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closed: onboarding with hr
WHO: Talin Shira'nehn, Bene, Stephen, Gwenaëlle, Clarisse
WHAT: Talin (finally) completes his onboarding
WHEN: Hella backdated to his arrival at the end of September
WHERE: Various area of the Gallows
NOTES: Individual starters in comments!
WHAT: Talin (finally) completes his onboarding
WHEN: Hella backdated to his arrival at the end of September
WHERE: Various area of the Gallows
NOTES: Individual starters in comments!
After helping get the fennec family relocated, Talin is finally free to actually go about signing up for Riftwatch. It's mostly a boring affair, giving his name for records, making his mark on this paper and that. Who would have known saving the world involved this much paper?
It takes a long while, but the end result is this: he's an official member of the Riftwatch now, with all the protections and responsibilities that provides. His first mission: meet with the various leaders and answer any questions they have for him.
It takes a long while, but the end result is this: he's an official member of the Riftwatch now, with all the protections and responsibilities that provides. His first mission: meet with the various leaders and answer any questions they have for him.
no subject
Strange has gotten into the rhythm of this sort of mundane routine paperwork, more common than the medical emergencies he used to field. He both rankles at the tedium and welcomes it; looks like he just has to find intellectual satisfaction elsewhere these days.
So. Case in point: he walks past the new arrival to check a shelf at the back, rifling through papers. He’d managed to catch most of the other new arrivals, but sometimes they slip through the net.
“Welcome. Glad you stopped by, spared me having to track you down across the complex like some courier—”
no subject
He watches Strange cross the room to rifle through his papers, notes the anchor shard in his palm and the tremor in his hands. Likely not a warrior, then, but that doesn't rule out magic. Confident, too; this isn't a new job, by any stretch.
"Are all infirm-aries like this?" asked with genuine curiosity, a little hitch in the middle of the word where the familiar becomes something new. "I haven't seen many, since I started wandering. This is very... clean."
no subject
“I heard about the infirmary at Skyhold and it, to be frank, sounded a bit of a shitshow, just a dank stone room. Natural light is important. Cleanliness is important. Running water would be ideal, but that’s still a ways off, basic tower reconstruction took precedence for a while,” he’s talking as if they were already mid-conversation when Talin walked in, an easy ebb-and-flow and train ofthought. He eventually locates whatever he’s looking for in the shelves, then looks back at the elf.
“Have you any interest in medical care?”
a million gomens orz
He thinks about it, makes a face, shrugs—like he's reluctant to say this, like it's something he'd prefer not to do but he recognizes the necessity: "I could probably do alright with field medicine for people, though. Just to keep the injured alive until a real healer comes along."
And any training the doctor wants to provide for that would give Talin a good reason to be poking around in the infirmary whenever he wants. Not that it seems likely Riftwatch keeps anything important here, but you never know.
no subject
“We’ve a few assistants like that, but I’m more than happy to take more. Not everyone’s guaranteed to be around when an injury comes in, and not everyone can actually manage a field dressing. If you’ve specific experience with animals, however, then you might want to speak to Siegfried Farnon. He’s our veterinarian, he looks after the various pets and service animals of Riftwatch; perhaps he’d like some assistance.”
Strange has found a spare blank copy of the questionnaire, and holds it out to the other man to read, unknowing of the difficulty. “Here. The medical intake form, if you’re a new recruit.”
no subject
He's distracted from amusing himself imagining the Healer tripping over a long elvhen word by the questionnaire held out to him, and Talin immediately makes a face, this one entirely genuine. He does not take the questionnaire.
"Read it to me," comes wholly un-self-conscious, halfway between a demand and a request. "It'll be faster than me trying to make sense of it myself."
no subject
“Well, if it’s going to be an interview, then take a seat.” He gestures to the open chair in front of the Head Healer’s desk, and then goes for his own seat behind it, thumbing his crystal to start recording the man’s answers for later transcription. He begins, his voice crisp and professional, starting to run through the questions with the familiarity of well-worn procedure:
— Name?
— Age?
— Are you a rifter? I’m assuming not.
— Do you have an anchor-shard?
— Do you have any pre-existing conditions? Including food- or herb allergies, poor eyesight, lung issues, old troublesome wounds or missing limbs, et cetera.
no subject
and then he stops. The pause is enough to indicate the answer to that isn't no, but it takes a moment for him to decide what he wants to say about it.
"It's not troublesome," he says slowly, glancing at the crystal, "but I did sustain an injury to my back some years ago. As far as I'm aware it healed well, and scarred with no issues."
No physical issues, anyway.
no subject
No judgment, no personal interest, just clean crisp professional curiosity. Strange is taking note of this, too. “What sort of injury? Some old ones can cause lingering issues.”
Pressing slightly in the conversation, just enough to wonder: is this something he needs to know about. Just in case.
no subject
And then he gives up considering and stands instead, turning his back to the healer and pulling his tunic over his head.
Five years ago, when he'd finally recovered enough to be coherent, he'd learned from the Wolf's agents that most of his healing time had been spent fighting off an infection—the wounds themselves weren't all that deep, actually, and the scars reflect that. In hindsight, the almost perfunctory nature of the slashes makes sense: killing the clan was never the goal of the Exalted March, after all. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, convenient target practice for a group of jumpy humans looking to convince themselves they weren't marching to their deaths. The humans weren't trying to kill the whole clan. That they did was, to them, just a happy bonus.
Aside from the two scars on his back, Talin has a handful of others scattered over his skin which suggest wilderness survival more than frequent combat. Either bicep sports black smears too dark for shadows, though it's difficult to tell what the tattoos are meant to be when seen from Stephen's position.
no subject
A surprised noise, but then Strange understands what the man’s doing. He rises and circles around the desk to get closer to Talin’s back and assess the old injuries. And they are old: years gone, so it isn’t exactly the sort of thing which seems to require active monitoring, but…
But the specific location on the back gives him pause, and brings it closer to his realm of expertise.
“Were those from a sword?” the doctor asks, and perhaps it helps that there is absolutely no attempt at warmth or pity in his voice. They’re complete strangers to each other, newly met. He doesn’t actually care. This is another blue sheet-wrapped carved-up body for inspection and analysis. A professional puzzle, a file to jot down.
“It looks like they’ve healed up well enough, but spinal injuries could cause ongoing issues. Did it seem like it nicked the spine at the time? Have you had any lingering pain or loss of movement or sensation in the lower half of your body?”
no subject
"Hard to say what I felt at the time," given everything else going on around him, how the physical pain was hardly a needleprick to the pain in his heart, "it hurt. I fell. Face-down, almost drowned,"
in a puddle—barely a puddle, just a soggy patch of underbrush, wet enough to clog the noise and obstruct the lungs,
"got infected, that might have gone deeper in the spine than the sword. I don't remember any of that, I woke up healed. Magic, I was told, as complete as could be managed. No pain, no paralysis. Just the scars to remember it by."
🎀
Absolutely none of it is good, but Strange is clearing his throat and hemming-and-hawing his way through this particular stage of the talk, trying to skirt those conversational potholes.
Back to more solid ground, fumbling his way back to professionality. He doesn’t ask what circumstances might have left Talin Shira’nehn face-down drowning in a puddle, a sword in his back. He drums through the rest of the rest of the consultation at businesslike clip, foraging only pertinent details as needed, along with a polite little You can put your shirt back on now.
There’s a story there, there must be, but he doesn’t pry for more. The other man’s history is his own.