Who

Ulrika, Ryott

What

Stuck waiting on the healers, who are very busy, Ulrika and Ryott keep each other company as best as they can.

When

It is midmorning of the nineteenth day of the tenth month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

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"Stabbed huh? I've given guards bloody noses before, and a couple black eyes," the teen almost boasts with a cold chuckle, "but I've never stabbed one before. That's just asking for trouble."


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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.


Stubborn. That's the only reason - the only reason - that Ulrika's even at the infirmary. Both her being too stubborn to go the day of the incident - and Theidith being too stubborn to cooperate until she went to the infirmary. In the end, the goldriding weyrling grudgingly makes her way to the infirmary, with Theidith loitering anxiously outside. Unfortunately, it looks like her timing could be better; the infirmary is busy between a smattering of wounded riders and just not having enough free hands available to help. She's directed to sit on a spare cot to a side to wait for someone to see to her. With a grunt, the Istan sits, one hand absently working at a shoulder that she's pushed entirely too far.

Stubborn seems to be the word of the day. When an assistant weyrlingmaster caught Ryott trying to take the stitches out of her hand herself, there was much resistance before the weyrling finally agreed to et the professionals do it. So when she walks in to find it relatively busy, the teen is ready to turn right around again. But she doesn't get a chance when a healer, who may have been warned of her arrival, spots her and promptly motions for her to follow the man who leads her to an empty cot….right next to Ulrika. "Here, you two can keep each other company, I'm sure it won't be too long," he smiles at both weyrwomen-in-training before shuffling off to attend to other patients. With a roll of her eyes at the man's suggestion, the girl takes up her own cot and immediately stretches out on it, hands behind her head, "So what'd you do to yourself?" she asks cooly, turning her head in the older woman's direction.

There's a definite flicker of side-eye at the Healer when she catches those words. Ulrika sucks her teeth in silence, watching the healer venture off to do whatever he needs to do, before she cuts a look askance to Ryott. For her part, she's seated at edge of the side of the cot, still kneading away at her shoulder. "Aye, well. Pushed something a little too hard and popped it out of joint," she replies matter-of-factly and with a lopsided roll of shoulders; the good shoulder moves, the bad one does not. "Got it back in place, but they're wanting to look it over." She sucks her teeth again with a slight shake of her head at something or another, before her gaze angles back. "And you? What did they send you here for?"

"Ah," Ryott replies succintly as Ulrika explains her reasons for being there, she retains her typical mask of teenage boredom as she rolls over onto her side and props herself up on an elbow, her palm supporting her head. "I'd say that's what you get for trying so hard, but I'm trying to be nicer these days," she replies, words lightly laced with cool sarcasm. In reply to the returned query, she holds up her free hand to show the bandages that she's been sporting there the past seven gone, revealing a healing cut from the bottom of her pointer finger, along the base of her thumb and down onto her forearm a fingerlength. Across her palm there are several stitches where the cut was deepest, but the skin looks mostly closed now. "Gotta get those out. I told P'quil I could have cut them out myself, but he didn't seem to think that was a good idea." She gives a one shouldered shrug as if she has no idea why he would think that.

"Aye, well. Not the first time I've done it," Ulrika replies blandly with another of those half-shrugs. "Just means I had poor form when it happened. An easy mistake for anyone to make." She leans a bit to study the injuries that are, literally, at hand and nods once, with a low whistle for the result. "That's a good one," she muses. "And, aye, best for the healers to check it, even if you think you can cut them out." One corner of her mouth pulls to a side and she straightens, shoulders as square as she can manage, given givens. "Got a pretty nasty infection once from doing that. Cutting stitches out, that is." There's a glance to the rest of the infirmary, but the healers are still entirely too busy to see to anything less than potentially life-threatening, which bodes not well for either of the gold weyrlings.

"Ah, interesting. So you're admitting you're not infallible then?" Ryott replies in what's meant as the closest as she can get to a friendly tease, even though it's still delivered in her usual frosty deadpan. This trying to be nice business is hard work, ok? Bringing her hand back to her, the teen examines it once more with a bit of a derisive snort, "I would have managed, done it before. But…" she trails off as she once more settles onto her back, propping herself up on the pillows with a sigh, "I'm not going to complain if they take awhile, it's Weyr history lesson with that bronzerider from Siberian again this afternoon. What's his name? The one who keeps falling asleep while lecturing? or was it me falling asleep…?" she muses a bit before dismissing it with a flick of her hand.

"I'm the furthest thing from infallible this Weyr has to offer." Admitting her faults? Ulrika's not shy about it, anyway. "You don't get stabbed or end up with three broken noses in as many turns if you're perfect." There's a slight snort for that, barely audible, and she continues her shoulder-massage with an air of some experience in dealing with that soreness. There's not much else to be done for it, though; it'll need rest, ice, and all of that good stuff to get back to normal. Probably a sling, but she will fight that if she has to. "The Healers put them in, might as well have them take it out. That's their job." But the rest? She shrugs again, forgets herself, and hisses just a little when abused muscle reminds her that, yes, it still hurts. "Starts with an S? Or a Z?" She furrows her brow a bit. "It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have that voice." She knows the voice. That dull, flat, monotone buzz that could make a Harper's ballad utterly boring.

Giving Ulrika sidelong glances as the older woman speaks, Ryott lets one hand, the injured one, rest on her chest, the other arm is used as a prop for her head so she can better glance over at her fellow gold weyrling. "Stabbed huh? I've given guards bloody noses before, and a couple black eyes," the teen almost boasts with a cold chuckle, "but I've never stabbed one before. That's just asking for trouble." Rolling her head back so she's once more staring at the ceiling, Ryott's brow creases as she tries to remember the name of the aging bronzerider in question, "Yeah something like that. And yeah, I swear his voice could sedate a queen with flight lust. Just that same even tone…" she replies, with no irony whatsoever in her naturally deadpan tone.

There's a dry chuckle for that. "Aye, well. Some guards, particularly male ones, tend to underestimate women," Ulrika notes with a faint curl to her upper lip that she's quick to catch and correct. "And some men don't know what to do when a woman overpowers them so, aye- I've been stabbed by cowards a time or two." There's always a story to be told, but she does owe her fellow goldrider-to-be one of them. "About two turns ago, it was ugly. Last broken nose," though she pauses to double-check her memory. "Couple of shallow cuts," she motions vaguely over her torso; covered, there's not much to show for it and probably no scars anyway. "Two- no. Three broken fingers. But I came out of it better than he did, by far." A low, growling quality creeps into her voice, a stark contrast to her usual matter-of-factness. She reins it in, though, shifting readily back to the elderly bronzerider and his uniquely bland voice. "Sz'all? S'awzall? Why is his name so hard to remember?" And if she catches the irony? She makes no comment on it. Instead: "Aye, might just want to keep him on hand when any of the girls are starting to glow, just to test that out."

"Being underestimated is pretty much the story of my life," Ryott replies with a snort, "And you're right, it happens way more with male guards. The female ones…" her voice suddenly catches as the image of certain igenite brownrider suddenly pops into her mind's eye, her predatory smile causing the girl to sigh a bit wistfully before continuing with a shake of her head, "They were the ones you had to look out for." Her voice is a little distant at that, lost in the past for a moment before coming back to the present and Ulrika's descriptions of her injuries, interjecting a snort of dry laughter for her growling tone, "Oh I'm sure he was way worse off. I wouldn't wanna go toe to toe with you." she admits, but that might have to do with being almost a foot shorter and several pounds lighter than the other woman. "S'zael…no…I don't know, and thankfully I don't have to if this keeps up," she replies with a vague wave of her hands indicating the flurry of healer activity all around them. At the mention of girls starting to glow, the teen audibly groans, "Thank Faranth golds take longer to mature to that stage. Wrayth can take all the time she wants with that."

There's a slight nod for that, agreement manifesting in a mild grunt before Ulrika's head tips back a little, then to one side and the other to work out some kinks there. "Aye, well. Some still want to, even now," though she names no names, there's also no implication of Ryott in her tone; there's a look angled in the direction of the barracks, her lips pressed flat for a moment. To Ryott, though, she continues, "That was the last time as I was drunk, though. I have better control over- that, now." There's an odd hitch in her tone and she brushes past it, skipping ahead and working over the offered name a few more times before dismissing it. The healers continue to be busy and they'll just have to catch a make up lesson later. Maybe. She sucks her teeth in consideration, watching the healers doing their work - so close and, yet, so far away. "Aye, well, I'm not dreading it so much. Not if Theidith keeps a steady head on her." She's allowed to be a little hopeful on that front, at least, even though the gold will absolutely prove her wrong when the time eventually comes. Muttered as an aside, "But, then- I almost don't want her to fly yet. Seems as she'll be impossible to control once she's up there."

"Drink does that, seen it enough times back in Igen's Bazaar," Ryott admits as she turns her head to look Ulrika's way again, studying her comtemporary with her sharp, dark gaze for a long moment. "I guess that explains some things," she won't say which things of course, Resigned to her fate of being stuck there for the time being, the younger goldling smirks a bit with a waggle of her brows as the conversation turns to flights some more. "I've never heard the word 'steady' used to describe a proddy queen. You're weyrbred, you should know better." She's not trying to insult Ulrika, it's just her usual blunt self coming through. Almost not catching that muttered aside when it happens, Ryott blinks in response with an incredulous chuckle, "You're kidding right? I can't wait. Flying means betweening eventually, and then…we can anywhere." It's clear in the way her eyes gleam and her lips actaully curl into somethign that could almost be called a grin, that the girl already has plans.

Another grunt and her head rolls back around to better look at Ryott. Ulrika meets that gaze easily enough, at least; there's no fear in her, nor does she seem to carry much in the way of shame where her past is concerned. While she won't touch that topic, the flights does elicit: "Aye, it describes my mother's green well enough. She doesn't change at all between when she's glowing and not. So. She's steady on." A lopsided shrug ensues, followed with, "Reckon everyone's heard horror stories of greens and golds being insane when they're proddy, but that's not as I was raised to understand it. Even at Ista, I can't recall as the golds themselves were described as nightmares, just the chasers and the flight moths as always come out of the woodwork for it. The flight itself? Aye, that's something." Her understanding being limited, of course, but it's presented just so: her understanding of it. No offense appears to be taken, though; it's all taken in stride. The latter, though: "Aye, we can. And that's when we have to present ourselves as representatives of the Weyr anywhere we go - and not just as weyrlings, but as future weyrwomen." But there's a slight shake of her head as she adds, "I'm not looking forward to spending more time with the dragonhealers, tending to Theidith; I reckon she'll push herself too much in the air, too quickly. She already does enough on the ground as it is." Pragmatic!

"Fair enough, I never got close enough to riders to know any dragons personally," Ryott may be fibbing just a little bit, but it's an easy way to excuse her ignorance when she's suppose to be weyrbred herself as far as anyone knows. "But I have little hope for Wrayth being easy when proddy, she's not easy in any other way." Although her comments are a bit disparaging of her lifemate, there's no doubt that they are meant with love at the way her expression softens slightly when talking about her queen. When Ulrika reminds her that their freedom comes with a cost to them now, she rolls her eyes back in her head, "Yeah yeah, We've been in the same special lessons y'know. As weyrwomen we need to be proper representatives and blah blah blah and all the rest." She mockingly recites some of the lessons they've been given. "I know the line. And I know how to walk it." And how to cross it without making too many waves as well. "The weyrlingmasters would say that her pushing herself meant that you needed to work harder at being able to reign her un before she gets to that point," it sounds like somethign Ryott's heard a lot of herself over the last several months.

"Mm." It's a thoughtful little noise with Ulrika turning a speculative eye on Ryott for a long moment. But there's an eventual nod, a silent sucking of teeth, and an eventual, "Aye, well. We've some time to go, yet. No point fretting too much over it. They'll do as they do," a thing easier said than done, but she seems to push that matter off again for now. The bigger thing, the nearer thing, is worthy of some consideration, even now. "Aye, I'm sure you do," is blandly issued, neutrality at its finest. "But it's good not to forget it, even as you're excited at the chance of going back to Igen." Is there anywhere else the Igenite might go? Maybe. But it's a pretty good guess to make, all things considered. Her nose wrinkles just a little as she muses over that last, "Aye, I know it. It's the only thing as she's troublesome with. I've mostly got her behaving on the land, now, but-" she trails there and, fortunately, is saved - in as much as she needs saving - by one of the healers finally approaching and motioning to Ulrika.

"Who said I was excited about going back to Igen?" Ryott snaps coldly back as she narrows dark eyes on Ulrika. Oooh, does she protest too much perhaps? A nerve has certainly been inadvertantly struck there. She quickly tries to backtrack with a dismissive wave of her hand and an exasperated sigh, "There's a few things I need to square up back there, sure, but I'm more interested in all the other places." There's a bit of contempt in her next words, her icy demeanor intensifying, "And as if I could forget the fact that I'm going to be a weyrwoman. Faranth, give me some credit.You don't get extra points for telling me what to do you know." Ohh…make that a few nerves struck. It's probably a good thing when that healer comes for Ulrika because Ryott's attention lost now and she turns away on her cot and drops to silence. She stays like that, so quiet some may think she's napping until a healer is free to do the short work of those stitches.

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