Who

Tommin, D'wane

What

D'wane has something stuck in his eye after a morning run. Tommin is not a reassuring healer.

When

It is 5:46 AM where you are.
It is morning of the twelfth day of the sixth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary

OOC Date 13 Nov 2017 07:00

 

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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 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.


Oh the wee hours of the morning. It's so early and yet, there have been some people up for hours now. Like a particular shirtless weyrsecond that looks like he's been out for an early morning jog considering that's exactly what he's been up to. Now though, he's not running anywhere. It's more of an awkward shuffle as he heads into the infirmary, blinking a TON and he keeps raising a hand up to his left eye as he glances around. "Anybody here?" Surely someone is awake back there.

Another night shift, another payche… oh, maybe not. Tommin is sitting behind one of the drawn curtains, definitely not getting some shut-eye. Nope. The curtain moves as he swings off the bed and peeks around it: "Hello! Oh, hello! Hell…" pause. Tommin is speechless for a moment but suddenly D'wane is wandering in the wrong direction: "Sir?" Swallow. Tommin tries to at least sound competent: "How can I help?"

D'wane is not heading in the wrong direction. At least not as far as he is concerned. Any healers around (coughTommincough) might object considering the bleary eyed bronzerider is heading directly towards the nearest medicine cabinet and he even goes so far as to start rummaging a bit before the apprentices words catch his attention. "Oh. I need something for my eye." Is it in that little jar that he's holding in his hand right now?

Oh Faranth, D'wane's gotten into the fellis: "No!" Tommin says desperately, dashing over, arms outstretched as if to block D'wane from going through and just splashing fellis over his eye: "That's not… what are you doing?" Okay, hot muscley dudes are one thing but even someone like D'wane about to dash something like that requires Healer intervention. A moment for Tommin to gather up all half-a-foot-shorter-than-D'wane of himself up and says authoritatively, "Please put that down, sir, and come with me. I'll help you with your eye."

What kind of show are the healers running here? Fellis out where any random joe can just GRAB it? Although it does have one of those dropper things, so maybe not completely crazy that it could be mistaken for eyedrops. D'wane's going to peer at Tomming with his good eye, then back down at the apparently fellis and he's just going to set that back where he found it with a little pat. "I got something in my eye when I was running." And so he came here, and started just grabbing things, but since Tommin's offering to help, he'll shrug and follow.

Tommin is caught on the cusp of saying something rude and sarcastic, but really, dropping his jaw wins the day. "I see, sir," he replies, his voice coming down from near-histrionics as he looks over to be sure that D'wane is following and not grabbing anything else, like rubbing alcohol. Finally, a bed that Tommin ushers the rather large rider on: "I'm senior Apprentice Healer Tommin, I'll be helping you this morning. Can you tell me how you got something in your eye, sir?" You know, hit a branch, ran through a doorway and forgot to duck…

Look, D'wane survived over a turn as K'vvan's wingsecond. He's used to rude and sarcastic, although probably not coming from apprentices. He will take a seat that's offered to him, carefully as if he doesn't quite trust it. "Tommin." There's a nod. "I'm D'wane." Cause he didn't bring his knot with him. There's not room for pockets in those itty bitty running shorts. As for how something got in his eye, he does at least have a suggestion for that. "The wind?" Darn that pesky wind. Darn it!

Tommin keeps his hands out to make sure that D'wane doesn't topple over. Yes. That's it. Ahem. "Wellmet, Mister D'wane…" It starts off well but peters off by the 'n': "Er, WeyrSecond." See, rumour does get down to these little rooms. Swallow and Tommin's now just a little red-faced either from embarrassment of one type or embarrassment of another. "So you were out running, and the wind blew something into your eye?" he asks, taking a few notations on the sheets at the end of the bed. It's easy for Tommin to stand and be relatively on-par for looking at D'wane in the eye given the heights, but it doesn't sound like he's judging or anything. Look, Tommin didn't survive five minutes talking with K'vvan so how the Weyrsecond survived long enough to get that title…

Luckily for everybody, D'wane isn't K'vvan. You only need one K'vvan in a Weyr. D'wane's not going to take offense to the whole Mister thing. Right now he's got much bigger concerns. Like THE THING IN HIS EYE!!! It's still there while Tommin just keeps asking questions and he's just going to let out a big sigh. "YES!" All the exasperation in that word. All of it. "And I'd like to not have anything in my eye. But like, eyeball stuff." He'll keep they eye. Just get the non-eye stuff away from it somehow, kay?

Luckily for everyone, yes. Including K'vvan because healers know how to get revenge in Southern-Hold-temperature ways. "Alright, WeyrSecond, thank you." The consummate professional-before-he's-a-professional, Tommin's working very hard to keep his temper. "I understand you're in a lot of pain, sir. Pulling over a tray of frightening-looking implements, Tommin pulls out the drawer beneath that top layer, which reveals cotton swabs, some sticks and fabric, and a variety of cotton balls and tape. "I'm going to have to have you open your eye…"

That tray is indeed frightening. So frightening in fact that when D'wane gets a glimpse of it out of his good eye, he's going to bolt off the bed and take a hasty step to put bed between him and the apprentice with all those instruments of DOOM. "Nu-uh!" Cue vigerous headshaking and a big ole hand pointing at the tray. "Those aren't going near my eye." For someone who has quite an assortment of Threadscars on display, you would think D'wane would be used to all the healers and their poky-proddy ways.

Frightening, if you're on the receiving end of it. D'wane's half-nudity no longer the pressing concern for Tommin, the apprentice blinks: "The cotton balls, sir?" Because that's what he's holding right now, and shows the tray, only somewhat Vanna-White style, to D'wane. A look over his shoulder and Tommin has to freeze the laugh in his chest: "No, sir. Those aren't for eyeballs. At least not by me." That sounds really reassuring, right? The tray gets set on the bed next to where D'wane SHOULD be sat. "Please sit down, sir, so I can see how to heal your eyeball."

D'wane squints up his good eye to peer at Tommin and his cotton balls, frowning. "Yeah…" He totally isn't over reacting here. He's only regained a tiny smidgen of decorum. At least he no longer looks like he's searching for the nearest window to jump out of (good thing the infirmary is on ground level). He's also still not sitting down. Nope. He's going to cross his arms and just tower there. "I just need some water… and maybe some eye drops."

Oh great, the Leaning Tower of Hawtness is gonna be one of Those Patients. Tommin breathes in deep. Lets it out. "I assure you, sir." That sounds reassuring, right? "I just need to take a look in your eye to make sure it's not something blown in by the wind." And then, because mindhealer, "Like a seed. Or wherry shit." Mindhealer-in-training, that is. Tommin looks up, and up, at D'wane, "It'll take just a moment." Roll for Charisma…

Totally one of Those Patients TM and by the head shaking, D'wane is not reassured at all. In fact, he'll take another step back until his head bumps into the railing holding up that curtain thing. Whoops. Too far. Half step forward again. And he's totally going to eye Tommin with all the might of his one good eye. "Aren't you a little young to be a healer? Where's a grown up?"

Charisn'tma. 20. Tommin stands there with his Healerly might, looking mightily unimpressed because this is not what impresses this early in the morning: "Aren't you a little old to be behaving like this?" he snipes back and points to the bed. Right now, all the riders are on his nerves. Well, two of them. And one is right here. "Sit down, please, and let me look at your eye." The 'please' stressed out like that sounds like a courtesy and not an actual request.

Somewhere there is probably a journeyman hiding behind one of these curtains occasionally peeking through while trying to smother his laughter. Sorry you got the shift with that guy this morning, Tommin. At Tommin's accusation, D'wane is going to slowly raise his eyebrow. It's an impressive eyebrow raise. One might even say it's the people's eyebrow. But he'll eventually sit down. Arms still crossed. "You can look. But not touch."

It is an impressive eyebrow, and would be moreso if it wasn't one half of a pained squint. "Thank you, sir," Tommin says gravely, "I may have to touch around your eye, but that won't hurt. Especially if you're looking up at the time." Somewhere there's a journeyman who's going to somehow get clackers shoved where they don't belong. "Now, have a seat, sir."

Just how many clackers did the infirmary have to extricate from places during that phase anyway? Whatever the answer is, it's TOO MANY! And yes, sadly D'wane's eyebrow game would be much more effective if it weren't for the whole reason he's in the infirmary at this ungodly hour of the morning in the first place. But he is sitting down. There's a moment where he seems to be judging whether he can BELIEVE Tommin or not. Eventually the verdict is… probably. He'll shrug and uncross his arms. "Okay…" He just really wants this damn thing out of his eye.

Finally. Tommin's chest inflates and deflates in silent relief and he leans in slowly, raising his hands cautiously, towards D'wane's face. "Look up," he advises, his fingers gentle on D'wane's cheek and famed eyebrow as he encourages the eye to open a bit. "This shouldn't hurt at all," the apprentice reassures, "Just let me know if it does…"
Looking up is something D'wane can do. Although even with the whole looking up thing, there's still some flinching going on as Tommin moves his fingers near his eye. It probably shouldn't hurt. Not any more than the whole OMG I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYE that brought him in in the first place, anyway. But does that stop the flinching? No, it doesn't. After what seems like an eternity and was probably more like all of thirty seconds, D'wane's going to impatiently ask "Did you find it yet?" Cause clearly there's something there. SOMETHING HUGE!

D'wane is as squirmy as an infant who got a hold of his brother's toys and is still going through Freud's stages of development. Still, Tommin holds gently firm and pulls the eyelid down just a little further… "There. I see it." One hand darts to the tray while Healer says, "Keep looking up. Focus on the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling, right?" There's a brief pressure againt D'wane's eye, like squeezing one's eyes shut, and Tommin pulls away victoriously, holding up a cotton swab with a dark hair against it: "Eyelash," is the diagnosis.

Oh that? That's definitely a ceiling alright. Definitely a ceiling. And D'wane was too busy looking up to notice that sneaky cotton swab sneaking up on his poor abused eyeball. But by the time he does notice it, he can only look a little bit betrayed before he realized that hey, the eye doesn't hurt any more. And he can open it and everything. "Well… fuck." Cause what else do you say when the root cause of all trouble in the world today (at least so far) turns out to be something so miniscule?

Tommin looks pretty happy with himself, if only because D'wane is blinking normally now: "Yeah," he sounds sympathetic now that it's over, "It's pretty common. Humans have a very low tolerance for pain in important places," like an eyeball. Disposing of the cotton swab, Tommin eyes D'wane again, clinical in spite of the bare chest and tiny trousers. "How does it feel now? If it's dry, you might want some eyewash, but otherwise it should be fine soon." Otherwise, how many people seeking to avoid duty would cry 'eyelash'.

"No… no… I'm good." And that is D'wane's cue to take his be-shorted self up off the table and start making his break for the exit. If he stays around too long, the healers might find even more tortorous things to try and do and he's not going to have any of that. "I'll see you around." Cause he can SEE now. The rider gives a salute and then off down the hallway. Probably to his weyr. He should probably find his shirt before the morning's council meeting…

"Good good," Tommin says, reeling back to let the mountain have his way. It's awkward because now the young man knows exactly what the aunties mean with 'hate to see you leave, love to watch you walk away'. Oh, and "Well met!" One hand rises briefly but the farewell stutters short; just more time for Tommin to come down from the high of treating a WeyrSecond. THE Weyrsecond. Just wait until he tells Trenger!!!

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