Who

A'lira, Divale

What

Before dawn is a terrible hour, but two Wingseconds are up and about on duty regardless…

When

It is before dawn of the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dragonhealer Yard, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 17 May 2018 04:00

 

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Dragonhealer Yard

Painfully elegant, a stubborn brand of cleanliness is retained in the gentle colors of faded murals and various curtains hung from the rusted metal poles meant to shelter injured dragons on spacious couches lining the permanently soot-stained limestone walls. Of a dusty no-color somewhere between brown and gold, the floor extends onward, fading beneath ragged cabinets built to withstand anything from lashing draconic tails to various medicinal spills.


Dawn’s wintry light has barely begun to brighten the sky, lending an eerie sort of predawn glow to an otherwise sombre sky. The Weyr recently rose and met a scheduled, catastrophic, Fall over Igen Hold itself. While the damage wasn’t as bad as some in the past, the ‘Yard is seeing the results. All is quiet now, as many of the patients have had the full night to rest and recover (or are currently too drugged to notice the world passing by). Divale has finished other duties, including seeing to Lukoith, and now ventures here, to check in on those Parhelion riders among the injured rosters. Just one more report to fill out, before she hands that over to Eala and turns in for a few hours of sleep. The Wingsecond stops by one large, much older brown, who is sleeping deeply; the damage to him is severe, with covered scoring along his neck and most of his one wing shredded and now repaired for a long, long road to recovery. It’s not the dragon that has Divale’s interest, but the rider. The two are in a rather terse, lowered conversation and from the dark, heated look on Divale’s face, it’s not going pleasantly. “… I don’t care of the opinions of others. At the moment, you are to listen to the orders given…” A small snippet, before their voices are too hushed to be clearly heard. No sense disturbing everyone!

Oh, those early days, how they wreak havoc with the body and the mind; the fortunate are drawn to such chaotic mornings — and the unfortunate driven to it by the siren song of a hungry infant. Such is A'lira, who arrives bleary-eyed and just a touch irritable with the much-reduced sleep cycle he now enjoys. His rounds are made with none of his usual, almost languid geniality; today he's all grim efficiency, his touch deft and sure — and mortally glad he is that all is quiet on this front this morning, for he has little patience for shenanigans. The snippet of conversation draws his attention — and though A'lira does not approach immediately, though he makes his presence known in the way he hovers just out of earshot, prepared to back up his fellow Wingsecond and dragonhealer.

Backup won’t be entirely necessary or, in Divale’s case, welcomed. It’s better that A’lira choses to approach with minimal interference, otherwise she would’ve turned on him. This is a small battle of clashing ideals going on and the last thing she feels she needs is another man coming in for the ‘rescue’. It’d only validate the shade the older rider is throwing; some may excuse it as bad behaviour on the account of his injuries and the ones to his lifemate. Divale is not so forgiving and expects better out of a seasoned, experienced rider. “… that will be enough.” She remarks coldly, when she senses movement hovering nearby. The older rider’s gaze drifts a bit too, but his eyes are clouded both by medication, alcohol and pain. He mutters something under his breath and promptly turns his back to both of them, as he leans against the sleeping brown’s side. With a low sigh, Divale steps away and drifts, not by accident, closer to A’lira. Tension is still etched in her posture, but her voice is calmer and less bitingly cold. “How much of that did you overhear?” she asks in a hushed tone.

A'lira is entirely sure Divale can handle the stubborn old goat; instinct, though, compels him to at least not stand by and allow the man to be an ass to someone who knows better than he does about healing and recovery. However, he says absolutely nothing, as the brownrider shuts down the old goat quite handily. With relief, he relaxes a bit — who wants to try wrestling a cantankerous old man this early in the morning, especially before a massive dose of klah? "Not a lot. Looked like the.. guy…" Does Divale want to guess what he was editing out? She probably already knows! "… was being stubborn for a minute. Do I even want to know what that was about?"

“Don’t censor yourself on the account of offending me,” Divale’s remark starts off steely, but gradually tips to something more of a dry humoured comment. Darkness still shrouds her expression, however and despite the vague smirk that could be a hint of mirth, it’s difficult to say just what mood she’s in. “He was being a bastard about it. Always has been a thorn among the ranks, but he’s a good rider despite it. Just your typical conservative leaning; he doesn’t like having a younger rider over him.” Of course it wasn’t her age in question and the sidelong look she gives A’lira tells him as much. She isn’t about to embark on that debate however. Not at this hour and not with time working against her. Instead, she’ll glance up at him and this time, her lips curve to a more wry angle. “You look like hell, A’lira.” Which is ‘hello, how are you’, from Divale.

A'lira is very worried about offending Divale. So worried. "Mhm. I'll be sure to worry about that in the future." Smirk. As for the age-ism, there is the hint of annoyance in the slight squint of his eyes, the restless shift of his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, yes, I'm astonishingly familiar with that attitude. Gets exhaustin'." He returns her sidelong glance, understanding what is left unsaid perfectly, and resenting it as much as she does. He knows too many competent women to buy into the notion that women can't lead. But it's to early to go over that old saw. "Oh, yeh, it's my new look. Don't you like it? It's called 'Obnoxious Infant Chic.'" Is that any way to speak of his child? Of course it is, when the child in question woke him so rudely, so blasted early.

Divale chuckles low and gruffly, “That only reassures me that I am beyond fortunate not to be capable of bearing children — and I find you mildly crazy not to be fostering the babe, as riders largely do.” Her shoulders lift in the barest of shrugs; it’s another topic the brownrider isn’t overly fond of but will briefly share her outlook. “You put yourself at risk, being exhausted.” Smirking, she will start to drift away, not intending to stick about and lecture him either. After a step or so, she pauses, turning to glance over her shoulder with a single brow raised in curiosity. “Have you eaten yet?” It’s an offer not commonly given, but there are no strings attached either. Her business here is done and she is of half a mind to swing by the caverns for a few more spare moments; whether or not A’lira joins her.

Lucky, lucky Divale! A'lira merely offers the woman a slow smile. "Only mildly? I do believe you're mellowing." For all his joking, he takes her statements seriously; already, he's mulling over the potential risks and the solutions to safeguard against them. "Yes… I know. Fortunately, we have help. I insist on that much, at least." Infants are rather a lot to handle! And as his belly rudely reminds him, "No, I haven't eaten…" And he'll drift hopefully toward the Living Cavern — and food.

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