Who

Ginger, Ibrahim, Varden

What

Ginger has an unfortunate moment in the living caverns. Fortunately, Ibrahim and Varden are kind.

Vomiting!

When

It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of the fourth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Living Caverns, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 22 Feb 2018 00:00

 

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Living Caverns

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophoba. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.


It's lunchtime. Actually, it's the end of lunchtime, and the caverns are emptying, though perhaps not as rapidly as they might: there's a raging storm outside, and the living cavern is a much nicer place to be right now than, say, the Bowl. Besides, Laeiva hasn't quite managed to reign Ardstelle in yet, and there's plenty of food left, most of it rather good. Ginger's not looking too enthusiastic about food, though. She's already left her plate in the care of a fellow-appy for several minutes while she vanished elsewhere, and now she's on her own, picking at what's left on her plate - which is at least half her lunch.

Lunchtime! Time for Varden to grab some food. While there's a lot of rich food available \(^-^)/, Varden goes for something more nutritious and less rich and heavy. Nibbling food, to give him a boost to get through the rest of the shift he'll be going back to soon. Once he's got a suitable amount of food on his plate, it's time to pick out a place to sit - but there's Ginger, and the Weyrhealer heads in her direction, coming up beside her. "How's that hand, Ginger?" It's been a while since he fixed her up, but he does care about his patients, really. He'll also sit himself down, regardless of invitation.

Really, when Ardstelle's run amok in the kitchens, all residents must swoop in and take part in the bounty before it disappears. So, Ibrahim, too, makes an appearance, searching among the rich far for those tasty edibles he can devour and quell the grumbling of his stomach with. Satisfied with his selections, he turns away from the sideboard and settles into a seat, somewhat near Ginger and Varden simply because it's easier than finding something way on the other side of the Caverns — besides, he doesn't want to stare out into the rain like some are doing. Looking at it mournfully won't make it go away.

Ginger raises the hand in question, which is now out of its bandages, and displays the back of it to Varden, complete with a minute pinkish scar. It really wasn't a major injury! "It's fine, thank you, Master Varden. It healed up really quickly - no problems at all." She glances at her plate again, and gives up, laying down her fork. She's got a glass of water as well as the food, and she picks that up for a cautious sip, and then another.

Still, Varden is glad to see a happy patient all healed up! "Good, good," the healer says after a glance over what little scar there is visible. He gives Ibrahim a welcoming nod as the man joins them, and begins to work on his plate of food. He's a delicate eater, knife and fork used neatly as he takes small mouthfuls. He's also not one to chew with his mouth full, so there'll be a silence from Varden as he chews his food. He looks like he's enjoying it, though.

Ibrahim begins to dig in after giving Varden a nod of greeting and a little smile — all those politeness drills from the elderlies pays off, and all that. He even puts on his best manners, though he's not as delicate as Varden. Perhaps they'll chalk it up to youth, or something. Fortunately, he's at least a neat eater, if nothing else. Ginger, though, catches his attention, for she seems a little… off. In a way. Pausing in the filling of the hunger monster awake and snarling in his middle, he asks the girl softly, "Are you all right?"

Ginger turns to fix Ibrahim with a repelling look. "I'm fine, thank you," she says, somewhat coolly. This is a blatant lie: she forces herself to take another sip of her water, then grimaces. "I think I'd better go. If you'll excuse me, Master Varden?" Ginger's fair-skinned, but not usually this pale. She gets to her feet, pushes her chair in, looks desperately towards the nearest entrance - then takes two steps round the table, doubles over, rests two hands on the table's edge, and drops her head to vomit profusely - more or less at Varden's feet. Lots of liquid, some well-chewed fish, and little bits of indeterminate green stuff, accompanied by a 'fragrance' that's calculated to encourage further churning. It just keeps coming. Lovely! Finally, she's done: she lets her head hang before patting her pockets in search of a handkerchief.

Varden, ever the professional, doesn't even flinch when Ginger unloads her stomach right by his feet. It's an impressive volume from the slim girl! His meal is abandoned, as he puhses himself from his chair and reaches into a pocket for a handkerchief to offer the girl. That water glass of hers is grabbed, too. "All out?" He'll ask as he steps up to stand beside her, the handkerchief offered where she can see it with her bowed head, for the immediate cleanup. He'll hang onto the glass for now, until she's ready for that.

Ibrahim is, fortunately, impervious to such looks. He's got sisters. "If you say so." His tone suggests he doesn't believe her one bit — and that disbelief's proven wise when she moves away only to lose what little lunch she's managed to eat.

Ginger reaches gratefully for the handkerchief without releasing her other hand's grip on the table. "Thanks." She wipes a splash from her knee, wrinkling her nose at the awfulness of that, then unfolds slowly, wiping at the corners of her mouth. After that, she shakes out the handkerchief and tries to remedy the state of the toes of her shoes before finally straightening up. "Faranth, I'm going to need to clean the floor." She sounds rather desperate about that, and looks for her water glass.

Varden can wait! He's certainly not going to rush a girl who's had a public moment of embarrassment. Her concern at having to clean the floor is almost enough to break that soft expression on his face, but he manages to stay serious. "Someone else can handle that." Ah, the water glass! Time for that to be offered. "Take your time." He will glance about to see who's about and watching - at least the place is mostly empty, but for the people around, it's an interesting and unusual sight. Curious eyes are averted when Varden aims pointed looks in their direction.

Poor kid. Who wants to be embarrassed publically like that? Ibrahim has some sympathy for the girl, and will do his best to look like he didn't see anything for a moment. When she's done, though, he'll offer, quietly, "Shall I go let the infirmary know you're coming?" Reasonable suspicion is, she'll be going there.

Ginger seizes on the glass like the proverbial drowning man on the proverbial straw. SHe takes a sip, then waits to see if it's going to come right back. Apparently not. "Thanks," she murmurs, then tries another. Realising she's attracting attention, she flushes bright red, and all the brighter for being so pale right now. She tells Ibrahim, "I don't-" She swallows hard, folds her forearms across her stomach with Varden's handkerchief still balled in one fist, and finally concludes, "Know."

For a moment, Ibrahim had been forgotten, while Varden's focus was on poor Ginger and the nosey neighbours. The healer's attention turns to the wildling, and his offer sinks in. "I can accompany here there. If you could get some fresh water and some napkins?" Giving people things to do comes all too naturally to this one. Now Varden does touch Ginger's back, giving it a gentle rub. "I think a visit may be best. At th every least, until you feel better." And so Varden can work out why this happened - but now, perhaps, isn't the time to say that.

Ibrahim is all too willing to get her that much. Off he goes, and returns with some cool water and fresh napkins — and a gentle, sympathetic smile for Ginger. It's got to be the worst possible thing to have happen in such a public space. And, of course, while he was off getting that water, he's found them a drudge to erase the source of her embarassment, at least, though the woman waits a bit out of the way so that Ginger doesn't have to watch the cleanup on top of everything else.

Ginger raises her hands in protest - but not very far. "I think I'd better," she agrees. "I probably shouldn't be going and hitting things with hammers right now, anyway." In other words, the Smith apprentice won't be going back to work for a bit. She exchanges her empty glass for the water that Ibrahim is offering. "Uh, thanks. Sorry to inflict the sight of… that, on you." After a moment's thought, she adds, "And the smell. I think I'm going to move, before…." Too late. She bends over again, but there's not really much left to come up. More sips of water and handkerchief dabs, and then she takes herself out of scent range.

Varden gives Ibrahim a grateful look when he returns with not just what the healer requested, but also someone to clean up! When they're not all stood around by the mess, anyway. Speaking of - it probably is a good time to move away now that Ginger's nearly…nope, not quite recovered. "I don't think it would be advisable," he comments dryly about hitting things with hammers. The warning signs are there, and Varden takes a subtle step aside to keep his shoes out of the firing line. "Feeling able to head out?" His tone is low, still, seeing as the people enarby are looking with renewed interest at the continued 'entertainment'.

"Don't worry about it." Ibrahim waves off any concern over seeing someone vomit. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, what with all the drunken sailors he's seen in life, and the occasional sick wildling he's tended in his life among them. "Not like you planned to do that." Or the second round, either. In instinct, the wildling will try to shield the girl against those prying eyes, rolling his eyes at the starers. Really? Why. Move along, folks, nothing to see over here. Speaking of, he makes a mental note to drop by the Smith complex and note to the appropriate types that one of their apprentices is ill.

Ginger nods to Varden, then shoots a grateful smile at Ibrahim. "True. I'm not a skiver." The emphasis may suggest that she knows those who are. Anyway, she's ready to go with Varden, and she's going to take that glass of water with her. "Yes, I think I'd like to be… not here." Where they're still staring at her. She starts to move, with a certain amount of caution, because who knows what moving will do to her guts!

Ginger has two protective people to glare at those being a bit too curious! She's well looked after, for sure. But, there's more to be done - and getting out of this very public area for the sake of the teenager's dignity is high on the list. "Indeed," Varden agrees with Ibrahim's thoughts on the events; then there's a sharp nod as Ginger indicates she'd rather like to head off. Rather like a protective, but not overbearing, father, the Weyrhealer will accompany her for the slow, careful walk. And if he places himself between her and the onlookers, it's done casually. "No need to hurry," he says calmly.

And now that Ginger is in Varden's capable, fatherly hands, Ibrahim will turn to make sure all traces of upchuck are cleared away by that drudge, who seems inclined to try and sneak off for gossip. He gives the woman a long, bland stare to indicate annoyance with her prurient questions — even if he knew why, it'd be the height of rude behavior to offer up any answers. Once he's sufficiently embarassed the woman for asking him such things, he'll gather up whatever things Ginger has brought with her to the Living Caverns to take to the infirmary for her.

As soon as she's satisfied that walking isn't going to set her up again, Ginger speeds up to a more normal, and in fact fairly brisk pace. She can't get out of here fast enough now! "I don't know why this happened," she offers. "Started feeling queer last night. Dozy - that is, Senior Apprentice Dosin - said I must have been pigging myself on dinner, but I really wasn't."

Varden will flick a glance back to see what Ibrahim's up to, the slightest upturn of a corner of Varden's lips indicating some small amusement at his handling of the drudge. With a tiny shake of his head, Varden's attention returns to Ginger, and he listens with compassionate interest to what she's saying. It's one piece of the puzzle he now has to work out, when he can get all the facts. "I think we might need to see what you ate, rather than how much," he says softly, his mind already whirring into action as he thinks through numerous causes. He has to speed up to keep up with the now much quicker apprentice!

What? People like to try and chivvy Ibrahim because of his rather sweet face. It never works, but they try anyway. As for trying to figure out whatever Ginger ate to make her reintroduce her lunch? Ibrahim so wants no parts of that today; it's not something he can have any say in. Instead, he's gone — ahead to the infirmary to drop off Ginger's things and whatnot. Wildling? What Wildling?

"Meat pie; salad; a few pieces of boiled tuber, the pink sort; and a bit of that pudding with the fruit sauce." Ginger trots out the list without hesitation as she negotiates the cavern's tables and occupants. Maybe that food was better out than in? "A small bit. Redfruit juice. And klah and a biscuit later in the evening - I'd been studying." Because studying uses lots of calories, obviously!

That is…quite a variety of food! But it gives Varden plenty to mull over, and he does so, expression thoughtful as he follows Ginger's route. "That may narrow it down. For now, some rest won't go amiss." He'll no doubt be paying a visit to the kitchens at some point in the near future to have a look at the freshness of the ingredients, among other things. Ginger, for her part, will get to be waited on in the infirmary for a bit - if a rehydration drink can be counted as a luxury service.

"Do you think it was the pie? I mean, I'm not sure there's much to go wrong with salad." Or tubers. Or biscuits and klah. Ginger thinks for a moment, then seems to remember something. "I had supper with Pawla and one of her wingmates, and he said he'd been sick earlier. Don't know what he'd been eating, though. Or can you catch throwing up off someone?" They're approaching the tunnel now.

"Too early to say," Varden notes - he doesn't want to jump to conclusions and, perhaps, sully the good names of Ardstelle and her cooks. This new information about Pawla's wingmate is met with an interested look though, an eyebrow raising and a look sent down at Ginger at his side. "Well, there are infections that may cause these symptoms, certainly." The plot thickens!

Living in a tropical environment with no refrigeration except ice, Ginger doesn't find either of these options particularly shocking. She just shrugs. "The pie was caprine, I think. Hard to tell; it was spicy. Maybe it was that. It tasted all right, though. V'kin didn't finish his, but that was 'cos he was still feeling queer from before."

"Caprine," Varden notes quietly. If his eyes are a bit distant as he treads the familiar path to the infirmary, perhaps he can be forgiven - he's got a lot to think about, after all. "And V'kin was already feeling unwell. Interesting." Stomach bug? Food poisoning? Something else entirely? Varden (and maybe some lucky apprentices) will have work to do.

Ginger doesn't know what Varden's thinking, but she picks up that he's thinking something. "Have other people been sick too, then? Maybe it'll go the rounds, like when we all got spots in the nursery." What a cheerful thought to inflict on a Healer!

"We have had some cases," Varden admits, with the sort of tone that implies he's not going to talk any more about that with Ginger. He doesn't look too convinced by her suggestion that it will do the rounds and, presumably, fizzle out, a low 'hm' escaping him as he considers things. "We'll see." He's not dismissing the idea, but he has his own thoughts and experience to consider.

Ginger takes the hint, and walks in silence until they reach the infirmary, where no doubt she'll take whatever's offered to her by way of advice or treatment, and then go and bury herself in her cot for the rest of the afternoon. She might stay off the caprine pie for a bit, too!

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