Who

Khulan, Naneska

What

Naneska interrupts Khulan's chores in the infirmary because she done messed up her chore in the Kitchens. There will be NONE Naneska sauce for dinner, but bread and butter pudding for dessert!

When

It is noon of the sixteenth day of the second month of the seventeenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 27 May 2019 12:00

 

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"Wife for none,"


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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.


It's nearly lunch time, but Khulan's yet to come up for air, as it were. As per usual, she's among the first to go to chores - and she'll be one of the last to return to the barracks. Lunch is optional (in her view, anyway), which means she's working. Processing herbs seems to be the duty du jour and she's diligent about it, head down and focused. Even with the Candidate's knot, she seems to just belong here, working methodically and with purpose. Some of her firelizards are nearby, either watching her or watching other Healers, as if they might learn a thing or two. Or they just want to steal some knots. Whichever.

And it's because it is nearly lunchtime that Naneska is here, rather surreptitiously holding a hand behind her back as she makes her way into the Infirmary. Nothing to see here except some candidates. Do de do de dooo. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth she considers her options. The other healers look the type to make a big fuss over what is essentially a common occurance…OH! There's a candidate. "Pssst, hey you!" The trader hisses, even as she closes the distance between them. Sure there is official channels she should probably be going through, but think of the hidework. "Ye know where they keep th' little bandages?"

There might be some kind of early warning system at work; either a firelizard alerts her or Khulan is just that hyper-aware. In either case, she slants a look to Naneska as she approaches, marking her progress before that inquiry is made. Her hands continue to work, grinding some mass of leaves into a paste that will likely be used as a poultice at some point. The veil distorts a little, suggesting a shift of her mouth that's unreadable as yet. "You will need more than just a bandage, saa." Fortunately, she keeps her voice low, candidate-to-candidate. There's something exotic to her accent, certain sounds bent a little more than might be expected. "Let me see." Matter-of-fact, with a darted look to the nearest Healer. Fortunately, the man's back is to them - but she helps things some by putting her work aside and motioning Naneska closer.

Naneska concedes that point with a tilt of her head. "Probably." She admits before following those unspoken instructions. Now the hand comes out from behind her back, one finger wrapped firmly to provide pressure on what is a deep, but relatively small cut. "Happens all the time." The trader admits with a grin, the scars on her hands bearing testament to a million kitchen accidents before (and some deeper burns, that look more smith like than baker like.) "I've still got t' get through t' dinner." Her own accent, broadly Bitran jangling at odds with the softer tones of Khulan.

A soft click is offered in reply, the sound somewhat thoughtful. Khulan's own hands feel smooth enough - but there are plenty of scars that ghost over knuckles and palms and wrists. She reaches to take that offered hand, though she doesn't unwrap it immediately. Instead there's some surreptitious ushering to another area, one less visible to the Healers on duty. It's where the other supplies are kept and she can get the antiseptics and numbweed and all of that out. "This will not take long, saa," she reassures with a faint smile in her voice. The unfamiliar accent draws a curious tilt of her head as she strives to place it. "How did you manage this?"

"By not payin' attention." D'uh Khulan! After flashing a grin Naneska continues, even as she follows after. "I used t' be a cook, so they've got me in th' kitchens yeah?" It makes sense, a candidate that can make food edible and not poison the Weyr is going to get that duty more often than not. "And I was slicin' up some finger roots fer th' stew tonight. Got distracted." Read a really HOT GUY made an appearance. "'N clipped me finger rather than the root." There is a chuckle for her unintended double entendre. "It doesn't need much fussin'. But it should be seen to. I doubt the Weyr wants t' eat Naneska for dinner tonight." The injury really is minor, given she's not showing any signs of discomfort, but it is just enough to require more than a bit of cloth wrapped around it.

While she listens, Khulan sets to work. She might not be a knotted Healer, but first aid like this? Easy enough. "Hold still, please, saa." Not that Naneska's moving a lot, of course, but it's more a precautionary measure than anything. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to catch the double entendre; even if she knew the circumstances, she'd not especially savvy with all of that. Wash. Rinse. Redwort. Then a pause for her to dip her fingers in oil and get into the numbweed to apply it. "I am certain," says she of the dinner options, "that it would taste better than some of the things that have been served." Not that it happens often; but, as with any large place, not everyone is going to be pleased with every meal that's ever served. "Were you always a cook before, saa?"

Naneska has probably encountered more than her fair share of people, so it is entirely possible she can place Khulan even if the other candidate can't place her. "I haven't been a cook in a while. But when I first came t' th' Weyr. Aye. Me gran taught me." There is pride an affection for that mysterious older woman. "I cooked fer the caravan for a few turns, before strikin' out on me own." Perhaps the talking is distracting her from the fidgets, or the treatment. "I'm a trader now. So don't expect much improvement for yer meals. I'm not the only candidate in th' kitchens…" That isn't ominous at all! Falling silent she watches the other girl work. "Ye've a gentle touch." She compliments. "I kin see why ye're here." It seems that the Weyr is savvy with it's assignments.

It doesn't hurt that the treatment is fairly rote, either! Khulan might be moving a bit more slowly than a trained Healer, but that's only to ensure every step is followed. She's also listening, uttering soft noises or bobs of her head from time to time. The wrapping is the last step and she's deft with it, clipping and securing the bandage while Naneska explains. "I was also a trader," she murmurs after a moment. "I am certain that whatever you prepare cannot be worse than that. My mother's mother was many things, but a cook? Never. You are fortunate yours had some skill." Presumably, anyway! One corner of her mouth pulls, the veil tugging with it. "Thank you, saa. This is familiar work to me. There. I think that is finished. Is the bandage too tight? Not tight enough?"

Naneska flexes her finger a time or two, to test the feel of the repair. "Feels jist fine, thank ye." There is a smile, before another chuckle escapes her lips. "I'll never make someone a wife, but I'll happily make 'em a stew!" Naneska was taught to cook to make her a more attractive prospect (because the blonde and beautiful wasn't enough right?). "Me Gran was a real master n' th' kitchen. I'm a poor reflection o' her skill." Naneska being too busy making her own way these days. "But I appreciate ye doin' this. Perhaps I'll whip ye up somethin' special." A favor should be repaid right? Even if it's just an additional serving of something delicious! "Ye ever had bread n' butter puddin?"

There's a soft sound, an almost-laugh - more a mirthful exhalation than anything - at that. "Perhaps this is better, yes? To be able to make stew for anyone, but wife for only one." Amused, too, for that articulation of skill - and poor reflections. It's a familiar feeling. Khulan's chin dips in relief as the bandaging seems sufficient, though she's quickly sifting through pouches and hidden pockets to come up with a few small jars and a neat little roll of bandages. It all fits in the palm of her hand, which is thusly offered. "Redwort paste- dilute in water to rinse, numbweed salve, oil cloth to apply numbweed." That latter is in a small container of its own. The bandages are not introduced; everyone knows what they are. "Just in case. The Healers here are good, but they worry." Translation: don't come to them with small things, otherwise there will be hidework and waiting. She quails a bit at the idea of anything being offered in repayment, eyes wide and a short, vehement shake of her head following. "No," starts as a denial, then turns into a different flavor of "No," to answer the question. "I do not often eat-" much. Much is the correct word here. She settles on the slightly more socially acceptable "-sweets."

"Wife for no one." Because despite the turns, Naneska is still the same willful ungrateful girl-child that her Gran packed off (with Gran's blessings!) It's important to the sunny-haired trader that she asserts that fact. Taking the items she turns them over slowly, taking in the elegant compactness of them. "Ye could make a bit o' money making kits like this fer the traders. We carry a lot o' stuff, but… somethin' like this on hand would be right useful." Well not live-saving perhaps, but certainly valuable in those rare moments on the trail when something happens. The medicinal items are stuffed into her jacket pocket. She won't need them until tonight. "Thank ye, I felt th' same way." About the healers and the questions and the filling of forms. "I'll make a batch. I'll be sure to keep aside a wee ramekin for ye." She holds a small about between finger and thumb… yeah she's lying about how small the portion will be.

"Wife for none," is echoed, if imperfectly. Khulan huffs another of those almost-laughs, a smile reaching far enough to touch her eyes. "Maybe so, saa. But they are better to trade with for things I need." Those and the sweetsand pots and small jars that people will start finding on their cots soon enough. It's not an indictment against anyone's body odor; it's just a nice thing! "Those and other things." Cryptic, that, though not deliberately so. There's a shallow nod, grudging acceptance of that offer - coupled with a distinct pull of her mouth to one side with uncertainty. "Only if it is as small as you say, saa," because she doesn't know this woman well enough to know better. Cautious, that. Elsewhere in the infirmary, the Healers are stirring and sorting out who gets first dibs at lunch. "Thank you, saa. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance."

Naneska flexes her finger one last time. "Hopefully I won't need ye services again." Because that would mean Naneska has hurt herself again, and that would suck. "Marks jist mean ye can cut out a bit o' the in-betweenin'." Much like Naneska did to get her finger treated. "But if ye lookin' t' barter, th' Reika are fair." And she is completely unbiased…NOT! But as the murmur of hungry healers becomes more apparent, so does the fact that Nan has no further business here. "I promise, it won't be more than I think ye need." IT WILL BE HUGE! AND GLORIOUSLY SWEET AND STICKY! And Naneska will be offended if Khulan doesn't at least attempt to wrestle that pudding monster into her belly. "Thank ye agin Khulan!" Presumably they've shared names at some point earlier, and with that the trader candidate leaves, with a bounce in her step that wasn't there when she entered.

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