So You Say

Xanadu Weyr - Infirmary

The infirmary here is intended for human care. It is regularly scrubbed spotless and smells of disinfectant, redwort and other herbs that are - if sometimes strong - preferable to the scents of sickness. Cots are lined up against one wall, with a set of curtains that can be pulled to give some privacy to the occupants of the cots if they so desire. They're mostly used for examinations of patients and the treatment of mild injuries that won't require long term care; near the back are some more private areas with folding dividers.
There's a number of cabinets that stand off against another wall, instruments and medications stored against when they will be needed, and a back room holds those supplies seldom required.
A desk with chair is set just off of the doorway to the caverns, meant for the healer to sit and catch up on record keeping after a long day's work or await patients. If things get too busy, the patients can do the waiting on a set of uncomfortable chairs set nearby. The other doorway comes directly from the clearing, wide enough for a team to carry a stretcher through.

Well for the small amount of time that Giroux has been here it doesn't seem like he's had all that much fun. Or perhaps he's had a little too much fun which is why he's on the only cot currently occupied here with his breeches hung up next to him and a wrap going up along his leg. Perhaps a little too much playing around in the wet, /slippery/ snowy stuff, hm?

It's that time of day again in the infirmary. A time when the used linens get carted away and the freshly-laundered linens take their place. Ordinarily Darsce delegates this to one of her assistants to do but today for some unknown reason the headwoman is the one doing the task. In she comes, her high heels clicking smartly on stone as she pushes the cart. Most of the folded linens are bound for that cabinet at the far end of the room, but as she goes each cot - occupied or not - gets a clean set of linens. The healer apprentices will make up the cots, not her, but she casually tosses a bundle on each cot with a practiced aim, landing folded sheets, pillowcase and a towel at the foot, followed by a towel. Giroux's cot is no different. The sheets ker-thump at the foot of his cot as well and she's reaching for the towel next.

"Going to make it up with me in it, Headwoman?" There is a wry bit of tone to Giroux's words as she grins them out, his smile broad and warm even with the standoffish nature of their first meeting. "And a good day to you." He nods his head in her direction, his hands going back to his cover so that she doesn't pull it right off him and expose him just in his undies.

It's neither uncommon to hear voices in the infirmary nor comments directed at herself and so Darsce answers without looking cot-wards as she's reaching for that towel. "Darsce," she corrects absently, while a flick of a slim wrist sends the terrycloth his way. *plop* This time it lands right in his lap. She shifts to move on, then eases back onto her feet. Her step pauses, iceblue eyes lift to spy his trous hanging then lower to the teen's face. One brow lifts by a miniscule margin, "As if," she says dryly. "I think I'll leave that to the aides hovering about; there ought to be a giggly several around your age." Instead of pushing that cart on down the aisle, she asks (because, you see, C'rus seemed so very concerned about Xanaduian hospitality the other night), "Did you manage to find a cot in the appropriate room, Giroux? Or have you been bunking in here instead?" A cool smile touches her lips briefly; Darsce humor perhaps.

"Oof." The towel hitting him in his lap seems to catch him off guard and he picks it up, grinning. "Ah, did I say climb into bed with me?" A tsk comes there. "Mind in the lower caverns it seems, He..Darsce." He corrects himself, his voice teasing. "I did. They were as awfully hard as I thought. But thank you, and no." He shifts so Darsce can see the wrap on his leg. "I did not realize that snow was /quite/ as slippery as it is." The admission is tinged with a small blush that creeps along his cheeks.

Iceblue eyes narrow, unsure if she heard the teen correctly. "If you had?" comes the icy reply from the headwoman, "That would be a waste of breath, among other things." The assurance is given with blunt flatness and this time she is moving on, though her cold gaze drops to that wrap as his leg moves so conveniently. "So you say," she says with undisguised sarcasm, her heels clicking on stone once more. Perhaps they'll drown out her muttered, "But it wouldn't surprise me if one of the girls had kicked you." Hard cot? By the set of her shoulders as she hefts stacks of linens into that cabinet, he's getting no sympathy from her!

"None of the girls kicked me." Giroux says to her, sounding offended. "You were making the beds, I didn't know if you had noticed me thus my compliments." Her own icy blue eyes are matched by his own. "So is the truth. I slipped outside of the Common Room throwing snowballs." He shrugs at that, grinning. "Tried to dodge, didn't do a good job at that." He looks curiously after her. "But I'd never be so forward. I'm from a Hold, remember?"

Darsce looks over one shoulder, "On the contrary," she says in dulcet tones, "I was distributing clean linen, not making the beds; there is a difference." She takes the last stack from the cart, pauses to level a look at the teen as he continues. Once again a slim brow lifts, "Compliment?" There they go, the eyes, with the rolling. Again. She snorts quietly, "You, little man, made a rather unclever innuendo." Holdbred, he says, and her expression gains a skeptical cast, her tinted mouth twisting in a smirk of amusement. She aims that last stack of sheets neatly into the cabinet and closes the door with a satisfied click before turning the cart in order to push it towards the nearby hamper. To do that she'll pass by Giroux's cot again. It's there that she pauses. "I didn't remember," she purrs pleasantly, "but I also know that it doesn't really matter where you're from." Her forefinger lifts to point one manicured nail from him to those young apprentices and back. "While you're here you'll remember that apprentices are not allowed to roll in the hay, linen, cots, what-have-you; they can and have had the 'Hall remove their craftknots for getting caught. Capice?"

"I most certainly did /not/." Giroux says, his tone going from jovial to flat very quickly. He sits up and straightens his back up and looks in Darsce's eyes. "The son of a Lord Holder doesn't /cavort/ around with anyone. I suggest you remember that when you decide to debase one with false accusations." His voice is firm and in control. "I'm not here to spread my 'seed' or whatever you think I might be doing."

Darsce can't help it; she laughs, silvery notes that fill the silence left by Giroux's righteous indignation. She wasn't the one making jokes about climbing into bed and then, when called out, backpedalling to call it a compliment! Drawling, "Riiiiiiiiight." She doesn't bat an eye over his claim to be the son of a lord holder, either. The roll of her shoulders after he says that means she either doesn't believe him or isn't impressed. Moreover, she's been alive long enough to have heard all about what lord holders claim they don't do, but get caught having done anyway. "I'm thinking nothing," she says airily as she unties the sack of the hamper and hefts it to her cart, "other than if you want to rent a room with your daddy's marks instead of bunk in the dorms, make sure you don't take an apprentice in there." And with that she strides on out to dump the linens off on the first housekeeper she runs across to take it to the laundry.

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