Who

Linny, Finn

What

Finn comes to visit Linny after she was injured during Threadfall. Linny is a fellis-riddled minefield.

When

It is evening of the seventeenth day of the eleventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Infirmary

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.


The Healers have shifted Linny to a laying position once again, resting on her stomach, so that her upper back score can breathe a little bit. Though it's slathered with numbweed, there's no bandage on it so it can air out a little bit, and the same goes for her hand wound, even if it's not a pretty sight. Like, at all. As a matter of fact, the goldrider has her head turned away from her left hand so that she doesn't have to see it, eyes closing every few moments for a little bit before they reopen. Still rather dosed up on fellis, Linny's doing her best at resting, but let's face it- it also has to be rather boring to just lay there with nothing to do.

With nothing resembling the herdbeast-in-the-apothecary entrance of previous visits to the infirmary, Finn makes his way through the strained quiet of the rows of beds. The brittle grin and darting eyes, grow smaller, dimmer as the Trader moves through the beds from those simply resting to those fighting to hang on and then, to those 'under observation.' The smile is gone when he's finally wound his way back to Linny's bed. His face is ashen. He starts when sees Linny's back, red and raw and glistening with a coat of numbweed. Halted. Looking. And then he sees her hand. Her… it was a hand. Unconsciously curling his own hand to his chest, Finn swallows. Her head is turned away. Finn raps on a column, still not approaching too close, and very softly calls. "Lin-" his throat catches. He clears it, "Linny?"

The goldrider doesn't lift her head, she barely even moves. The only tell-tale sign that she's even alive is the fact that she's very obviously breathing, but other than that, she could certainly pass for dead. Only after a few moments is there a quiet, and weak sounding, "Finn?" but she doesn't turn to look towards him, as it would pull too much on her back wound. Her right hand gets lifted and fingers move in a sort of "c'mon" gesture, to let him know that he's not interrupting anything if he wants to come over. The only thing he's interrupting is her on-and-off dozing, but she has the rest of the day to do that.

There's a gibbering flow of words into Finn's brain, mostly panicky and shrill and unuseful. The breath he'd held until she answered him is let out and he circles warily around the bed unable to take his eyes off of the ruined mass of her hand, brain shouting the wrongness at him, his own hand still curled to his belly. He tears wide eyes away to look for a chair or stool or something that will spell his not-so-solid knees. A sick, weight settles in his belly. Mouth dry, "Hi," he reaches out to touch her shoulder. Tentative. Like she might break. Or he might catch what she has.

"Hi," Linny replies with an attempt of a grin, though the sentiment isn't near to touching those glassy eyes of hers that seem to be shut more than they are opened. Obviously struggling under the weight of the fellis the Healers have her on. Wobbling slightly, the index finger on her right hand points to a nearby chair for him before it's brought back to her on the bed, having taken a guess at what he was looking for. It's probably a common occurrence whenever she has visitors. The injured weyrwoman remains silent, though eyes, when open, are on Finn, perhaps trying to judge how bad she looks by his reaction.

The trader can't take his eyes off of Linny's ruined hand. He folds onto the stool, collapses really, and has to clear his voice again before grating out, "You look awful." Finn is delicate. And a master of understatement. "Does it hurt?" And the un-needed question. He's also swallowing a lot more than he ought and has a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. He closes his eyes hard and reopens them, dragging his attention to Linny's face.

Finn's statement gets a snort out of her, a more genuine grin tugging at her lips, but it still doesn't read in her eyes, making them look darker and deeper than usual. Emotionless. "It feels great." Now there's a glimmer of the goldrider's usual self; it's just submerged under all of that fellis. But knowing that he doesn't want a smartassed response, Linny turns serious, brows drawing together. "It hurts in a way I've never been hurt before. It burns, it itches, it…the pain just doesn't go away." But then- "You don't look so great yourself." Back to being her typical sarcasm and humor.

No, the sarcasm isn't something Finn is responding to. He swallows, rasping so softly the words barely make it over the distance between them, "I could hear you screaming." He looks at the floor, belly rolling. Her screams mixing with other screams and the roar of fire. His eyes flicker up and down, "Uh, I don't like infirmaries," he looks at the hand pressed to his belly and forcibly uncurls it, placing it deliberately on his thigh. "Are you… is-" a pained expression, "Will you…" his eyes go to the horror of her hand, really, it's more a mass of meat stitched together by a memory of function. He covers his mouth with his hand and wipes downward. "What are they saying?" The healers.

"H-how?" All Linny remembers is the searing hot pain of her hand, feeling like it lasted an eternity until she finally got to the infirmary. As far as how she got there and everything in between, she has no idea- memories lost to the pain, her brain protecting itself. Focus Finn, because the fellis makes Linny's brain all mushy, and trying to piece together what he is asking her only confuses her more. "They're not sure," is how she answers him when he finally gets out a coherent question. "I made an apprentice throw up today." And oddly, she sounds proud of that, a lopsided grin on her face before she falls somber again. "It depends on how it heals, if it gets infected." But knowing what he really wants to know- "There is talk of me losing it."

"Kaelidyth." Finn's voice is low. Thinking back, eyes drift off to the middle distance, "I was working." The moment is clear in his head. Hammering out a new piece of steel for a set of hinges. Steady ringing strokes of the hammer. Bellows. Fire. FIRE. PAIN. SCREAMING! « She's hurt! She's hurt! » Flowers of the garden burnt to embers, ash-winged butterflies falling from the sky, dead, swirling madly in the gale of Linny's pain in Kaelidyth's mindscape. It had hurt. Finn had staggered, knuckles brushing the red-hot metal on his anvil, bringing a shout of his own as exterior and interior pains aligned. "I tried to come see you, but…" he coughs, eyes widening, rolling away. He'd chickened out. "D'ren found me. Told me you'd be okay." The bronzerider hadn't looked scared at all. Finn swallows, averting his eyes, shifting on the stool.

D'ren, the man who had a much worse score than even the mangled mess of Linny's hand, of course he wouldn't have looked scared. "Kaelidyth must've told the whole damn Weyr," she slurs, the weight of the fellis pressing down on her particularly hard at the moment, eyes shutting for about five seconds before opening once more. "That's why D'ren's here. He came with Linden. Guess they're gonna stay until I'm better." 'Whenever that is' doesn't need to be added to the end of that statement for Finn to know it. "I didn't think you were going to come see me." Though it's possible that the goldrider's concept is time is severely skewed, considering all she does is sleep and wake up crying for fellis.

Finn nods, but Linny's eyes are closed. He's still not really looking at her, ashamed. Relief at D'ren's presence, his extended presence, fuels more shame. "You'll be fine, whatever happens." The long pauses are not interrupted. His brow furrows at her statement, "What? Why?" He's trying not to think of her losing her hand. Of anyone losing a hand. For the Smith, it'd be unimaginable. Except, with Linny's raw, ruin right there, it's entirely imaginable. Unconsciously, his hand curls against his belly again.

Though Linny hears him say she'll be fine whatever happens, there's that sane part of her brain that wants to scream that she won't, in fact, be fine with whatever happens. From here on out, her life will never be the same, because even if it heals, her hand surely won't be like it was before. However, the fellis doesn't allow those words to come spilling out, and so Linny continues to lay there, lamely. "Because you hadn't come to see me. I thought if you had heard what happened to me, you'd be here as soon as you could. Be right here by my side." But it's been D'ren who has been there consistently, soothing her as she screams and cries in pain. But again, that goes unsaid. "Why now? Why did you come now?"

Finn lowers his head, unable to meet her eyes, even fellis-fogged as they are. "I'm sorry." He'd tried. More than once. He'd gotten as far as the doors on two separate attempts. The back of his neck heats. Someone a couple beds down moans pitifully and the trader's eyes squeeze shut. Different voices now. Not screams. A ramshackle Hold far from removed from Igen's sand. Low conversations in serious tones about the course the disease would take. Finn hadn't stayed to hear the rest. "You're okay." Not dead. Not dead is okay.

'You're okay.' It echoes in Linny's head, to be fair, everything echoes in her head, but those words bring about a much different reaction. Not sedated with fellis, she would likely shove her left hand in his face and ask if that looked okay to him. But she simply doesn't have the strength to do that now. Not to mention the fact that he finally came to see her, which certainly counts for something. And so, Linny opts to reach her right hand out to him, allowing it to rest weakly on his knee, then she goes unblinking as she gazes at him, her thumb rubbing against him. "I love you." Fellis does many funny things. It keeps you from saying things you want to say, makes you say things you might not want to say, and all the while, you have no fucks to give. Such is the life of Linny right now.

Those words make his belly twist. In the state he's in, it's hard to say if it's a good feeling or a bad feeling. Finn takes Linny's hand in both of his, her skin is clammy, his palms, sweaty. Instead of lifting it, he drops his head to her fingers, pressing them against his cheek. Finn moves closer to Linny, the stool legs scraping as he scoots. He laces the his fingers through hers and puts his forehead next to hers on the bed, eyes closed, arm arced awkwardly over to pet Linny's hair. "Linny," he starts. Stops. Squeezes her to him. Well, he squeezes their foreheads together. "If they have to take your hand, I'll make you a new one."

Somewhere, in the back of her mushy brain, there's that recognition that, once again, Finn has brushed aside her declaration of feelings, but luckily, fellis dulls a lot of pain, not just physically but emotionally, too, so Linny doesn't look upset or angry. Just drugged. When their foreheads touch, the goldrider sneaks in a kiss. Nothing earth-shattering, just a regular kiss, but lips only touch for a few seconds before her body starts convulsing, and when she pulls away, it becomes obvious why— she's crying. Sobbing. Big tears streaming down her face, wetting her pillow. Fellis and crying make for a fun combination for Finn to try to figure out what she's saying, but it sounds like, "I don't want to lose my hand."

There's not enough room for Finn to crawl up there with Linny, but frustration howls in him at her sobs. He can't DO anything to help her. She's scared and in pain and it's happening all over again. And not just here, everywhere. At the next bed. And two down from that. Across the aisle. In every corner of the infirmary. Pain, sickness and suffering that he's helpless to deal with. Afraid, ashamed, angry, guilty. On fire and dizzy with the flood of emotions. But Linny. Poor, poor Linny. He turns loose of her hand and… screw it. Close, he wants to get close. There's enough room. She can lay on top of him. Finn stands and looks up the aisle one way, then the other. He kicks his boots off and then carefully, wincing at every sob and moan, carefully climbs onto the bed with Linny. Under her if he's able and doesn't jostle her hand too badly.

Linny has gotten used to steadying her hand while the healers move her around, fighting the urge to twitch fingers or use it to help move her around, and surprisingly, as Finn makes the move to crawl into her cot with her, her sobbing calms down to the point of just tears rolling down her cheeks, that will now likely fall onto him since he's under her. She settles her head against his chest, finding a new and careful spot for that left hand of hers, but also being careful to keep it away from the trader so he doesn't get sickened by it's proximity. "Careful of my back," she warns him, since it's easy to forget she has another injury in addition to the gruesome and obvious one on her hand.

Mostly focused on her arm and hand, Finn's been careful of Linny's back too. Chiefly to remind himself not to throw his arms around her. Hugging is his best tool. But proximity. Contact. It will suffice. He holds Linny's head his chest, stroking her hair and finds a bit of her lower back that's not raw, weeping, and wraps his arm there. He swallows. No words or thoughts to stave off her misery, helplessness burning a pit in his stomach. Jaw muscles, bunch and unbunch as he looks down her back at the angry burns and glossy skim of numbweed.

The crying has subsided, and the only clue that it happened is the fact that Linny's eyes are reddened, tear trails down her cheeks. "I saw someone die." An odd entrance to a conversation, and also potentially obvious given how bad the Threadfall was, but after a swallow, she continues. "Eaten by Thread. I guess I landed, tried to get off of Kaelidyth, but the dust storm was coming. He threw Veresch at me to pull me back onto Kaelidyth, and just as I started moving, it… it got him." How close to it being her is implied, but not said, as the goldrider is having a hard enough time dealing with the fact that she was not only scored once, but twice. And badly. "It was horrible. Now I know how you…" Felt during their conversation about Thread the other day. "But I did it. I was protecting you like I promised."

Finn wipes the tear trails as best he can and listens, gone still as Linny describes a man devoured. It would be unimaginable if he hadn't seen something very similar. Heavy Falls were terrifying. His belly churns more, a knife in his gut, he swallows against it. Burning. "Veresch? Is she okay? Is Kaelidyth okay?" He nods along with her, murmuring at the horror. Strange, it seemed, that he was comforting her in this. "You did." He kisses her hair, "Thank you. Both of you." He closes his eyes resting his cheek on her hair. He stays just so until he falls asleep. Or she does. Or finally a healer comes to chase him out.

"Kaelidyth is fine. Or as fine as she can be with what happened to me." And everyone should be thankful that the gold wasn't scored, otherwise they would have to completely sedate Linny to stop her from going to be with her lifemate, even with her injuries. "Veresch…I'm not sure. I think she's okay, but like I said, I don't remember much other than being scored and waking up in here, all bandaged up." With lots of fellis. And speaking of the fellis, in conjunction with the comfiness of Finn, Linny is easily and quickly lulled off to sleep. Faranth help the Healer who tries to chase him off, and good luck to him trying to leave her. Surely, more tears are still to come.

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