Who

Nasrin, Xanthee, R'xim Cremla (NPCed by Nasrin)

What

Nasrin is offering moral support, Xanthee is there for her Candidate Physical, R'xim is looking to pick up new glasses but they all become an inadvertent peanut gallery to the Headwoman's meeting with a Healer.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 18 Mar 2018 04:00

 

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Cremla's yelling set to Lemosian lute may be Pern's new heavy metal craze.


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Garden Terrace

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.


Outside the infirmary there is a row of stools for those either awaiting their opportunity to enter, or those considered company, companions to good health. Igen's junior is to be sorted in the latter category, considering the contents of a scroll on her lap while passing time. The door is slightly ajar to the infirmary, blown open by a shaft of air earlier, so the murmurs of voices are to be heard, if often unintelligible.

Onto one of those stools, the last empty one in the row, Xanthee slips herself, with a small sigh. She was in the middle of washing dishes after her breakfast when she was asked if she had done her candidate physical yet by a random AWLM. No sooner had she shook her head, that she was sent off in the direction of the infirmary, not even having the chance to remove her damp apron. The dark haired girl remedies this now, rolling it into a tight ball in her hands as she looks apprehensively in the direction of the Infirmary.

The healer on duty, a man who is as native to Igen as its sand, can be heard addressing his patient, Headwoman Cremla, "…old, it can happen." Nasrin, at a juncture of eavesdropping is impolite, and eavesdropping is merely being informed, crooks her head up and over, and is made aware of another arrival before she sits on an adjacent stool. "Physical? Just an educated guess." Nasrin knows Xanthee as a candidate from the double clutch, and warms up to her all the better for it. "Trust me, dishes are far worse than an exam."

Xanthee looks up to see who has spoken to her, and when she spies the goldrider, she offers a smart salute, "Good morning ma'am." she says before shrugging her shoulders at the idea of a physical, "Oh, I know. It's not that. The infirmary just brings up certain memories." An effort is made to brush past that though as she cranes her neck forward to see how many people are ahead of her. "It's also that there is just so much to do all the time, and sitting idly while my fellow candidates are running around doesn't sit well with me."

Infirmaries are often tense areas, and Nasrin, not knowing all of Xanthee's intrinsic past history, only what the rumor mill exports, settles for a smile of truce: she won't pry. "Good morning to you as well, Xanthee. I'm only hear for a combination of moral support, and blocking the door if necessary. Like you, Headwoman Cremla is inside more or less against her will. Hopefully, you won't have much time to wait, and you'll be back with your cohorts in no time." She extends her legs under a biege robe, typical attire for her when not facing a Fall or training. "How does this candidate experience compare to the others?"

Merely nodding along with Nasrin's words, Xanthee smiles weakly when the last question gives her an opportunity to distract herself. "It's all very familiar now, this is my third time as a Candidate, so it wasn't too hard to adjust. As well, I'm in a lot better shape this time around, with my running, and the other training I'm doing." then with a subtle look to one side then the other, she lowers her voice a little bit, "But I am kind of ready for the Hatching to come if I'm to be completely honest. The anticipation is killing me." and with that she'll offer a little giggle to show that it's not really bothering her that much.

"Pregnant! Bite your tongue, man! Don't patronize me, Dulsann." …that would be Cremla's strong voice making herself known. Nasrin and Xanthee will have no real need to eavesdrop about the health status of the Headwoman. The goldrider's gaze locks onto the candidate to make sure she heard what she heard. Cremla's closing in on the half century mark. "Well," flattening her palms, "maybe that explains the raw liver cravings." Now that there's no real need to guard the door, Nasrin will await Cremla's dismissal. "I'm not sure how public this should be just yet, though I suspect the gossip troupe will pick up on it shortly, so best keep this news tight to your chest, candidate." Recalling their last encounter and adjusting topics, "I recall you finding out Ha'ze was your father. Did something satisfactory come from that revelation?"
The way that Xanthee's eyes seem to grow twice their normal size means that she most certainly did hear, and her hand goes to her mouth to cover it before she gasps audibly. When Nasrin speaks up though, the raven-haired girl will bite down hard on her lower lip. The juiciest piece of gossip that ever did come across one of the biggest spreader of gossip amoung the weyrbrats and she is being asked by the Junior Weyrwoman not to spread it. It makes the poor girl want to cry, but she merely nods her head slowly. "Of course Ma'am, I wouldn't dream of it." Shaking herself out of the shock, Xanthee hums at Nasrin's last and nods, "I found out I have several siblings, one who was just newly born actually, a half-brother. Other than that, he's not the most attentive father, so not much is changed. Haven't even seen him since I was Searched, although you were there, he doesn't think highly of women on fighting dragons."

Nasrin tries to keep her head around current interactions, but her eyes unfocus and she slows blinking while going over the loss of Ione and now a pregnant headwoman who is no spring chicken. Trying to shelve those thoughts, the junior runs a hand over her hair and redoubles focus on Xanthee's current events. "Riders, like holders, can be prolific reproducers." There is quiet mutterings in the infirmary, nothing to be ascertained. "Ha'ze is not alone in that opinion, women have to struggle for their piece of the fruit, as it were. Which creates strain with some people." Nasrin can vouch! In that, they have a common bond. "Are any of your new-found siblings local at least?"

Rounding a corner and striding toward the infirmary is R'xim. His attention is focused on a pair of glasses that he is cleaning with the bottom of his shirt, therefore he's not paying attention to the small gathering just outside of the infirmary. What does snap his attention toward the entryway is the muffled voices and the uncharacteristic hollering of Igen's Headwoman on the other side of the door. "What the-" Guard training surges through a previously wandering mind and he finds himself wanting to help the distressed woman inside the infirmary — that is, until he sees the junior weyrwoman just standing there waiting. His fight or flight instincts simmer down a bit and he can't help the way his dark brows furrow at both Nasrin and the candidate standing close by. "Shards. What's happening in there?" Pardon him if steps closer to the door to press an ear against it.

Why? Why must they test her resolve to be a good candidate? Xanthee looks at the bronzerider as he comes up, offering him a smart salute and a bob of her head, because it's an automatic response to seeing a rider's knot nowadays. "Isn't whatever goes on between a patient and their Healer supposed to be private?" she quips in a way of now answering the question directly although it obviously pains the girl not to. But back to Nasrin's comment the raven-haired girl nods her head, "I often wondered what it was like when my mom Impressed all those turns ago when girls were only allowed on the sands if there was a gold egg. What she had to endure riding a brown then." And to the last, "Not except for Miel's newborn. Although I have an older sister at Southern I've visisted before."

Xanthee's first Gauntlet is handled like a boss. Nasrin reviews the candidate's response, finds it prudent, and greets R'xim with a butter-soft smile. "We were going to call it 'background ambiance'." Cremla's yelling set to Lemosian lute may be Pern's new heavy metal craze. "…yes, yes, I know where the bloody infirmary is, thank you. I'm leaving now." Cremla is suddenly at the door, eyes wide and then scowling. "Didn't know there was a symposium out here." Nasrin stands, ready to accompany the headwoman. "One can never time hang nails, yes?" The junior states light-heartedly. "Looks like you're up, Xanthee. It was nice to catch a little better up to speed, thank you for helping me pass the time." AND KEEP SECRETS.

R'xim steps back from the door and resumes cleaning his glasses, only this time he lifts them so he can breathe on the lenses. "So, I assume since you're both standing out here, that the doctor-patient consultation going on inside has migrated to the waiting room." The bottom of his shirt is then used one last time to wipe the lenses clean before he slips the glasses back onto his face. It's perfectly fine if neither of them want to spill the beans. He'll probably overhear whatever they're saying— err, yelling anyway. "And to think I came all the way down here for nothing." Less grumbled, that. A salute is then ticked at Nasrin before he glances toward the crisp white knot on Xanthee's shoulder. He's just about to say something else when the door opens and out comes a very disgruntled Headwoman eyeing all three of them. "Pleasant day, ma'am." A prompt salute follows and he's out of here. He'll pick up his new glasses later. Much, much later.

Xanthee's emerald gaze goes from Nasrin to R'xim then to Cremla as she exits the infirmary, causing the weyrbrat to blush brightly and step out of the Headwoman's way, averting her eyes to the ground, she offers a stiff salute for both women as they take off down the Hall. Having noticed that R'xim was going to say something, she desperately hopes that she can let him go ahead of her gladly, but then he too is off and it's just Xan left, staring at the open door and the Healer waiting inside. With a heavy sigh, the candidate enters the infimary reluctantly and makes sure the door is tightly closed before any discussions can happen.

Nasrin says something to R'xim as he leaves, very likely some interpretation of adieu, and Cremla remarks the bronzerider is looking trim this morning. Xanthee has the right idea about that errant door, too. At least the peanut gallery has zero membership now.

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