Ginger, Varden


When someone breaks something, Ginger needs Varden's assistance.


It is midmorning of the nineteenth day of the second month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Infirmary, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 03 Feb 2018 00:00





Sterile and scoured, the surfaces of the infirmary, well-tended and beloved by the complement of Healers due a weyr of Southern's size. Soothing tissane simmers at the large hearth, while comfortable chairs circle that particular feature in a waiting-room of sorts. Tables of dull-gleaming oldtimer metal lie as examining slabs, neatly lined in rows with pull-curtains enabling full privacy as needed. A low wall separates the southern half of the room from the rest, and those practicing the apothecary's trade can be seen compounding medicines under the watchful eye of the posted Master.

With summer comes the usual array of related maladies. Dehydration, heatstroke, sunburn - Varden has somehow managed not to chastise people too much for being so stupid as to get in such states, but his patience is wearing thin. And it's only midmorning! With two cases of heatstroke and one very red morning sunbather who nodded off on the beach, the Weyrhealer is washing his hands in a basin in an aggressive fashion, sleeves rolled up so he can scrub his entire forearms. The action, even if not entirely necessary, is soothing for him, and he looks more relaxed as he dries his arms on a towel. Not entirely carefree, not when there are a few lines of tension across his forehead, but he's more chilled than before. The infirmary itself is quiet, without any groaning or vomiting from the patients.

Sorry, Master Varden, you can't escape yet. Here comes Ginger, her hair slightly dishevelled - not that that's unusual - and clutching her right hand with her left. To be strictly accurate, she's holding a rather grubby handkerchief to the back of her right hand; blood is slowly seeping into the fabric. She walks in, looks round, and addresses herself to the nearest healer, who happens to be Varden. "'Scuse me, Weyrhealer." She lifts the offending hand, turning the injury to face Varden. "Do you think somebody could take this out for me, please? It's kind of stuck in a bit too deep."

No rest for the wicked! Varden gives Ginger a look over, her injured hand obvious enough even before she shows him the injury. "What would 'this' be?" He asks, adding: "keep that hand elevated and come over here." He'll make his way to the nearest cubicle, letting Ginger in before he pulls the curtain for some privacy. The metal examination table is nodded to, a hint to hop up onto it. The grubby handkerchief is finally seen closer, and Varden manages to restrain his grimace to a twitch beside one eye.

Ginger duly lifts the hand until it's in front of her face, then follows Varden into the cubicle and eyes the examination table. "Uh, can't I stand? This is a bit awkward." She doesn't really have free hands at the moment with which to help herself onto the table. Gritting her teeth a little, she disengages the cloth and drops it on the metal surface, then tentatively extends the hand towards Varden, careful not to move the fingers. This reveals a narrow shard of metal sticking out from the back of her hand. It's not tiny: what can be seen is almost an inch long and maybe a couple of millimeters wide at its widest, with sharp ends. There's enough of it in her hand to keep it firmly in place, and more blood oozes from around it as soon as she removes the pressure. Ginger eyes it critically. "Mmm. It's doing that. I knew I had to press round it."

"If it's easier," Varden says. For all that he's extremely business-like, his hand, when it comes to cup Ginger's and get a better look at the injury, is extremely gentle. "You did the right thing," he confirms, turning her hand ever so gently to get a look at the splinter from another angle. "Let me guess - you're a smith?" He looks up from Ginger's hand and at her instead, taking his hand away. Turning to the drawer of supplies he retrieves a clean cloth and hands that to Ginger. "Press on it again. I'll have to numb the area and take the splinter out. Then we'll need to wash the wound out, and probably stich it." His gaze flicks back to her hand as he thinks.

"Smith Apprentice Ginger, sir." There's still a faint note of pride in her voice when she says that, even after months in the Craft. She takes the clean cloth, arranges it round the spot, and presses. The cloth initially turns red, but the pressure's doing its job. "Numbing it sounds rather good," she admits. "But at least it wasn't something hot." Hot stuff in the Smithcraft's lair tends to be very hot indeed.

Varden's little nod when Ginger confirms her post could be interpreted as approving, if one was looking hard enough. Certainly, the Healer's face softens a little, for just a moment. Then the professional mask is slipped back on as he starts to get together everything he needs from the various drawers in the cubicle. "That's an upside, then. I've seen far worse injuries from the Smiths." Turning back, he brings his tray over to place it on the table; a pot of numbweed, tweezers, redwort, empty bowl, and a good amount of clean water. "Better get you sat down for this," Varden muses, and he snags a chair from the next cubicle, putting it down behind Ginger. Gentlemanly. The bowl is put down beside the chair, ready. "Get yourself comfortable and put your hand out when you're ready." Much as he has a job to do, he's not rushing her.

"Thanks. Yes, some people have got some nasty scars; I'm lucky this was just a bit of flying metal." Ginger doesn't specify where the metal was flying from, but she does qualify her statement as she lowers herself to the chair with deliberate movements. "If I'd been really lucky, of course, it would have missed me." She places the offending hand on the table, laying the forearm flat and still holding the cloth in place. Then she shuffles a little in the chair, until her own back is wedged comfortably against the chair back, though the two-handed pose means she's leaning forward slightly. "Shall I let go of this now?"

"And it hit you where it did," Varden adds his contribution. "Your hand will heal. Had it been your eye, that would have been a different matter." He speaks with a bland matter-of-fact tone, as if this is something he's had to deal with before. With the numbweed ready to go, he kneels down by the bowl and nods in answer to Ginger's question. Putting a hand out ready to hold hers, he says, "I'll put the numbweed on first. It'll take a couple of minutes to take effect, then I'll remove the splinter. That'll be the hardest part." He's not going to sugar coat things! he's all poised ready to apply the numbweed.

Ginger shudders at the thought. "True. I was just sweeping up; I didn't have any protective gear on. Well, obviously." Because she'd still be wearing it if she had. She removes her left hand, letting the cloth fall. As she sits back in the chair, she extends the injured hand towards Varden. "But I think I might keep a bit further away when people are hitting things, in future."

Varden isn't going to comment on the issue of protective gear. His gaze will flick up to Ginger for just a moment, before focusing once more on the task at hand (ho ho!). Once again, his touch is soft, as he supports Ginger's hand while applying the numbweed. Not overly generously, but enough of it to provide - hopefully - enough of a reaction to remove the splinter with minimal discomfort. Unfortunately, the act of applying it is likely to hurt, but it's unavoidable. "Possibly a good lesson to take away from this," he'll comment on Ginger's thought. "I'll write a note for your Master once we're done - you'll not be using the hand for a few days. No sweeping for a bit." He'll offer a small smile up at her as he says that with a light-hearted tone.

Ginger holds herself still as Varden applies the numbweed, but when he talks about not using the hand, she looks horrified. "Oh no! Th'res was going to teach me how to use climbing ropes in a couple of days' time. I'll have to put him off!" Clearly, the rocks will have to wait. "Oh well, there's always plenty to study. But I suppose I'm going to find out if I can take notes with my left hand. And I'm talking too much." It's one way of covering any reaction to what he's doing.

Varden is used to allsorts of reactions to pain, and Ginger's gets a smile out fo him. It's more in his eyes than his mouth, but it's there. Hey, she hasn't passed out, so whatever works. "Definitely no rock climbing for now, please." The numbweed pot goes back on the tray, switched for the tweezers. "You may surprise yourself," he says of the writing thing, and doesn't make any comment on whether or not she is talking too much. Instead, he presses the tweezer to a spot near the wound. "How does that feel?"

Ginger eyes the tweezer curiously, in fact she's keeping a close eye on whatever Varden's doing. "It… doesn't hurt. I can feel it, like, pressure. Am I supposed to not feel it?" She's apparently decided to cut the irrelevant conversation, because she simply moistens her lips and waits for Varden to continue.

Her reply seems to satisfy Varden. He looks up at her gravely. "If it doesn't hurt, the numbweed is doing its job. Now, I'm going to start removing the splinter. If it hurts, let me know right away, okay?" Before he does anything, he'll look up at her, awaiting her answer.

Ginger nods emphatically. "I will." She presses her lips together and fixes her eyes on the injury. Yes, she is one of those annoying people who insists on watching what the healer is up to!

On her head be it, watching the process! Maybe Varden should've snagged her to be a healer? With Ginger's promise given, Varden carefully grasps the exposed end of the metal and begins to pull it out, as smoothly as possible given the nature of the splinter.

Apparently the numbweed really is doing it's job. Ginger doesn't actually breathe while the splinter is coming out, but she also doesn't stop Varden, and she doesn't stop watching. The offending object is a little bit jagged along one side, where it broke off whatever it was attached to, so there's going to be a bit more blood before Varden is done.

"Very good," Varden murmurs, depositing the splinter on the tray and getting the water ready. "Keep that hand nice and still." He'll start pouring the water over the wound now, turning her hand this way and that to flush the area as thoroughly as possible. "So your friend, Th'res - where's he going to take you rock climbing?" Idle chitchat while he does his job. She hasn't passed out so far, but this sort of thing is a hard habit to break for Varden.

"I'm not sure - he was talking about some rocks by the waterfall, but I don't know if that's where we're going this time. Were going, that is." Ginger corrects herself in a rueful tone, then tilts her head to get a good look at the splinter. "Oh. There was quite a lot of that." In her hand, she means. And, yes, there was. "No wonder it's bleeding."
"Waterfall climbing - beautiful, but difficult, no doubt." Varden sounds amused by the idea. "You're not losing the hand; you'll be able to go eventually." Practical as ever. Once the water is finished, Varden swaps it for the redwort and starts flushing that over and into the wound. "You got a good souvenir out of it. Now, you'll have to keep an eye on the wound. If it starts feeling hot, burning, going red, or leaking anything, you'll need to come back here right away, okay?"

"Feeling hot, burning, going red, or leaking… anything," Ginger repeats, taking a moment to consider what 'anything' might be. "Got it. Will it scar?" Ginger doesn't sound particularly upset at the prospect. "Still, it'll only be tiny if it does."

Varden nods when Ginger repeats that back. Finishing with the redwort, he examines the wound again, then dries it with a clean towel. "Well you're young, so it should heal well. You'll probably have a small scar, I won't lie." At least she doesn't seem too displeased about the idea! "I'll have to bandage it quite tightly; keep that one for a day and don't get it wet. Then you can take it off, but try to use the hand as little as possible for two days. After that you can start using it for light things only." He talks as he works, applying a pad to the wound and then bandaging over it very firmly, over the palm and down to the wrist. It'll be tight, but he's done it in such a way that Ginger can flex her wrist.

"One day and keep it dry, then don't use it for two days, then light things," Ginger repeats, nodding to confirm that she's understood while she watches the bandaging process. "Do I have to come back at all, unless it goes red or hot or leaky?" Clearly, the answer 'no' would be welcome!

She's a good listener! "If you have any concerns about it, please do come back." Varden finishes the bandaging, tying it off neatly and rising slowly to his feet again. "There. How does that feel?" He observes his work from a standing position, then looks at Ginger's face.

Ginger reclaims her hand and flexes the fingers, then the wrist. "That feels all right. Thank you." She runs the fingers of her other hand over the bandage, then stands, her legs pushing the chair back slightly. She takes a moment to consider how standing up feels, before concluding, "I'd better go back and ask for something one-handed to do."

"One moment," Varden lifts a finger. A slip of hide is produced, and a pen; in but a moment, the hide is being offered to Ginger. "There. Just in case anyone wants to doubt why your hand is bandaged." He gives one of those rare, soft smiles. The note itself is standard fare, excusing Ginger from work with that hand for five days. Varden's recogniseable, brash signature authenticates the thing.

"Thank you - that'll be useful." Ginger smiles back and takes the note. "Thank you for your help, Master Varden." With those polite words, she turns away and makes her way out of the infirmary.

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