reluctant about obeying orders from a healer in this particular scenario, Jensen does as told and carries Roa over to the indicated cot. "She's, uh... not okay." And that isn't easy to say. Laying the little goldrider down is a task very gently done, Jen making sure her head ends up on the pillow before pulling his arms away and straightening. That done he does the only thing he can think of. He lingers and frets, his brow furrowed, his concern so very obvious. All that's missing is the hand-wringing.
T'zen follows on the heels of Jensen, and finds a place a step or two away from the bed's end. He finally sheaths the knife again, and glances over to the shadowy from of the gold. Disturbing, yes, but he has another reason for looking. He's shaking his head, murmuring. "Nah, Une. You done good. She's here. Go.. ah.. sleep or something."
Yevide comes to a halt near the head of the cot, aiming an unaccustomed scowl at those who would crowd into the infirmary afterwards; her face is made for smiling, crows feet angling cheerfully upwards, and the grimness suffices to see Roa's gawkers backing up en masse. "I can see how you won your post, with clever observations like that," the healer fairly snaps, leaning forward to run hands over Roa's limbs with a gentleness at odds with his tone, pulling aside her skirts with scant regard for her modesty. "Tell me what happened." Yevide's presence is noted with a slightly more respectful nod, but now the man's inspecting Roa's head, thumbs carefully pulling her eyelids up.
"Got no patience just now for sass." Listening to a healer is one thing, taking attitude from one is another. Jensen's eyes narrow, but he swallows his temper and focuses. "Don't rightly know. Came in, found her in the water. Uh, the baths." That helps. "She, uh... She's breathin', right? I mean-" Jen's hand lifts, fingers lost in his hair. "Jays."
A low warning rumble from the yellow-eyed gold as healer hands brusquely slide all over something that belongs to her. She rises and moves as close as she is able, even lowering her body to snake that wedge head closer. As close as she can reach before the smallness of the room inhibits forward progression.
Roa remains limp as her body is examined. When eyelids are pushed up, wide pupils shrink at the sudden light, but it's an automated response. There's no flinching or fluttering of eyelids.
T'zen watches the healer examine Roa, and he begins shifting more and more, clearly uncomfortable. "Well?" He says suddenly, eyeing the nearing dragon. "So wake'er up already."
"Will somebody please?" One of the healer's large hands gestures at Tialith, but he's intent on his work, offering the unconscious Roa (or her pupils) a nod of approval before he gently eases her head up, fingers inspecting the shape of her skull. Yevide raises a hand to silently indicate that she will deal with Tialith, and tilts her head to one side; if orders are issued, they are silent. "She's given herself a right whack on the head," the healer informs his waiting audience, ditching the use of correct medical terms. "We've just got you out of here, girl," he informs his unconscious patient, eyes closing for a moment as fingers tangle through her wet hair carefully. "I don't think you're waking up soon, are you?"
N'ka elbows his way through the crowd, only to be halted by a look that says 'stay back' as clearly as any words can. His hands fly up in defense, and he stays his ground by the door. He stands on his tip toes, stretches his neck out, and tries to get a better look at the crowd around the bed. He's not very successful, however.
Tialith> Ulyath's intensity has eased, but she's still commanding; is this the authority that comes with her new position as senior, or is it simply the weight of extra turns allowing her to be so firm. There is something of Yevide in her manner now, almost maternal. They have her there. You must not make the healer nervous, you must pull your head back a little. You will still be able to see. Her tone assumes compliance.
Tialith> To Ulyath: This time, there is bucking against the sturdy thoughts of the other gold. Hers. It is her *right*! But age or seniority wins over youthful impropriety and there is a grudging shiver of acquiescence sent Ulyath's way.
Slowly, quite reluctantly, and with a final low growl, Tialith's head withdraws a full six feet back. Eyes whirl a little faster for it, but she remains slightly removed.
Jensen doesn't like the sound of that. "Soon? But she's gonna, right?" His eyes flick to Tialith, a moment of recognition occurring, then looks down at the closed eyes, Roa's closed eyes. His head tilts, expression crumbling again. Eventually he'll notice he's pretty much entirely soaked, his pajama bottoms and sweater clinging, but right now that isn't very important, is it.
T'zen peers at the healer, and then flicks a look at Jensen. "She's not wakin' up yet?" His eyes fall back on the limp form of the goldrider on the bed. He slowly steps back away from the bed, head slowly shaking, eyes intense. "Roa.."
N'ka mutters to someone near him, but apparently the answer isn't to his liking. He glowers, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the stone doorway. As if only not noticing the golden head peeking around, he appears shocked at the sight of her, his posture straightening. Cupping his ear, he tries to hear more of the conversation around the crowded cot.
There's a huff from the healer, who settles Roa carefully down, reaching for her pulse with one large, meaty finger. "It is my most fervent hope that she will, Captain. A moment's silence, please?" The words are crisp, and pause abruptly for that growl of Tialith's. Something does phase the man after all, it seems, for he watches until the queen subsides. Yevide, for her part, is watching intently, fingers needlessly tucking her curls away behind her ears. "Perhaps a word later, Captain." Those words, they bode.
The dragon maintains her distance, watching. Waiting. The pulse in Roa's wrist is solid. Constant. Her breathing, if a little shallow, occurs reliably as well.
"Just fix 'er, will ya?" Jensen's face tenses, a grimace tugging down the corners of his mouth. Roa being unconscious? Makes for an unhappy Captain. His arms fold over his chest and he glances over at the small group of people. The glare he sends them is acidic. One eyebrow lifts at Yevide. "Many as you want, so long as they take place in this room. 'Cause I ain't leavin', not 'til she wakes up." With that he strides away from Roa's cot, over to the small gathering, and says in a voice loud enough to be heard in the quiet of the infirmary, "Any o'you not qualified t'be a healer or otherwise not supposed t'be here, go on about your lives." Murmurs of speculation follow those who listen, and he isn't waiting to see who doesn't. Turning again, he returns to hovering in the vicinity of little goldrider and begins to pace. Back and forth, back and forth.
As Jensen is hollering, T'zen is staring at Roa. His face starts shifting in various emotions. Concern, anger, fear. Finally, enough is enough. As Jensen comes back to pace, T'zen turns to leave. "Gotta go," he says simply, striding out through those gathered by the door, his jaw set.
This is not the moment for a confrontation, and Yevide certainly knows that much about leadership; Jensen is not summoned elsewhere. Instead, the Weyrwoman trains blue eyes on him thoughtfully, arms folding across her chest for a moment as she extracts whatever it is she seeks from the sight of the Captain's pacing. "Get yourself a chair, then." That's the healer's cranky instruction from where he's inspecting Roa's tongue, smelling her breath, checking her pupils once more. "She's had a dose of something, so she'll be sleeping until she's clear of it. No sign she's damaged, her reactions are still there. Heart's thumping away nicely."
Jensen spares a look at T'zen, something fierce in it. Something common. Concern, anger, and fear? Yeah, he understands that all too well at the moment. And though he doesn't say anything to the bluerider /now/, no doubt words will be exchanged come another time. A less heightened time. His pacing stops abruptly and he assumes a place at the side of the cot. "She's asleep though? And clear of it means wakin' up, right?" That's a small comfort. Chair. Oh, right. He searches the room for one, spots a good choice, and aims himself towards it. So it can be dragged over to the cot of course, and so he can plant himself in it. He sits, bent over, elbows on knees, hands clasped, but only briefly. A moment later he's pacing again.
N'ka shifts, as does the crowd around him, to allow the retreating rider to go. He takes the momentary distraction to weasel his way further into the room, slinking closer to the cot. His ear is still cupped, and his eyes widen at what bits and pieces he catches. Good gossip, if nothing else.
"I don't suppose there's the remotest chance of silence while I do this, is there?" The healer's still snapping, but his tone has modified considerably under Tialith's eye, and he contents himself to a low rumble of discontent. "We have other patients." It's Yevide's turn now to silence him, and she achieves this with a soft clearing of her throat, following up with a fixed stare that brings the healer, at least, to silence. "Captain, still yourself," she murmurs, her low alto restored to its usual even tones. "As the journeymen says, patients will be sleeping."
Tialith lowers her neck and head so they drape across the ground, as it seems the one she waits for will not be moving anytime soon. Indeed, Roa lies, still and limp, the water dripping from her skirt making a soft *pib pib* sound as it splats against the stone floor.
Jensen isn't rendered so powerless by Yevide's voice, but he does stop pacing and certainly doesn't ask any more questions, which should be a relief to everyone really. What he does do is fix the senior with a Look, shake his head, and take his seat once more. Bent, elbows on knees, hands clasped. But this time he stays, watching the small drops leaking from that drenched skirt make their mark on the floor over, and over, and over. "Could maybe get 'er some dry clothes," he mutters, glancing at the healer, then Yevide, then staring again at the floor. Nothing more from him, nope.
"We can do better than that," the healer informs Jensen, finally straightening up from Roa. But this is a job for others, and it would seem they have been waiting, for aides and apprentices arrive to spring into action with screens for Roa's modesty, gowns and towels. Leaving Yevide and Jensen on the far side, the Weyrwoman contemplating the puddle seeping out from behind the screen. "You took the guards off her, Captain." Her tone is noncommittal, alto carefully controlled.
"That I did, Weyrwoman," is Jensen's soft response, muffled somewhat because his mouth is pressed to his hands. He looks at her; his jaw clenches. "That I did." And there's something very obvious in his expression, something very easy to read. He very much regrets that decision.
Some soft shuffling sounds behind the screen and several wet *splats* as sodden clothes and boots are dropped into a bag to be carried away. When the screen is pushed away Roa lies, barefoot, black hair undone (to ease the tension on her scalp) and spilling absurdly long, in a white infirmary gown. She looks, divested of her usual clothing, hairstyle and knot, just...like a child, or someone barely older. Save for the large golden head resting behind her, it might be easy to forget she's anything more than a skinny little girl.
N'ka remains where he is, mostly ignoring the shooing attempt by Jensen. He's far too curious to give up his spot. He even stands on his tip toes to try and see past the crowd. Not effective. His lips press into a thin line, and he appears to be concentrating rather hard towards the group, hand still cupped around his ear.
Yevide pauses to study Roa as she reemerges into view, whatever words might have spilled next from her lips cut off. The healer, for his part, leans down to give Roa a going-over once more, then stands; his report is delivered to Yevide rather than Jensen. "She'll need to sleep until she wakes, Weyrwoman. Nothing we can do until then." Yevide accepts this with a nod, and watches the man out of sight before she speaks again. "Am I to take it you considered her free of danger, Captain?"
Jensen likely wouldn't have expected anything be said to /him/, but that isn't going to stop him from listening to that report, his eyes fixed on Roa's small form. His reaction to seeing her there isn't surprise, after all he's seen her in such a state before, but the fact that she's /here/ is something he's trying very hard to deal with. He waits until the healer is gone and doesn't look at Yevide when he answers. "Comes a time when you gotta put what's personal away." He swallows. "She's very dear t'me. Would've kept 'em on 'er..." After a pause he says, "Clearly she ain't." Free. Of danger. His jaw clenches again.
"I think the time has come to store the personal away, Captain, and focus on the problem at hand," Yevide agrees evenly, hand one resting on the back of the man's chair. "I appreciate your personal concern, but this was a grave error of judgment on your part. I know she protested her guards - she protested them to me, as well. This time, when she wakes, there will not be a mistake."
"And whose error of judgment was it led to folk like that maniac in the stores bein' here in the first place?" Jen straightens, tilts his head to eye Yevide solemnly. "You tellin' me I screwed up 'cause you don't think I know?" Pause. "Trust me. I know. I'm more'n willin' to take the blame for this." And, with that hanging in the air, he returns to watching Roa.
N'ka appears to have finally grown weary of watching the crowd. As all of his eavesdropping techniques have failed, the brownrider finally turns to take his leave, elbowing through the small crowd that still insists on standing in the doorway.
Yevide returns Jensen's gaze evenly, lips pressed together in a manner very much at odds with her habitual smiles. "Blame is not constructive, Captain. In fact, under the circumstances, it borders on the self-indulgent. Weyrleader S'lien is..." The Weyrwoman trails away, pressing her lips together more firmly still. Her chin comes up, and her gaze fixes on an apprentice. "Would you mind, apprentice?" A jerk of her chin indicates the door, and the young man scuttles to see it shut, closing out the last of the eavesdroppers. That done, Yevide continues, words quiet. "I will be required to defend my weyr on this. I am not interested in blaming you, although I cannot speak for the Weyrleader. I am interested in hearing what you will do now."
"Might be you and I have different ideas when it comes to the meanin' of blame," Jensen mutters very dryly. Weyrleader S'lien is? He straightens again, watches the door's shutting, and lifts an eyebrow at Yevide. His voice is very even. "Me and the forty-four others with me came here to see your throne held for you while you adjust. Seein' as how we weren't told there'd be psycho killers hidin' out in dark rooms filled with traps, preyin' on girls, drownin' and sneakin' about, you're gonna have to give me some time to adjust." His eyes lower. "I'll stay with 'er until she wakes up. I'll be the one to tell 'er she's under guard again. And I'll start searchin' for our miscreant."
Yevide dismisses this with a sharp gesture of hand, the other still curling around the back of Jensen's chair. "You have had two months since Turnover, Captain. And now, quite clearly, you have run out of time to adjust. I must have something to tell the waiting world, and very soon. If I do not, I would be very surprised to see the Caucus remain in place." She falls silent, drawing in a breath through her broad, flat nose. "I imagine the Headmaster will not be far behind me. If I can spot this, I assure you that he will."
"You can tell the waiting world you've let somethin' dark creep into your Weyr, and hopefully tell 'em too that you're gonna do all you can. The fact that folk around here have been damn near somnolent since the exiles were put away is somethin' of a concern to me." All of this said in that same even, very calm tone, Jensen spares a glance upwards. "As for what I can give you, it's a promise. I promise to catch whoever's doin' this. And I promise to do it quick as I can. And I'd like somethin' from you." He stands. "Weyr ain't right. Hasn't been. Not up to me t'see to that. Your people need t'be roused from thinkin' they're safe. And it ain't all about what's fallin' from the sky."
Silence for some time, save for the sound of healers moving about quietly, the noises of an infirmary slumbering. Yevide looks down to meet Jensen's glance, exhaling that breath out hard through her nose. "At this point, I expect the Weyrleader will say that it is far too late to find another man to fix this problem. You at least know the weyr. That being the case, we will do whatever it is that we can to aid you. Certainly Ulyath will be asking the dragons if they know of this. They cannot lie to her. What is it you would like from me?"
"I assure you, Weyrwoman, you have a problem on your hands. A problem that's closer to home than you might be willin' to accept. Can't say you're gonna need me, but I've got more'n my share of experience with what might be comin'." Jensen's chin lifts. "I want cooperation and readiness. That's all. And maybe for you to remember that I get the job done. Might not be the way you imagined, in the end, but now ain't the time t'be choosy. /That/ bein' the case, this," and he gestures at Roa without looking at her, "won't happen again."
More silence: Yevide is considering every single response before it's offered, lips still pressed together in a thin line that suits her face not at all. "Might I suggest, Captain, that when you speak to the Weyrleader about this there is a little less 'I want' and a little more by way of apology. You took your guards off her. In his mind, it will come back to that. In my mind, it comes back to that."
Jensen's expression is impassive and very practiced. When speaking to one's superiors, temporary or no, it's important to be diplomatic, right? "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Just try t'remember there are forty-four men here who oughtn't be, who were sent here by /your/ request. They've families, children, wives where they ain't. You don't like the way I handle things, you send me back. Them too. You won't really be doin' them any great harm." His eyebrows lift. "See, I get the feelin' we weren't told the entire truth. So forgive my bein' a little touchy." Pause. "Said I'm well aware o'what I did. Won't happen again." And he sits, because suddenly having this discussion is tiring in every way possible.
Jensen's expression is impassive and very practiced. When speaking to one's superiors, temporary or no, it's important to be diplomatic, right? "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Just try t'remember there are forty-four men here who oughtn't be, who were sent here by /your/ request. They've families, children, wives where they ain't. You don't like the way I handle things, you send me back. Them too. You won't really be doin' them any great harm." His eyebrows lift. "See, I get the feelin' we weren't told the entire truth. So forgive my bein' a little touchy." Pause. "Said I'm well aware o'what I did. Won't happen again." And he sits, because suddenly having this discussion is tiring in every way possible.
"Your men are paid to be here, and doing a duty they swore to do. If they crave sympathy for the tears they weep into their pillows at night, Captain, then find me others." Yevide's words are curt, but a moment later her hand uncurls from the back of his chair, coming up to cover her eyes for a moment. "This is not helpful, on either of our parts. We will leave that part of the conversation. Captain, unless my Weyrleader says otherwise, you shall have all you need to remedy this. Consider this a chance to redeem yourself."
Jensen has fallen silent, though there are certain key muscles twitching in his face that suggest he might be tucking some things deep, deep down. "You expect the rest of Pern t'kiss your boots 'cause you and yours fly against Thread, die so us on the ground can be safe, and you get your tithing and marks. But me and my men, we ain't even worth the consideration? That it? Deaths we get aren't heroic enough?" Again he glances up at her, shakes his head, and looks away. His hands are clasped, mouth pressed into them. "I'll do my job, Weyrwoman," is all he says, in the end.
"Captain." Yevide's tone is low, warning. "You are disconcerted, so this will pass. I do not expect to hear you speak so again. I do not ask anybody to kiss anything at all, but I expect the respect due my station, and Roa would tell just the same if she were awake." She draws herself up, signally failing to increase her stature. "Dragonmen do their duty, and ask for respect, and for a tithe. You do your duty, and you are paid, and when you do it well, you are respected for it."
Jensen says nothing, and doesn't look at her. No, he's staring at Roa. And though he'd likely love to throw something back at the goldrider standing there beside him, he doesn't. When Yevide is done he nods once and repeats what he said moments ago, "I'll do my job, Weyrwoman." And that's that.
Yevide, it seems, knows when to push no further. "If I doubted that, Captain, I would not be telling the Weyrleader that I believe it. I will have word sent to me when Roa wakens. I am sure your men will be in to find you once they have secured the baths. We will, I regret to say, require the use of them once more sooner rather than later. Is there anything I can have sent to you?"
"They're good men, they enjoy the work. They enjoy bein' respected too." Still, Jensen does not look at her. Anything sent... "No. Just gonna make myself comfy if you don't mind." Though he doesn't move to do that, simply sits and watches the little goldrider there on the cot.
Another moment, and Yevide nods; she is behind him, he will not see this, and so a moment later she speaks as well. "Then I shall go and speak to the Weyrleader. If you would be so good as to keep us updated very regularly, Captain." She steps back, and although this is a signal, the enormous healer comes striding across once more, ignoring Jensen entirely as he leans over Roa once more, checking pupils, pulse, breathing.
"Fine." Jensen doesn't turn to give Yevide one last look, nor does he try to slip in another rough comment. What he does do is, once the healer's returned, rise out of his chair just enough so he can inch it closer to Roa's cot. There he plants himself, giving said healer one look and leaning back. Settling in for the possibly long wait.