NAME GENDER HEIGHT BUILD HAIR EYES AGE TITLE
Divale female 5'6" Lean Dark Brown Brown 22t 6m 15d IGW Wingsecond (Parh
Liavhah female 5'0 slim dark dark 22t 3m 17d IGW Journeyman (Heal

Liavhah
A slender young woman, lovely-featured. Liavhah comes equipped with sloe-dark eyes, milk-fair skin, long dark curls. She's a petite thing, a hint of curve but just a hint: more sass than ass.
If she's in public, she's presentable. A woman of impeccable fashion sense, Liavhah's go-to is an array of sleek, form-fitting dresses, cut scandalous at or just above the knee, properly accessorized and complete with sensible heels. If spotted in public without heels, makeup, or curled hair, please return to sender or check the sky. It may be falling.
Healer purple, neatly arrayed: she's a full journeyman, posted at Igen Weyr.
She is a young adult of about 22. She is awake and looks alert.

Divale
Average of height, there are no soft, feminine curves to form the shape of her body and instead, she is more on the angular and leanly muscular side. Plain featured, her haunted brown eyes are set under thick eyebrows and framed by a small, thin nose that ends in an upturned point. Her full lipped mouth is often turned up in a grimace or smirk and uncommon are the times she's ever seen genuinely smiling. Wavy dark brown hair carries notes of auburn in the right light and has been cut short; so short that it's almost shaved along the sides and back, leaving it longer on top and either brushed back or parted to one side or the other.
Most days and while on duty, she'll wear her riding leathers, preferring natural hues or darker, sombre shades. They've been tailored and cut in a way to actually fit her angular frome, though notably the style is a little more towards the masculine side than feminine and done so on purpose. When she's off duty, her tastes are much the same: light fabrics but nothing overly flashy and in styles and cuts that suit her build and frame but lean towards androgynous. She wears nothing else on her person, no jewelry or anything of note beyond the knot usually pinned to her jacket. It's a Wingrider knot in Igen Weyr's colors and threaded through with a dark brown ribbon. Beside it and visible, is a sewn patch with Parhelion's insignia. 5 firelizards are draped about her head and shoulders.
She is a young adult of about 22. She is awake and looks alert.
Divale has a healing medium ankle score.

—-

Winter is certainly in full swing and while the winds are no where near as bad as they were days ago, the air remains bitterly cold; at least for Igen's standards. The 'yard is at least somewhat sheltered from the worst of it and, at the moment, largely quiet. Evening sees much of the activity here slowing to a crawl; the few who remain to haunt it are those unfortunate enough to be grounded here. Lukoith is one, the brown coiled in the farthest, shadow-cloaked corner as he rests (read: brood). His neck is still heavily swathed in bandages, his scoring much deeper and severe than his rider. Divale has regained some mobility, though is largely limited still and only lingers here because of him. Under the shelter of an overhang, she sits, bundled against the cold and not seeming to mind the least bit. Her eyes have turned skyward, either watching the emerging stars or the fading of sun's light. Should she be out here for so long? Who knows. If an Apprentice had tried to stop her, it's obvious who won.

For someone raised at the Fort Craft Complex, this weather is a brief cold snap, nothing more. It's hard to take the weather too seriously without snow, but Liavhah has nonetheless dutifully bundled up, a charcoal peacoat slung over today's variety of sleek dress, this one an abstract pattern of greys and black mottled together. She's leaving the infirmary exit, cinching her coat as she goes. Her heels don't click quite so strongly here, on hard-packed dirt rather than stone, but she doesn't wobble as she moves through the dragon infirmary on her way out to the bowl. Her exit trajectory is marked with the looming shadow of a certain vaguely familiar brown, and as she skirts around him she cranes her neck to see further around, as if to place the patient. Her dark curls shift over her shoulder at the movement, still intact after a day's long shift. The angle's wrong, and she's left with her dark gaze studiously turned up to the heavy bandaging on Lukoith's neck. A sympathic noise murmurs out of her, involuntarily.

"It looks worse than it is," Divale's voice drifts from the semi-gloom of where she's holed herself up; though from the change in pitch and clarity, the brownrider is on the move. Slowly, of course and with muted discomfort. Lukoith hardly rouses, even with his rider using him as a convenient lean-to, when her still-mending scoring proves to be a hinderance. Dark gaze peers sidelong to Liavhah, taking in the other woman from the outfit she wears and even shamelessly to those heels. That earns a quirked brow, "How do you manage on those? All day." she muses dryly and off hand, before taking a curving tangent right back to the first topic and what may have lured the Healer here. "He'll heal. It will be awhile because of the depth," Her hand lifts to rest against the brown. "…but fortune saw that none of the important and vital arteries were severed." Spoken in the tone of one who has studied the ins and outs and decently knowledgable.

"Bandages do have a way of making things seem worse than they are." Liavhah's dark eyes find the source of the disembodied voice, and recognition flashes over her heart-shaped face. "And what exactly do you think you're doing, brownrider? I believe you had strict instructions to stay off that." She unslings the bag she's carrying — designer, certainly brought with her from the high fashion of Fort — and tucks her brilliantly-colored (in-your-face-turquoise) scarf more firmly around her neck. All the better to move forward thus secured, her hands gesturing for Divale to stop moving. She crouches down, neat as a nip, evidently to check the woman's bandages. "That is a blessing," she says absentmindedly in return to the extent of Lukoith's injuries.

Divale cants her head to the side in what could be an act of innocence ? only there is no such thing when it comes to her. Her vague smirk hints at mischievousness and annoyance both. "You said twelve hours. It has been more than twelve hours? I know my limits and I needed to get up and move," she mutters, eyeing that in-your-face dyed scarf before her gaze narrows on Liavhah's approach. It deepens to a scowl when the woman crouches to examine her, tongue clicking softly in further irritation. "Your concern is appreciated but I'm fine and would not push myself recklessly." Yes, she would. She's just good at lying through her teeth.

"Oh, sure, of course I believe that," Liavhah scoffs, manipulating Divale's pant leg in a way to check the structure and cleanliness of the bandage. Grudgingly, she rocks back on her heels and looks up, dark hair the perfect frame for her faint frown. "It's clean, at least." Such faint praise from the formal Healer contingent. Liavhah returns to an upright position, tucking her hair behind one ear. "They aren't so bad if you wear them all the time." It's an answer to a time-estranged question, a hiccup backward only a handful of moments. "And when you don't buy cheap heels." You get what you pay for, in life, Liavhah has found. "I think you need to take a seat." She swivels, a leg briefly kicking back as she balances on one leg in her peering around Lukoith. She even has the balls to pat him on an unbandaged part as she goes seeking.

While normally Divale would not complain to a woman so interested in manipulating her pants, she's going to take exception this time. She won't exactly swat at Liahvah, but she will try to hinder the woman's examination as much as possible. "Of course it's clean!" she mutters darkly. She's surly enough to add, brashly: "My training may not have been wholly among the Hall, but I am no blundering fool. I've been scored enough now to know the damages." Maybe her insistence to keep too close an inspection stems for another reason. Everyone has secrets, right? Nor is her accent Fortian, but it's not Igenite either; it leans more to Lemosian. "… but why start, to begin with?" Back on the topic of those heels, to which she glances to again. Only to scowl when Liahvah insists that she sits and even brazenly pats Lukoith. That has her unguarded a moment, even though the brown is oblivious to the touch. Now's her chance~

STYMIED. Liavhah at least saw enough of it to be generally satisfied. The slender young woman drags back a chair with her, murmuring an apology as she skirts too close to the brown. Such furniture delivered then with grand gesture to Divale, she steps back, clearly waiting to watch the brownrider sit her (not seemingly very) happy ass down. Then, at a likely comic degree of separation, she belatedly frowns at the other woman. "Not wholly among the Hall? You were a Healer, before?" The insinutation of before him is obvious, her attention tilting lightly toward Lukoith. "What do you mean not wholly among?"

Lukoith finally draws back a few lids over one eye, colors beneath a sluggish blue-greenish yellow. Mildly wary, but as he picks up on no further threat or anything of interest, the brown soon lapses back to sleep. Divale glares as Liavhah returns with a chair and for a moment it seems as though the Wingsecond will devolve to childish behaviour; only her pride won't quite let her stoop so low. Instead, she ?steps? limps forwards, grabs the chair, hoists it up awkwardly on her good side and resets it to the spot she deems acceptable. "You ask too many questions," she retorts, realizing too late she'd given the Healer far too good a key to her past. Not to mention, incredibly awkward to explain. "And it's a long story I don't wish," Read: trust you. "To share. Except," And she'll gradually lower herself to sit but take her sweet, sweet time about it, all while staring Liavhah down. "Yes, I was an Apprentice once." Once. She smirks up at the woman; make of that what you will.

Liavhah crosses her arms over her chest, at the correct line of her coat's empire-line cinching, her carmine-tinted lips pursed as she watches the brownrider make the determination of exactly where she wants to sit. There's no sense of approval to her frowning expression even once Divale settles down, and only a deepening suspicious cant to her narrowing eyes the further the woman speaks. "I was an apprentice once as well. Then I excelled through my classes, ground my intelligence very sweetly in the face of all of my yearmates, and exchanged bodily favors of a singularly distasteful nature for no less than six masters and two senior journeymen to secure my ability to walk the tables this turn. Your point?"

"Do you wish me to applaud you?" Divale's fires back with a falsely-sweet retort, eyes narrowing as her mouth draws into a sardonic curve. It's her way of stating she could care less right now (and yet, oh-so curious) and, much like being examined, does not appreciate being pried at. At least she will be blunt with the rest. "You asked." Is currently the point, in her mind. "I gave as much as an answer as I wished to give you." Truthfully, Liavhah would be wise not to dig too deeply into Divale's past. Eventually a few things may come to light but for now? She's guarded and in a bad, surly mood. Leaning back in her chair, she'll continue to hold her gaze with a sliver of challenge, but having since lapsed silent.

The Healer frowns and looks away, breaking first. Truthfully, Liavhah flushes in the aftermath of the miniature altercation, her light complection displaying strongly the rose tinge from square neckline upward. Certainly, a heated overshare with someone who distinctly dislikes her wasn't on the Healer's agenda for this evening. Her gaze still averted, the dark-haired woman only says stiffly, "Good evening, rider." She pivots on those non-sensible heels of hers, crouches down to gather back up her designer bag, and is on her way out of the dragon infirmary without another word.

"Good evening, Journeyman." Divale replies cooly, but her use of correct title and minus much of a sneer would imply that it isn't so much 'dislike'. She'll watch Liavhah's retreat until the woman is out of view and quietly sigh. It's a sigh of relief and disappointment both; whether it be in herself or the fact that the other woman did not linger or rise to challenge. Not that Divale blames her for leaving. Lifting her gaze to the skies again, she will linger there for awhile longer until cold seeps through layered clothing and drives her to seek warmth indoors.