Participants:
| Date: | 2010.10.24 |
|---|---|
| Location: | Eastern Weyr |
| Synopsis: | Two Journeyman Healers butt heads. |
| Rating: | PG-13 |
| Logger: | Cheusia |
Scraping sounds herald Jonavan's emergence from the tunnel leading to the infirmary weyr. He's dragging a chair and has a ream of papers in the other hand - enough reading material for several candlemarks. Apparently, he's has been hiding out and leaving the running of the infirmary proper to a hoard of apprentices.
Luckily, one of the apprentices panicked and literally dragged Che into the infirmary… Quite awhile ago. Even though there wasn't really too much to cause any issue. But, one can never be too sure. Or so was the claim that led Che into following. Arms are folded as she leans against the counter, waiting for something… Or someone. Or, she's really watching the apprentices to make sure they put everything in the right spot in the organized cabinets.
Jonavan continues dragging his chair across the infirmary floor despite the fact that it would be perfectly easy to pick it up and keep it from grating across the floor. That would be too easy. He ends up near Cheusia, finally righting the chair onto all four legs. He uses it for extra height (though he's already quite tall as it is) and climbs up to go rooting about the uppoermost shelves, probably mucking up whatever form of organisation the apprentices had achieved.
Cheusia watches Jonavan as he drags the chair over, and then uses it for a height extension. And by the darkening look upon her face, she is not pleased. At all. Lips press into a thin line as she watches, grey eyes fixed upon the other man. "Clean up your mess when you're done."
"Mess?" From his vantage point, Jonavan looks down at the other journeyman with the expression of upmost innocence. "I do not have a mess. Also, you're missing a 'please.'" He's one to talk; politeness is hardly his forte.
"Mess." Che repeats, arms still folded firmly across her chest. "You're going to leave a mess because you want the apprentices to clean it all up again. Go for it, if you want to listen to their whining. But, being how you left them here alone, I doubt you care." A huff is let out and she rolls her eyes. "I don't ask for anything that you should be doing anyway."
"Then don't ask," Jonavan responds, rolling his eyes and turning back to the cupboards. He continues speaking over his shoulder while continuing to rummage about. "It teaches them responsibility," he claims with full sincerity. "Initiative. Honestly, Cheusia, what are you doing here? Feeding their insecurities is all, which isn't going to help a thing. If there had been an emergency I'm sure I would have heard them panicking. Shouldn't you be off, oh, gazing longingly at that tanner of yours? I've been meaning to ask - how do you stand the smell?" He extracts a couple bottles and holds them out for Cheusia to take. "Here, hold this."
Cheusia sticks her tongue out at his back. Real mature there. "Mhm. I know. Well, when two of them come running at me and look like they've just witnessed something horrible… Well, I simply assumed some patient got fed up and knifed you. But, that wasn't the case and that's why they're organizing the cabinets." Because they are a bunch of sissies in their young age. The mention of the tanner earns a look. "I don't gaze longingly at anyone. And, he doesn't smell any worse than you do." Grey eyes roll and she obliges, taking the bottles without a fuss.
Why bend down to put it on the counter yourself when there's someone there to do it for you? Jonavan holds on to the top of the cupboards and leans out to have a look in the next one along, so far managing not to lose his balance. "Good of you to be so concerned," he answers, utterly sarcastic and rather gleeful about it. "No, you only swap saliva in the middle of the infirmary and give everyone wild ideas about what you do when you're not in public, myself included. And there is a huge difference. I only cut open heads and mess around with brains when they're not rotting and fetid."
Cheusia settles the bottles down onto the counter and tilts a look up towards him. "Well, someone would have to stitch you up. They certainly don't know how." A gesture to the Apprentices who look a little too freaked out by the thought. "Mmhhhmmm. Right. Well, you're free to imagine what you will… But I don't take kindly to people imagining me naked. I'll be sure to let Bo know what is on your mind, hmm? I doubt he'll be pleased." She lets out a soft pfft, "you don't cut open heads. We both do surgery so I know what you do."
And off goes Jonavan on a rant that is pitched purposely loud to terrorize the apprentices that much further. "They are never going to make it past apprentice if they can't stitch up a cut in a Weyr with Thread falling for Faranth's sake!" Nevermind that he'd rather not have them practice on him. He reaches in and starts pulling out the contents of the cupboard since he can't stick his head in for a good look with this lean, holding first one bottle up for inspection and then returning it. "Just Bo? Not honeykins? Snookums? How boring." Three bottles in Jonavan proves successful and rights himself carefully. "As far as you know," he rejoins, glancing down at the woman with a glint to his gaze that signals nothing good. He is probably imagining just how far he can go the next time a rider winds up in the infirmary with head trauma or a Threadscore across the skull.
Cheusia laughs at that, "well, they'll get over it. Let me get my knives and then they can practice on you?" She offers a little too cheerfully. She grins widely before letting out another huff. "That's stupid. Those kind of pet names are for.. Mental people." Or something. That's her excuse, at least. She eyes the other and rolls her eyes, "If you get caught, I know nothing."
Jonavan gives the other healer a withering glance for her suggestion before climbing down off the chair. "Exactly," is his remark on who uses the sort of nicknames he's advocated for Bowen. "Only mental people would actually choose to cuddle up to someone who is never going to get the stink of the tanneries off their skin. Just try to bathe thoroughly before you come in. I'd rather not gag while trying to draw blood."
Cheusia rolls her eyes at that. "You're just jealous you're not with anyone. Stink or no stink. I don't smell, at all. You on the other hand…" She trails off, eyeing him carefully. "Could use some work."
Jonavan eyes his little collection of bottles on the counter but does nothing with them for the time-being. Instead, he turns around and leans back against it, thumbs hitching into his pockets. "Wow. You have me all figured out." Nonetheless, he must admit interest when Cheusia offers further opinion. "Oh really. Enlighten me."
Cheusia mms softly, "why else would you jab insults at me for my choice of men?" Or, she's purely teasing back. Grey eyes watch him firmly before she gives him another look over, careful. "Your hair is a mess," While Bowen's is long… Huh. "You aren't really well shaven and you could dress more neatly for being a Healer."
"Better question: why wouldn't I?" Jonavan's grin is just as impertinent as his response. He looks back at Cheusia candidly, curious in what she sees, and scoffs a bit when she gives an answer. "My hair is fine," he answer while running a hand over it and pretending to take offense. "And I've been told the rugged look is all the rage. A fashion statement in its own right. I've got a leather jacket but I didn't really think that was necessary indoors. And while you think that clothes are the mark of a healer," a waved gesture towards her crisp attire, "I would go for skill instead."
Cheusia shrugs idly, "that, or you're just bored." The look she gives him is rather neutral before she shrugs. "Rugged is only for the women looking for trouble. Or those who feign innocence." Her nose wrinkles just a bit, "professionalism and skill are what matter. You don't look like a professional… I don't doubt your skill but you could at least look like you care enough to be clean."
"Well if it's professionalism you're on about, you might want to consider something with a slightly less fitted cut," Jonavan returns with a pointed look that Bowen would probably punch him for if he were there to see it. "Thanks for the tip," he adds, gratitude an open pretense. "I'd better get to the baths then. Feel free to disinfect everything I've touched if you're so worried." So much for him cleaning up his own mess. The healer turns, picks up the bottles he'd selected earlier, and puts them on a lower shelf for easier access at a later date, then starts to head for the exit. As far as he's concerned, his shift is over!
Cheusia gives him a look, brows working into a frown but she says nothing in response only rolling her eyes. "You might want to make it a redwort bath." Is the final remark she makes and she goes to put those bottles back where they were before he took them out. And then, she'll wait until the next Healer on duty arrives before taking off to find a certain tanner.