Who

H'rik, Khulan

What

H'rik and Khulan work together to help clean up the Dragonhealer yard. Conversation ensues.

When

-- On Pern --
It is 10:37 AM where you are.
It is midmorning of the twenty-second day of the ninth month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the twenty-second day of Autumn and 86 degrees. Overnight, the winds die down. Sand coats everything.


Where

Igen Weyr, Dragonhealer Yard

OOC Date 10 Apr 2019 04:00

 

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"Still, nobody's tried to kill me off, so I figure I can't be that bad, huh?"


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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.

It is the twenty-second day of Autumn and 86 degrees. Overnight, the winds die down. Sand coats everything.


Nothing like a morning Threadfall to keep you on your toes! Especially one that happens at the tale end of the night's sandstorm. The Wings are back, and the dust is settling - figuratively and literally. The dragonhealer yard was probably nice and clean earlier, but the urgent arrivals of today's casualties have tracked sand around the place. Now they've been attended to, and are either in their temporary couches or back in their own weyrs, the staff are free to tidy the place up again. Seems they have a volunteer, too: with a dusting of soot to his face and clothes, his knot absent, H'rik can be seen pushing a pile of sand along with a broom, adding to the pile growing near the entrance to the yard.

There's at least one other volunteer in their midst, though the quiet young woman is as nondescript as they come. Hooded and veiled, she's been there, offering aid where she could. Khulan is, if nothing else, silently obedient, and ferries supplies back and forth as required without question. It's as things start to wind down, not quite relaxed, but certainly settled, that she pauses to take stock of the situation. There's a soft click of her tongue at the sight of that pile of sand and she considers it for a moment before moving to retrieve another broom of her own to assist in sweeping the area up. There's a dip of her head in silent appreciation to H'rik-the-unrecognized-by-her, though if there's a smile, it's hidden behind the veil.

Unintentional as it may be, H'rik has not taken notice of Khulan thus far. There were riders to see, healers to talk to. The far simpler act of sweeping is his opportunity to begin decompressing, and he doesn't notice the teenager's presence at first, so focused on the path his broom is cutting through the sand. Some primal sense tingles at the back of his neck, a warning of being watched, and the man looks up to notice the dip of the head and the eyes on him. "Ah - I'm not in the way, am I?" Since he's not seeing a smile, he's somehow jumped to the most pessimistic of assumptions as his broom comes to a halt as if he's preparing to get out of the way.

"Ah-! No, sha," the girl is quick to reply. Khulan stops abruptly in mid-sweep, dark eyes briefly assessing the course the man seems to take, before she adjusts accordingly. "No, no. I should have been paying more attention." Contrite to a fault this one, her course summarily shifting to work alongside his to better get the dust, sand, and detritus up. Her skirts and apron bear signs of her limited ability to help previously and, without a knot, she can only think to inquire: "Are you one of the dragonhealers, sha? Is it typically this way after-" the word escapes her and she doubles down on "After." Her accent is Igenite, but with a peculiar dialect; a trader of some sort, perhaps.

Whoops. He's made her change course, and there's probably some internal cursing at accidentally putting the blame on her. Her question seems to take him by surprise, his first response to smile back with confusion in his eyes. Then it dawns that his knot was discarded with his jacket when he decided to help, and his expression shifts to one of enlightenment. A chuckle escapes him. "Ah - no, not me. But, only when there's a sandstorm. Maybe we need to get dragons to shake off before they come in." There's humour in his suggestion, though his eyes are looking Khulan up and down, as if trying to work out if he's seen her around before. Leaning on his broom, there's a temptation to carry on without giving himself away, but the sensible part of him wins out. "I'm H'rik." Not by much though, for his actual job around here still hasn't been voiced.

The girl's head tips slightly to a side while she listens, though she's silent for the most part. Khulan dips her head again, replying with utter seriousness, "Perhaps they should. I do not work with them to know, but-" there's a thoughtful click of tongue on teeth. "Perhaps it is not so simple." She doesn't know, nor does she attempt to speculate further. She's not oblivious to his study of her, though, and she pauses in her work to regard him in kind, though her expression is an inscrutable one from what's visible of her face. A name is given and she ducks her head, not quite bowing - but that can be blamed on the broom. "Rukbat's blessings to you, sha-H'rik. I am called Khulan." Has she heard his name before? Surely she has. There's a little pinch of her brows as she appears to try to think it through. "I work in the infirmary," is what she settles on. "Yours was not one of the ones here today, was it?"

H'rik opts not to pursue that idea, his joke apparently going down a bit too seriously with the girl. Catching himself watching her a bit too closely, he gets back to sweeping to give himself something to look at rather than just staring. "Well met, Khulan." Whether or not she's worked out who he is, he's not quite sure, her answer not clear enough for him to suss it out. "Ah - no. I was visiting the ones who did come in, see how things were going." He can't find a way to segue that into giving his rank away without arrogance, and instead decides to put a question to Khulan instead. "Are you Igenite?"

"I hope the ones you were visiting were among the fortunate," she replies, with a flicked look to those poor dragons that have to temporarily take up residence in the couches. "It is uncomfortable to rest in an unfamiliar place full of pain." Khulan might well be continuing to puzzle out the name; that pinch to her brow is a lingering sign of pensiveness that doesn't fade as she continues to regard him. His question is taken in stride, though, and she nods once before starting to push her broom again. "Born of the desert, yes, sha. To a trading family that reaches a bit further than the Bazaar-folk do." The words come slowly, though. Cautiously. "I am here now, though."

H'rik is keeping his gaze off the dragons in question. So much sand to sweep up, after all! Coping mechanisms, yay. "That it is," he agrees with Khulan, skimming over the topic like a stone making a single bounce on the water's surface. "Ah, I thought you sounded local. Though not exactly like the Bazaar." Indeed, his own accent is firmly Igen. Her caution noted, he does not probe at this juncture. "And enjoying the infirmary?" The question is asked lightly, the man looking over at her to see what expression he can make out on what's visible of her face.

Dark eyes shift from the dragons to H'rik properly, her gaze inscrutable - but she's not oblivious, either. Khulan dips her chin once, allowing that topic to sink out of sight, though the other is briefly toyed with. "Ah, yes, sha. You sound more here than some," she remarks, though she struggles some with how to better articulate it. There's a muted click of tongue on teeth, a thoughtful-slash-anxious kind of sound. "It is good work," isn't quite a direct reply, no, but she seems to get to it eventually. "It is necessary work. And it is something I can do to be of use." The knit of her brow eases and she looks, if not at peace, then relaxed somewhat. Work: it's safe territory. "I enjoy it, yes. It is difficult sometimes, but- not as difficult as the work you do, sha-H'rik."

"I've been here my whole life," the man chuckles, "I'd be worried if I sounded any other way." H'rik pushes another thick line of sand to the pile, and pauses there a moment, ostensibly to take a short break, but probably more to take another look at Khulan. "Well, we need you all in the infirmary or we'd really be in trouble," the man says, down-playing himself and the riders rather harshly. "All work's difficult in its own way. I know about that, trust me." As much as his tone has light humour in it, he does now look towards one of the infirmary's latest occupants with a downward twist to his mouth. Shaking his head, the look is brief, for he turns his attention back to Khulan. "Guess I should've realised it wasn't going to be an easy ride when I took the fancy knot." Playing a game? Or just trying not to come across as a braggart?

It's her turn to offer a tinge of humor, though it's cautiously extended: "No, sha- I just make the pastes and do the things that others do not like to do. It is little work," though the 'little' there seems to have a particular tilt to it that might be purely regional. Her gaze momentarily follows his to that poor creature, only to tip back to him and seek out his eyes - if briefly. There's a soft sound, a near-chuckle, for his words, and Khulan shakes her head slightly. "Is that how it works? I thought knots were earned and given, but I am not of here by birth or blood," she replies in turn, briefly reaching to tap her own, far less fancy, knot. "So you must have done well to earn it - and your shoulders must be strong to carry it, as you have, yes?"

"Someone has to do it," H'rik says firmly, looking over at her as if he wants to make sure that statement is taken to heart. Perhaps he's missed her humour, or perhaps he's just too caught up in his noble cause of making everyone a welcomed aspect of the Weyr? Maybe we can blame Wendryth for that. "Hah," he laughs lightly when she talks about knots being earned. He shakes his head, head turning to watch what he's sweeping as he starts at that job again. "I think my particular one's rather the other way round. Your bronze catches the senior gold, and then it's all on you to do the best you can. Retrospectively earning it, I guess?" He's not gonna take any compliment, implied or otherwise, it seems!

"Mm." It's a sound, but a concession, too; a bowing of her head to acquiesce to that point. Khulan checks the pile of sand briefly, then the rest of the space to see if there's more that needs to be done. But that's only a second, maybe two, before her eyes are lifted again to the rider's own. She listens, if with that familiar, thoughtful twist to her expression that's visible despite the veil. Then: "Perhaps he should wear the knot, then, if he earned it." Musing, that, though she's quick to amend with: "But it was earned. It was given. And it must not be so troublesome, or you would have given it back, yes?" Which might not be how it works, but her 'other'ness shines fairly clearly through.

The sand pile's growing steadily, and H'rik takes a moment to prod the edge to neaten it up. A futile task, really, because at some point someone's going to come along and magic the heap off to somewhere else. Turning, he uses the broom to prop himself up again, a hint of fatigue showing in his face now, and in the slight sagging of his shoulders. "Can't say there's been a few times I would've liked to give it to someone else," the man admits with a quiet laughter in his voice. "Don't think my dragon'd forgive me if I did that, though." His tone is joking, though those who know the bronze would probably know there's a nugget of truth in that statement! "Still, nobody's tried to kill me off, so I figure I can't be that bad, huh?"

There's another thoughtful 'mm' and a ducking of Khulan's head. A brief assessment is made and she glances briefly in the direction of the infirmary before fixing H'rik with a steady look. "I suppose not," she says slowly. "If that is the only way you can determine how good you are or not." She sounds a little perplexed at the idea, likely taking it more seriously than intended. But, then, there's a smile of the sort that rises to her eyes and distorts her veil. Her tone is gentle as she says, "You should go and rest, sha. You have had a long day. You carry it here-" she motions at his shoulders "-and it is so large that I can see it. I can finish this up." The sweeping, at least, she can do. She's done plenty of it already as a child; what's a little more?

Even if his humour isn't always landing, H'rik seems to be amusing himself. Or is this his way of decompressing after a Threadfall? Though, he does finally see evidence of a smile in her eyes, and the relaxation across his shoulders is as much relief that he hasn't made a total arse of himself as it is preparedness for a good hot bath. "I'm not hiding it well, am I?" He asks, a touch rhetorical, as he gives her a warm, grateful smile. "See? We really do need everyone around here." He's not putting up any argument to stay and help, moving to rest the broom up against the closest wall and shifting his head side to side to ease some muscles, eliciting a few cracks in the process.

"Not many people can hide it well," Khulan replies with a soft half-laugh, half-breath of a sound. Rhetorical or not, it's a point that she's keen on. If he doesn't move fast enough, he'll get a bit of a hand-flap, a motion more suiting to her mother or grandmother than a teenager - but there it is, all the same. "I will have to make something special for all of you riders," she muses after listening to that fine chorus of joint-cracks. "All of you have too much creaking and popping. It sounds like my mother's mother when she wakes from a nap." There's a pause, a tip of her head, then: "Would that help at all, sha-H'rik?" Testing those waters cautiously again, the girl already prepared to step back from that ledge of being comfortable in conversation.

Coaxing something akin to a laugh out of her puts H'rik at ease. Or maybe it's the exhaustion of a 'fall hard-fought catching up to him, a tiredness creeping into bones that are crying out for some rest. "Oh?" Khulan's promise of some sort of concoction has his interest. "Anything that helps my riders feel better gets my approval, hands down. If you get something made - you let me know? I'm more than happy to be a test subject," he adds with a wink, somewhat spoiled by the tired shadows beneath his eyes. A joke about poisoning would probably follow where he not worried about insulting her with the implication. Pulling himself up, he runs a hand through his hair, preparing to take his leave.

"Of course, sha-H'rik. I made something small for sha-K'vre, but- it is for muscles, not so much for joints." Though that, too, will surely be of some benefit. Still, it's enough to get the wheels in Khulan's head turning and, after she sets her broom aside momentarily, she dips into a proper bow for H'rik. "I will let you know, yes," she decides, though more as a personal confirmation. She's really going to do that. Really. It's bewildering, but heartening, too. As he prepares to depart, she looks for the dustpan. "Rukbat light your way, sha-H'rik."

H'rik smiles back when she offers up that bow; there's a gladness for her heartfelt promise. "And t'you, Khulan." He has to go towards the infirmary to grab his jacket with its attached knot, before he can head out to the Weyrbowl, again bending his head towards a shoulder. Yes, something to ease a dragonrider's aches would be welcomed with open arms!

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