New Study Buddy

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Hearth Nook
This smaller room is separated off the main living cavern. The focal point is a big stone hearth, which always has a couple pots of stew and klah bubbling over it. Thick carpet lines the entire space and the room is has several cushy chairs and sofas spread around. There are no electric lights here, only glow baskets to keep the cosy effect.

It's a miserable day in the neighborhood, sky hanging low with the sort of slow, steady rain that promises to linger the whole day long. This is, perhaps, why Heryn can be found tucked away in the hearth nook instead of working at the bar. Dressed a little more slouchily than usual, the man has sprawled himself over one of the wingchairs nearest the hearth, a thin book spread out in one hand. One foot swings idly, energy or some inner music lending it a bit of rhythm as he frowns faintly a the pages.

It is with a grumpily-chirping firelizard and a small pot of herbal-smelling goop that Citayzleat sprawls on a sofa near Heryn's chair. She's dry, so she hasn't been outside any time recently, and she also only has *one* book with her. "Heryn." The healer smiles, wiggles her fingers, and absently sets to the task of soothing the goo over the little green firelizard's hide. This doesn't seem to garner much attention, muscle memory mostly, but the book in the bartender's hands does! "What are you reading? Suppose it's a good day for reading. All that rain." She wrinkles her nose ruefully, not seeming bothered by interrupting the poor guy's reading. He doesn't look all that happy with it anyways.

Citayzleat's interruption is quite welcome, it's true. Blue-grey eyes are quick to flick her way when she utters his name, a smile of greeting lighting up Heryn's features as he lowers the book onto his stomach. "Hey," he replies, a single brow lifting when he takes in her person - including the single book and the small flit being covered in goo. The frown is quick to return when she mentions his own choice in reading, raising the book as though she can see the letters on the spine from there. "Took a leaf out of your book," he says so pointedly that it must be a pun, frustrated or no, "and decided to borrow a vintner's journal from the weyr. Thought I might find interesting information on the work that goes into making liquors that might inspire new drinks, but it's…" His mouth works open and shut, trying to find words. A look is flicked her way, brief and assessing before he seems to decide to confide, "Never really was the best reader on the face of the planet, and it's full of technical jargon and words that I know to speak, but not to read. It's… frustrating." He pauses for a second, perhaps waiting to be judged or silently berating his own self before shooting her a small smile. "What about you? Only one book today? And who's this?" Attention-deflecting questions. Classic.

Cita's goopy firelizard does shut up once she's all herb-smelling and gross, sprawled happily on a linen apron-square. The healer herself doesn't seem to think this is abnormal, instead taking in the frown with raised eyebrows. The pun, understood or not, gets the requisite 'ugh' face, but Cita's smiling, all the same. "Not a bad idea. I have good ideas usually." Patent lie. She says in the pause, but lets the bartender speak, listening quietly. Though she's no mindhealer, Cita has enough sensitivity training to nod thoughtfully and not judgmentally — or maybe she's just a decent sort. "That's understandable." The healer decides, after a moment's thought, slowly and deliberately. "The brain processes written word differently than spoken. It must be frustrating to try to enjoy a technical book like that, though." She makes a wry kind of face. "Maybe the vintners have a published dictionary? I know I need my medical dictionary set *all* the time."

Heryn chuckles for her expressive 'ugh' face, but the pleasant expression is quick to fade, gaze shifting somewhere into the middle distance as she rationalizes through his problem. "Mm," is all he says at first, but his face shows what he's thinking with a harsh rise and fall of his eyebrows, as though to say his brain processed the written words quite differently, alright. "Maybe," he concedes after a moment, when it's clear she isn't going to rise to the question-bait and let the conversation steer elsewhere. "It's not just the jargon, though. You don't want to know how long it took for me to decipher the word 'hyperbole,' and I can't-" read: won't "-carry a regular dictionary around with me every time I want to read something harder than the Duty Song." Placing one finger against the spine so he can save his page, Heryn raises his other hand to rub the spot between his eyebrows. "Sorry, you didn't come here just to hear me whine. You have a good point - if I at least knew the technical terms, I could probably rationalize my way through the rest."

Cita waits patiently, expression curious but not pitying — more expectant, just shy of her Tell Me Why Your Face Is Swelling Up face, maybe. Not quite so severe, at least. "I understand, sort of. If they hadn't defined it while they wrote it on the slate, how would I ever know what fasciculation means. Sharding terrible. Still can't spell it." The healer sighs. "It only adds a small dragon's weight to you, carrying books around." That's lighter, grin fleeting but bright. She's quiet a moment, scratching under the little green's wing, tapping the other hand on the arm of the couch; a feat, since she's worked her way sideways, sprawled inelegantly. "If you want, I can study with you. Studying is fun." Cita suggests, slowly, and then abruptly snorts. "She's Tansy. She's an awful study partner. She has the manners of a wher, and can't even sit still long enough to be a place-holder. She's worse than the littles at the Hall."

Heryn snickers quietly for her fasciculation troubles, but there's no mockery behind it; he's merely enjoying her phrasing of the story as his chin dips in a series of understanding nods. "Fair enough. And what does it mean?" Because curious minds inquire. There's another pointedly mirthful look her way for the mention of carrying lots of books around, and a drawled, "You would know, I suppose," before: "You would?" There's a moment of surprise for her offer, amusement fading in the wake of something just shy of excitement. "That… would be a help, actually, if you mean it. You don't have to, but if you don't mind…" He stops himself before he can start to fumble, but his shift from laying to sitting, elbows resting forwards on his knees expresses the interest he can't quite put into words. As for Tansy: "Ha! I've met a few whers; if her manners are worse than that, she must be pretty abysmal," he jests, eyeing the creature she's scritching dubiously. "The littles here aren't much better," the bartender adds, nose scrunching. "You know the sandcastle contest a few days back? Bunch of them started fighting with and throwing shovels. It was a mess."

Cita makes a woe-is-me kind of face, playing it up long enough to snicker under her breath. "Means twitching. Muscles twitching." The healer deadpans, looking utterly Done. The put-upon look lasts only a moment, though, before the healer lifts a hand to point lazily. "Ask an expert." The Apprentice laughs, and turns a little to once more eye Heryn, slightly sideways-upside-down now. She nods, serious, once. "'Course I mean it. I," And Cita pauses, kicking a foot a little mulishly. Tansy makes a crabby noise, and the healer soothes a hand down her spine. "Studying alone isn't *always* best. Telj and Natali have advanced further than I have." Shrug; difficult as it is while contorted halfway into melding with the cushions. "I could help you, you help me, eh?" While Heryn's sitting up, Cita has reached full sprawl, and looks happier for it. How is anybody's guess. "She'll improve as she gets older, probably, Tansy. *Shovels*. Shells. I suppose I'm lucky none of them came into the infirmary."

Heryn 'ah's for the explanation, eyes rolling just a little in commiseration for her deadpan woes. "They couldn't just say that, though - muscle twitching. That'd be far too easy. No, gotta come up with some big, long word for it. Pretension," he says with a mock-aggrieved sigh that shifts to a chuckle for Cita's laughter. His amusement dims for her pause, watching her slowly sink further into the couch before nodding. "Well, I'm not sure how much of a help I'd be to you - aside from being debatably good company - but I would appreciate it all the same. Thank you," is said with an awkward sort of honesty before he leans back to rest against the cushion of his own chair, excited energy shifting to something more like relaxation after making the deal. "Most likely," is agreed of her little green, lips quirking up to one side. "Hopefully. One of the dishwashers at the Lounge has a brown that is… chaotic, at best, and hasn't really seen fit to calm down with age, but I have a sincere feeling that's more the fault of training than anything else." He pauses to consider something before asking, "What does happen when kids get hurt in a weyr? Do the nannies bring them in? Do you contact the parents?" Not that he's really expecting a solid answer, judging by his tone of voice, but…

"A specific *kind* of twitch," Citayzleat sighs, like it's been drilled into her head. "Different from others. All sorts of reasons for a muscle to twitch. Different words for all of them." The healer makes a clicky sigh-cough kind of sound, kicking out her feet again. She might feel a little awkward, asking and offering help, but Cita grins upside-down easily enough. "You'd be surprised. And hey, bar fights. Probably good to know a little medicine." The healer laughs, contemplating the ceiling for a moment before she speaks up again. "It'd be good to know about vinter-craft, too, probably. We'll help each other." Cita seems pretty sure about this, now. She nods a few times, terribly serious, but it's ruined pretty quickly by a despairing kind of groan. "Shells, don't tell me that. I had more time with my Jule, and he was nicer besides. This one's not the brightest glow I've ever seen." The healer sighs; Tansy lifts her head, preens a little, like that was a compliment. Yep. Smart. At least she's pretty. Cita sighs wistfully, but tone suggesting no real answer or no, the healer answers: "We report it to the Headwoman, and Nannies. They tell the parents, if the parents didn't bring 'em. Little brats." She's smiling, though, not overly annoyed by shovel-weilding wherry children.

"I know," Heryn drawls, eyes drifting ceilingwards again, "or at least, I figured that'd be the case - precision, not pretension. But it's funny how often those two concepts go hand in hand." He says it lightly, though, clearly poking fun. The bartender laughs openly for the notion that he should know things in the case of barfights, nose wrinkling up with amusement. "Nah. I'll just ship 'em off to you." Wink. "If nothing else, I'll teach you how to make that drink from the other day." His head tilts to the side with her despairing groan. "Jule?" But before he can get any real answer, a scrawny little girl skips into the nook, out of breath and clutching a stitch in her side. "Been lookin' fer ya ev'rywhere," she huffs and puffs in dramatic kid fashion, and then continues, "Dah says he needs ya at th'bar. Some'fin 'bout digna— dignawhatsits." A sigh. "Dignitaries. Thanks, Elya, tell your dad I'll be there soon." Pushing to his feet, Heryn stretches with another, more lengthy sigh before shooting Citayzleat an apologetic smile. "Guess I'd better get going. Guess the rain doesn't quite damper everyone's idea of a good time. See you at your next study session?" It's clearly less of a question than he poses it to be, for with a wave of farewell he's headed out of the alcove and towards the resident hall to change into something more presentable before heading off to work.

Cita makes a face not at all becoming of a healer of any sort; terribly undignified. "Isn't it? Why say ten words when you can say one hundred, even though you have to examine the patient anyways." The Apprentice mocks *somebody*, then snorts, grimace not quite fading, but taking on a more playful cast. "Fair enough, I suppose." Sure, Cita might look like she's not overly excited about the thought of learning the delicious klah drink, but let's be real here, she's a healer. Even a baby healer grasps long nights and a burning need for stimulant-drinks. She does blink a few times for the question, but look! A distraction! A cute one, too, all scrawny and dramatic. "Faranth, kid, slow down." Cita chides gently, and grins for Heryn's apologetic smile, waving a hand. "Duty calls, rain or no rain. Careful, though." She winces; all that rain and mud. Not good. "Yes. I'll find you." That's a promise — maybe a threat — given with a jaunty salute and a grin as the bartender departs, before she turns her attention on the scrawny kid, standing abruptly and disrupting Tansy, much to the firelizard's displeasure. "You, with me. Honestly, running through the rain…" Cita grumbles, swishing out of the alcove in search of something warm to drink for the girl.

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