Who D'had, K'zre
What D'had calls K'zre to patch him up.
When Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2721
Where Thunderbird Wing Lounge, Fort Weyr

Fort Weyr - Thunderbird Wing Lounge
This Living Cavern Annex may not be the biggest room in the weyr but it's comfortable. Wafts of the unmistakeable scent of burning wood and random mugs of klah fill the room. An arrangement of plush chairs and sofas, the majority seeming to be congregated about the large fireplace, each have a small end table nearby to stow what ever refreshments the Thunderbird riders have managed to smuggle in under the Wingleader's nose. The mantle itself is relatively plain. A tapestry depicting the Thunderbird Wing badge hangs above, but that is the only organization based decoration that the room holds. Simplicity. All you really need is a comfortable chair and a foot rest after a long day, right?


The wing lounge is a decent place to debrief, for the wingriders to shift gears between missions, sweeps and jobs. For the the moment at least it's empty save for the Wingleader standing with his back to the door. That's how K'zre will find things when he enters after having his presence requested by Siebeth via Yasminath, oh and he should bring his field kit.

Skeptical, thy name is K'zre. With kit in hand, he makes his way quickly through the lower caverns and up to the lounge. Pausing in the doorway, dark eyes dart around the empty space before landing on the Wingleader, caution causing him to hesitate. Ultimately, he was summoned, and so after a moment of thought he takes a few steps into the room, clears his throat and then offers a much more audible, "You asked for me?" And his kit.

"Yeah," D'had replies, turning to meet the greenrider with a rather annoyed look, for the situation, not him. "Could use a hand," he says with a chuckle which only causes him to wince. There's also the tell-tale signs of a potential black eye, but why go to the infirmary when you can just try and make it not as big a deal as they might.

It is a mark of K'zre's training as a Healer that his expression does not betray him as much as it otherwise might. A bit of a shock, for the wince and the black-eye, but a heartbeat later and he's in full-on Healer mode, complete with neutral expression and 'take charge' attitude. There is no hesitation in him as he closes the distance, catching a table to drag along if there isn't one nearby. "What happened? And what hurts the worst?" Is anything bleeding? He's definitely looking for blood and broken bones, and not being very sly about it.

There's no blood. As for what happened, "Might have walked into something, might have had a disagreement with one of your wingmates." And no, he's not going to say which one or about what which only goes to say whatever it was is settled. "Here," D'had will at least admit to what hurts, holding a hand above where his side took a decent hit. Not touching that again.

Settled with fists?! K'zre's look is definitely disapproving, but it only lasts a moment before he's wiped it away behind that professional demeanor once again. Maybe D'had really did run into a stationary object. But K'zre's look says he's pretty sure it was the latter option. A press of his lips and he remains silent on the matter. He has healing-things to do; chastising his Wingleader for getting into a fight is someone else's job (maybe F'inn's!). "Would you pull up your shirt, please?" is asked as Kez turns to sort thorough his things and prep some gauze with redwort.

"Don't give me that look," D'had snorts. He does comply with that request to lift his shirt, which causes him to wince again. His ego would be much more pleased with the fight scenario whatever the case may be. "Just slap some numbweed on it and help bind it." Because that's the part he can't manage on his own apparently.

K'zre's lips press impossibly tighter, color blanched from them. But while he might dart a narrow-eyed gaze toward his Wingleader, and looks about ready to say something, he seems to opt against it and chose silence instead. A rough sound in his throat, and he splashes that redwort on his own hands to protect them from the salve, grabbing a jar of numbweed up and unscrewing it with quick little motions. He does not, however slap it onto D'had's bruise, but works it in with a bit more caution in an effort to prevent pain. "You could have gone to the infirmary," he points out.

Wrong choice of words on his part, but D'had appreciates that he's not just slapping it on. "I could have," he's not going to disagree with that statement, "But they'd put up more of a fuss." Which he doesn't want, or need. D'had doesn't do healers, they'll learn that sooner or later. "And my daughter would find out." Which is less likely to happen this way.

"The only reason I'm not," mutters K'zre, "Is because you are my Wingleader." And he's technically not a Healer. He is, but he's not. It is his training, but no longer his career. There's a frustrated sound and a flare of nostrils, but the semantics of it all will be placed on hold while Kez deals with the issue at hand. It is mention of D'had's daughter that raises his gaze, darting briefly at the bluerider before he's attending that bruise again. Once more there's a want to say things, a press of lips to keep his silence while his expression says clearly enough he'd like to speak on the matter.

Technically he's not a healer, which is technically why he's here. "Don't know how that makes a difference," D'had replies to him being Wingleader. "But," he goes on after a brief pause, "thanks for coming." He could have said it sooner, but he did now.

K'zre's glance is somewhat aghast as he blurts, "Because!" with very little clarification offered. "Because I can't reprimand you," he continues with a grump, smearing the last bit of numbweed over the bruise before moving to wipe his hands clean on a cloth. A roll of bandage is taken next, a bit of padding snatched up on afterthought before he turns to get to binding. A snort, and he adds, "It isn't as though I could say no." See previous 'wingleader' comment. "You summoned me."

D'had chuckles, which doesn't do anything for his ribs the numbweed at least helps though the action still leaves him with his own momentary grimace. "So you're put out cause you think you can't be annoyed at me cause of a damned piece of string your weyrmate gave me?" he half asks, skeptical of that himself. "And you could have. I asked, I didn't order."

"No," comes K'zre's quiet counter, irritation apparent. "I'm allowed to be annoyed at you." And he definitely is. "But I'm not allowed to chastise you for it. I'm not allowed to tell you that dealing with disagreements through violence is a very poor way of handling them." Even if he just… kinda-sorta did say that. Oh well. Technicalities. A purse of his lips, and he tightens the bandage a bit more firmly, eyes on his work. "It's not just a bit of string. It's important." A final tug and he's pinning the bandage in place, finished. "You asked. But you're my Wingleader. I'm not going to say no."

"So you're saying a month ago when I had the same knot as you, you would have said no?" D'had replies. Yes, he's likely making it a bigger thing than it needs to be, but he's curious as to the answer at very least. "And I never said it was," violence that is, "Or that I started it," he continues carefully pulling his shirt back into place.

"No, I'm not saying that. I didn't say that. That's not what I meant." The words come as a rush, and for a moment K'zre has lost the annoyance and is flustered for an altogether different reason, tripping over his own tongue in his haste to clarify that, "I would have come. Because you asked. I'm just saying… I just meant that… it's not a request when it's your Wingleader. It's not. Even if you say it is… it's just not." He's fussing with this kit now, screwing the lid back onto the numbweed to stash it away. "It doesn't matter," he decides, for the potential violence and who may have started it. "It's none of my business."

D'had lifts a hand, the one opposite his bruises, to rest it on K'zre's shoulder for just a moment. "I hoped you would, Wingleader or not, is why I asked," D'had returns, "But thanks again. Just don't think that just because I'm Wingleader we can't talk. Alright?"

K'zre hesitates, fingers poised over the bottle of redwort. A furrow of his brow comes as he considers D'had's words, rolling them around as he slowly gets back to cleaning up his kit. Closing it up, he offers a curt nod as acknowledgement for the words, understanding and acceptance. But whatever he might be thinking on the matter, it remains a mystery. A murmured, "You're welcome," is all he offers, but at least it's honest.


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