N'tael, Kebra


N'tael learns of a disconcerting habit of one of Igen's Candidates.


It is the eighty-fifth day of Spring and 75 degrees. It is overcast and cloudy with very little stars out.



OOC Date 07 Mar 2016 05:00


n-tael_default.jpg, Kebra_default.jpg

"Jus' a scrape. Redwart, li'l bandage, 'n I'll be goin' again."



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.

"Jus' a scrape. Redwart, li'l bandage, 'n I'll be goin' again." N'tael, apparently, is now a healer. The healer TENDING the Weyrleader is less than happy with the Weyrleader's assessment as he gathers his materials. It's probably only Nate's knot that keeps the journeyman from muttering out loud, and if N'tael notes his discomfort he's not even going to notice. There's a trail of blood rolling down his shoulder from a cut of some kind, and some brusing around the cut.

In comes Kebra, with a far less impressive wound. He has a hand, and around his hand is a once white (but now red) cloth. He looks a little white tinged with gray and his companion - a chatty blonde with far too little sense and far too much energy - has hold of his elbow as though he were either likely to bolt or faint in her absence. His steps slow just a tad when he spies the Weyrleader, though truly it's the man's distinct accent that clues Kebra in long before he spies the man. "I don't think I need to be here," He says to the blonde, "It's just a little cut." Not a big cut like N'tael's!

The healer can be even more upset when N'tael spies to little white knots walking into the infirmary and jumps up off the cot. No matter that there are drops of blood falling from his arm. "Hey, why're ye hurt?" No one is allowed to touch the cute-little-candidates! (Shh C'sei, nevermind that Kebra's taller and older than Nate.)

Kebra's steps outright stop when N'tael pins on him. Unfortunately, it's only about then that Kebra sees the Weyrleader's state. Ie: All that blood! The blonde carries forward a few more steps, a cheerful little grin plastered in place. If Kebra's not willing to tattle on himself, she'll certainly take it upon herself to do so. "He went and cut his—" But there's a thump from behind her. She won't have the pleasure of seeing Kebra faint , but judging by the exasperated sigh she gives, she's experienced it before. "There he goes again!" She says as she turns and regards the downed Kebra. "Funniest thing I ever did see. We were peelin' up tubers in the kitchen and he knicked his hand. Dropped faster'n a — well — " She makes a little gesture toward Kebra.

… "Wow." Even cheerful N'tael doesn't exactly have words for a six foot one inch man suddenly falling and hitting the ground. "Yo! Healer!" N'tael calls out towards the journeyman as he moves forward and hits his knees next to the kid. Basic medical stuff: check for pulse before Nate sits back on his heels and shakes his head slowly. "Why don't ye go get a wet cloth 'r somethin?" That to the blond as the healer rushes forward towards the young man.

Chesni, said blonde, titters a little giggle and flounces away to get a wet cloth. Meanwhile, all six feet and one inches of Kebra comes 'round quickly enough a few moments later. Though there's a dull groan, his eyes soon open and he's looking to at least sit up if not immediately /get/ up. He's avoiding N'tael entirely, at least looking directly at him. "Sorry, sir," The healer. The healer is a safe face to fix on, so Kebra fixes on his. "I'm fine. It's alright. I don't need to — you can fix him. Should." Fix him. The Weyrleader. It'd give Kebra a moment to collect himself. "I can keep an eye on him," Chesni says as she returns with a wet cloth. She, of course, has no problem staring at N'tael.

"Ye're afraid've blood?" N'tael's voice is totally incredulious. And since his attention is fixed on the candidate, a healer is totally going to take advantage of the moment to slather redwart all over N'tael's arm. Thus the question gets interupted with an abrupt hiss of pain from N'tael, though he never takes his eyes off of the candidate on the floor. "Y'know, ye're gonna have t' get o'er that'un afore ye impress."

Kebra's complexion reddens at the incredulous tone the Weyrleader greets his revelation with. In a more somber tone, he says, "It's an awfully poor joke, sir. Butcher's son passing out at the sight of blood." N'tael's hiss of pain draws a narrowing of Kebra's eyes on the offending healer in what might just be anger, but as is ever the case, the Weyrleader's query draws his attention back to him. Once Kebra has puzzled it all out, he says, "How is that, sir?" He couldn't equate the two. Blood and impressing! Meanwhile, Chesni slaps a wet cloth against his head and instructs him to hold it there. Kebra rather absently obeys.

"Seems like ye'd be spendin' more time on 'e floor 'n actually cuttin' meat." N'tael totally attempts to keep his tone even, but there's still some faint disblief. With the healer wiping off the blood and the wound really isn't as serious as it looked from all the blood. Instead it's just long. "Well, ye do know what dragons eat, aye? 'n what ye got t' be doin' when a baby's jus' first hatched?" There's a note of hesitation there, as N'tael wonders if they candidates HAVE gotten that particular lesson yet.

Oh, there he goes again. Kebra looks ready to faint at the mere /thought/ of having to do what N'tael suggests he'll have to do. His face, a veritable mood ring of morbid colors, now tinges gray. "I think, sir, I'd rather /not/ think about that." And hope for the best? His gaze flicks ever so quickly, ever so hesitantly N'tael-wards. The blood is mostly gone, at least enough that Kebra doesn't feel the need to pass out. "You're hurt, sir." A more important concern. Or at least one providing a greater chance of distracting N'tael from continuing his line of thought.

"Kebra." N'tael, oh-so-patient. The healer wraps a bandage around his arm quickly, enough so that soon N'tael's injury won't at all ve visible. "Ye gotta start thinkin' 'bout it. Baby dragons 're real fragile." Reaching downwards N'tael pulls a finger through a droplet and holds it out towards the candidate. "'n riders get injured often 'nough. Ye sure ye want t' be doin' this?"

Kebra goes cross-eyed. And grayer still. Chesni, from her spy-perch not too far behind them both, stifles a giggle with her hand. "I have to," He says. With some measure of confidence. Too bad he's still far, far too gray. "I'll just—" Close his eyes? Think happy thoughts? "If you don't, mind, sir… I'd rather not lose the last bit of lunch I have."

N'tael sighs, shaking his head slighly. A glance over at the SUPER FAST RP MAGIC HEALER, shows that he's done patching the Weyrleader back together for the moment. A hankerchief gets pulled out and N'tael wipes the blood on it, before offering the candidate a hand. "Common up Kebra," pitying kindness there, "mayhap ye can come be watchin' Tlazotezath feedin' t' be gettin' use t' what it's lookin' like."

Kebra, by fortune of knowing who the Weyrleader's dragon is, knows the man isn't having a coughing fit or some such thing when he says the bronze's name. Still, he doesn't look like he wants to do anything remotely related to observing a dragon feeding! "Father was a butcher, sir," He says as he slinks that wet cloth down off his head and accepts the Weyrleader's assistance with getting to his feet. There's an undertone of 'please, I'd really rather not', but… it's Kebra and if N'tael says go, then Kebra will go.

N'tael's just going to let this lay dormant. If any dragon is going to get Kebra to be okay with blood by sheer amount of it, it's going to be N'tael's aztec-inspired Tlazotezath. But, N'tael won't push it RIGHT NOW, just… next time Tlazotezath needs a bath N'tael's going to round himself up some cute little candidates to do help out. (If Tlazotezath will put up with it.) "Ye be more careful with 'e knife, aye?" Before N'tael leaves the candidate to the healers so they can clean up his cut.

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