Three Days Later
Location: Infirmary
Time: Afternoon on Day 18, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: As agreed, Roa pays a visit to the infirmary three days after this scene.
Spring creeps, rather than bursts, on High Reaches and as the snow finally melts away for the season, there is the steady sound of dripping in various points outside. Heavy icicles have wasted away into slender memories of their former selves, and snow has become slush and mud. The most determined element of cold, the sharp winds, still remain. The sun is out, and though the temperature is low, for High Reaches in spring, it is a lovely day.
Not that one would be able to tell, what with weyrs being hollowed out mountains without any windows.
The weyrwoman steps into the infirmary quietly, the lack of coat suggesting (hopefully) that she has come from somewhere indoor or, (more likely) that she has left hers behind and forged ahead anyhow. She offers small nods as the occasional healer or patient glances her way, and she drifts, first, into the dragon infirmary to check over those few large and winged patients. Then, with a slow intake of breath, she heads back to the smaller half of the room, her interest sliding around the space to seek out a particular individual slotted to be on duty just now.
Roa's questing eyes are not disappointed. There, the usual fixture near the hearth, is Neiran. Even though the last remnants of winter are melting away, it's still chilly in High Reaches, and cold travels through stone and into skinny Journeymen all too well. Neiran has stationed himself as close to the hearth as is possible, bent over a clipboard supported by his lap. It's not one of his own pet projects for once, but something to do with supplies and distributions; his lips are moving silently as he reads, a few small twitches in the fingers hovering by his lips suggestive of calculations. A nursemaid is hovering by his elbow, looking rather dismayed. Her hands wring one another and she shifts her weight to one foot, and then the other, while Neiran counts. The Journeyman authoritatively jots something down a second later, straightens in his seat, and passes the clipboard to the fretting woman. "I trust it shall not happen again," he murmurs. It's all the woman can do to gush apologies and try not to stumble on her feet as she leaves the healer's side in a hurry. Neiran is left staring blankly after her, puzzling over what he could have done to make himself seem so terrifying. His bemused gaze sweeps outwards to survey the infirmary, and falls upon a familiar goldrider. He remains seated, but staring in that way that acknowledges her presence.
It is an interesting sight, seeing a hand wringing and fussy woman stationed beside such a slender and reserved figure as the Journeyman healer, and Roa quirks a faint smile at the image. She lingers back, finding a shelf with various labeled jars a convenient excuse to wait until Neiran's other business is concluded before she wanders over to the hearth and, so, the man before it. "Well," she offers by way of greeting, "here I am. Could you...I mean, do you have a moment? Should I come back?" Her own arms hang determinedly by her sides, the little weyrwoman refusing to wring her own hands.
Neiran sets his writing utensil down on a low table, and rises from his seat to properly greet the Weyrwoman. Her station deserves such, after all. The man's dark eyes help themselves to reading the nuances in Roa's face, and posture - seeking out signs of any repressed nervousness and worry. "By all means, Weyrwoman, I have just become free. Would you prefer a private consultation?" He queries, making a gesture towards the quiet corner of curtained cots. It's a familiar scenario, but one that Neiran gives no sign to acknowledge. And presumably they'll not be conspiring about anything other than Roa's immediate future this time.
A glance towards the curtained space calls up a faint smile from the weyrwoman, perhaps in the memory of such sneaky dealings as have been done there previously. What one wouldn't give for a covert plan just now. But the smile smoothes away, and with a small nod to Neiran's question and a soft, "if you please," she heads over to the private area, slipping behind a curtain.
Neiran follows Roa to the seclusion of a sheltered cot, and draws the curtain closed behind them. "Please have a seat if you are so inclined, Weyrwoman," he murmurs, gesturing to the bed as though without such an illuminating gesture his meaning might be lost. He, of course, chooses to remain standing. "I shall presume that this visit is a result of the discussion we had in Miniyal's presence not long ago?"
The cot is studied for a moment, before Roa turns around and hitches herself up onto the edge of it, legs dangling. "You presume correctly, then." Her hands settle on her legs, fingers threading together.
"Then I shall not waste time in speaking circuitously about the issue," Neiran murmurs, nodding once at the Weyrwoman. It seems this is a compliment of sorts, that he knows Roa to be capable enough to speak to plainly and precisely, without worry of summoning alarm, "At this early stage, it is impossible yet to confirm or deny whether or not you are with child. I would advise you to remain calm and attempt not to speculate about whether or not you may be pregnant." His mouth opens, ready to continue - but a thought pauses him, and he readjusts his order of pursuit. "I would ask for the history of your menses; are they frequently very regular, or..?"
"Mmm," Roa murmurs by way of either agreement or understanding. "They're predictable, within three or four days. Certain minor symptoms accompany them, though they've never caused any great interference." Her ankles swing idly and she peers down at her hands. "They've never been off by quite so long, and I've never felt so..." she smirks faintly. "Of course I'm going to speculate about it. How could I -not-?"
"You may speculate, but attempt to restrain yourself from undue anxiety about the situation. I shall inform you that it is not all that uncommon for female dragonriders to occasionally miss one of their monthly cycles. Similarly, approximately one in four women experience minor bleeding in their first trimester according to the last study which I was informed of. The absence of a cycle or the continuation of it cannot be taken as proof positive either way." Neiran draws in a breath perfectly comfortably, simply separating his statements with the air rather than mustering up any resolve to continue. On the contrary, he speaks unflinchingly, as if rehearsed. "What we shall do is plan for the possibility that you /are/, in fact, carrying a child. I will ask you plainly: Do you wish to carry a child to term?"
She listens quietly, nodding when nodding might be useful to imply that she understands these statements being offered to her. At Neiran's question, plainly asked, she plainly responds. "No. I don't. But I cannot..." She presses her lips down into a thin and thoughtful line. "the..." her nose wrinkles before she can manage this next, "...potential father of this...I feel it would be immoral to terminate before speaking to him about it. And that is a conversation I would very much like to avoid unless it is certain that it's necessary. And I suppose, for myself," the weyrwoman sighs softly, "I should like to know, without doubt, if I stopped something before I go about doing so. If that makes any sense. So, for the time being, let us say that I do not wish to do anything that would inadvertently cause a miscarriage. If there is anything to miscarry."
The Journeyman nods, ceding to his patient's desires. "As you wish. In that case, then I would suggest you abstain from alcohol and betweening, as well as any foods that are strongly spiced. I shall be available at your call to discuss with you the physical developments of this, as I shall be available for consult when you have had that conversation. Rather than discuss all potential avenues afterwards, I would suggest we await word from the father, so that you can be free of burdensome considerations that may not apply, in the meantime. Does this sound reasonable to you?"
"Yes. The betweening will be an issue once Tialith is off the hatching sands, but perhaps by then..." Roa swallows and again examines her own knuckles. "About how long, would you say, before it could be conclusively ascertained?"
"We will begin to raise suspicions if you experience mammary tenderness, in isolation or in addition to unexplainable nausea and fatigue. If the signs are still ambiguous, a pelvic exam can be conducted approximately four to six sevendays from now." Neiran has remained steadily watching the goldrider since they stepped within the curtain's enclosure, and when Roa examines her knuckles he looks briefly at them before returning his gaze to the woman's face. "You are welcome to request your own healer, or a female assistant, now or when such occasion is necessary. Transferring you to the care of another healer is not difficult, and is always your right as a patient to request such a thing. I state this as a formality."
There is a faint wince at the mention of unexplained nausea and fatigue, but then she only nods. "Four to six sevens. Shells." Roa closes her eyes, tipping her chin down again. "I'd hoped it would have been sooner. Well." A slow breath as the weyrwoman lifts her head and squares her shoulders. "It is what it is. No I'd...you, certainly, have the option of handing me off if you'd rather, but if you're amenable, I see no reason to change healers."
"It would do me honor to have the Weyrwoman as my patient. I simply wished to ensure that you were aware that you were by no means bound to me." Neiran nods, and folds his hands in a manner that suggests conclusiveness. "Unfortunately there is no tincture nor salve I can offer to hasten time. You shall have to remain patient...and should you require it, I am also technically trained to offer emotional consultation, or I could direct you to a healer who specializes in counseling women." The healer's voice, usually soft, has an added buffering layer now, presumably belonging to some compassion he's mustered for Roa's sake. His expression, of course, remains the same unaffected and neutral mask.
The mention of Neiran-as-emotional-support has a single brow arching upwards, but Roa only shakes her head. "If you do ever stumble across such a tincture or salve, do please let me know. I shall be your first customer. As for the other...no. Thank you, but I'm all right. Will be all right. Thank you, Journeyman." She inches forward, preparing to hop down from the bed.
"I shall be certain to come to you first," Neiran promises, moving to the curtain to open it and step aside, allowing Roa to pass through. Ladies first, of course. He'll trail her like a taller, more somnolent and masculine shadow for a little while, until stopping again at the hearth and bidding her a good day.
Time: Afternoon on Day 18, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: As agreed, Roa pays a visit to the infirmary three days after this scene.
Spring creeps, rather than bursts, on High Reaches and as the snow finally melts away for the season, there is the steady sound of dripping in various points outside. Heavy icicles have wasted away into slender memories of their former selves, and snow has become slush and mud. The most determined element of cold, the sharp winds, still remain. The sun is out, and though the temperature is low, for High Reaches in spring, it is a lovely day.
Not that one would be able to tell, what with weyrs being hollowed out mountains without any windows.
The weyrwoman steps into the infirmary quietly, the lack of coat suggesting (hopefully) that she has come from somewhere indoor or, (more likely) that she has left hers behind and forged ahead anyhow. She offers small nods as the occasional healer or patient glances her way, and she drifts, first, into the dragon infirmary to check over those few large and winged patients. Then, with a slow intake of breath, she heads back to the smaller half of the room, her interest sliding around the space to seek out a particular individual slotted to be on duty just now.
Roa's questing eyes are not disappointed. There, the usual fixture near the hearth, is Neiran. Even though the last remnants of winter are melting away, it's still chilly in High Reaches, and cold travels through stone and into skinny Journeymen all too well. Neiran has stationed himself as close to the hearth as is possible, bent over a clipboard supported by his lap. It's not one of his own pet projects for once, but something to do with supplies and distributions; his lips are moving silently as he reads, a few small twitches in the fingers hovering by his lips suggestive of calculations. A nursemaid is hovering by his elbow, looking rather dismayed. Her hands wring one another and she shifts her weight to one foot, and then the other, while Neiran counts. The Journeyman authoritatively jots something down a second later, straightens in his seat, and passes the clipboard to the fretting woman. "I trust it shall not happen again," he murmurs. It's all the woman can do to gush apologies and try not to stumble on her feet as she leaves the healer's side in a hurry. Neiran is left staring blankly after her, puzzling over what he could have done to make himself seem so terrifying. His bemused gaze sweeps outwards to survey the infirmary, and falls upon a familiar goldrider. He remains seated, but staring in that way that acknowledges her presence.
It is an interesting sight, seeing a hand wringing and fussy woman stationed beside such a slender and reserved figure as the Journeyman healer, and Roa quirks a faint smile at the image. She lingers back, finding a shelf with various labeled jars a convenient excuse to wait until Neiran's other business is concluded before she wanders over to the hearth and, so, the man before it. "Well," she offers by way of greeting, "here I am. Could you...I mean, do you have a moment? Should I come back?" Her own arms hang determinedly by her sides, the little weyrwoman refusing to wring her own hands.
Neiran sets his writing utensil down on a low table, and rises from his seat to properly greet the Weyrwoman. Her station deserves such, after all. The man's dark eyes help themselves to reading the nuances in Roa's face, and posture - seeking out signs of any repressed nervousness and worry. "By all means, Weyrwoman, I have just become free. Would you prefer a private consultation?" He queries, making a gesture towards the quiet corner of curtained cots. It's a familiar scenario, but one that Neiran gives no sign to acknowledge. And presumably they'll not be conspiring about anything other than Roa's immediate future this time.
A glance towards the curtained space calls up a faint smile from the weyrwoman, perhaps in the memory of such sneaky dealings as have been done there previously. What one wouldn't give for a covert plan just now. But the smile smoothes away, and with a small nod to Neiran's question and a soft, "if you please," she heads over to the private area, slipping behind a curtain.
Neiran follows Roa to the seclusion of a sheltered cot, and draws the curtain closed behind them. "Please have a seat if you are so inclined, Weyrwoman," he murmurs, gesturing to the bed as though without such an illuminating gesture his meaning might be lost. He, of course, chooses to remain standing. "I shall presume that this visit is a result of the discussion we had in Miniyal's presence not long ago?"
The cot is studied for a moment, before Roa turns around and hitches herself up onto the edge of it, legs dangling. "You presume correctly, then." Her hands settle on her legs, fingers threading together.
"Then I shall not waste time in speaking circuitously about the issue," Neiran murmurs, nodding once at the Weyrwoman. It seems this is a compliment of sorts, that he knows Roa to be capable enough to speak to plainly and precisely, without worry of summoning alarm, "At this early stage, it is impossible yet to confirm or deny whether or not you are with child. I would advise you to remain calm and attempt not to speculate about whether or not you may be pregnant." His mouth opens, ready to continue - but a thought pauses him, and he readjusts his order of pursuit. "I would ask for the history of your menses; are they frequently very regular, or..?"
"Mmm," Roa murmurs by way of either agreement or understanding. "They're predictable, within three or four days. Certain minor symptoms accompany them, though they've never caused any great interference." Her ankles swing idly and she peers down at her hands. "They've never been off by quite so long, and I've never felt so..." she smirks faintly. "Of course I'm going to speculate about it. How could I -not-?"
"You may speculate, but attempt to restrain yourself from undue anxiety about the situation. I shall inform you that it is not all that uncommon for female dragonriders to occasionally miss one of their monthly cycles. Similarly, approximately one in four women experience minor bleeding in their first trimester according to the last study which I was informed of. The absence of a cycle or the continuation of it cannot be taken as proof positive either way." Neiran draws in a breath perfectly comfortably, simply separating his statements with the air rather than mustering up any resolve to continue. On the contrary, he speaks unflinchingly, as if rehearsed. "What we shall do is plan for the possibility that you /are/, in fact, carrying a child. I will ask you plainly: Do you wish to carry a child to term?"
She listens quietly, nodding when nodding might be useful to imply that she understands these statements being offered to her. At Neiran's question, plainly asked, she plainly responds. "No. I don't. But I cannot..." She presses her lips down into a thin and thoughtful line. "the..." her nose wrinkles before she can manage this next, "...potential father of this...I feel it would be immoral to terminate before speaking to him about it. And that is a conversation I would very much like to avoid unless it is certain that it's necessary. And I suppose, for myself," the weyrwoman sighs softly, "I should like to know, without doubt, if I stopped something before I go about doing so. If that makes any sense. So, for the time being, let us say that I do not wish to do anything that would inadvertently cause a miscarriage. If there is anything to miscarry."
The Journeyman nods, ceding to his patient's desires. "As you wish. In that case, then I would suggest you abstain from alcohol and betweening, as well as any foods that are strongly spiced. I shall be available at your call to discuss with you the physical developments of this, as I shall be available for consult when you have had that conversation. Rather than discuss all potential avenues afterwards, I would suggest we await word from the father, so that you can be free of burdensome considerations that may not apply, in the meantime. Does this sound reasonable to you?"
"Yes. The betweening will be an issue once Tialith is off the hatching sands, but perhaps by then..." Roa swallows and again examines her own knuckles. "About how long, would you say, before it could be conclusively ascertained?"
"We will begin to raise suspicions if you experience mammary tenderness, in isolation or in addition to unexplainable nausea and fatigue. If the signs are still ambiguous, a pelvic exam can be conducted approximately four to six sevendays from now." Neiran has remained steadily watching the goldrider since they stepped within the curtain's enclosure, and when Roa examines her knuckles he looks briefly at them before returning his gaze to the woman's face. "You are welcome to request your own healer, or a female assistant, now or when such occasion is necessary. Transferring you to the care of another healer is not difficult, and is always your right as a patient to request such a thing. I state this as a formality."
There is a faint wince at the mention of unexplained nausea and fatigue, but then she only nods. "Four to six sevens. Shells." Roa closes her eyes, tipping her chin down again. "I'd hoped it would have been sooner. Well." A slow breath as the weyrwoman lifts her head and squares her shoulders. "It is what it is. No I'd...you, certainly, have the option of handing me off if you'd rather, but if you're amenable, I see no reason to change healers."
"It would do me honor to have the Weyrwoman as my patient. I simply wished to ensure that you were aware that you were by no means bound to me." Neiran nods, and folds his hands in a manner that suggests conclusiveness. "Unfortunately there is no tincture nor salve I can offer to hasten time. You shall have to remain patient...and should you require it, I am also technically trained to offer emotional consultation, or I could direct you to a healer who specializes in counseling women." The healer's voice, usually soft, has an added buffering layer now, presumably belonging to some compassion he's mustered for Roa's sake. His expression, of course, remains the same unaffected and neutral mask.
The mention of Neiran-as-emotional-support has a single brow arching upwards, but Roa only shakes her head. "If you do ever stumble across such a tincture or salve, do please let me know. I shall be your first customer. As for the other...no. Thank you, but I'm all right. Will be all right. Thank you, Journeyman." She inches forward, preparing to hop down from the bed.
"I shall be certain to come to you first," Neiran promises, moving to the curtain to open it and step aside, allowing Roa to pass through. Ladies first, of course. He'll trail her like a taller, more somnolent and masculine shadow for a little while, until stopping again at the hearth and bidding her a good day.