Participants:
NPC'S: Tailah (Kaskan)
Date: | July 24, 2011 |
---|---|
Location: | EW: Infirmary |
Synopsis: | Max faces off with a healer, checks on Kaskan, and connects with Jhorn. |
Rating: | PG |
Logger: | Kaskan |
CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS:
Max
With some growing still to do, Lomaxin stands at an average 5 feet and 9.5 inches tall. Physical work outdoors has given this young man an overall wiry build of smooth taut muscle that stretches over a defined chest, flat stomach, lean hips, toned legs and sinewy arms.Dark brown hair is kept short at the back and sides with a fringe worn long enough to fall in his eyes at times. Prominent nose and dark expressive eyes pair with brooding brows and a mouth prone to near perpetual smirk. Chin, jaw and upper lip seem to perpetually be darkened with at least a day's growth of stubble.
Prepared for a hard day's work, Max wears a pair of tan trousers of good, thick material that seem loose enough and comfortable for hard labor in the stables, and yet tailored enough in fit that he's not tripping over himself or risking anything getting caught in loose fabric. Tucked into these trousers is a light button-down, long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves almost always rolled up to the elbows, with a wide, flat collar that is usually kept open and comfortable for his work around the runners and herdbeasts. Completing the look are the heavy leather boots that look like they've seen better days, but are still sturdy and functional if not pretty, and the brimmed hat is rarely seen too far from his head. — 22 turns
KaskanThick wisps of ebony fall in half-hazard lengths to shadow rugged features, over-long layers typically in disarray as they feather pale blue eyes, flare about his ears and tickle the nape of his neck. Full lips precede a square-ish jaw, which often bears a dusky shadow of its own. Scars from too many fights mar what would be a handsome visage, most notably one that splices across his left brow stopping just short of his eye. A slight hitch ends his left ear in an oddly curved shape, though it's usually hidden beneath his hair. Darkly intense, his bearing is defensive and watchful, wiry muscles having filled out to create a solid, sturdy frame. Not overly tall, he is a grounded, immovable rock - just as thickly guarded on the inside as he is thickly muscled on the outside - a deceptive impression that suits him well for the panther quick grace that's displayed when he's on the move. – 20 turns
Jhorn is an NPC emitted by Kaskan.
ROOM DESCRIPTION:
[ Eastern Weyr: Infirmary ]
Long beds and examination tables are placed strategically throughout this room, each having its own set of curtains to give some sembance of privacy when needed. The walls are lined with counters, each housing cabinets containing the necessary items Healers need to do their jobs. A small sink fills the east end of the counter: the one nearest the entrance to the bowl. The entrance is sloped so as not to allow the sun to shine in the patients' faces. At the far west end of the Infirmary, a small darkened tunnel curves around to the larger rooms where the dragonhealers take care of their draconic patients.
LOG:
Soon after leaving his mother's quarters, hair and bandaging that runs diagonally across his face still damp from the bathing cavern's before that, Max makes his way to the infirmary. The very smells that define the clinical environment cause his nostrils to flare and almost having him turning back but he presses on for Jonavan hold told him little the day before while he was stitching him up other than his friends was going to be okay. Going to be okay could mean anything in healer speak as far as he was concerned.
With the last of the fellis now completely gone from his system and his head and chest pounding as a result, he pauses in the doorway of the infirmary, unbound eye sweeping a look across the cots, searching for both Kaskan and Jhorn's forms. A healer catching sight of the bruised and bandaged beast manager starts to approach him, of a mind to at the very least, replace the damp bandaging with dry. However, the warning look Max sends her has the woman rethinking such actions. "Where's Kaskan?" is tone more brusque than he'd intended it to be.
Hesitation plain in her body language, the healer stands half-turned from Max as her inspection lingers on the obviously injured man. “He’s…. over there,” she finally tells him, nodding toward the far end of the cavern and taking one halting step in the opposite direction. Call it clinical obsession, but something makes her add more despite the deterrent of Max’s menacing demeanor. “He’s not awake much. We had to dose him heavily.” Veiled warning? Perhaps. Healer’s can be protective of their patients. Either way, the diminuative woman isn’t going to let this bashed up visitor out of her sight – even if it’s from across the room. Leaving him to locate the correct cot on his own she goes back to attending her current patient, a simple sore throat case that’s much less threatening than Max.
In that far corner, Kaskan is lying on his back, slightly propped with a few pillows. A light blanket is pulled up to his chest, and bandages wrap his right arm from shoulder to wrist. A nearly uniform coating of richly hued bruises deepen the olive tone of his southern tan in vivid shades of yellow, green, purple and black over much of what’s visible above the blanket. Neatly concise stitches are evident in several places and one eye is swollen nearly shut but most of the damage appears to be under control, the worst injuries internal. At the moment the healer’s words seem to be true – his eyes are shut and breathing regular. He won’t be pretty for a while, but he’ll live.
As Max nears Kaskan, someone in the next cot stirs. Rolling over with a frustrated-sounding sigh, Jhorn catches sight of Max and immediately sits up. “Max!” he exclaims. A bandage wraps his head and bruises mark his arms and wrists but otherwise his shirtless visage is unmarred.
With only half an ear lent to the unspoken warning given by the tiny healer, the battered beast manager's attention tracks down toward the end of the cavern, his response dryly sardonic as he starts to head in that direction. "Don't worry darlin', we'll keep the party to a quiet roar."
As he nears where Kaskan has been set up and the full extent of the guard's external injuries show themselves, his steps slow and then halt altogether, putting him somewhere between the Bollian guard's cot and the next one up. Despite how it pulls at the stitches lying hidden beneath the bandaging, a frown forms for the condition his friend is in. "You don't half look like shite, mate," stated ruefully through a heavy sigh.
Just as he's about to pull up a chair, of a mind to sit vigil whether Kaskan is conscious or not, his name is spoken from the next cot over. Max's head turns slowly over his shoulder and then the rest of his body follows suit, when he finds the speaker to be none other than his friend's young charge. "Jhorn," relief warms his tone as he takes in the bandaging and bruises. "You're a tough one, you are," he states through a weary smile of approval as he takes a step closer, "How you doin'?" The question loaded for it extends beyond Jhorn's mere physical welfare.
Jhorn’s beaming smile erupts at the compliment, at odds with the bandage circling his brow. Sitting up abruptly he casts a furtive glance toward the healer then slides the look back to Max. “I’d be doing much better if they’d let me out of here,” he grumbles, disgruntled features wrinkling. “You’d think I was made of glass or something the way they endlessly check and recheck every inch of me.” One hand rises to absently brush the wrapping at his temple as he recalls the healer’s diagnosis. “S’not like a concussion is life-threatening. I’m fine now.” If there are deeper scars they’ve yet to be seen, hidden by the veneer of youthful exuberance. His dark eyes narrow to black pools of concern as they take in the older man’s appearance. “How’d you escape getting stuck in here?” he asks, gaze lingering on Max’s obviously more severe injuries.
As if familiar voices seep into his subconscious, Kaskan stirs in the other cot. Groaning softly he shifts but doesn’t awaken.
An understanding look surrounded by a wry smile is sent Jhorn's way when he voices his discontent. "Comes with bein' Blooded," Max reminds in a dry tone on the lad being relentlessly poked and prodded and then a low chuckle spills, "Been knocked out more times'n I can count on one hand and I still got all my marbles." There might however be those that would dispute such a claim. Amusement drifts off when the young crimelord registers that concerned look coming from the teenager. Dark eyes that hold no regret for how his injuries were sustained lock with near black, the moment broken when Max answers the question put to him. "Its aaall about who you know," grin and tone both sly. "How 'bout I break you outta….here." The pause comes when Kaskan groans behind him and slowly Max turns in his direction though his question goes to Jhorn, "They tell you anythin' about our friend here?" There's not denying the worry in his tone for he's seen men beaten like that before and it hadn't ended well for them.
Jhorn bites his lip briefly in unconscious reaction to his concern for Max's welfare. The beast manager might not have any regrets but obviously the teen feels somewhat responsible for what happened - a weighty sensation at odds with his upbeat personality. His gaze lingers on the scar now marring Max's visage, a quick flash of smirk tugging at his expression for the other man's jest. Before he can ask further the offer of escape grabs his attention and his spine snaps straight even as he casts another sidelong look to the healer on duty. "How?" he whispers with no lack of eager cooperation.
Kaskan's movement and Max's subsequent question pull Jhorn's youthful features into somber lines, the distraction of moments ago fleeing in the face of his duty to guardian and friend. "Not much actually. I can tell he's got some pretty serious internal injuries from the way the healer's talk but they keep him doped up so he hasn't woke up enough to talk to me yet."
It's the bite to lip that Max interprets, his smile wry, his voice held low, "No regrets. What's done is done, aye? Now you look to the tale you're gonna spin them lasses down Landin' way, aye?" A wink added at the end because every girl is a sucker for a good yarn, right? Mmhm. Those words however were also meant as unspoken caution not to speak of the truth behind what had gone down. How he was going to liberate Jhorn from the infirmary is stalled in light of their mutual concern for Kaskan. Max is quiet a good few moments, his one-eyed dark regard drifting over his friend in the other bed. On an inhale of breath, he turns back to the Bollian teen, "He'll pull through. Takes more'n a few bumps to put a man like him down, aye?" He has to believe it despite the slightly troubled timbre to his voice.
Jhorn winces slightly, emotions still an open book within his youthful demeanor that cynicism and politics haven't yet taught him to hide. Want for a girl is exactly what got him into this situation in the first place. He'll not be going out of his way to spin any feminine yarns for a while, let alone tell the truth. Max is given a wry smile for the effort at humor, at least.
Max's positive comment draws more of a true lift to the boy's lips. Thinking of the many old scars he's seen on Kaskan's frame he nods once in agreement. Then, when the other man turns back to him, "Max… what's going to happen to… to that man?" Though the question is hesitant his straight-forward gaze is not, looking to Max unblinking and assuming the crimelord knows exactly what 'man' he means.
Max should have expected that question from Jhorn but there's no denying it throws him a little. Meeting the teen's gaze, the crimelord is quiet a while and then he exhales a breath of air into a regretful sigh for the ugly truth of the darker side of life that has touched the Bollian lad. "He ain't never gonna bother you or Kas again," he states grimly and where he was about to leave it at that he realizes on some level that Jhorn likely needs closure. And so it is that a coldly edged smile touches one corner of his mouth, "Let's just say, the wherries round that waterfall, all have fully bellies by now."
Whatever Jhorn was expecting, the reply he gets draws a wide-eyed look of surprise and a blurted retort of , “No shite! Seriously?” Immediately he cringes and casts a look over his shoulder, pulling an exaggerated smile for the fierce scowl being sent their way by the petite healer on duty. Not wanting to get Max kicked out Jhorn relaxes back against his propped pillows, the perfect picture of a properly recovering patient. Turning back to his visitor he doesn’t say anything more for a few moments, troubled thoughts churning behind his dark eyes. Finally he looks to Max again. “Then it’s really over.” Again he rolls his lip through his teeth, then, “Max, do you know if anyone has contacted my family yet?”
With his expression now set to unreadable mask, Jhorn's outburst appears to draw little to no reaction from Max. The petite healer glaring their way does however get sent an entirely charming smile though the wound across his face is likely more off-putting than having the desired effect. Back to the Bollian teen, one corner of the crimelord's mouth hooks upward into what is meant to be a reassuring smile, "Aye, its over." He confirms. On the matter of Jhorn's family there comes a light frown to pull across his brow, "Can't say I do. You want I should write and tell 'em 'bout the accident when you and Kas went ridin'? Kas got thrown down a ravine and you took a bit of a tumble when your runner bolted afterwards?" It's an outright lie but worth a try by Max's reckoning.
Jhorn blinks, a frown lowering his brows as he eyes Max as if the man’s head injuries were worse than expected. Understanding finally dawns and his expression lightens as he nods, lips parting on a silent ‘o’. Closing it firmly he tilts his head, uncertainty angling his regard. “You’d do that?” he asks in a near-whisper. The lie settles bitterly in his gut, but then, he was about to ask much the same thing anyway to protect Kaskan and keep them both from being summarily sent home. The thought of crafting a letter himself was churning his stomach into knots. Max’s suggestion is better. Worry still nags though. Thinking of how many were involved, he adds, “You don’t think they’d find out?”
Jhorn is put under an intent look as he grapples with the meaning behind what had been said and as the proverbial light goes on, so Max's mouth twists around a rueful line and he's quiet a moment, collecting his thoughts. In a low tone as he takes a step in closer, he states first, "Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth." Letting that sink in, he adds with a glance over to where Kaskan lays, "A good leader," such as the one Jhorn might one day become, "knows which men he can count on and returns their loyalty in kind. Kas…would die tryin' to protect you." As was demonstrated when battered and broken, the Bollian guard had thrown himself over the cliff after his young charge. The first question was glossed over, the second is given reply, a slightly calculating look entering the crimelord's eyes, "Neni ain't gonna say nothin'. Only one what might talk," L'han, "will find himself with a gold leanin' so heavy on his dragon's mind, he ain't gonna fart without permission to do so. The rest of 'em," the men that had been with them when they'd arrived at the cliff, "are my people. And those at Landin'? All they saw was us fetchin' Kas back from his fall down the ravine and then ridin' out to track you and your runner down, aye? Those mates of yours," the ones that had alerted Max to Jhorn's disappearance, "will be told you snuck off with a runner to meet a girl and Kas rode out to haul you back. Only reason we went after the two of you was because wild feline had been spotted in the area." The whole incident sewn up in one neat parcel of misdirection, or so he's hoping for Kaskan's sake.
Jhorn tilts his head, listening and watching Max closely as the older man neatly ties all the loose ends into a tidy knot. Leaning on one hand he lifts the other to scrub at the side of his head just above the bandage. “What a relief!” he sighs, keeping his tone low. “You make it all sound so easy. I’ve been worried sick about how to keep my family from finding out and hauling us both back home. I don’t know what they’d do to Kaskan if that happened.” A rare frown pulls at his youthful features as he glances at the other bed where his guardian lies.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, memories resurfacing in disturbing flashes of fear-filled moments being threatened by the brutal thugs, dangling from a cliff, then free-falling through the waterfall’s mist… A shiver crosses his shoulders, all the more apparent for lack of a shirt. Quickly stuffing crippling emotions into shadowed depths where he doesn’t have to deal with them, Jhorn takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. Then, looking to Max he asks in more of his usual cheerful tone, “I can still train with you, right? I feel fine, really.” Dark eyes are earnestly hopeful beneath the thick white bandages that wrap his brow.
"It's what I do," Max states quietly on the cover story he's provided. Though that doesn't mean to say that he likes having to come up with them, it's simply become a necessity in both his and Indira's line of work. "They ain't gonna find out," the crimelord reiterates with a determined air and sends another glance back over to Kaskan's prone form. Not if he could help it.
In those few moments when Jhorn drops quiet, the end of his cot dips with Max's weight as still somewhat weakened by blood loss, he takes up seating there. His dark unreadable gaze latches to the Bollian teen, the shiver that goes through the lad, taken note of but not remarked upon as he chooses instead to leave Jhorn with his dignity in place, his belief being that he'll speak of the trauma he'd been subjected to if wanted to. It's that earnest expression that falls into place and a wry smile flickers out as Max nods and then affects a stern 'trainer's' tone and expression. "What? You think I'm lettin' you off because you got bumped around a little?" intentionally making light of recent events, "Don't work that way, pup. You get thrown in the dirt, you come up swingin', aye? Trainin' starts again at the end of the seven." Risking a severe butt-kicking from Jaya, but hey, he's male and his precious male pride dictates that he show no weakness. Not even in front of the young and Blooded.
Jhorn ducks his head, glancing up at Max with a sheepish grin and shiny glint within the dark pool of his eyes. Taking a moment to get control of his expression he shifts on the bed, folding a bit of blanket, then lifts his chin sharply – the bandage around his head already keeps his shoulder length hair out of the way but he does it in unconscious habit anyway.
“Good!” he pipes, managing a satisfied calm. “Wouldn’t want you to get soft just because I was out of the picture for a bit.” Despite his efforts, a twitch threatens to break free at the corner of his straight-set lips.
As if familiar voices draw his sub-conscious Kaskan moves, turning his head with a loud groan. Dark lashes flutter as his one good eye attempts to open. The other is hidden behind a bandage that doesn’t quite cover the ugly spread of bruising or stitches that disappear beneath the white edges.
“Jh…Jhorn?” Kaskan croaks, voice a barely recognizable grovel. Drawing a shaky breath he coughs once, the sound harsh and deep. It carries easily in the quiet of the room. Immediately the healer’s head shoots up and she starts in their direction, a determined look on her pretty face.
Jhorn shoots a quick look over his shoulder, then to Max. “They dose him every time he wakes up,” he tells the beast manager, concern warping his fine features. Leaning forward on the edge of his bed toward Kaskan he raises his voice slightly but his tone is smooth, “I’m right here, Kas. Max is here too.”
"Cheeky," Max retorts through a grin, throwing a light-hearted cuff towards Jhorn that drops short of making contact. The truth is that given his clandestine self-imposed training for the upcoming fights, the workouts with the teen serve his own purposes too. Workouts that he's going to be slow in getting back into while ribs heal which will likely set his own training schedule back. But it can't be helped.
Concern is immediate and openly displayed when Kaskan groans and then calls out for Jhorn with Max sending the approaching healer a wary look. It wasn't him! Dark brows start to draw together and then immediately stop when pain lances across the one slashed through diagonally under the damp bandaging. "They dope him every time?" Even he knows that's not a good sign. "Shit," the oath muttered quietly under his breath and then his voice follows Jhorn's in offering reassurance to his battered friend, "I'm keepin' an eye on him, mate. You just work on gettin' yourself back to fightin' fit." Though whether or not Kaskan is even unable to register that much, he has no idea. The words perhaps meant more to reassure both Jhorn and himself.
In just two shakes of a dragon’s tail the healer is upon them, shooting both males daggers but seeming to focus on Max. Tailah, as she is called, may be small but wields a heavy tongue when it comes to her patients. “You!” she barks, “No more disturbing him!”
Without giving either of them a chance to protest she turns to Kaskan and raises a mug to his mouth, shushing softly and laying a hand on his undamaged shoulder with a gentleness at odds with her otherwise stern behavior. The guard shifts and groans more, resisting, trying to focus through a veil of pain. Tailah moves her hand to his cheek, avoiding the stitching along his jaw, and presses the rim of the mug to his lips. “Drink, Kaskan. It’ll make you feel better. Come on….” As she tips the mug and liquid begins to slip into his mouth he has no choice but to drink, settling down enough for her to get a good portion of the contents into him. Almost immediately he calms and muscles visibly relax across his bare chest and shoulders. Dark lashes flutter as his eye closes again and with one last sigh he goes back to sleep. “Better,” Tailah muses, free hand brushing briefly over the wrappings of his shoulder before tugging the blanket back up to his collar. Turning sharply on her heels she faces the other two, softness melting into disapproval as pale green eyes lock onto them.
“You need rest, young man,” she starts, waggling a finger at Jhorn. “And you…” she pauses, pale green gaze sweeping over Max’s injuries with a calculating measure. Meeting his eye again, something tells her not to try cajoling this one, so she sets her most stern expression and finishes, “Need to go away.”
Jhorn groans exaggeratedly, shoulders sagging. “Come on Tailah! I’m wide awake. And I'm bored.” Suddenly changing tactics he looks up with earnest wide eyes, the picture of youthful innocence. “I could really use some fresh air and sunshine. That’d be good for me, right? If Max takes me can I go? He’s really responsible - he’s the beast master! He takes care of all the animals and manages a whole bunch of people! Pleeeeeeeeease?" The maneuver is completed with a charmingly boyish smile, hope and sincerity coating his expression thick as honey.
When the little healer accuses him of having disturbed Kaskan, Max narrows a one-eyed look onto the woman but wisely holds his tongue except to ask with a frown as she dopes his friend yet again, "How long you gonna be keepin' him down and out?" There's no belligerence to his tone, just genuine concern for the Bollian guard's wellbeing. That is until she turns on him and Jhorn. The teen is sent wryly sympathetic look. This is why he abhors healers and would have to be half dead (such as Kaskan looks to be) before they'll get his butt into an infirmary.
Standing to his feet, he towers over the diminutive Tailah and stares her down for a moment or two, stubbornly refusing to move either out of her personal space or away from his friend and charge especially in light of the Jhorn's request to be allowed out for a bit of fresh air. "I'll have him back in an hour," Max adds his voice to the teen's plea but doesn't go so far as to lend the little woman a charming smile though there is a defiant cast to his expression that says he's quite likely to simply liberate Jhorn either with or without her permission.
Tailah keeps her chin level as she weathers that look from Max but when he finally breaks it to ask his question she can’t help but feel a sense of relief. “Until we decide he’s well enough,” she tells him, purposely vague. The set of her jaw indicates that’s all he’s going to get on that subject. As Max stands she sways minutely but keeps her feet firmly in place, her positioning pointedly remaining between the two men and her patient. Jhorn perks at Max’s words but then frowns at the time span – only an hour? Wisely though, he says nothing. Tailah gives her blond head a toss, one brief glance cast in Jhorn’s direction before she looks back to Max, recognizing his unspoken intentions. “An hour,” she accedes, barely disguised tolerance behind her expression. Stepping away she pauses as she passes Jhorn, giving the boy one last raised-brow warning, “An hour.” And with that she walks away.
Jhorn is off the cot as soon as Tailah turns her back, throwing the blanket and hopping to his feet. “Thanks Max!” he pipes. “I wish it was longer but I’ll take it!” Stepping over to Kaskan’s bed he brushes the man’s arm, then turns and snatches up a folded shirt lying on a chair at the head of his bed. Yanking it over his head he winces as it falls around his narrow shoulders, one hand briefly touching the bandage above his ear. The hand drops instantly, a furtive glance out of the corner of his eye checking if Max noticed, then he raises an eager expression to his rescuer. “Let’s go!”
It's the purposefully vague answer that sets Max's expression, "Look, he's a good friend of mine and there ain't nothin' I wouldn't do for him. Just…" frustration peels out, "stop healer talkin' me and tell if he's gonna be okay or not. Can you at least do that?" He then steps back and out of Tahlia's way allowing Jhorn the space he needs to get out of bed and dressed. A wry smile greets the teen's disappointment for it only being an hour's freedom but he's not about to admit that he's likely only to be able to stay on his feet for that bit longer before he's face down in the dirt. The young crimelord waits just another moment or two to see if the little healer will give him something, anything about Kaskan's condition before with a crooked smile sent to Jhorn he turns and heads out of the infirmary.
Perhaps the stern little healer is feeling generous, or perhaps she isn’t quite as hard on the inside as she seems on the outside. Although she ignored Max’s words when spoken and walked away anyway she speaks out as he passes the empty cot where she’s stuffing pillows into clean cases.
“He’ll heal,” she says bluntly without looking up to see if he stops. Then, snapping the stiff white case in her hand downward she pauses to glance aside at him. “Eventually. And with proper care.” Somber green gaze levels on Max’s as she turns to face him more fully. Still seeing the genuine concern he expressed in his question she gives him the details he hadn’t asked for, saying, “He has two broken ribs, a bruised lung, dislocated shoulder and broken collar bone. His wrist is sprained and he probably has a concussion. We can’t be certain as to the extent of his head injury until he’s awake enough to talk and respond. His eye was a close call, as swollen as it was, but nothing major was damaged so it’ll heal. Larcen is a master at stitching so there probably won’t even be a scar. Too much movement or even exertion will stress the setting of his bones and lung muscles. Right now he thrashes too much from the pain when he wakes so until he heals enough to stay calm we have to keep him resting.”
Behind Max, Jhorn gasps, having overheard some of the issues when the healer’s talked but not all laid out at once like that driving the severity of the situation home.
When Tahlia relents and offers the details he hadn't asked for but had sought, Max listens in grim lip-pursed silence. "Bastards," he growls out low, his regret for having taken a life slipping further from conscious reach. He's quiet a few moments, dark regard searching the little woman's face and then he nods. "Thank you," the young crimelord's low tone roughened by the severity of Kaskan's injuries and pains.
Jhorn's gasp has him turning his head fractionally and setting the teen with a solemn look, "Let's go write that letter, aye?" For perhaps now the fabrication will sit better with the young blooded Bollian. With that and a stiff acknowledging nod of farewell for the petite healer, Max leaves to do just that, compose a letter with Jhorn's input telling of the fateful runner ride that had resulted in near tragedy.