Who

Amarante, Agertha

What

Agertha visits the Infirmary for a minor burn to her hand. Amarante gives Agertha ideas.

When

It is noon of the seventh day of the fifth month of the eighth turn of the 12th pass. It is the thirty-seventh day of Spring and 86 degrees. Despite being clear, dry and sunny over the weyr proper, a thunderstorm drenches the outer reaches of Igen's desert.

Where

Infirmary

OOC Date 09 Jul 2016 04:00

 


igeninfirmary.jpg

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.


The Infirmary Cat has fallen asleep at long last, taking to his pile of bandages and blankets in the corner that serve as a makeshift bed. The journeyman on duty is with a patient in the back, something chronic illness related that doesn't require a second set of hands. Amarante, though, is fussing around the desk, shuffling and resetting hides to make sure they're all in precisely the correct order. Occasionally she stops to throw a piece of dried fish without even looking up — and a young almost-black bronze firelizard dives from apparently nowhere to catch it and then disappear again. Lather, rinse, repeat: they're at some step in this process whenever someone else comes in to observe them.

"Oh hush up you," irritated. Agertha is irritated, and it rings clear in her voice as she enters the infirmary in time to see the young bronze dive after the fish, "Well, that's some trick," she comments dryly, left hand cradled in right. It's nothing major, but Amarante will notice a slight blistering of skin on the palm of the rider's hand, "Kestrath, hush up," is said a bit more firmly before she gives a smile and prepares to answer questions.

"He's got very good vision," Amarante says proudly but nonchalantly at once, appearing proud around the face but not making her tone sound boasting. "He likes to practice using it. This is the best way I can keep his attention," she explains, as Sicarius swipes another fish piece and then vanishes into shadows, realizing that the game has ended and he has no reason to sit around. "I think you need mine at the moment now though more than I need his! What can I help with?" Sometimes, 'what happened' isn't a question you're going to get answered.

Agertha's eyes follow the young 'lizard before she's drawn back to Amarante, "Burned my hand," is stated simply, "Someone," eyes cast out towards the dragon healer's yard, "can be distracting," and the pad she'd been using had a hole, "Didn't notice the hole in the hotpad when I went to get some klah," well to start the klah anyway.

Amarante nods, lips pursed, and makes a note on one of the pages she hadn't been trying to file away. "At least it was just a hotpad," she says brightly, meaning to say something along the lines of: at least it isn't a completely terrible burn. This one can be dealt with easily. "Come back into one of the bays, I'll take a look and clean it up for you. Is that often a problem that dragonriders have? I feel like you aren't the first to report with distraction injury," she chats away as she comes around the corner and leads the way to a private area stocked with burn care items.

Agertha chuckles as she follows to an empty bay, "Some more than others. Mine is not a very quiet dragon," here is where Agertha would tap the side of her head, but hand, "Though this is a first for me," she's been dealing with her lifemate's very loud mental voice for long enough that distractions aren't usually that common. Agertha simply extends the injured hand as she waits to see exactly how bad the burn is. It doesn't look bad, but it certainly stings which has her lifemate complaining.

Amarante does not actually circle the wingsecond like a predator examining its prey, but she certainly is eyeing the wound with a squinted, piercing look. Thankfully, looks cannot kill, or create more stinging. "Okay," she says, "That shouldn't be a difficult fix, though I apologize for the fact I'm going to have to clean it before putting any numbweed on." Whether the apology is meant for Agertha or for Kestrath, truly, is hard to read. She's sanitizing her own hands and pulling out gauze and salves and pins as she continues. "You can still fly with that if you keep it well covered." She doesn't have the real authority to ground riders but she can certainly loudly suggest it until the Weyrhealer listens. "Meaning bandages and gloves, when riding, betweening will interrupt the healing process." It's skin. Skin is difficult.

Agertha gives a nod before she answers, "Gloves are a must when flying anyway," and as for, "I doubt Kes will follow direction to ::between:: for very much longer," she's hiding this secret well, but an astute eye will notice the tell tale signs of pregnancy in spite of the lack of obvious baby bump.

"Gloves with bandages can be a pain," Amarante confides, as if she knows: she doesn't, entirely, but her brother has complained along with many others. Meaning she knows by report, which is almost knowing. It's empirical evidence, the healer's bread and butter. "And you're a wingsecond, yes? I hope that her refusals, for whatever reason," paired with a slight smile, as if Amarante seems to have guessed but isn't going to say, "Don't cause too much difficulty for your wing. This is going to sting a little," she gives Agertha about a second and a half of warning before she starts in on cleaning the wound, gentle pressures with warm cheesecloth.

Agertha starts to chuckle, but it turns in to a slight wince as the cheesecloth touches the burned area of her hand, "Biggest problem is going to be filing the reports that need to be written," she's left handed, "Fortunately, my writing with my off hand is legible," just, "I'll make arrangements as they're needed," is assured to the sr apprentice, who really is quite gentle in spite of the earlier wince. It was more for the unexpected coldness of cleansing than actual pain.

Coolness is good for a burn, at least! And it's going to get cooler, now that Amarante is applying an antiseptic salve; cooling is about half of its purpose. "You should hire a scribe," she suggests. "Or recruit someone else in the wing with nice writing to take dictation. That is what recently tapped wingriders are for, right, menial labor? Or maybe that's just weyrlings." What does she know. She's just guessing. It seems like it's what untapped wingriders might be for?

Agertha laughs at the suggestion, not because she finds it beneath merit. Quite the opposite, "I'll have to talk with my Wingleader about that. It's not a bad thought," and if she could deal with the annoyance there is a wingrider that does write very well, "Might be a good way to weed through the new minted riders to see which ones really are ready for tapping, and which aren't?" something then for Agertha to talk with G'tan about?

"To see who has the best handwriting?" Amarante thinks this is either brilliant or hilarious, based on her smile: the answer is likely both. "Because I think that's a sensible judge of character and progression through rank." Very well masked sarcasm, or seriousness? The second, as it turns out. "Now I can put numbweed on this, if you like." Now that it's SUPER CLEAN and been doused in proprietary antiseptic made from gunk sourced from Igen River swamps. Amarante is excellent at her distraction-patter.

Agertha laughs, "More to see who is actually paying attention to the small details," there is one rider on her wing that she has a very low opinion of, "If you can't follow the small details, then you need to study some more," clearly this is Agertha's opinion.

Amarante rubs numbweed, nodding as she listens more than anything else. Listening is just as much a healing skill as this numbing and tight bandaging she's doing. It is, in fact, pretty tight; it's aiming for water-occlusive. "I'm imagining the held-back weyrling and his bored dragon, because he never learned to write properly, or something. Do dragonriders really need to be able to read and write?" She probably knows some who can't.

"It's helpful, but there are those that are very effective without being able to," Agertha does admit, "Reports are generally written by the rider who flew the sweep," she shrugs as she watches the bandaging, "I think it's a valuable skill. For those that are looking to be promoted into leadership? It's a requirement."

"Is that how it works, there's actually some option as to whether or not you want to be leadership?" Surely, Amarante does know this, but she still looks curiously mystified about it. "Leadership in the wings isn't simply forced upon people at times? I've heard stories of Weyrleaders and such accosting people and pinning knots to them without any expectation of refusal." Which are probably just stories, but depending on the Weyrleader, they might be believable ones. "I bet realistically it's a mixture of both — how's it feeling?"

Agertha chuckles, "It's a fair mix of both really," the pain is gone, "It's good," is answered, "I imagine there are those that get tagged into wingleadership that would rather not," Agertha actually half volunteered, "Promotions are going to happen regardless."

"Good," Amarante declares — about the bandaging and packing, that is. The thought of promotions happening regardless, well, that's her current battle, now, isn't it? She's going to win, though. And not get promoted. Ever. Watch her. "Can you move your fingers around for me?"

Or maybe Amarente will? Agertha moves her fingers, and gives a smile, "How's that?" because the woman's stomach gives a rumble, "About time for me to eat," because food is usually considered a good thing. Particularly when the body demanding it is growing a new person.

The smile from the Healer is even brighter now, Amarante nodding with a, "Good, good, perfect. You can feel everything okay? Because I guess that I can let you eat, if you can," she adds, ducking her head a little bit. "It'll help with the healing, at least, the more intake you get the better. So long as it's not pure sugar." Even if she can understand the appeal of pure sugar; Faranth forbid she ever gets burned or pregnant. "Come back in a couple days to have it checked over again?"

Agertha gives a nod as she chuckles, "Give me fresh fruits and vegetables," is said as she stands and heads out, "Thank you," is given along with a promise to return before she starts to walk away.

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