Who

Liavhah. Silounas

What

Silounas comes in for wound care from an incident in the bazaar. He and Liavhah trade words while she fixes his hand.

reference to injury

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the first month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 26 May 2018 05:00

 

liavhah_default.jpgsilounas_default.jpg

"Mmm, they would, would they? They've always been a snotty bunch of perverts, making things up to satisfy their egos."


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Infirmary

From the astringent smell of redwort, to the gleam of counter and cabinet, this place positively defines the concept of antiseptic cleanliness. Despite the yawning exit to the Dragonhealer Courtyard, the floors remain scrupulously swept of sand and particulate matter. Back behind the counter where the healers usually are, are shelves full of bottles and jars, as well as cupboards hiding away more delicate items that shouldn't be exposed to too much sand. Beyond the counter, there is the Desk, where patients are checked in and taken to one of the examination areas by a healer. The windows are usually kept open for the flow of air, but there is both shutters to shut out dust storms, and curtains for other occasions.


NAME GENDER HEIGHT BUILD HAIR EYES AGE TITLE
Liavhah female 5'0 slim dark dark 22t 3m 17d IGW Journeyman (Heal
Silounas male 5'11" Lean and Fit brown blue 21t 2m 29d IGW Guard


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.

Silounas
Some people are just born lucky and are blessed with textbook good looks. Silounas happens to be one such man with wavy chestnut hair that manages to always flip just so even on the windiest of days. And yet, not even his magnificently chiseled jawline or high cut cheekbones prevent that perfectly straight nose from looking like it might deserve a good punch. Could be it's the hint of smugness in the slight upturn of his lips or something at the corner of his piercing blue eyes or something else entirely.
Silounas' nicely muscled broad shoulders were practically made to wear a uniform. The starched collar sits just right and the crisp black tunic seems perfectly tailored. It can be hard to keep tan pants spotless when sand is an ever-present threat in Igen, but he does at least try and mostly succeeds. His boots however could do with a bit more polishing if he wants to pass inspection with the highest marks.
He is a young adult of about 21. He is awake and looks alert.


Despite reports to the contrary, not everybody ended up leaving that surprise Threadfall with a token of Thread's undying appreciation for their hides. Silounas' pretty face is still threadscar free, but yet the guardsman is still wandering into the infirmary this afternoon with a handkerchief attached to the side of his hand. With shift change just happening, no healer is visible on first entrance, so the man lets out bit of jaunty whistle, as much to occupy himself as try to draw attention.

Indeed, even of those who ended up within the boundaries of the infirmary after that ill-fortuned threadfall, most have been processed and sent to recuperate in peace. The Healer contingent stationed at the weyr is back to the swing of normal pacing, with apprentices caught in classes and a normal shift of journeyman on rotation. Liavhah is just coming on duty, based upon the freshness of her hair's curling and the perfect unsmudged lines of carmine on her lips and kohl around her eyes. Her heels click against the flooring as she settles her listening tube around her neck. She rounds a corner to the front and is there, dark eyes appraising Silounas' presentation of health and injury. "Guard," she greets him, her eyes slipping down to his hand. "Cut yourself on tuber duty?" Where such commentary would be ascerbic delivered by someone else, or even Liavhah at another time, the Healer presents the line with soft-edged humour.

"The tubers got enough eyes on them," Silounas' mouth curls up in a bit of a smirk. Two turns since his last candidacy, a man might feel vegetables are beneath him unless they're paired with a nice juicy steak. He does however hold up the hand with the slightly red fabric clinging to it. At least he knows to apply pressure. "I was on patrol in bazaar. Shoulda been a bit more careful where I stuck my hand."

"I think that's why guards are always gouging them off." Liavhah glances him over in one final ascertation of mobility, then pivots on her elegant heels, gesturing for Silounas to follow. "So where exactly did you place your hand? Have a seat." Upon reaching one of the bounty of generic cubes placed throughout the infirmary, Liavhah gestures briefly at the exam table and moves to clean her hands at the basin, lining up redwort and numbweed before turning back to the injured guard.

Silounas' eyes follow first, but once he does get a good look at the healer's 'assets', he's more than content to follow, although keeping a couple paces behind for reasons. It'd be rude just to walk too closely behind after all. He's distracted enough by that to not even bother further responding to the sally about guardsman and taters. Once in the cube, he'll take a seat on the cot that bases for an examine area, cautiously wiggling as if he doesn't believe it will quite hold him. A few small creaks of protest, but no collapsing and he turns his attention back to the journeywoman. "Placed it on the sand. And a pile of broken pottery. After the culprit we were pursuing threw a loaded table in my way. But hey, figured a hand full of shards and sand was better than a face full of it."

If Liavhah's strategic pairing of dresses and heels to showcase the lean lines of her calves are to the benefit of anything in specific, or put into existence for the low cunning of anything, manipulation of the bigger, sweatier, and dumber sex is likely the cause and case. "You needn't worry, we had a gentlemen in excess of twenty-two stone here just last evening. It won't break." Unlike Silounas' hand. The young woman procures Silounas' hand and carefully unwinds the bandage about it, her fingers gentle in assessing the scope of the wound. "And is it common for you to have loaded tables thrown at you? It seems… fanciful." Fort's cunning is Igen's naivete, the skepticism kept masked but in the cadence of Liavhah's words.

"Twenty… two?" Silounas takes a moment to appreciate that number of weight while also trying to sneak a peek at if the front of Liavhah's dress is as enhancing as the rear, which makes it really easy for the healer to get the hand and unfold the soiled hanky. At least it was mostly clean before all the blood. And the sand. As those fingers, gentle as they might be, begin to inspect the wound, the guard clenches his jaw to stubbornly not wince. It's an affirmative grunt for the table question. "Fairly. Tables. Chairs. Jugs of piss passing as beer… pretty much anything folks can get their hands on. Bazaar's a crowded place." And what can get thrown at a guard is pretty much only limited by the criminal's imagination!

"Probably a good nine stone heavier than you, I'd suppose." Liavhah is a lean thing, lithe, and whilst the view isn't anything that would get her a direct ticket to working at Rosie's, neither does she lack in proportion to her frame. Her dresses are carefully chosen for no gaping, however, and only the barest hint of cleavage may be glimpsed by the reprobate guard. "We'll need to wash this first." She shifts, leaving him with his hand to fetch the basin and pitcher. Carefully angled, the water sluices over the blood-and-sand grimed area as she absently replies to his engagements of throwing implements. "For your sake I do hope that this hankie wasn't soaked in urine before being hustled into usage as a bandage."

Look… when certain things are at eye-level, do you really expect a red-blooded man like Silounas to ignore them? Nah, he's totally going to take a look and the smirk on his face just grows larger. "Yeah. Gotta get all the sand out." And some of those tiny shards of pottery. The look on his face as she brings the pitcher says he's been in this exact seat a time or two before. He gives a snort at the mention of urine soaked hankies. "What type of guy do ya think I am? Any urine in the cut came from the ground, not me." And from the flip of his hair and the starched lines of his uniform, cleanliness is one of those virtues he definitely possesses.

"In my limited experience, people hailing from Igen, specifically the bazaar, have… issues with cleanliness." Liavhah gives in enough to eyeball his pants — the creases ironed into them, at least — and remarks only mildly, "This may sting." Redwort before numbweed, and isn't that backwards for the journeyman? Certainly she wouldn't be deliberately inflicting pain on some poor, unassuming guardsman. Her hand assumes a firmer grip at the fleshy base of his thumb, in the case he jerks involuntarily from the astringent contact. "How long have you been in the guard?"

Silounas raises an eyebrow and looks around their surroundings. "No offense… but maybe your sample size has been a bit… skewed." Those that know basic hygiene probably being less likely to be repeat customers of the infirmary after all. He does give a wink when he catches the attention on his own trousers. "That's how you know it's working, right?" The man will at least try and put on a brave face. Can't go squirming about in pain in front of a lady. Small talk at least is a bit of a welcome distraction. His hand flinches slightly at the first touch of the redwort, but more or less stays in place. "All told, about three turns. Was a recruit. Got search once. Then again. Neither of those worked out so decided to stick with what I knew."

"Do you contradict the notion that you yourself offered up a jug of piss masquerading as beer as an opportunity of violence against you?" Liavhah's smile is sudden and bright, as feminine as she arrays herself; a breaking of the professional mien that otherwise is the baseline of her career. "It might be anecdotal, but my closest yearmate is a mindhealer, and she's always said first impressions are typically correct." That may or may not be a lie, or otherwise indicative of the progression of Pern's psychological science… or lack thereof. She makes a noise for his story, and finishes cleaning the wound, meticulous with a folded-over length of sterile bandage. It's started bleeding again by now, and she rinses it again to check for remaining pottery shards. "That must have been interesting. Being a candidate. Was it for Igen?"

Silounas tsk tsk tsks and even waggles his uninjured hand at the healer. "See, that there is what the harpers would call a false equivalency." And the guard may have paid a bit of attention in his harper lessons! "As a guard, it's kinda my duty to walk around in parts of Igen where folks that would throw a jug of piss, or try and sell a jug of piss as beer, hang out. Places like the living caverns or crafter's quarters tend to have much higher concentration of law abiding folks. And less piss." He gives a snort at her justification of impressions. "I don't know about Fort, but Igen's got a saying about assumptions. Ass. U. Me." He does peer down at his hand before the whole bandage wrapping happens. Interesting to see what it looks like without all the dirt and debris in it. "Yeah… both were Igen. Born and raised. My pa's a rider here." There's a little hint of pride at being native and weyrbred there.

"Mmm, they would, would they? They've always been a snotty bunch of perverts, making things up to satisfy their egos." Sorry Realilina. Liavhah doesn't mean to go lumping all the Harpers together, it's just a long life of cross-Hall rivalry borne deep to her soul. "I'm not stitching this, but I want you back at the infirmary in three days for a follow-up. You need to change the bandage out at minimum daily. I suspect the guardhouse has a sensible quantity of redwort and bandages?" Her dark eyebrows lift in expectation as she steps back, bandaging complete, her hands moving toward the basin to be cleaned again. A wordless noise for his patriotic and patriarchal pride, a quiet acknowledgment.

"I think they'd have a word for that as well," Silounas lets out a snort, although he's more amused than judging at the raw strength of that cross-craft grudge match. He knows better than to step a foot into that! When she says she's not stitching it, the guard makes a bit of a confused sound and then flexes the injured hand a bit. "Cause it's not deep or cause the stitches would just pop anyway?" Cuts on the edges of hands, they're awkward! "And yep. Got a whole closet full of 'em." And a sergeant that will yell at him if he doesn't follow through with proper cleaning. "So I guess I'll be seeing you in three days then?" He's just going to assume she'll be seeing him, even if that wasn't her exact words.

"If you're requesting stitches, I'll give them to you, but you'll need to wear a brace to hold that side of your hand immobile for no less than forty-eight candlemarks." The latter, then. The slight raise of a single dark eyebrow indicates that Liavhah expects a specific answer, in her passing familiarity with guards and any kind of devises that require immobilizing a function necessary to the act of guarding. "Potentially. Your name, guardsman?" She has such impeccable bedside manner, doesn't she? Maybe the time change has disrupted her adhesion to typical social conventions.

"Yeah, no." Silounas straightens up right quick at the thought of a brace and cradles the injured hand closer to his belly. No more flexing for now. Limits have been tested. And his reaction is probably as stereotypical as a healer could expect a guardsman to react to that kind of threat. As for when she's asking for his name, even if it is for the formality of the hidework from the visit. "Silounas. And I don't believe I ever got your's, journeywoman? Gotta give a full report to my sergeant."

The smile returns, as bright as it was before, at Silounas' textbook reaction to the alternate course of healing presented. Liavhah may be many things, but she's most happy to be the one that's right. Or, at the very least, when that's the impression she's put on herself. "Silounas. Very good." Hands clean, she turns towards the blank sheet of hidework sitting abandoned and forgotten on the sideboard, jotting down his name and brief notes in a relatively neat scrawl as Healer's go. "Liavhah. Two H's."

Silounas nods as he gets up from his seat. "Liavhah, with two h's. Got it." He most definitely does not got it, but it's like a guy stopping to ask for directions. That would be admitting defeat and it just won't happen. Sergeant will have to figure out who Lihavah or Liavahh is himself. "And if you can't just wait three days to see me, you can probably find me in the Cantina after your shift, journeywoman." And with that, he'll give a wink and then proceed on his way back to the guardhouse. To try to write a much less tidy report himself seeing as it was of course his right hand that broke his fall. Wherry scratch of epic levels will be incoming.

Liavhah's expression lightens with… something, when Silounas makes such an overt pass. "I'll keep that in mind, guardsman," she replies only, shaking her head in amusement after he's on his way out. Only once he's well out of hearing does she frown down at her paperwork, her eyebrows drawing together in consternation. "Silounas. Does that have an 'o' in it?" And, tapping her stylus against her lower lip, she'll endeavour to decide such on her way to claim her next victim patient.

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