lachai_tea

Who: L'hai and Jiella
Where: Infirmary, Ista Weyr
What: L'hai's suffering the last of his check-ups, Jiella's suffering a splinter. They ask some questions. One chases the other out.



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Infirmary, Ista Weyr

The smell of numbweed, dried blood, and various other medicinal odours can never truly be scrubbed out of the rocks of the infirmary. Near the entrance, the walls are lined with counters with shelves carved into the rock above and below to hold the usual supplies, such as bandages, labelled storage containers for common herbs, and study books on subjects such as anatomy and surgical procedures.

Taking up the majority of the cavern are rows upon rows of cots for sick patients, whether they are just in need of bed rest or require constant medical supervision. Each bed is equipped with a comfortable mattress, white-cased pillow, sheets, and a light blue blanket. Discreetly tucked underneath each patient's cot, whether they think they need it or not, is a bedpan. The last two rows of cots at the very end of the cavern are reserved for the sickest patients and each has a moveable curtain that can be drawn for privacy.

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Though the weather at Ista might not be super-warm for Istans, it's good enough for someone suffering through the colder months elsewhere - and that's what the amply curvy blonde who wanders into the infirmary looks like, with the glow of a fading tan on display, wearing a little less than is absolutely necessary at this time of turn - and no knot. Full lips fairly pouting like she's far younger than her late teens, she's holding onto onto of her slender fingers gingerly, eyeing it as if it'd been cut off instead of merely... well. It's hard to see what's wrong, but there must something, because she looks quite miserable, with big brown eyes searching for someone to save her from this trauma, please!

That someone is currently occupied, or so it would seem. For, the infirmary is not empty when the blonde enters; instead, there is a young man there with his tunic pulled up by his shoulders so the attending healer can take a look at the tight bandages wrapping his ribs. One look at him makes it fairly obvious why he's here, and it doesn't stop at the chest. His face hasn't been much spared, with swelling under at least one eye and cuts sprinkled about otherwise. He winces gently at the healer's prodding examination and looks away -- the action causing him to glance right over at the newcomer instead. "Oh," he pipes up, "Oh, there's someone else." It causes the healer to straighten, waiting to hear what the big emergency is so she can gauge who to tend to.

A man looks at Jiella; the blonde must offer up her most dazzling smile, whatever the circumstances - and so, she does, though it might be a little briefer for both his situation and hers. Only momentarily surprised by both the patient's battered state, and the attention from the healer, she glances down to her finger - the bug emergency in question - for a beat before, bravely, "It'll wait." Poor thing. Distracting herself with how beat up the other guy is, and making no effort to hide it, she asks, "Did they get you with like, bats or something? That can be pretty ugly."

Excuse L'hai if he's a bit dazed as is, but the expression he offers back can't be counted as entirely unfriendly. Perhaps the healer can sense by that one held finger that the woman's emergency is not much so, but she turns to her former work without much fuss. The bronzerider squints, especially distracted, when his sides get felt up, but he manages to recall he's been addressed momentarily. A faint grimace colors his features, as well as a vague blush that blends in some with bruising and sunburn already present. The look he ends up with his flat and dry, his tone droll, "Not they." He lets that linger a second, perhaps explaining his embarrassment at such a thrashing under a single pair of fists. Then, "/Apparently/, I just picked the exactly right wrong guy."

Jiella knows what it's like to pay attention to things through pain. Case in point, her finger. Hello? And the healer would be very wise to sense that this is not a life-or-death situation, given she's able to find herself a lean against a nearby stool that shows off curves to best advantage and toss her hair back over her shoulders. L'hai might not really be able to pay attention in the way she'd /like/, but you never know - and it seems like she might not be able to help herself anyway. With a girlish wrinkle of her nose, dismissive of embarrassment, "The right guy to do the beating, seems like? I didn't mean anything more than... you look rough." She doesn't elaborate on her experience with the number of men it takes to lay the boots to another one.

If L'hai spends as much time staring at the curves of the cot nearby as Jiella's, it's no fault of her own. "Yes, that one," he mentions, still as wry as before, if not now more so. He's the very picture of a man trying to accept his place. Though, his brows are a bit heavier for the next part, and he scowls gingerly over a healing split lip. "I look roughened," he offers lightly, right before the scowling sets in. "The worst part is not remembering all the details. Lets your friends, ah, fill in where they will. I'm sure I'll hear all sorts of ridiculous stories about myself and where I've been once I'm out of here." As he speaks, the healer, previously not giving a donkey's rear about what they're saying, squares shoulders again to eye him: "And how's that going, the memory? Still getting headaches?" L'hai makes a face that apparently answers the question for him, because the woman walks off. Tilting his head back at Jiella, he sniffs, raises a lazy hand to half-gesture at her. "Well, I don't know /you/...." Prompting.

Not overly bothered by any lack of attention - or at least, not /showing/ it - Jiella narrows a glance L'hai's way for the correction, though she'll not do more than that for it. With a frown that mars her pretty brow, she notes, "That doesn't sound fun... if you don't forget things all the time anyway. I do." Shrug. Oh well! "But I don't think anyone's made up ridiculous stories. They might have stolen my things though." That darkens her mood slightly, if momentarily; shaking that off, she watches the healer walk away, bereft. What about her finger? After a blink or two, it sinks in that she's being prompted for something. Turning back to him, finding an amused grin, "And I don't know you. Maybe we forgot?"

There's a funny look on L'hai's face as she makes that admittance. Meanwhile, he tugs his shirt into place around him, slow and cautious as he eases troubled muscles over bruised areas. "Forgetting things all the time doesn't make it any more fun to do," he opines, with the stiff sensibility of one well acquainted with the situation. His own forehead creases, causing a squint of concerned curiosity over the mere idea of things being stolen. He's still watching her, though, waiting for her to supply a name, when her eventual retort causes his head to sway back as he gives a low, pathetically amused moan. "Ohh, don't do that," he wishes of her, waving a hand at her several times, "No, I, uh... I don't think my head can take it right now. This, ah... this used to happen to me a lot. No, no.. here I'll start. I'm L'hai." And he at least looks friendly, even if he doesn't exactly smile. "Bronze Kolniveth's. The lump that he is, he's probably right outside." A gesture to the entrance.

If Jiella notices the little details, she certainly doesn't make it obvious. The funny look L'hai might give her is one of those details she'll just let go, this time in favour of wincing sympathetically, offering, "Do you want some help with that?" Even if the shirt likely doesn't take all that long to pull down, and despite her wounds. "And I mostly forget where I left things. Or when I'm supposed to be somewhere, though I had to get better at that. People don't like late." With a roll of her eyes, as if anything important ought to just wait for her anyway. For being entertaining, she's apologetic even if brown eyes are brightened. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try not to. What used to happen a lot? And..." She glances to the bowl, considering before; "I'm Jiella. Orisoth's. And I have a splinter, and that healer was totally unsympathetic." Pouting again.

"I've got it covered." As well he does; shirt smoothed down, L'hai looks halfway normal again. You know, in dim lighting. "And it's good to stretch once in a while. I've been stagnating in here a bit now..." He offers a thinly pressed smile by way of acknowledgment for her exasperation over being late or not. Then, one of those details: he hesitates over the issue of something happening. Clear thought runs by his eyes as he regards the floor. Eventually, he shifts his weight, hefting him just slightly onto the edge of the cot he's been closest to. That movement produces a bigger grimace, one he covers by answering, "Forgetting people. Names. I... It happened a lot." The wryness may be gone, but there's still something distinctly casual about the way he watches her now-- logical, processing. "I'm sorry for your splinter. They can surprise you - like paper cuts. I'm believe she'll be back soon. Jiella." A pause. He expects himself to do something that doesn't happen. Goes on, "And I'm sorry you came all the way to Ista just to get a splinter."

Umimpressed; "They make you stay in here?" Jiella doesn't look like she'd put up with that, but then Jiella also doesn't look like she's spent any length of time in an infirmary. Or doing much of anything more than she has to. Seemingly oblivious to L'hai's hestitations, she sets to examining the current bane of her existence for the moment, expression highly displeased. The nerve of the wood. Glancing back over the bronzerider's way as he speaks, she flashes a grin. "One of my theiving harpy sisters is like that. She's hopelessly stupid though, and you don't really seem that stupid." How dumb does one have to be for the blonde to consider them hopeless? Sighing, put-upon, "It's not /your/ fault. And I came to Ista for warm weather. The splinter's a bonus. How'd you get yourself beat up anyway?"

He's straightforward on the matter, just the malicious attitude short of being 'duh': "Well. If you need it." He plainly watches her examining that finger, gaze drifting only at the mention of stupidity. "Thank you, I suppose, but you've hardly gotten much of an impression." It's a lecturing tone -- he clearly wants to help people know better -- but it's still a /lecturing/ tone. "No, it's not," he adds, just as openly, "But I do care to express my sympathy on the matter. You know, they've probably got a pincher or another helpful tool over there if you want to give it your own go." He, waveringly, raises an arm to point at the shelves lining a wall. Everything in here is in perfect order, he could be pointing even right at what she needs. As he's easing the arm back down, he notes, "If you don't mind-- ah, well, I'll be honest, even if you /do/ mind, it's a bit personal and I shan't be going into it."

Yeah, no. "I wouldn't. I never had to before, there's no reason /that/ should change." Jiella does actually notice both the obvious and the lecturing tone, and she's wholly nonplussed with all of it, giving L'hai a flat, dark look. It doesn't last long, though she /does/ point out, "Stupid people don't feel the need to sound like Harpers." Sympathy, however, is always welcome - and even if he's not exactly going to /get/ things for her, it's not like he can be blamed, so even the gesture is appreciated. However, with big eyes, "Well, I can't do it on my own. I can't /look/." She saunters over to the shelves to take a look, shrugging at the deflection. "It's less interesting for me, but there's nothing I can do. I guess I'll make up my own story."

The narrow, squinty look on L'hai's face suggests he may've had more to argue on the point of whether or not she could /decide/ not to have to stay in the infirmary or not... but they've moved on, so he rolls with it. He's also going to have to pause and contemplate the bit about Harpers some more, so all in all, it's right back to the splinter again. "You can't... look?" He inquires, becoming cautious and choosy with his words, "I'm not sure I understand... it's right there on the shelf." The one she's looking at, in fact. So color him even more confused, as he watches her go about it. "Then, I suppose," he adds, pushing past that issue, "You'll be the first to come up with something ridiculous about me. Since you disbelieved so that anyone had so far."

"No, no - I mean, I can't... /look/ when the splinter gets pulled out. It's /gross/." Jiella /can/ look for tweezers or pinchers or whatever, long legs making it easy enough for her to see what's on the uppermost shelves merely by standing on her toes. "So some kind soul would have to do it for me. Or I'm doomed to wait for the Healer," the blonde concludes dramatically. Glancing over her shoulder at L'hai briefly and hopefully, she gives him another of her best, most charming smiles. "How do you know the story's going to be ridiculous?" Turning back to poke about the shelves with total disregard for their order, "Maybe it'd be totally close. And I don't know - seems to me you said something about your friends making things up. Not very... friendly. I'd be really pissed."

She doesn't have to pull anything on him, as soon as the 'look' bit is explained, L'hai is already straightening himself on the edge of the cot, leaning forward out of expectation. "I'll do it," he layers right over her pleas. "She must've gotten called away from something." Or she really, really didn't think Jiella's problems were of any importance. But that's not what healers do, right? The rider, though, he blinks owlishly at her disregard and, if he were in better shape, probably would've gone over there. But he isn't, so he doesn't, he only grips the edges of the cot on either side of him and fakes a shrug. "You're right, I don't know. It, ah, depends on how you go at it. If you're trying to be ridiculous, well... on the other hand, an honest attempt, you've a fair percentage of getting it right, considering it was not a situation so out of the ordinary or difficult to guess. So, really, the statistics are on your side." So saying, he glances down at his hands, "I am pissed. But it doesn't go me any good."

She might not have to, but Jiella doesn't really seem to have a straightforward way of doing anything. L'hai's easy agreement brings another flash of a smile, though that fades at his suggestion for where the healer's gone off to. Glancing in the direction the woman's gone off in, twisting full lips into a smirk, "Right." As capricious with that as any of her momentary moods, she's quick to shrug it off and happily create disarray out of vengeance, until; "Oh! These should work. And I don't know how I'll go about it, to be honest. But if it makes you feel better, weapons can be involved." Moving back over to offer up the tweezers she's discovered, she regards him for a moment or two, head tilting thoughtfully. Slowly, "Why not? When someone makes me mad enough, I get revenge of some kind. There's usually a few good ways. You get mad, you do something about it." A to B. It seems simple enough to her.

"I don't need a big production," L'hai informs her with an easy-going, but dismissive hint of a smile, "I'd really just rather it all go away. You understand?" As she comes closer, he readjusts himself another time, clearly unable to get comfortable with all his pains. At one point, he has to use a hand to brace against his waist and he takes in a deep, hurting, but helpful breath. Then there's a deft acceptance of the offered tweezers and he gestures that she should give him her hand and look away; he isn't going to go grabbing at her fingers without her say so. "Well," he considers, going to roll his lower lip pensively and then immediately remembering it's still cracked. He recovers his train of thought a second later, "Ah. That is, if everyone subscribed to this behavior, then it would go like this: I'd get mad, do something about it. Then the person I'd gotten back at would get mad, do something about... it's maddeningly cyclical."

With a weight to her words that she surely can't mean, "Yes, well. That sort of thing doesn't just go away. But I get what you mean." There's something of a wry, wistful smile that plays around Jiella's lips before she can't quite look at L'hai and just how badly he's doing for some reason - but thankfully, she can cover that with the fact that a mere splinter warrants the sort of treatment stitches might get. Offering up her hand easily enough - a hand that's only recently been forced into labour - she notes lightly, "If you do something... Um. If you make enough of an impression the first time? They don't do it again. In my experience. But I might just be better at being intimidating? Or in those situations?" She's trying to be helpful here.

L'hai's fingers slide in between hers so he can gently pinch the one of hers that's been victimized. His chin raises, allowing him to look down his nose in a way like he's expecting to have to peer through something. Missing it or not, he's able to quite easily pinpoint her splinter and get a hold with the tweezers. "I think you are better at being intimidating than me, because there's a very small margin of chance you're not." He's very easy-going about putting himself down, it's almost light-hearted. "Those situations, however?" At the same moment that he gives a resigned sigh, he also plucks the splinter out determinedly. "Well, let's just say I'd find it hard to believe you could flirt with the wrong person and get a large man angry at you." The tweezers are set aside and he avoids looking right away at Jiella again, though his voice loses none of its relaxed timbre. "Unless you mean the situations of intimidating your friends back and then... yes, just better."

Jiella tries not to look like she's in a great deal of pain given the contrast; she tries not to squirm too, because that's just counter-productive. With a tone that only has a thread of 'ew-ew-ew' beneath it, "I really hope you don't mean that. Because I'm good at maybe two or three things, and intimidation isn't on the list." When the splinter comes out, she sucks in a quick breath, but doesn't bitch, to her credit - only puts finger to mouth, looking back to L'hai to mumble a thank you around it. After a moment, amused, "I flirt with the wrong people /all the time/. But I'll give you that no one wants to kick my ass over it. Though... that is what I meant. Friends and all." Another pause before, "I don't have that many. So I guess that's how it works. Anyway - I hope you feel better soon. It... doesn't look pleasant." Mild understatement.

"It not being on the list doesn't mean it's lower than my unlisted items of no talent," L'hai reprimands bemusedly, fiddling with a few other things that are sitting on the surface where he left the tweezers. He appears to be organizing... things that are already organized. It may become clear that he really has been here too often lately. There's actually a small chuckle for her comment on flirting, though he may regret it with that hand to the ribs again. No comment immediately, he just gives an idle sniff off to the side. When he finds his way to looking back at her, it's not until she's done talking, and he does so with his head low and so out from under eyelids that are half-mast. "You've been around this before." Still so conversational, but now with a certain wary poignancy. He watches her face with every toe-testing-the-water elaboration. "Bruises. Violence," a beat. "The sort of men who do violence."

"I don't know... My talents basically involve being pretty. And... what you could call related skills?" Despite any gravity lurking around the conversation, Jiella can easily summon a slow suggestive smile for L'hai. You know, just in case there were any doubts about what she meant. As she eyes the fidgeting with an odd, almost amused fascination - she's likely the total opposite of a neat freak - she counters as he laughs, "You think it's funny. Some days... Trust me, you have no idea." There's a wryness around the edges of her words again, shaking her head. She's flicking blonde locks back over her shoulder when he starts making suppositions - and though she doesn't quite freeze, she does pause. Glancing down to her wounded finger, brows knit, careful, "In a sense."

He only responds at first with a soft 'hmmm' between his lips; it's a noise of 'i see' but it's tainted by what was already a knowing tone when he started the line of pseduo-questioning. L'hai takes a long time performing another deep inhale to stretch those abused ribs. His hand comes up towards his chin, but he ends up tracing one of the fading cuts on his cheek instead. "You're right, though," he says when he does speak, jumping backwards in their conversation, "I have /no/ idea. Flirting... well, it isn't really my thing," and he glances down at the shape he's in, "Annnnnd it probably never will be again. But, ah, feminine wiles. Those I wouldn't count out so fast. You can get yourself through a fair number of intimidating situations with just those." There's a bit of a surface chuckle, more like an amused breath. He waves a hand, dismissing the matter entirely. "I'm sure you have." But then, ponderously, he gazes away over his shoulder and, softly, to himself, perhaps, "... or maybe /into/ a fair number... eh."

Knowledgeably, "It's one of those things that gets better with practice - but I can see how you'd be sort of disinclined." Jiella seems a bit sad for that, like L'hai is really missing out on something. But then, she can't seem to stop herself from doing it; for the blonde, it's like breathing. With another little wrinkle of her nose, she sighs, "Into, out of, through. All of the above. Sometimes I even manage to get other people involved. Bad habit." Narrow, dark eyes are briefly unsettled before she's rid of it with a shake of her head and a glance to the disordered shelves; with a quick, bright grin, "Imagine I should likely get out of here before she gets back. Thanks for the help, L'hai - since I was so cruelly abandoned while in need." It's heroic, really.

L'hai's mouth curves up just slightly for an allowing, but a touch sheepish, expression as to his future career in flirtation. Hint: it's over. It may never have started. "Bad habit," he echoes unconsciously, unapologetically watching as that darker thought goes past her eyes. As such, his gaze follows hers to the shelf and his reaction on the matter doesn't quite match; he adjusts, testing out how he feels about getting up and going over there. For the moment, he doesn't. With the friendly back in place, he indicates her with a lift of his chin. "It was as much as I could do, being part of the reason you got to stand there and suffer instead of being seen. I hope, Jiella, the rest of your time at Ista is less splintered. Do watch your flirting. You're quite attractive; you might carry someone off." A quirk of his hurt lip, "Or get them punched."

Given the situation, Jiella does try not to look too delighted about the idea of people fighting over her - and mostly succeeds, limiting herself to a brightness in brown eyes. "I'll try not to cause any violence. I can't promise much more than that. Feel better, maybe I'll see you around." And with a little wave of fingers - uninjured hand - she saunters back out to the bowl and where ever she stashed her leathers and dragon. And presumably, the rest of her clothes.