Who

Va'os, Rielle

What

Weyrleader and Wingleader cross paths in the Craft Complex. Conversation doesn't last long as Va'os succumbs to Southern's mystery illness.

Slightly backdated

When

It is evening of the nineteenth day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Craft Complex, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 18 Mar 2018 06:00

 

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"Is it abusing my rank as Weyrleader then if I can just skip the Infirmary and choose to curl up and die in my weyr?"


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Craft Complex

Expansive and airy, this space, now adorned and decorated with the pride of well over a hundred crafters. A vaulted cavern encompasses two levels, fit with clever skylights from innovative smithcrafters that illuminate tapestries displayed from the bannister of the second-floor: Healer purple, Harper blue, the yellow of the Farmcraft — all the colors and all the crafts are upon display, proudly. The lower level is given to tables and chairs and a hearth stocked with klah; it is brightly-illuminated and a place to study and congregate socially both. The upper level is given to residential rooms, lending the whole atmosphere a pleasant, if somewhat supervised, aura.


Evening brings more winter rain but here in the complex? It's comfortable. Far better than being outdoors, by any stretch of the imagination! Va'os drifts in from the Healer side of things, looking both grim and exhausted. Bad news, perhaps? Or just more of the same plaguing Southern of late? Regardless, he's absorbed in his own thoughts, as he begins to stride away from the tunnel, only to pause after a few steps and pace in a small path. Inner discussion, perhaps?

Rielle isn't far away, having drifted in from the Healer side of things herself not long ago. Rather than sitting, she's leaned against the wall, studying a folio of hides with something close to a frown of concentration but not quite. It isn't Va'os' initial entrance that grabs her attention, but his pacing does. Flipping the hides shut, she pushes away from the wall and ambles his way, making certain she's at least in his line of sight so she can't startle him. Hopefully. "Hey," she greets softly, studying him carefully. She's well aware he hadn't been feeling well, having fussed over it. Naturally. "Doing better?"

So many have earned the merit of bragging for startling him of late! Rielle won't be one of them, but Va'os is relieved to see her all the same. "Hey," he greets in return and on initial glance, he appears fine. To her trained gaze? Yeah, something's off. Another migraine, maybe? Only he's not presenting the usual behaviours and symptoms he shows when he's about to be plagued by another one of those. "Well, I'm standing? Does that count?" Ha ha, funny! Isn't he funny? He'll even grin his usual dopey grin. TOPIC CHANGE! "How's your day been?" Va'os might have an idea.

Rielle figured something would be "off" for a while, honestly. Whatever this illness is, it doesn't seem to wear off quickly…and if it's got something to do with booze instead of illness, the same can be said, depending. "Standing is good," the brownrider notes with a sigh and a small smile, something that widens because she can't help it when he grins that way. Her day? "Long," she answers, still eying Va'os with concern. She lifts a hand to his jaw, brows steeling momentarily in concern as she runs her thumb over his cheek. When her hand drops, she stays close. "I've been…brainstorming with the Healers between duties. Figured another mind in the mix couldn't hurt."

Va'os has so far evaded the sickness but it could be his time is up. Is anyone surprised? He's practically run ragged, given the situations around Southern. At least he made Rielle smile once because as things usually go of late, it won't last. He won't draw away from her touch, but he gives her a puzzled look. "I'm just very tired, Rielle. Honest." Says the sick. Every. Single. Time! Just touching him will speak plenty: he's feverish. Mildly, but noticeable. "Brainstorming, huh? You come up with anything? I was just speaking with some of the Journeymen but they seem as baffled as they were a few days ago."

Rielle shakes her head, a crease remaining between her brows when his warmth registers. "It's more than tiredness, Va'os. I've been seeing it my wingriders and everyone else enough lately…please don't get stubborn." Though it's probably too late. As for what she's been doing, she gives a hum of thought. "I'm not sure it's anything solid. But I've been wondering if one of the refugees might be the source of it all." The Pernese equivalent of a Typhoid Mary, in other words.

They'll have to come up with their own moniker then! Just make sure Va'os isn't chiming in on that. "I'm not being stubborn!" he scoffs, slightly incredulous and doing exactly that. "Lots of riders and weyrfolk who're just exhausted too." Grimacing for the rest, he'll admit defeat in hoping there's been some breakthrough. A source however? "Any way we can actually trace that? Or is it pointless by now, given how much of a mess things are with the refugees?" Given the amount of insults hurled their way by the Weyr… somehow further meddling might not go down so well. Va'os shakes his head, muttering a curse as he frowns and looks away. His jaw tenses, working… in thought? No, more like queasy.

"Va'os." Rielle reaches for his hands, an urgent pleading in her eyes as her fingers tighten on his in emphasis. "Give me a little credit for what I was before, please. I know what I'm talking about." As for tracing the source of the illness, she gives a tilt of her head. "We can narrow things down a bit. Trace whether it started after we took some in during the storm or after that boat landed. If it's the former, we can see if-" She stops as she notes his queasiness, a hand moving to his shoulder. "You need to sit," she tells him trying to urge him toward a nearby bench against the wall.

Glancing down as Rielle takes his hand, Va'os doesn't outwardly protest to her light scolding or being urged to sit on a nearby bench. Reluctant at first, he'll eventually submit. Leaning back against the wall, he'll take a moment to wait out the queasiness before speaking. "Can an ocean bring illness? I'd put money on the boat, personally!" he mutters, resting his head back and closing his eyes. Maybe that'll help? "… and I've got whatever shit this is, don't I?" Yeah, okay FINE! He'll admit it.

"It can, but usually it's a side effect of something like the red tide. I was worried during that, but nothing too bad happened," Rielle answers, sitting beside Va'os and fishing something out of a pouch at her hip. She pulls out a little ball of herbs, mottled green and tan. "Chew that," she says, turning his hand over and placing it in his palm. If he does actually put it in his mouth, he'll find it to be a interesting combination of minty, a little spicy, and a little sweet - not unpleasant. "It'll help settle your stomach." As for if he has the bug, the brownrider sighs as she looks at Va'os exhausted face, head tilted back and eyes shut, and reaches up to gently sift her fingers through the hair at his temple, trying to soothe. "It a good possibility, aye. But I'll do all I can to help you shake it off. Or the Healers will. But…I'd rather be the one to." Because it's him, and she's feeling protective.

Va'os groans under his breath. "Who came up with that name, anyways? It sounds particularly horrible." His lips quirk into a weak smirk, even if he doesn't open his eyes. That won't happen until he's being offered something. Unlike most, he's not immediately suspicious of anything Healer-based and so pops the concoction into his mouth with no protest. He does make a muffled sound of surprise though. Huh! Not what he expected. Chewing commences, if slow and cautious. Her fussing over him earns a fleeting grin before he's back to focusing on swallowing that medicine. Maybe not so easy? "Is it abusing my rank as Weyrleader then if I can just skip the Infirmary and choose to curl up and die in my weyr?" he mutters in an aside to her. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Let me redo that… Can I skip the Infirmary and just curl up in my weyr?" Okay, not entirely better but hey. It's Va'os!

Rielle chuckles softly at Va'os' first. "Probably sailors," she replies easily, slender shoulders hitching upward in a shrug. She gives a quick smile at his reception of the mint ball. Then he mentions curling up and dying, and she looks rather pained before he corrects himself. "Varden will probably protest, but maybe I can talk him into not ordering you into an Infirmary cot, considering your weyr's relatively close. But definitely no dying." She slips an arm around him, tucking her shoulder beneath his arm, the movement serving a dual purpose as an embrace and a brace to get to standing. "I'll take you there, if moving seems doable at the moment." And odds are she's going to stay put when they get there in order to medicate him herself.

"Definitely sailors! Or sea crafters," Va'os agrees. "Only they'd come up with something so awful for a 'sickness'." His previous remark was definitely callous and given that he's felt the brunt of the loss of riders so far, one would think he'd be careful with his words! But he's also concentrating really hard on not voiding his stomach all over the complex's floor or passing out on the bench. So. Something has to give! And his filters are first to go. "Varden can bitch all he wants. Infirmary should be priority to those who need it most. I've fought off worse than this…" That'll be his excuse, okay! Let others have round the clock Healer care! He'll go suffer in his bed. Which is tempting, now that Rielle has him braced (and embraced), for which he's grateful for. "Yeah. I think I can manage it…" Slow and steady wins this race! He'll get to his feet, even if it means leaning on her rather heavily for a moment. But he does it! Now… now to just get back to his weyr! "Let's go… before someone else catches on."

Rielle may be smaller than Va'os, but there's a lot of strength in that slender frame of hers, as he well knows. The benefits of being a dragonrider! "Well, wrap your hands and put up your fists again, my dear, because this might be a long fight. Too long, if you don't mind things as you ought. Here we go, then…" And with that, she'll help him along as slowly a he needs, all the way to his weyr by the most discreet route they can manage. Whether or not they're seen and someone starts spreading rumors…well. The odds are high. This is Southern, after all.

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