Occupational Hazards (tag Meira)

[bookworm]

Imaskel was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and complaining loudly to anyone within earshot. If no one was actually listening, then he was just complaining to the universe. Hearty chops of the knife accompanied each word. "Who knew candidacy would be so sharding boring!" He cried, shoving a pile of carrots aside and picking up a tuber to slice. "All I ever do is chores. Not one interesting thing has happened since I talked to A'emi, and that was months ago. Even the Flight was bo-oring! They made us sit in the barracks while it was going on, and it's not like we could get any action with that Candidate Master's evil eye on us. Shards, you'd think no greenrider had ever been between with how they're so scared of the candidates getting pregnant." He scowled and slid another piece of the tuber's skin off. "You don't even want to know how long it's been since I got laii...aaaahhhh!"

His whining cut short, Imaskel threw the offending knife across the room and clutched his hand. "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" He screamed dramatically, casting about the room for someone to help. "Whatever shall I do?"

"You could try going to the Healer for a bandage," one of the cooks said, barely looking up from her pot. When it became clear that no one was going to rush him off to a romantic rescue, Imaskel gave in and walked to the infirmary himself.

Once there, he picked up the dramatics again. "Oh, help me, help me! I'm bleeding to death!" He clutched at his cut hand, waiting for one of the Healers to arrive and take care of him. He hoped it was a pretty one.

[Avu]

I hear yelling, Jingth commented helpfully. The gold was sprawled just out of sight of the main Infirmary, not quite on the weyrledge, which was left vacant for emergencies where dragons might need to drop people off, but still definitely within earshot. Yawning, she flicked her tail idly, going on at the curious response from Hers, Something about help bleeding something something else death. Do you think you should come take a look? It was a moment before she got a response – probably because of how casual her tone had been.

Did you say –
/I/ didn’t, Jingth replied, ever cheerful. He did. Bleeding help death. Or was it help bleeding death…?
/Jingth/!
What?

The dragon’s innocent response was ignored in favor of jumping to her feet and bolting for the door that opened into the main Infirmary. Meira paused at the door to apologize to the patient that she’d basically just left hanging, explaining rapidly that there was a possible emergency, so sorry – at least the patient in question, a little girl who’d just been lonely following her broken leg being set, seemed to understand and be okay with it. She didn’t particularly wait, of course, for any confirmation of that. Not when there was apparently someone bleeding to death outside and how had she missed the yelling…?

You were distracted. You like the human hatchling. And yes, Jingth was right, she did, but that was still no excuse and…Meira stopped short, focusing on Imaskel. Her gaze ran over him quickly, and then she caught sight of his hand. Not life-threatening. Stitches at worst, depending on how bad the – what, cut, bite? – was. Unless he was also bleeding somewhere else, but she didn’t see any blood so…“Why don’t you come over here,” she suggested, and gestured towards one of the unoccupied rooms – patient confidentiality, and all that.

Holding the door open for him to proceed and indicating he should take a seat in the chair – no need for the cot – she went on, “Is it just your hand, there’s nothing else…?”

[bookworm]

Imaskel stopped his yelling and fixed the Healer with a bright smile. Help had arrived in the form of an attractive young woman. Perfect. Granted, Imaskel could find prettiness in basically anyone--but at least she wasn't old, or anything. He followed her to the examination room. Imaskel eyed the cot, thinking that it would probably be more suitable, but he decided not to object to the Healer's recommendation, and he sat down in the chair.

"Yes, just my hand. But it is dreadfully uncomfortable. And quite unsightly." He winced as he uncurled his hand, revealing a bloody stripe down the palm. Seeing the blood evoked a real response in him. The sudden paleness of his face had nothing to do with wanting attention. His mind flashed briefly to a memory, of Ashen lying on the ground. The blood had been everywhere then.

He mustn't think of that. Imaskel looked up quickly, away from the blood. As he did so, he noticed the Healer's knots. "You're Meira, aren't you? It is so kind of a Goldrider to tend to a lowly person like myself," he gushed. "And with your dragon preggers and all, it must be taking up so much of your time. I really admire you," He grinned at her again, holding out his hand for inspection.

[Avu]

Judging by his smile, the man (boy?) wasn’t actually convinced he was dying. Which was probably for the better. Meira didn’t think that trying to convince someone that they weren’t dying and simultaneously trying to make sure stitches were even would go particularly well. She hummed sympathetically at his words, following him into the room and letting the door fall shut on its own. Moving to a cabinet, Meira left the needlethorn and thread where it was – she’d have to stop the bleeding first anyway, and she didn’t want to scare him. At all, hopefully, but as far as she knew, most people weren’t exactly in love with stitches.

“’m afraid it’s going to have to hurt a little more before it gets better,” she commented apologetically. Towel to stop the blood; redwort for infection; fellis for pain; bandages to wrap it afterwards. The last three were left on the counter for time being, Meira moving in front of Imaskel and using one hand to hold the cut hand steady by the wrist, using the towel to blot the blood away. “Tell me if I press too hard,” she told him, glancing briefly up at his face and offering a reassuring smile. “This is just to stop the blood first. You, ah…might need stitches, depending on how deep…”

He…knew her name. Meira’s gaze flicked up from his hand again, startled. She nodded. Still wasn’t used to people knowing her. Which was probably pretty sad, given how old Jingth was by now. “Working at the Infirmary’s no trouble,” she replied quietly, fighting down the automatic blush. It was triggered all too easily most of the time. “Are you a Candidate?” she added. He seemed within the age limits, and while it was true that not all people in the Weyr within those age limits were Candidates, there was a fairly good chance he might be.

“Ah – ” she’d forgotten to ask at the beginning, but since the bleeding had slowed to a trickle…“Do you know if you’re allergic to the regular…redwort, fellis, needlethorn…?” Admittedly, Meira had never heard of anyone who was, given how popular they were for healing, but it didn’t hurt to ask, just in case.