Who

Yules, K'ane

What

Yules finds the new Assistant Weyrlingmaster at the Infirmaries.

When

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

Where

Southern Weyr Infirmaries

OOC Date

 

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Infirmaries

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.


There's impatience sketched in every line of the big man who is PATIENTLY WAITING in the infirmary waiting room, his left hand pressed against a makeshift bandage slapped on the back of his right hand. There's blood spotting on the cloth, but it doesn't seem to be too critical: therefore, why K'ane is sitting, waiting for the next available Healer. Or — that may be too hopeful, really.

Then one of the ripest tomatoes strolls into town. And right behind him is Yules, limping only a little and not staring at the tomato's ass. Nope. Her eyes dart up to glare around the room, while healers' heads swivvel in mutual annoyance and then they go back to their jobs. But Yules doesn't sit down and wait for a healer's attention. No, she stands in the middle of everything until someone brushes just a little too close to her and Yules moves away - and close to K'ane. Which means he gets looked at curiously and Yules announces: "Are you okay?"


"D' I damned well look okay t' you?" K'ane's voice is a little exasperated, squints upwards at Yules. "I'm fine," he finally relents. "You?" He chin-nods at her feet, since apparently that's why he would imagine anyone would limp. "Y'got… somethin' wrong?" It's a very VAGUE question, as he annoyedly LOOKS down at his hand again. It's trying to gush blood apparently. When in doubt, apply more pressure, right?

"No," Yules replies evenly, "You look like you've been trying to cut tubers very badly and the knife slipped." Thanks, Investigator Yules. As for her? "My toe broke." Let's blame the toe. "Nothing the Healers can do but tell me to rest and stay off it," and according to that casual shrug, Yules will do what she likes on that advice. "I'm looking for one of my wing-riders, actually, but he's not here." A closer look at K'ane's hand, "The back of the hand is always a pain to heal. Is it your dominant hand?"

"You… broke your toe?" K'ane hefts his eyebrows, voice shading sympathetic. "Hurts like a sonuvabitch. If it starts t' ache try alternating hot and cold on it, works like a charm every time." Since obviously he's been through that route a thousand times. "Which rider? You're — Ocelot, right?" He ain't familiar with everyone. Yet. "Yeah, it is. Gonna be a fuckin' pain in th' ass by th' end of it all." That's to the question of his hand's dominance, and blue eyes scowl down at his right hand for a longer moment.

Yules nods and looks down at the tips of her boots. "Yeah. Getting off of Desmeth. I landed wrong." She shrugs and gestures to the hand: "Just don't start stretching the skin until it's good and healed. No sense in tearing it and redoing the damage." Little miss Know-it-all. "Yes, I am of Ocelot," is her vague reply and then Yules wonders, "You haven't been here long, hey?" A nod to K'ane's knot, "From another Weyr then, to be Weyrlingmaster Staff already."

"Really?" K'ane's good for those dumb questions. If he was a canine he'd check his head to the side, a good tilt, as if going WHUTCHU SAY WILLIS?!. But he's not a canine (though he is totally a dog about a great many things), so he just looks pleasantly confused. "Sounds like a bitch of a thing t' happen." He squints at her knot and his expression clears to bluff amusement: "Oh, you're Fex's girl!" Ahem. "Yeah, here for a lick t' help Ja'kai out."

Awww, ooosagoodboyden. At least Yules doesn't pet K'ane on his head. "It was," sh agrees, but blinks once, then again in outrage. "Q'fex doesn't have a girl, he has B…" Pause. TMI? "Ahem. I was his WingSecond, that's right. And he Searched me." Yules looks upwards to think for a moment: "Twice." As for why K'ane is here? "Yes, now that he is acting as Weyrleader and not as Weyrlingmaster." There's a slow nod, "Yes, that makes sense. It will be good to have some normalcy around here." Unspoken is the idea that a greenrider as Weyrleader, acting or no, is not normal.
It is with all certainty that can be reported that K'ane would enjoy… being petted… on his head. What? He's a dog! "No, Q'fex's — y'know. Girl. Like. Kid." He gestures plaintively. "Protege. Does'at make y'feel better?" His voice is wry. Then his face turns shrewd: "Normalcy, eh? Things a little crazy recently?" His eyebrows raise in question.

oooooosygooosygoooosy. Ahem. Yules clenches her hands at her side and wavers on her feet. It's a quick step to sit near K'ane without a by-your-leave but once Yules is off her feet, she sighs with relief. "Protege. I can answer to that." In fact, Yules smiles a little at the very idea. AS for normalcy? "Well. The Headman is down at the new Hold, setting things up." Huff. "New Holds are definitely not normal. And it's cold there." Her tone has definitely taken a dive for 'mulish', one tone away from 'petulant'. "And Ja'kai put me in charge of Ocelot." Even if Yules has had time to get used to it: "It still surprises me."

"Rinald, right?" K'ane SLAUGHTERS Renalde's name, because he's great like that. "I heard he was a real stick in th' mud." Maybe a little grin crosses his face; what? K'ane likes messing with that type of person, nine days out of ten. "Ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of cold," he placidly comments. "Makes sense." About her rise in Ocelot: "Carry-over. You were wingsecond, aye? An' it's not like th' weyr is gonna suffer Ja'kai as a weyrleader, weyrlingmaster, /an'/ wingleader." He makes it sound like the most sensible thing in the world.

"Renalde," Yules replies absently, "He can be set like aspic, but he is very good at his job." Dogged loyalty to her former boss, perhaps. As for the cold, Yules sniffs: "Wait until you've been here a Turn or two. You acclimatize and suddenly a stiff breeze feels like snow is going to fall next." Good thing Pern doesn't have intense global warming. But it's K'ane's last that has Yules' solemn facade starting to crack into a brief grin, then a smile, and finally she laughs. And again: "No. No, you're right. He would have to be in two places at once to get everything done." And no one likes to think about that.

"Like aspic." K'ane's voice SOMEHOW manages to remain straight, non-inflected. What? What. Nothing to see here. Lalalala. "I was raised in Paradise Hold, on th' Isle. Then lived up nearly on th' snowy wastes. I'm a little used t'… the difference in climates. You? Where y'from?" He squints and doesn't comment on Ja'kai being in two places at once.

Yules nods seriously: "Aspic. It wobbles from time to time, but it's still very secure." Wait, what? The woman reconsiders: "Maybe like frozen aspic, then." No wobble there. K'ane's recounting of his past gets a long, steady look that lasts a beat too long before Yules answers, "I've been around. Raised near Nerat, then I moved around a bit. Ended up at Igen for a while until they booted me," so scant on details! "and then I came down here when it opened, and found Desmeth. Or he found me." The Wingleader leans back in her seat a little and turns to watch K'ane out of the corner of her eye, "Soooooo." Here comes the question of these days, "You from around now?"

"Frozen aspic. Sounds… appealing." From the tone of K'ane's voice — he sounds way more reserved than the words suggest. "Huh. I've been at Igen for a while," he replies. "But I Impressed at High Reaches, oldti…" He's cut off HALFWAY through that word, however, by a frazzled Healer apprentice coming forward and wavering a, "Bronzerider K'ane?" to the group of waiters. "That's me! Me!" K'ane's moving to his feet with alacrity, forgets to hold onto his bandage, has to pick the bloody thing up from the floor. Sheepishly: "It was nice t'meet you, Ocelot. Stay sharp."

It's a very solemn shake of Yules' short-haried head. "It really isn't," she says earnestly, but more interesting than bad aspic (or aspic in general) is K'ane's history for that brief moment until he's getting called. The bandage that falls to the ground gets a quelling look, like it's the bandage's fault. "Well met, K'ane, bronzerider. You too but, uh," and she nods to his hand: "Not too sharp." Yules made a funny!

Oh, ha ha. K'ane shoots her one grin, shaking his head, before following the Healer into the infirmary. Time to put all of humpty-dumpty back together again. Or something.

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