Avoiding Blood and Gore

Western Weyr - Infirmary
This long, rectangular cavern smells faintly of antiseptic and strongly of pleasant medicinal herbs. The general atmosphere is one of bustling but orderly quiet and strict cleanliness. The back of the room is dominated by a small hearth for heat and medicinal preparations and by swinging double doors that lead to a small DragonHealing bay, an emergency surgery for human patients, the main storage, and the staff area where Healers can eat, shower, change, and the like during their longer shifts. The front of the room is a waiting and reception area where patients and staff can check in to receive treatment and begin work, respectively. The east wall of the room features examination, birthing, recovery and outpatient treatment rooms while the opposite wall is curtained off to provide privacy and bed-space for patients requiring overnight care.

Western can certainly handle most of the routine and sometimes urgent treatment needs of its residents here. It lacks some of the equipment available at the main Healer Hall. Once they are stabilized, patients requiring specialized or ongoing care are surely transferred there.

Mid-afternoon finds the usual kind of crowd, in the infirmary: healers, other staff, patients-with-minor-ailments-and-injuries, and no doubt a few patients-with-major-ailments-and-injuries, too. Rhysanna doesn't really fit into any of those categories, though: she's sitting in the waiting area with a streak of blood over one cheek and a dark-stained dishcloth held gingerly in front of her, but without visible injury. Her gaze is fixed upon one the door of one of the treatment rooms; the intensity of it half implies she'd like to see straight through it. Sadly, that's not a super power she's ever discovered the secret of.

Zi'on is here! At least he's heading inside. And he's totally clothed! It does happen! The bronzer is actually here for a check up, though it looks like other people are in more need to see a healer than he does. Zi'on spots Rhysa as he's about to sit down, and instead invites himself to sit down next to her. "Rhysanna! What's happened to you?" He motions to the blood on her cheek and on the cloth. "Did someone cut you? Should you be putting pressure on that?" Overly concerned bronzer? Or maybe he's trying to overstress the situation so he can skip his appointment.

The arrival - and interruption - of Zi'on forces Rhysanna to drag her attention away from that closed door, finely plucked brows raising in confusion at his gesture until, abruptly, she seems to get it. "Oh!" she says. "No, no, just my friend Larya. She cut herself with one of the kitchen knives, and… bled everywhere." Her cheeks are pale beneath the tan (and blood); it's quite obvious that she doesn't deal all that well with such things. Will licking her fingers and rubbing vaguely at her cheek get the blood off? Some of it, maybe. "And then," she admits, somewhat more ruefully, "I had something like a panic attack, so they made me sit here just in case I fainted. I'm all right now, though. Why are you here?"

Zi'on puts a hand on Rhysa's back, maybe to make sure she isn't going to flop out of her chair. He wrinkles his nose as she licks her fingers to smear the blood around on her face. It's a good thing there's no such thing as Pern-HIV? For more reasons than one. "Kitchen accidents do happen. Hopefully your friend still has all her fingers." He frowns at the notion of her having a panic attack. "Yikes. Not fond of the sight of blood? I take it you won't be becoming a healer any time soon then?" He chuckles. "Here." He takes the rag she was using to soak up blood and then walks into the back to find a sink, which elicits several grunts from the staff, though no one kicks him out. The rag is gone when he comes back, replaced with a fresh cloth that's slightly damp. "I'm here for a check up."

"It's just… gross," Rhysanna manages to explain, voice quavering just slightly, before Zi'on goes off to replace one bit of cloth for the other; her expression is rueful, but still grateful, on his return. More firmly: "Thank you. They think she'll be fine. I think. I don't know that I actually heard most of what they said. I should probably avoid kitchen work, too, just in case I end up the one bleeding everywhere. I'm… glad you're not here because you're sick or anything."

Zi'on chuckles. "Yeah. I guess it is. I don't much like the infirmary. My sister used to work in here, but she got reassigned. Though I'm hoping she'll come back. I don't do well if I'm in pain." Zi'on presses the damp cloth to her cheek on his return. She can rub off the blood. He doesn't want to treat her like one of his kids. He laughs a bit. "Well, I don't know if they'll let you avoid the kitchens altogether, but maybe avoid the prep station? There's probably slightly less chance you'll chop something off just doing dishes." The bronzer grins to her. "Me, too. Or bleeding. They'll still make me go back and strip down and poke and prod at me though. I'm hoping they'll forget about me, and in a few minutes I can say there was an emergency and I can leave."

Rhysanna reaches up a hand to take over the cheek-wiping operation, half of her smile still visible around the obstruction of her hand. "One of many sisters, isn't it, from what you said?" She makes a face as she lifts the cloth from her face to look at it - yep, that's blood - and then hastily puts it back, scrubbing further. "Good idea. I'd rather do dishes, anyway, even if the water does do awful things. Is that one of the perks of your position: the availability of emergencies? I could do with some of those, myself. Sometimes."

Zi'on chuckles and nods. "She's a half sister, actually. Like most of them are. She's my favorite half-sister, of the ones I've met. Don't tell my other half-sisters. Which you might bump into. Seriously though, if not for Ziria I might not even be alive today. She took care of me when I was stabbed." And apparently playing nurse to Zi'on earns you big points in his book. He chuckles. "My days of doing dishes thankfully are over. Not that I did many as a weyrbrat. I had special assignment when I transferred here." He grins and shrugs. "You are free to use me as an excuse. Though some warning might be needed first. Do you have a firelizard capable of conveying messages?"

"My lips are sealed," promises Rhysanna, still smiling, though mention of the stabbing has her mouth twisting soon after: ew. "I always wanted a sister. What kind of special assignment?" She's too polite to allow this to seem more than idle curiosity, for the most part, though there's a subtle shift to her stance, and the way she looks at him, still dabbing madly at her surely-now-clean cheek. "That's sweet of you to offer. I don't. I Impressed one when I was little, but… small children and firelizards don't seem to mix all that well. I do try not to be too devious, but…"

"We could call you Zysanna and you could be an honorary sister. Or something. Though I'm not sure if I have other sisters lurking about here, so that might not work out for you exactly." And she didn't say anything about wanting a brother. Especially when that brother is Zi'on. "Ziria's special assignment? I'm not sure on the details. Studying under some master or learning some special procedure or something." Zi'on looks at her, still dabbing her cheek. "I think you got it all, there." He covers her hand with his to get her to stop, and looks her over. "Yeah. I think you're clean." He nods a bit. "I'm sure someone will have some eggs soon, so maybe you can try again now that you're a little older? How old are you, anyway?"

Rhysanna's laugh is low and warm, and though she stops laughing as Zi'on covers her hand, it doesn't seem to be out of displeasure. "Oh," she says. "Oh, good. Thank you. I might have washed my cheek away, otherwise. Do all your siblings have 'z' names?" Her teeth drop to rest briefly upon her lower lip, lingering for only a moment before she adds, "I'm eighteen. I like to ''think'' I'm old enough, and mature enough, to not let one go wild. I'll have to keep an ear out, and see what I can do."

Zi'on grins to her. "I think you've washed it raw, anyway. Why don't you let me hold onto that." For some reason her keeping hold of the bloody rag just seems like a bad idea. Zi'on is more used to such things. "Mmhm." He says about Z-names. "It's a generational thing. All my father's generation had P-names, and all of my kids have E-names. It's turned out to be very helpful, so I intend to stick with it." The bronzer actually looks… relieved? when she says she's eighteen. "Ah. Yeah I would think you're old enough now. I wasn't much older when Ezio was born, and if I can manage not to let a kid go wild I'm sure you can manage a firelizard." He laughs.

It cannot be said that Rhysanna is reluctant to release her hold on the blood-smeared cloth - and having done so, she's quick to wipe her hands upon the apron she's still wearing, just in case there's any lingering blood. "It… makes it easier to keep track? Except if you run into someone with an 'e' name and you can't remember if they're yours or not." She's teasing: it's in her grin. If she notices his might-be-relief, she makes no mention of it. Instead, "How many children do you have, now?"

Zi'on just folds the cloth up so no one has to view the blood soaked bits. Or tries to, at least. As heroic as it might sound to catch Rhysa fainting, it wouldn't be pleasant for her, so he'd rather that not happen. "It does indeed. It's less a problem for my kids as it is my siblings. Don't want to accidentally hit on a blood relative." Though most probably knew who -he- was. He laughs. "Not so many as to lose track! I've got six, actually. Four girls and two boys. Two with Enka, two with Kiena, one with Rea and one with Raev. None planned, exactly. A lot of flight babies and a couple of oopses." He grins to her then. "I seem to have a thing for girls with R-names."

Rhysanna will just look at Zi'on - it's safer. For a given definition of safer, probably, but at least he's not bloody. His grin, followed up as it is by that last comment, has her grinning in return, her cheeks ever so faintly pink. "I'd better watch out, then," she teases. "Along with the rest of my r-named compatriots. Just in case. I have to say, ''six'' still sounds like an awful lot of children to me, but my experience is clearly a little different."

Zi'on has a relaxing face, right? At least he looks relaxed. And he's fairly friendly and non-threatening. At least for a weyrleader. I mean, a shoe? Really? "You'd better. I am a sucker for cute girls, too. Though it is surprisingly hard to find one that actually wants to date me." He chuckles. "I know it sounds like a lot. I've been weyrmated twice though, and my second weyrmate had twins. And I've been a rider since I was thirteen, so that means a fair number of flights. It sort of… happens." Though there aren't too many riders boasting Zi'on's numbers. So that might all be smoke. "Obviously they're all fostered. No kids for you then, I take it?"

"Clearly they've all heard your reputation. Your Weyrsecond was trying to talk you up, though. You know, 'he just needs the right woman.'" Rhysanna's expression is utterly amused, as is the tone that goes with it. "I see. You're just trying to fulfil the 'steroetypical bronzerider' ro—" She gets caught short, with that: the door to that examination room opens, and out comes a short, dimpled blonde, arm heavily bandaged. Rhysanna jumps. "That's Larya," she explains. "I should go. But: no, no kids. One day. Thank you, for the cloth." She gives him a beaming smile as she draws herself to her feet.

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