Who

Th'res, Ibrahim

What

Th'res gets the scratches on his back checked out — and also a little education on herbal contraceptives

NSFW: Discussion of sex and anatomy.

When

It is 1:37 PM where you are.

It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of the second month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 02 Jun 2018 05:00

 

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Infirmary

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 tisane 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.


It has been a couple days since the cake showing up on his ledge, and while Th'res did a good job of patching himself up he still is sent to the healers to have his new found marks looked at again. So he is sitting patiently on a table for the Journeyman to be freed enough to look him over. Shirt off and bandages have been peeled away to let the scratches on his back air out.

Meanwhile, Ibrahim is tucked into his station, sorting yet MORE herbs — do they ever ask him for aught else, these days — with his newest pair of hatchlings quietly occupied in sleep on an empty cot reserved for such a purpose — everyone who has firelizards and works in the infirmary needs must have someplace to put them. When Th'res is noticed on his cot, stripped of his shirt and bandages gone, the infirmary assistant frowns, then leaves the herbs for his friend — they'll keep. "What's this, man?" He indicates the welter of scratches decorating the man's back.

Th'res grins at Ibrahim and blushes "Oh just an accident during some time off.." Good thing Ibrahim isn't able to access the dragon-gossip-chain, or he would know why Th'res missed a whole day of work.. He also lowers his voice and says "I.. need some herbs as well." he is looking every where but his friends face as if to make sure people aren't listening. OR really he is just that nervous.

Ibrahim squints, and squints hard. "Th'res." Gently, he touches his friend's shoulder, an attempt to get the man to look athim. "What kind of accident? Those weren't made by claws…" He'll take a closer look, and then when the bluerider mentions herbs, he begins to grin. "And what kind of herbs would you need? Are they connected to the one who made those scratches? Hmm?" He raises a thick eyebrow. He glances about, noting the Journeyman well away from the pair, tending to an old woman with joint ail. "C'mere." He beckons Th'res over to his little cubicle, redolent with herbs. "Obviously, you'd rather not talk about this where anyone can hear you."

Th'res exhales and nods as he follows Ibrahim "I think it was the gold flight that made it get a little out of hand.." No it probably wasn't… Th'res moves to the more secluded area saying "And yes she is on them but WE just found out I need to take them too.. Unless Alya was joking with us?" He still isn't going to name drop who but not like it is a stretch of the mind to guess.

"No, she wasn't, dear." Ibrahim says gently, patting a seat invitingly for Th'res to plant his butt in. This, at least, he can take care of — quietly — for the man. "They're fairly effective if one takes them consistently, but it's always better if you are both taking them, or your lovely partner is likely to find herself with a passenger." Oh he is sure he knows who, now; but for the sake of keeping some things out of the mouths of gossips, he doesn't name her either. But his smile for Th'res is warm and affectionate. "So was it what you hoped?"

Th'res sits down his back to Ibrahim, and while those scartches aren't deep they are long and there are many of them. He nods listening to the other man before grining "I was better.. And the time after that was as well.." He is still blushing like crazy, there is also still welts on his neck and collar bone from the hickies he has received. "Its.. she just said it hurt and made her sore…"

Ibrahim chuckles softly before beginning to gently clean the wounds with fresh water and a mild soap made to keep the sting to a minimum. As Th'res goes on with his recitation, Ibrahim smiles gently — and a tad wistfully. "Mm. If she was virgin, she would be sore. If she's still experiencing that, however, have her get herself checked out by one of the Healers. Unlikely there's damage that isn't healing by now, though, if there was any at all. She'd know if there were." He's seen the effects of a careless lover with an inexperienced one — and Th'res is by no means the careless kind. "Well, looks to me like these will heal up nicely without much intervention. Leave them to breathe some, man. They need the air. Your shirt ought to be sufficient protection, as they'ee scabbing over very well at this point." He eyes the welts and hickies. "Bit of a tiger, was she?" He laughs, teasing.

Th'res nods and just sits there for a moment before smiling "She was everything I wanted and something's I didn't know I needed." That is is answer, he waits to put his shirt on before asking "So how often do I need to take these herbs?" then something clicks and he turns and lowers his voice to mutter something to Ibrahim…

Th'res mutters, "… said I … … … there and that is … … … is sore.. Should … … that checked … …" to Ibrahim.

Ibrahim chuckles again, softly. "Oh, how well I know that feeling." Knows it, and misses it. "Good. I am glad. I'd worried, you know. For awhile, when it seemed you wouldn't get your wish. But since you are…" He pauses, then nods, firmly. "I can stop worrying on that score." All deserve the kind of love they might wish for! Oh, but wait — now that is a question! Ibrahim coughs, hiding a burst of merriment. "Different? Different how?" He's admittedly as curious as a cat as to what the distinction might be. "Do you have some sort of… I don't know.. extras that shouldn't be there?"

Th'res shrugs and glances down saying "I don't know, I don't think so. I mean she didn't seemed freaked out by it… or maybe she didn't notice." Not helping Ibrahim!!! Th'res would probably having a minor panic attack if not for the fact the room is full of people.

And he cottons on as to what the lady might have meant by 'different'. "I see." Ibrahim decides to maintain professional standards here, though it's difficult when Th'res is so easy to tease! Such pretty colors the man turns! "Well. If you're larger than is considered normal, yes, that might also contribute to soreness. She must stretch to accommodate, after all." Oh, the idea of a birds'n'bees'n'anatomy lesson! Ibrahim will likely laugh himself breathless when he's alone. "Don't worry. Does she seem to be suffering any ill effects now?" For the wildling herbalist is certain that they are still at it, as often as may be, in the throes of newly discovered mutual passion as they are. "If not, simply enjoy yourselves. And remember to take the herbal contraceptive daily, come Fall, Fog, or Fire." Neatly, he makes up a good supply of the mixture, and wraps it up with a bow — just for Th'res. Handing him the packet, he suggests, gently, "First meal of the day is often the easiest to remember. Take it then, with your meal. You will find them more palatable if they're mixed into a particularly sweet juice."

Th'res is now full faced red as he is explained that not all people are the same, "No she is just a little sore she says, nothing bad or anything." At least she hasn't said anything like that yet. He looks at the herbs as it they might explode into a magical creature before saying "can't I just mix it with shine?" because that would me all the bad taste go away.

Nodding approval, Ibrahim will just reassure, "Then carry on as you have begun." And then - oh, and then — Th'res gets a 'bright idea' and the wildling frowns, his narrow face looking quite foxlike in his disapproval. "Don't you dare! We don't know if shine would dilute its effectiveness." And Ibrahim is stern about that, adamant that Th'res not mess with a tried-and-true method of pregnancy prevention. "Have some mint immediately after if you can still taste it, but don't risk it with moonshine, all right?"

Th'res nods as Ibrahim gives him the instructions and that he is to refrain from taking it with booze "Ok just thought I would ask, I mean how bad tasting could they be?" He raises an eyebrow saying "Or have you done it before and now have a little terror running around you aren't telling me about?"

Ibrahim laughs. "They're a little pungent, but not too bad. Most Weyrbred don't mind it much, nor do most wildlings mind it. Some do, that's all." He shakes his head slowly at the idea of a small copy of himself flying about. The idea's entrancing, but not so much that he's deviated from his dosing for even a moment. "Nah. Never met a woman I'd've considered allowing it with…" Bar the one — and that relationship is no longer a thing.

Th'res nods and shrugs "Well I think you would make a great dad, at least after they are grown up that is." because everyone saw how he reacted to the sticky fingered moppets after the black rock incident. He reaches up to scratch his back but stops himself like he has been down this road before.

"A bit, yes." Ibrahim agrees in amusement: children are great when he can give the little monsters back to their original owners. As for that itch, he will hand over a salve, well known among his people to relieve such things: oatmeal, prepared with a creamy base of aloe. "Get your lady to apply this to your back at regular intervals. It should reduce the itchiness of healing."

Th'res nods and looks greatful to his friend "thanks, maybe when you aren't so busy we can catch up and have a few drinks away from all this work." He motions to the Weyr at large with his hand before slowly putting his shirt back on.

Ibrahim nods, slowly. "We should do that. We haven't seen each other in an age." Slight exaggeration, perhaps, but plainly the wildling has missed his friend; one of a few whom he decides to express a certain affectionate familiarity with. "Go forth and enjoy yourself, young man." And here, his supple voice takes on the raspy, creepy faintness of a wheezing old man admonishing the youth. " — and get off my lawn."

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