==== September 21, 2013
==== Kultir , Sytin
==== Minutes after Kultir is incapacitated a fellow Candidate finds him!

Who Kultir, Sytin
What Minutes after Kultir is incapacitated a fellow Candidate finds him!
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr - Archive Library

Kultir Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg


Archive Library
There's a skybroom tree in here. It's surprising. There is also a stage, and this room has been cleaned and tidied; it's an interesting space to be sure.

The evening is getting later and the time for curfew drawing nearer as a lone figure slides into the library, peering around as if they are looking for someone. Gangly lines and too long bones define this youth, along with a shock of black hair and piercing amber eyes. That hawkish gaze finishes its scan of the room and the image of Kultir laying prone on the ground suddenly jives with Sytin's brain. "Kultir!" he blurts out, racing over to the teenager and crumpling down into his knees beside the other Candidate's head. "Oh, Faranth!" he breathes. "Are you okay?" Hands twist and twitch nervously, unsure where to start his aide.

Kultir must have blacked out for a few minutes after the man … Vorick, had left the library because when he can think again he can also feel his right hand again though not the left. He groans softly as he inches the sore arm upwards to try to get it under him to push himself upright to investigate the damage to his left arm. He distinctly remembers hearing a crack in that arm and hopes it isn't broken. Pain-filled eyes, streaming tears, open at the sound of Sytin's voice and peers up at him dazedly. "S-s-s-sy … tin …" he says through chattering teeth in a hoarse voice. His feet start working about this time and he scrabbles them against the stone floor, pressing up onto his knees enough to allow him to get his right arm under him and push himself weakly up. Finally in a sitting position, back against the stage, his head lolls a bit as his head swims with the effort of changing positions. His left arm still dangles oddly from his shoulder joint, the elbow and fingers pointing in an unnatural angle.

Clearly the answer to that question is a definitive no. Sytin does his best to help the Candidate move into a seated position against the stage, concern etched in his eyes and even more so — if such is possible — when he sees the way Kultir's shoulder is canted. "We should get you to an infirmary." Any thought of reasons or coverups hasn't quite crossed his mind just yet, so focused is he on getting help for a friend. "Can you move?" He shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to carry some of the weight with him as he swallows nervously.

Kultir peers up at the boy through pain-glazed eyes and shakes his head wearily. "No …. jes … c'n ye … put i' back?" he asks between gasping breaths. The teenager's mind is working again and he knows that if anyone finds out what really happened he could be in danger of losing his knot even though … technically he hadn't started that fight. Kultir hooks his right arm awkwardly over the edge of the stage and shoves with his feet to twist enough to be leaning heavily against the stage, his head on his right arm while the left dangles at his side. It's a good thing he's numb to how much pain he's in, otherwise he'd probably be back on his ass.

Sytin swallows, looking at Kultir's left shoulder again. There is a slow nod and a little wince. It isn't going to be comfortable, for certain. Then again, Kultir looks to be in some pretty significant pain already. He licks his lips and gently lifts the dangling arm and pulling it in a straight line with the other Candidate's shoulders, towards Sytin. He's gripped the larger hands tightly, even going so far as to lace fingers and ensure a proper hold. He starts pulling, slowly and gently, but with a steady force that will gradually cause the muscles to extend, relaxing and allowing the ball to move back into its socket. It will, after what will surely seem like an agonizing series of moments, pop into place with a less dramatic sound, at which point the Smith gently sets the elder teen's arm back into his lap, looking on with a thousand racing questions.

Kultir closes his eyes when he sees Sytin's nod and clenches his teeth against the flare of pain he knows will follow once the joint is back into place. He wimpers softly as the younger boy exerts a steady pull that will eventually put he joint back where it belongs. By the time the joint reseats itself, Kultir is dripping with sweat and there is a trickle of blood coming from his lip where he's bitten it against the pain. The teenagers breath comes in sobbing gasps as that left arm twitches and flips in his lap. "Th-thank you …" he whispers, eyes still closed with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Reaching into his pocket, Sytin pulls out a cloth and offers it to the teenager to wipe away the blood from his lip at he gnaws through it in agony. "You didn't even need to ask," he murmurs, chewing on his own lower lip. "We should get you to the infirmary or something." He pauses. "Can you tell me what happened?" The idea that this might be important finally comes to the youth and he rocks back on his haunches and peers, frowning as he looks for signs of commotion around him and not particularly finding any, leaving him stumped in this mystery.

Kultir accepts the cloth in his right hand and raises it to his bloody lip, pressing lightly. Now that the pain is starting to recede he can think. He glances toward the ladder and then to the position he's in now and swallows as his calculation puts it /just barely/ feasible though anyone testing the theory would easily debunk it. "F-f-fell … off th-the l-l-l-lad-der." he mutters, voice muffled behind the cloth. "S-s-slipped …" He slumps there with his eyes closed so he doesn't have to look at the boy and tries to keep from vomiting up whatever is left in his stomach from the nausea.

Sytin winces with sympathy at this explanation. Normally the boy might dig dealer to find out the root of all this, but tonight it seems he'll let it slide, at least for now. "Must have been quite a tumble." He offers the slightly taller boy a dual handed assist, clearly trying to help the fellow Candidate get back to the barracks before curfew is enacted. "Maybe I can sneak some fellis or something." Where there's a will there's a way, right?

Kultir smiles weakly down at the younger boy and shakes his head slightly. "No … I-I'll be fine. No fellis." he says, shoving off from the stage and getting his feet under him. Wobbling slightly, he remembers to scoop his robe up from where he'd left it and begins his slow trek to the Barracks. "Ye go on … don't both of us need t' miss curfew. I'll be there in a bit." he says, his voice getting stronger as he walks.

Sytin hesitates as the elder boy tries to get him to shove off and not be late back to the barracks for curfew. It clearly doesn't sit well with the boy and he offers himself up as a living crutch instead. "We'll make it faster if we go together," he explains, making it the logical choice — at least on the surface — rather than the emotional one it truly is. Even of Kultir tries to refuse the boy is going to be adamant about helping, given the condition his friend is in. "Besides, I'd be lax in my duties if I didn't help." All perfectly reasonable assessments, right? Well, at least they slowly but surely get the two boys out of the library, one limping step at a time. Slow and steady wins the race, after all!

Kultir sighs softly, chuckling and shaking his head slightly. "Ye'r a good friend, Sytin." he says, trying to speed his steps into more than this slow shuffle he seems to be doing. "Thank'ee." He keeps his fabric bundle tucked under his left arm and is pleased that he's able to feel the way the fabric moves against that arm. Apparently there won't be any permanent damage so a few days of soaking in hot water and liberal application of numbweed, he'll be good as new. He glances sideways at the younger boy and asks, "Don' tell no one, eh? Let'em ask me. Okay?"

Suspicion clouds Sytin's features for a moment at the request to direct all queries to Kultir, but after a moment he nods, still moving away from the library at a decent pace. "Okay, Kultir, you can explain it." He may be dissatisfied with the request but he'll honest it none-the-less. A glance is spared from the corner of Sytin's eye as the boy manages toe move his shoulder just a bit, bringing something of relief to the Smith's face. They walk in silence for a long while before finally wending their way through all the caverns and across the bowl to the barracks proper, the shorter Candidate now doing his best to lead his friend to their cot.

Kultir sinks into his cot with a relieved sigh and smiles up at the younger boy with a grateful nod. He carefully tucks his robe away, loosens his belt, toes off his boots and rolls onto his right side to drift off to sleep with his left arm carefully cradled against his chest to keep it from hurting too much. "Night, Sytin … Thanks again." he murmurs, just before sleep claims him.

Now that his friend is safely tucked away, Sytin can tend to his own needs. He suddenly finds himself drained to the core and sinks down onto his cot, removing his boots and other clothing and setting them neatly aside. Zhiros stirs, shifting at the foot of his cot briefly before settling back down. The smith smiles a bit, glancing with lingering concern at Kultir and then slides under the covers, practically asleep even as his head hits the pillow…

Add a New Comment