Getting Out of Dodge
infirmary.jpg

Xanadu Weyr - Infirmary

The infirmary here is intended for human care. It is spotless and smells of disinfectant, cots are lined up against one wall, a curtain can be pulled to give some privacy to the occupants of the cots if they so desire. A cabinet stands off against another wall, instruments and medications stored against when they will be needed. A couple of curtained off beds are used for examinations of patients and the treatment of minor injuries which won't require long term care. A desk with chair is just off of the doorway for the healer to sit and catch up on record keeping after a long days work.


Outside, the sun has resumed its usual trek across the sky, a daintily breeze stirring what leaves are left clinging to their trees. The storm's aftermath isn't pretty to look at, but it's definitely tolled worse on its residents. "Look, I don't want arguments, and I won't even stay long." Sigam's clean, at least, forehead stitched from left brow to temple, but his whisper gives away his inner exasperation. "Can I just say hello?" The Healer standing opposite him looks as if she'd rather toss /him/ into a bed and start pricking and prodding him, but instead, she exhales sharply and nods, waving him towards the far side of the partitions that still divide the room. The Dragonhealer doesn't need to be told twice - he edges into the 'private' portion of the Infirmary, peering around various divisors looking for one brownrider in particular. "Fy? Oh, sorry, wrong person…. Fy?" Rinse, repeat. He'll find her eventually, right?

F'yr's homeless once again, and obviously stuck in the infirmary, F'yr still isn't the only one. Which is probably a first for her as she's leaning over her cot, trying to take get a peek at the person next door. She's got a matching set of stitches on her head, except hers run horizontal with a nice chunk of hair having been shaved to get to it. Thankfully she's gotten a clean set of clothes, so there's no blood to be seen, though her left wrist is bound up and splinted. "Dels?" comes her first hazy call back as she hears her name, flopping back in bed as if she were caught doing something wrong and putting a hand to the dizzy spell that hits her. "Erm… present?" That's probably a more proper call back. Marco… Polo…

Finally, an answer! Sigam quickly discards his one-sided game of hide-and-seek, padding towards the sound of her voice. "Not Dels," the Dragonhealer clarifies as he pulls up at the end of F'yr's cot, dark eyes giving her a concerned once-over. "Sorry. I hear he's busier than a momma flit." Sig hesitates for a second before he steps off to one side, grabbing a chair so he can drag it into Fy's personal piece of paradise. Snerk. "You okay?," he asks impulsively, getting the stupid questions out of the way quickly. He can tell she's not entirely - stitches and splints and all - but it's funny how humans are almost conditioned to ask. "I think I saw Zaru outside. I'm glad the tornado didn't get him," he says, scrambling for something less annoying than prodding questions.

F'yr looks disappointed for about a second before it's covered up quick enough, and she makes a face instead at his comment. "Yeah, he pretty much is. Doesn't matter anyway," she quickly says, lifting her bad hand weakly to wave and deciding to try it again with her better hand. Her eyes look a little unfocused, though she doesn't have that distracted look of someone communicating mentally. She leans over in her bed to squint at the dragonhealer instead, eyeing him up and down. "Are /you/ okay?" she counters, and then points to his head with a little smirk. "I got myself a few souvenirs as well but alive. And I've gotten too many knocks on the head and worse scraps for this to be any bed. Can't say the same 'bout our little home." Now she actually does look sad, bobbing her head towards the exit. "That's him alright. Had to have a queen settle him, but could have been worse."

Sigam doesn't say anything if he catches the look, but his lips do twist wryly to one side at that comment. "Of course it matters. I'm sure he'd be here if he could be spared." Perching on the edge of his seat, the Dragonhealer tilts his head towards the brownrider, returning the wave after he's got a chance to eye that splinted wrist. "'Course. Takes more than a little twig to get me down," he jokes, fingers flicking dismissively towards the stitches. "Those're just accessories to make me look tough. Grrrr," the man growls through a chuckle, trying not to be overly concerned about her distant look. "Just a few, hm? Well, they wouldn't keep you if they didn't think you needed it," Sigam points out oh-so-helpfully before his face falls a bit, brows knitting gently. "Did… it get blown over?" He'd heard that buildings all over had been knocked asunder, but the poor man's been sheltered in the Annex for most of his waking hours. "Sorry to hear that… Heh. Thought so, I just wasn't completely sure. Seen more dragons in the last few days than I care to." He props his chin in his hands. "Definitely could have been. Could have been caught /in/ the tornado." A visible shiver runs up his spine.

F'yr tries to cover up the sadness that creeps over her face by waving her hand a little more. Her good one. "No, it… it ain't like that. It's his Weyr first and all those duties and… well, he passed by I suppose. Plenty of people've passed by." And she just lifts her shoulders up in a helpless shrug before the hand finally flops down. "That's still some mighty twig if it managed to do /that/," she says, giggling at his growling before she gives him a crooked grin. "They said something 'bout a coma, slipping into, and gave me some nice drink to take that makes me feel funny. Kinda the same as usual in infirmaries, but it ain't ever knocks me out. The moment their backs are turned…" And she makes a swooping gesture with her hand, towards the exit of the infirmary. "Yeah, the weyr kinda fell on me. I guess it happens," she says in a light tone, as if it happened everyday, giving the exit a fond smile. "He's got cuts I don't think he's been treated for. The silly idiot… But I wanted to be /out/ in that storm, you know?" Her voice turns more serious, eyes turning back on him. That hazy thing? Definitely drugs.

Sigam's eyes watches that hand wave as a feline might a toy, irises twitching to and fro, but eventually he looks back to her face. "Yeah, he probably wouldn't've gotten time until night, and you'd've probably been asleep by then," the Dragonhealer agrees, real conviction in his voice. "Well. It was a bully of a twig, but I took it down with my skull of steel." Fingers tap the right side of his head. "Never gonna need a helmet for this thing." A smile tweaks onto his face in response to her giggling, though distress and interest warring for dominance in his eyes as she recounts her time at the infirmary. "Coma? Shards, no wonder. They probably gave you fellis, too," he mutters, assuming she's had a far heavier dose. Or something else all-together. He never really got into the human side of healing. "It fell on- Oh, yeah, that totally just… happens," the man repeats with a slight eyeroll, head shaking. "That's the reason you're here. Might as well stay lest they try to drag you into cleaning duty." A finger waggles ominously, implying that she should definitely keep away from /that/. "No. I haven't seen him at the Annex at least. I can take a look at him, if you think he needs it," the Dragonhealer offers before giving her a sharp glance. "Whyever would you want that?" Nevermind that drugs are involved. Pshh.

F'yr's brows furrow together for a moment, looking like she wanted to argue. "Yeah… sure," she says instead with a defeated sigh, idly plucking at a loose thread on her cot with her good hand. Bad wrist's lying across her lap and she rolls her eyes about his head of steel comment. "Well, not too tough steel is it? It /cracked/ it looks to me." She's one to talk, really. "I bet they'll try to screw a helmet to my head if they could, but it's gotten worse bangs than this before. Still functioning." She taps her own head and suddenly winces, dropping her hand heavily back to the bed. "I never did anything to my weyr," she pouts softly, her eyes gazing around the infirmary before resting on him again, eyes narrowing slightly as she rests her gaze on his shoulderknot. "You Healers… all the same. You haven't kept me here before when I was all beat up. Now I got Zaru to claw his way through, you know." But her expression turns thoughtful and she gives him one quick nod and a pleading look. "Can you? Look at him? He might let you even without me there." To the last comment she merely beams all brightly. "Cause it's fun. And that's when people need you the most, you know. Well, I didn't expect a tornado, but people need to be helped when they can't find shelter in bad storms."

Sig's mouth opens and closes before whatever he originally wanted to say gets swallowed into the recesses of his mind. "Yeah, well, not everything's perfect. Like my face. Apparently it's doomed to never be normal," he chuckles, shoulders rising and falling. "Yeah, I'm sure they're pretty tempted to use all kinds of bolts and brackets to keep one on ya, but you'd find a way outta that too. So long as you keep your brain working, guess that's what matters." The Dragonhealer regards that wince with a sympathetic one of his own. "Did you get it recently?," he asks on the subject of her weyrbarn, fingers scratching along his chin where a rather unbecoming five o'clock shadow is forming. "O'course we can't /keep/ you, but we can heartily suggest that you stay for your own benefit. It's up to you to listen or escape," Sigam shrugs, eyes dancing even though his face is serious. "Yeah, I'll ask to give Zaru a once-over when I leave, and if anything's real amiss, I can bring stuff out to patch him up with. He won't even need to leave." Again with that needle-eyed gaze, but there's something familiar and amused lurking with the brown somewhere. "Fun, right. I guess I can't blame you - I'd want to be out there helping if I wasn't a useless two-legger - but… they're also really risky, storms. Had a friend lose his weyrmate to one once… That… was not so fun," he trails off quietly, eyes suddenly riveted by something in the distant corner of the infirmary.

"Ain't nothing wrong with a beat up face. It tells a story you know," says F'yr with another point first to his nose and then to his forehead. Then her hand returns, again to her head but she's smart enough to just hover over the stitches before her fingers trail down to skin along the edges of the faint scar on her neck. "And with thick heads like ours, our brains are perfectly fine without a helmet." Her smirk fades into another frown, constantly jumping back and forth. "Well… a little after we were brought here and released. I didn't quite make it /that/ homey I suppose. Should've seen my place back in Ista, it was…" Dusty, tiny, disorganized? Apparently she can't think of any good words. She tries to sit up a bit more, dragging her legs up to herself as she does so without any added winces, though it looks like she's trying hard not to. "Thanks, Sigam. I'll make sure to let Zaru know not to bite." She tilts her head at him, meeting that needle-gaze with her own wide hazy eyes, looking like she's about to say something amusing before her expression pales instead. "Ah… I'm… sorry? It's… it's a risky profession." Obviously from her last time in the infirmary.

"Yeah, a story. 'Once upon a time, there was an idiot named Sigam, whose face liked to pick fights with inanimate objects and fists…'" One hand flicks in the air, dismissing the teasing words even as he says them, eyes following her gestures just the same. "Ha! You bet. Helmets are for mortals." Sig's eyebrows toss in a careful waggle. "I see. That's enough time to connect yourself to a place, yeah? Make memories and that… I dunno if anyone's gotten a chance to see if your stuff survived it crashing down?" He doesn't know what F'yr has and hasn't heard, and seems to be trying to find a way to let the Ista comment go for now, watching her avidly as she sits up in case she needs help. "It's not a problem, really, though I'd appreciate it if you told him that." A crooked smile lifts one side of his face, but only briefly. "It's alright. I know it's risky, and it's necessary to preserve life, and I applaud the bravery it takes, but… well, whatever." Apparently the inability to find appropriate words is contagious, so Sigam just drops his head to observe his fingers instead, quiet for a long time as one nail flicks over the other, clicking. "I was worried about you is my point, I guess. Anyways." He tries to shake the fog out of his eyes with a grin, inviting a change of subject.

F'yr eyes do their rolling business. "You gotta actually make it sound /exciting/, you know. 'There was this idiot named Sigam, who ran into this even bigger idiot renegade called Twig, who drew out his knife and demanded all his marks—' Hey, you know, I think I knew a renegade named Twig," she says, suddenly surprised by that sudden memory sparking back into her mind. "It doesn't take much to make a place a home. Xanadu's more home than anywhere else… at least, I thought so." She just shrugs a moment, that is until her face snaps up to his and she stares blankly. "My stuff! I… forgot about that." She looks panicked for a moment, throwing the blanket off her legs and then scootching to the side, but remains sitting there, head swimming a little. She stares at a spot on the floor, and when she seems to focus again she turns her head up to him. "I ain't nothing to worry about," she says, almost sounding like it was an automatic response. "I'm a tough rider and all. We… we ain't been knocked down." A silent Yet added to that.

Sigam's face has gone sort of blank, mouth slightly open, eyes staring straight at Fy. "Wow," is all he has to say at first. Then he smirks, eyes lighting up with laughter. "That was uh… pretty spectacular. You should be a harper," he murmurs, poking fun at the poor brownrider. "Did you really know one, though - a renegade?" The Dragonhealer shifts backwards in his seat a bit, finally tired of being poised on its edge. "No, I understand you. It feels like home to me too, and I've only been here a few months. It's still your home, too - you can always re…build. Hey, hey, settle down, you can't go anywhere in your state," he says, standing and putting his hands out to forestall her fleeing, even if she hasn't made it off the cot yet. "There's a lot of volunteers here - we can get one or two of them to gather it up for you. You just… stay." The man returns her look somewhat defiantly, right brow peaking. "Don't be silly. Even the toughest people get fussed over." Hands slide to his hips in a bossy manner. "It's not a matter of being knocked down, really, though I'm glad you've a good track record I guess." He wavers in his stance, then lets his arms slide back down to his sides again.

F'yr has a thing about making people laugh, apparently making her beam brightly and then giggle along with him for a moment. "Me? Harper? Shells, no… You're the one with that talent, remember?" She looks like she is about to answer him right away with another one of her tales before her face falls and she turns as serious as she can with sleepy drugs in her system. "A few. Pirates." Pause. "Ever hear about those candidates being kidnapped by pirates back in Western? Many turns ago…" Her voice is soft, falling back to that darker memory. Her hand lifts first after she sits up, as if to ward him off, but then it goes right to her head. "But there's very… /very/ important stuff. Under my mattress. Could be missed. And my hunting bag, where I keep everything too… " She starts sounding more anxious, scooting a bit more till her feet are touching the floor. "Are you saying you can stop me?" she says, giving her head the tinniest of shakes as she stares at him.

Sigam's head shakes slightly, chuckle dying slowly in his throat. "Shells, yes! There are different kinds of harpers, you know. Or maybe it's more like a nanny, telling stories to kiddies." The man's grin fades too, dark brows lowering as he listens to this new information. "Pirates… Yeah, I did hear that. My parents got all paranoid and about hauled me back from Ierne… You were one of them?" Instead of teasing now, his voice is perhaps a bit awed, soft and concerned. The Dragonhealer is unconcerned about the attempt to forestall him, holding his ground even though his head's shaking, refusing. "Make a list, then, to give to someone. I'm sure there's paper around here somewhere." He looks around as if looking for some, so that by the time he glances back, F'yr's already standing. "I'm pretty sure I can. Sit down, Fy. You'll just end up hurting yourself more besides, and then what will Zaruath do?" Yep, he definitely just pulled the dragon card. Hands reach out to gently push on her shoulders, attempting to lower her back to the cot should she let him.

F'yr pulls a 'disgusted' face at the mention of nanny and kidlets. Tongue out, nose wrinkled… Not that it stays that way or too long, her shoulders lifting up together, helplessly. "Yeah, I was one of 'em. One of the last ones I suppose. What can happen to you when everyone's in a mask and no one knows who is what." It might have been a lot more obvious than that, but she makes it sound more paranoid. Her chin lifts up, letting the light catch on the slash across her throat, giving him a little bit of a smirk. She does use his distraction to steady herself on her feet, looking determined. "Yeah, but what if it's /lost/ or someone took it? They're gonna think it's junk. And I ain't gonna hurt myself anymore," she starts stubbornly, glaring up at his resistance. "Zaru can suck it up." She loves her dragon that much. But dragonhealer wins over weak tiny brownrider, as she tries to stand her ground, but it doesn't take much for her feet to give and to sit back heavily on the bed with a grunt.

Snort!, goes the Dragonhealer. "I guess not, huh? Shame, you'd be /adorable/ with a flock of kids around you," Sigam teases, ducking back a bit to avoid any attempted rebukes. He stills again quickly, at least. "Ah… Fy, I'm sorry. That had to have been… traumatizing," he finishes lamely, brow locked tight against the bridge of his nose. "Good point, though. It's too easy when people are in costume and stuff." The scar is eyed with new suspicion, but any questions are clamped down upon, for now. "But… stop making sense. Just overexhausting yourself will tax you and make it longer until you can get out of here." Arms fold and lips purse, eyes rolling at her demonstration of affection between bonds. Ha! "He can, but I won't." The man retracts his hands as soon as Fy is sitting, but seems to be considering her defiance in a different light. "Maybe tomorrow, if you're feeling a little less dizzy. For now, I'll send Koenig and Saoirse up to watch over it and chase off anyone that comes." A thought occurs. "Hey, where's Chu?"

"I'd only train 'em all to torture you," F'yr says about the flock of children, tongue going out quickly. "Traumatizing," she repeats with a huff. "Yeah, something like that. But that was turns… many turns ago." Her shoulders slump down, looking quite defeated at the moment. "If I'm really making sense than you wouldn't be fighting me or anything. Not like you can /really/ stop me. I just felt dizzy is all." Sure she did. "Wait until this passes and I'll be able to go dig up my own weyr." She lifts her chin high, setting her jaw stubbornly, and stares up at him. "Mini-Chu ain't too young for that?" There's a hint of concern before she's shaking her head. "Not here. She runs off when she gets too scared, comes back in a little bit. Probably :betweened: all the way back to Western."

"Too late for that!," Sigam laughs, "they already know all the right buttons to push. My little sister could get every thirty-second I have if she wanted, and then angst some more." He says this with a certain fondness, however, eyes twinkling for a quick second. "Yeah, that was a while back, but… time doesn't make stuff that much easier." Eyes avert off to one side, lips twitching off to one side. "I'm just torn between wanting you to have your stuff and wanting you to be healthy. And I can too - I can sit on you." His eyebrows bob once, quickly, as if to say 'don't tempt me.' The Dragonhealer stares right back through the rest of her claims, just smiling and nodding. "She's been with me five weeks and already I've learned that I can't give Koenig a mission without giving her something to do, too, else she pitches a fit." Resignation lines Sigam's voice. "If Cal wasn't ferrying messages to Ierne and back, I'd send him instead," he mumbles before nodding. "That's smart of her."

"There's a big difference between weyrbrats torturing you and siblings." F'yr makes a thoughtful pause though. "I think. I ain't ever been a sister, just a weyrbrat." Which means she's admitting to being one of those that did the torture, most likely. She blinks her eyes hastily a few times, staring at him as if he's said something surprising. "I… well, yeah. It doesn't," she admits, frowning. And then she puts on that pouty face she's tried on him before, though it looks a little weird with her hazy expression, quickly replaced by a fierce look. "I'd like to see you /try/ to. I'd bite you." Her blue eyes look left and right, as if searching for said firelizards. "Maybe it's cause I only got Chu that she's different. But… but glad to hear, she's fine. She's good. Firelizards are tough." Hey, like herself.

"Is there?," Sigam drawls, smirking. "I dunno. My sibs were holdbrats and they weren't peaches themselves." One hand reaches up to scritch the back of his neck, nodding a bit. "Just get used to dealing with it in your own way." Then he gives a great big sigh, pointedly flicking his eyes away from Fy's. "Not with the faaace," he grumbles, only risking a glance when the tone of her voice changes. "Oh, would you? And what if I liked it?" Eyebrows raise loftily, but his eyes are glittering with teasing mischief. "Either way, I wouldn't force my hand if I were you." Catching her sideways glances, the Dragonhealer's own eyes grow a little foggy, but for a different reason, and seconds later the flits in question pop from between and flutter down, Ko to land on the end-rail of F'yr's cot, Saoirse to take Sigam's shoulder, though her neck quickly stretches out to observe the brownrider with a croon. "She's already getting big. 'Bout a third of her full size or so, I'd guess. They are tough little things though, yeah. Wouldn't be surprised though, about Chu. Calelir acts different now that these guys are around, too. Hm."

F'yr bobs her head all serious-like. "Yeah, difference. Holdbrats are also… you know… holdbrats." Fy /always/ makes sense. Honestly. "And I've been dealing with it." Blue eyes stare at him intently, waiting to see some cracking, or anything that might make her find a way through. "Like it? I bite /hard/." Beat. "/Painful/ hard," she tries instead. "I can't force anything. You're wounded too, you don't have any advantage." Except the fact that he wasn't really drugged and had both hands in working order. She's momentarily distracted, though, as she turns her head to follow the flying flitters, smiling faintly at the golden one. "She does kinda look like Chu, too. But I won't have more than just Chu for me, since she's been with me so long." She reaches a finger to see if the brown at least wanted a pet, though he hasn't made her forget she was looking for an escape route.

"Ah," Sigam says in a most sagely manner, as if F'yre has explained everything. Snicker. "'Course you have, or you'd be a flinchy little thing that doesn't trust anybody, am I right?" Fy's blue stare is met with brown squinting, the Dragonhealer lowering his face until they're seeing eye-to-eye. "Unless you plan on breaking the skin, I'm not scared. As for the rest of that, you think what you want. We'll just see." It had been tempting to reiterate that he had no weaknesses, but alas, that would end in tickling, and we all know how well that worked last time. See, Sigam does learn! "Yeah, at least a little bit similar, huh?" Sig allows himself to be distracted by the miniature beasties as well, one finger going up to scritch Saoirse affectionately under the chin. "I don't blame you, though. I just… have all the luck. Wasn't even looking /at/ him," the Dragonhealer says as he jerks his chin down towards Koenig, who has dropped down to the bed to toddle his sharply angular body to bump his head against Fy's finger. Yes, pets please! Cue great big firelizard eyes - the ultimate distraction!

F'yr narrows her eyes in the slightest, her smirk turning into a stiff line. "Who said I trust anybody? But I definitely am not flinchy." Just wait until they see her in a masked ball where she's jumping at shadows and tossing her knife at random things. She doesn't break her gaze when he gets closer, mimicking him by squinting her own eyes. "I've broken skin before." And she snap-snaps her teeth at him playfully. Of course, firelizards get in the way and she watches Saoirse for a moment with a smile before focusing on the brown. "Hi fella. You're kinda like a mini Zaru, right? Knew just who you were looking for." She gives him a few scritches around the chin and 'ridges with her good hand, pretending to be thoroughly distracted. And then when Sigam's being all firelizard-cuddly she hops to her feet and tries to squeeze her small body under him.

"Good point, I guess you never said that," Sigam says in a huff, arms crossing over his chest. "At least you have that much going for you." Though he's been almost mockingly serious so far, a smirk is slowly curling his lips. "Intentionally, or by accident?," he qualifies, lifting lips to bare his own teeth with a little purr-like snarl. The little gold on his shoulder doesn't seem amused by this at all, cheeping at him sternly before crooning at Fy. "I guess so. He's much nicer than Zaru, though." Koenig seems to want to cement this, flopping onto his back to paw at her finger - a finger which suddenly isn't there anymore. Saoirse squeaks and takes to the air as Sigam mutters an "Oh no you don't" and reaches out with both arms in an attempt to snag the brownie while also trying to dodge her various injuries. Hard to do, surely. Ruuuun!

F'yr looks smug as he can't seem to find a loop to her supposed untrusting nature (though naturally people will find faults in it). "Oh, /completely/ intentional," is her reply, lips still pulled away from her teeth though it's looking more like a grin. Then a giggle leaks through. "Looks like Mini there doesn't think you can win either." She grins down at the brown though. "Zaru's just all talk," she says, which might not be true about the brown but true about her most of the time. But then she's up, focused on keeping to her feet now and sprinting the few steps away from her cot, turn corner where she knows the infirmary entrance is… Well, she might be able to duck and run all the way out in an escape with the way her small body keeps low, even if her waist is wide open.

Sigam makes no excuses for himself, but he does pinch his lips together in a bit of a pout for her smug behavior. "Ooh, well, I'm scared now," the man quips, wide smile reflecting F'yr's. "Yeah, well, she's a woman. What can you expect - can't do nothin' right by her." Maybe the Dragonhealer has something to say about Zaruath, or Koenig, or both, but he really doesn't get the chance to voice it. Instead, he blinks after the fleeing brownrider for a second, smiling sheepishly into the weird/scornful glances he's getting from injured and healers alike. "Ah ha, she uhm… Bye." Leaving his flits in the dirt, Sig flies after Fy, ignoring the blatant opening around her middle to pull up even with the escapee. "Race you!" Not that he knows where he's going, but he's going to wink gaudily and run until her burst of energy putters out at any rate.

"You better be," comes F'yr's quick reply to him being scared. All hundred pounds of her like looking fierce and scary. It makes up for her lack of… everything else. Firelizards, dragons, and all the like are quickly forgotten. Fy's got to have all her willpower to run afterall, and she wasn't kidding about being quite resilient to fellis or whatever they gave her. There's no passing looks to anyone, up until Sigam gets close and she cackles madly at his words. "As if you'll win!" Fy just isn't a quitter even when it's obvious the dragonhealer has more energy and longer strides than her. But she's twisting, leading the way across the clearing towards the destruction, the meadow, and her collapsed weyrbarn. Surprisingly she makes it far enough before needing to force herself to slow down or collapse.

"How could I lose? I'm built for speed!" Sigam, though inspired by her maniacal cackle, is noticeably taller than the brownrider - where she can duck and flit, he has to leap and shove, leaving a disgruntled mess of people behind him. "Except more cross-country, not through crowds!," he qualifies in a yell at some point after he's spooked one of the wild-running ovines in the trees around the clearing. The trek through the meadow affords him some time to catch up, so it's not long before the Dragonhealer pulls up beside Fy, sides heaving and brow knitted despite the pulse there around his stitches. "Shards. It really tore this place up, didn't it?" The mess the tornado left behind looks garish by the light of day, and Sig wrinkles his nose in what might be disgust for the weather, or just the state of things.

There might be a few more added snickerfits at the Dragonhealer when he disturbs people. F'yr is just evil like that. She easily finds her way into slipping through the smallest of spaces at the end. She did slow, but it's closer to the more damaged area that she pauses in her running. Wobble wobble. More from her dizziness but also because she's staring around at the easily noticed trail where the tornado crept through, chest heaving as she takes big gulps of air. Her arms are spread out, keeping her balanced, and then there's a flicker of her blue eyes towards the very familiar cottage of a certain Weyrleader. But she's quick to look away, try to recover her breath, and wobbles onwards. "I guess this is the kind of stuff that happens when you don't live snug in a cliff or volcano. Not that we had any tornados ever in Telgar or Western or Ista…" She's heading a little off to the side of the main destruction, where trees and homes were still hit. There's a weyrbarn that had better days nearby.

Sigam almost chugs past, not really expecting F'yr to pause before she reached her destination, but his heels dig hard into the dirt just a few steps beyond her. "You okay? You can lean on my shoulder, if you want." He extends his arm with the offer, head canted to one side. He's still frowning against the headache he can feel coming on, but his gaze is mostly puzzled. "Yeah, I've heard of plenty of them, but never saw one before. Just had the victims come to Ierne sometimes, if they were really in a bad way." The Dragonhealer seems to contemplate this even as Fy continues her wobble, scowling at the landscape before he gets moving, too. "That it?," the man asks eventually, nodding towards the collapsed weyrbarn.

F'yr lifts her good hand up to give him a thumbs up, not quite managing a smirk when she's trying to have her mind and breath catch up to her. "Yeah… I'm good," she gets out, straightening her back a little and then trying to wobble a little less. "Nah, it's… alright." She doesn't really take the offer, but if she starts walking much closer to the dragonhealer, bumping her shoulder along him when she wobbles, it's just because… well, coincidence she might say. "I didn't really /see/ it right away. I just wanted to… get to Zaruath." Who they did pass, player just forgot about him. Just as bad as Fy. The brown stalks them slowly from the edges. "We had hurricanes in Ista. Those are pretty bad," she muses, voice trailing as her eyes lock on her short-time home. "Faranth… yeah, that was it. Well, at least it ain't smeared across the whole meadow in little pieces."

Sigam eyes the thumbs up with a crooked grin, head shaking slightly. "Your knocking knees say otherwise," he argues somewhat playfully, but he allows her to 'decline.' Sort of, for he tucks one arm lightly about her shoulders anyways, barely touching so she can move away if she wants - it's just enough that he might be able to catch her if she stumbles. He does it very coincidentally too, oh yes. "I understand," the man begins with a flickered glance behind them carelessly, looking for the brown but not really /looking/, "but I still think I should've thrown you over my shoulder and toted you off after the weyrwoman." He might be teasing, but his eyes are grave enough that he might have seriously been fretting over it. "I remember, but I was a lot younger then. Ma would just race us down under the stone with the rest of them and we'd wait it out. Seeing that thing spinning was… awing, I guess." He shrugs one shoulder to show that's as close as he's going to get to the right word. "Very true. Silver lining and all that, though… Don't even know where to start." One hand scruffs through the hair on the back of his head.

Zaruath's eyes are always a-whirl intensely whenever his lifemate's health is involved, and he gives Sigam a very long stare from his far off distance as he follows them. F'yr doesn't seem to make any acknowledgement to the arm there. It's either she's pretending she /can/ walk on her own two feet or she really doesn't seem to notice it as she walks/wobbles on, getting a bit steadier as she continues at least. "And earned yourself another broken nose if you tried?" Key word there is 'tried'. "Anyway, you had goldriders to worry 'bout instead, while I have… What if Zaru actually got out of the weyr looking for me instead?" Fy sounds very serious about it, too. Her blue eyes glance up briefly to him, but this movement seems to make her somewhat unbalanced. "Ah, right. I forget, you're from that Hold." Already sounding so detached. She hesitates a moment, but it doesn't take her long to decide as she faces forward and starts crossing the short distance to her collapsed barn. There doors were wrenched up, even the claw marks on the side are visible from where Zaruath was trying to claw her out, making holes to make it wider. But inside is where they might need to do some crawling between downed beams, especially since her 'bed area' was up on a loft, all torn down now. The brownrider pauses just inside, swaying a bit in shock on the heels of her feet at the scatter. Her mattress wasn't really in a place she could easily find her treasures.

Maybe Sigam spies those whirling eyes in his glance, maybe he doesn't, but either way he isn't deterred. "I'd rather have a broken nose," he states firmly, casting a wry glance down at her. "You sincerely underestimate my ability to succeed when I have a single-minded task," he adds on. The mention of goldriders has him snorting, eyes rolling even as they become troubled, or maybe thoughtful. "I guess so. They did actually need me, but…" He frowns at the change of thought, fingers tightening around her far shoulder instinctively when she shows signs of tottering. Brown eyes meet blue briefly before looking ahead again. "I don't know. Could've just gotten buffered around like the rest of us. Or he could've gotten swept up." Either way, the relief in the Dragonhealer's voice shows that he's happy the brown chose to remain inside. The hold comment is merely 'hm'ed to, becoming irrelevant in the face of their task. The scratches and holes are eyed solemnly, and mental vows are renewed to check over Zaruath as soon as possible, even as he steps into the wreckage after F'yr. "Yikes," he says intelligently, then, "Even your weyrbarn doesn't do things in halves." Well, he's trying to be cheery, at least. Eh heh.

"That'd have been a tough battle. I ain't one to back down that easily, either…" But F'yr giggles at the thought of both of them stubbornly trying to do what they want. Like a tug of war… She's likely to lose at the end, of course, being all talk and no… muscle power. But she wouldn't have gone quietly. "But?" she pipes up, curious for the moment, leaning into his arm heavily as she finds her feet again. A wrinkle forms right down the middle of her forehead as she listens to him. "Or killed," she adds at the end. "But ain't matter now. Like I said, we're both tough. If being slammed to the ground by winds didn't kill us, crazy pirates, or fires… this wasn't gonna make a dent." Except in her forehead. "This can't… I /gotta/ find that stuff. It's /gotta/ be in here though." She moves away immediately, picking her way carefully over the fallen stuff in the front, tugging at the dragon couch's blanket to see if it'll give. But she's aiming to where she can see where the loft-portion fell, her mattress, trying to climb over a beam to get to it.

"Hey, I'm rough, tough, /and/ buff. I could make it happen," Sigam says most cheerily, a twinkle in his eyes, likely imagining the same sort of fight. "Not without a good knocking, though, I'd imagine." Well, at least he admits to that much, silly man. Not like he'd go through with it anyways - in the end he's no K'ael, even though he can see the benefits. Hee. "I already told you - I'd've rather been haulin' your happy ass along with. We had to move the eggs," he goes on to explain with a smirk. "But they would've lasted the extra couple of minutes." The Dragonhealer readily accepts the extra weight of the lean, giving her time to regain her balance while his face grows sober again. "Yeah. So. I guess in the end a few scratches and bumps were worth it. You're right, you survived, and you know, in spite of being bonked around the noggin, I can't really tell the difference." He obviously means in her mental capacity, for he winks as she moves away, taking his own path and ducking around a slanted board, following her progress from a distance. "I'm sure it's around here. Is it in anything recognizable - a cloth or a bag? 'Cause I have no idea what we're looking for."

"Damn right a good knocking… And you forgot the biting." F'yr a bundle of energy, she is. Even when she is all hurt and everything… she's the energizer bunny on evil. That line between her brows only grows as her forehead wrinkles up some more. "My happy ass was fine and… I /thought/ I heard about that. But imagine what could've happened to all those poor baby dragons if you didn't help right away. I wonder if they could have come out malformed…" She peeks back at him after moving away, enough to stick her tongue out. "I've gotten used to being hit on the head loads of times. It ain't nothing. How's /yours/ feeling?" But there's a bit of cracking to her voice as she tries to keep the conversation light and teasing, every time she turns back to her destroyed place it only breaks with pain. "It's… Well, I have a big camping bag. Got lots of clothes, gear I need." There's clothes lots of places though, seeing she was an untidy girl that threw things around. "But under my bed… I had a little pendent…" her voice cracks as she scoots herself to the other side of the beam, checking around her mattress and finding nothing before she's trying to lift the thing herself. "And— *grunt* —A slingshot."

"I still stand by the idea that I would enjoy that too much. You should find a different scare tactic," Sigam quips, shooting F'yr a sideways glance as he proceeds to pick about the tumbled weyrbarn. "Suuure it was fine. That's why it fell, and then got squished, right? The hatchlings could have been malformed… Or mentally challenged, which would have been a real treat." The Dragonhealer doesn't even want to think about what a truly schizophrenic dragon could do. Probably be tossed between. His tongue flashes right back. "Mine is feeling thoroughly abused lately and wants me to hide away for a few years, but it'll survive." Though his voice isn't cracking, Sigam is obviously endeavoring to do the same thing, words either taunting or amused as his eyes well up with sympathy. Clothes he gathers over one arm when Fy mentions those, but she'll have to point him somewhere specific for the rest unless he stumbles over them somehow. "Oh, shells, don't move that by yourself," he grumbles when the brownrider grunts, settling the clothes all onto the first flat surface before he shifts and stumbles to join her. "Here, I'll lift, you see if you can grab them." Fingers tuck underneath it before he's pulling the mattress up as high as he can make it go.

F'yr falls silent for a moment in deep thought. "I wonder if I should be worried 'bout you if you really would /enjoy/ that," she says, almost to herself, passing a wary look to the man. "And… and dragon hatchlings are more important. I didn't get squished for long, I think. I… don't honestly remember." Kind of what happens when you get knocked out after all. "It probably ain't really happy at me either right now, putting you through all this. But then again, /I'm/ not making you do anything." She can shoulder her way through her own things, which she's trying to do with the mattress and failing miserably with one good hand. She grudgingly gives him the mattress to lift, wiping sweat out of her face with the back of her hand - or was that tears? And then she drops down to her knees to crawl under. "Just don't squish me again right - I think I see it!" And crawling forward she disappears almost completely under the mattress, grabbing a hold of a chewed-on old slingshot. But then she's bumping her head on the mattress, as if trying to push it. "And… Can you move it just a little? Or I can squeeze my hand under it." She's trying to wiggle fingers to get a little silver pendent out.

Sigam's grin is nothing short of feral. "You shouldn't be so much worried as afraid. I'm a scary person." His good eyebrow bobs comically towards her wary glance. "Yeah yeah, I know. Duty to the weyr and that. As for my head, it's fine. Achy, but it would be doing that no matter what. I'd rather be helping." His head tilts sideways a bit, trying to see under the mattress to spy what she's looking for, but it's in vain - the more he ducks, the more the mattress lowers, so in the end he just stares off into the near distance. "I'm not gonna squish you, but the fact that you think I would makes it very tempting to try," the Dragonhealer cajoles, tucking his right shoulder under the edge of the mattress and pushing up harder, higher. "That's all the further it's gonna go, I think. Can you reach it? If not, maybe I can lower this side and try to lift from somewhere else?" Yep, head's definitely pounding now.

"Cause you really scare me sooo much," F'yr says dryly with a roll of her eyes at that, smirking to that feral grin. "Not even close, with all those bruises and broken noses I always see you with. Maybe more silly than scary." She snorts at his comment, shaking her head a little and decides that's not a good idea. Not that he could really see what she was doing anyway. "Duty to your other friends, too. Ain't you soft on that weyrwoman Thea anyway? Not that just that should mean why you'd save her eggs, since it's also… dragonhealer-y stuff." She might be rambling, but she's definitely trying to scootch herself little by little to what she's staring at. "Hah," is all she says to the squishing part. And then there's a louder "Hah! It /is/ it! I… I got it," she calls out from under the mattress, wiggling her way out from under there with her one good hand, cradling her treasures close to her chest. "Knife's not there but I had it under my pillow," she murmurs, too focused on checking over her wooden slingshot, looking at the thing fondly, with the pendent, a silver mermaid, is left at her feet.

"Don't I?" Sigam looks injured, lips flicking immediately from grin to pout. "Those are supposed to make me look all manly and tough. Damn, guess I have to go another route." The man snaps the fingers of one hand as if to say 'oh darn'. "Oh, shut up and quit making sense when I'm trying to be nice to you, woman," Sig finally growls with a slight chuckle, head shaking. "Regardless, I was dutiful, I guess." The Dragonhealer hesitates a bit, inhaling as if he's about to say more, but then thinks better of it, and ignores that bit about Thea. "The Annex is having quite the fit over those eggs, anyways. People are enjoying the chance to watch them, even if it's making Seryth antsy that she can't hover over 'em." Now he's definitely just babbling for the sake of it, keeping that shoulder tucked under the padding until she declares her success. "Good! Nothing else you need, right?," he asks, but he's already lowering the mattress back down with a slight wince. Rolling his shoulders, he eyes the objects F'yr's pulled out. "I'm guessing there's a story behind that." The small smile that's formed on his face fades as he looks around the weyrbarn again. "What else did you need? I don't want this thing to shift again and take us both out."

"Not when you can't make interesting stories to 'em. A girl throwing a bottle? Well… it's funny…" There's a snort to the memory too, from F'yr, even if she wasn't there to witness it. "But you gotta learn us girls always make sense." But she leaves it at that, focusing on getting her stuff out as she listens to him, noticing the pause for a moment but there's no more questioning coming from the short brownie. "Thanks," she mumbles, finally, to the dragonhealer, sparing him a concerned glance, though her eyes are focusing on his shoulder instead. And then she looks down sadly to her slingshot, testing the thong by pulling back on it, hand wrapping around the wood. And then the pendent is finally taken and, while she was desperate to get it, it's quick to disappear behind a closed fist. "Yeah, stories. Dad's," she mumbles with a fond caress down the slingshot's handle, voice thickening. "And the other belonged to a man that deserves more than death." She picks herself up off the ground, trying to look around her destroyed barn. "At least… my bag. That's all I care about." She doesn't seem too concerned about the place collapsing, slumping her shoulders.

"Ah, well. In the end, I guess I'd rather give someone a laugh than be taken seriously," Sigam says in surrender, his sideways grin returning. "Okay, hey, you lot aren't /always/ sensical, but I guess you are most of the time. In your own way," he has to mutter, if only for the mere sake of argument. "No problem," the man returns easily to her thanks, smile becoming a bit more genuine. The concerned glance is returned with one of his own however, though it's more for her emotional state than physical well-being. Many comments flash through his head, marked by changes in his facial expression or the clench of his jaw, but in the end he neglects to voice most of them. "You never mentioned your dad before," is all he says in response to the slingshot, and though his gaze twitches towards her clenched hand, he doesn't seem to feel comfortable prying any further. Instead he utters a small "oh" before turning his attention elsewhere. "Okay. What does it look like?" Sigam looks back in time to catch the slump in Fy's shoulders, and the man's face softens visibly, lips tugging down at the corners. Wordlessly, he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder if she'll have it, attempting to offer a spot of comfort by touch where words seem to be failing him.

"Oh, don't feel too bad 'bout it. I'm sure you all have your uses as well, even if it's not being right like us." The battle of the sexes were never going to be won. F'yr's blue eyes, while still sad, can't help but look puzzled over the expressions crossing his features. At any other time she might have been fascinated. But the sadness takes over completely again and she lifts both her shoulders up in an expressive shrug. "He's dead," she says almost matter-of-factly about her father. "Several turns ago now." She finds a pocket to tuck the pendent and then the slingshot, sticking out of her back pocket. "It's a big bag, about this high" she points to her hip, "brown and stuffed completely," she describes. Even slumped there's a shiver of tension that runs through it, but she doesn't shrug off the comfort. Any comfort is better than none. "Probably by the front," she finally says after a moment. "Next to Zaru's couch."

"You have to have babies somehow," Sigam agrees, looking disgruntled, but seeming resigned to the fact that the two of them could go on and on, back and forth until the end of time, should one of them fail to surrender. "Ah. I'm sorry to hear that," he says gravely indeed, gaze flicking downwards as if he almost wished he hadn't mentioned it. "I thought- Nevermind." One foot scuffs a bit, for it's something - anything - to do. When she describes the bag, he's quick to nod and peer around, brown eyes narrowed. "Okay. Sounds like you were ready to take a trip." He's grasping at straws to change the subject now, even as he angles his head to one side. Part of him hesitates, almost pulling his hand away from her shoulder, but then he's giving it a gentle squeeze, voice pitched low and reassuring. "Hey, don't worry, okay? We can come back tomorrow and get the rest of your stuff, and get it into a guest weyr, I guess, until we can find you another place. It'll be alright." Actual warmth touches his gaze for a moment before he tears it away, moving around the debris towards the indicated couch, moving things aside in search for the bag.

F'yr wrinkles her nose at the mention of babies but, well, she actually relents. She lets him get away with that one as she kicks a piece of rubble away from her. "It's alright… it happens, you know?" Her blue eyes shift to him again, pursing her lips together. "You thought?" she prods curiously, waiting on it with a long pause before she snorts and tries for another of her smirks, though the pain still leaks through. "I'm /always/ ready for a trip. It's… easier that way, you know? And I was actually hoping for one soon." And then as an afterthought she mumbles, "Guess not anymore." The squeeze seems to make some of that tension go, but not all of it. "You're right. We got what was important, what ain't just laying in the open. I guess that's where I'll be staying again, too. I bet there ain't gonna be so many places open now that a lot of weyrs are destroyed." She rubs a hand through her face tiredly, wincing as she touches the stitches, and then watches him. "Shells, Sigam, forget it. You've done 'nough to help really."

The nose-wrinkle goes uncommented upon, but Sigam definitely gives a light snicker before falling prey to seriousness again. "Yeah, I guess… I'm just dreading that myself. For Emhall, at least. I never knew my real father." His shoulders rise and fall. "Thought maybe it was a memento 'cause you were away from home, maybe. I have a lot of those," he admits, lip twitching as he thinks of his shelves full of knick-knacks back in his room. "Are you? I guess that's… prudent," the Dragonhealer says, attempting to show some tact. "Not anymore because of this?" Obviously confused, he gestures around them, head cocking in the other direction now. "Hm. Yeah, I guess if this is all you need, it'll do. And if you think of anything else that you need, we can always come back. And that just means you need to jump on a place now, yeah? I'd offer to house you, but Zaruath wouldn't be able to come - he's much to big for the res dorms." Though it does amuse him to picture the brown all huddled in an upside-down ball in one of the dorm rooms, complete with grumpy expression - he even snorts at the idea before shaking his head to clear it. "Huh? No I haven't, not really. Once we find the bag, we can head out." He keeps digging, picking up bits of wood and shifting the blanket again. "It's really not a problem."

"Emhall? Foster dad?" Pause. "Sorry," she adds, realizing maybe it was a touchy subject as well. F'yr's mouth always ran away with her at the end. Her hand goes to her back pocket again and she shakes her head, frowning back at him. "No, I don't have many of those. My little treasures, my bag, and Zaru's all I need. I… don't really know where's home much anymore. Would you call Ista still home or here?" As she always picks her way through the rubbles she's kicking at random pieces of clothes. Mostly big men shirts that she has been seen wearing to swim a lot in lately, too. Her eyes follow his gesture and she sighs heavily, nodding her head at that. "Yeah, cause of this I guess. And I doubt even if there wasn't this, he wouldn't want to go with me anymore, anyway." Well that said a lot… More scrubbing of her face as she reaches him by the couch, and when she pulls her hand away it's with a lit up expression. "That ain't such a bad idea! I haven't slept in the dorms in awhile. Relaxing to hear those people 'round, right? Even if I gotta be 'way from Zaru… just for a little bit. Used to do it for awhile back in Ista." Alright, it had been more like a turn but he didn't need to know that. She's tossing torn pillows over her shoulders, though she peeks at him with a wry look. "Not wanting to get back to work right away?"

Sigam chuckles and shakes his head to indicate that he doesn't mind. "Nah, more like… Not step-dad… Half-dad, surrogate? Something like that. My mother had an affair." He says it in one smooth, quick go, face remote as if he isn't really bothered by it. Which is a lie. "I didn't either once, but now I'm worried I might be becoming a bit of a packrat. Sentimental values and all. Can't say I blame you, though, if you keep having to hop all over the place." He gives her a sympathetic look before his eyes shutter over painfully, sadly. "I don't know. I stopped thinking of places as homes a while ago, but yeah. I guess I would consider it /a/ home, if only because my family's there." He delves into the searching with renewed vigor, as if trying to bury his thoughts. "Oh. D'son, you mean? Huh." Sig glances up again, frowning slightly, but her brightened look catches on. "Yeah, I guess it is nice to have them around. The commotion… it's own kind of lullaby. I'm sure there're still rooms open," he continues, voice taking on a hint of optimism, "but if not, I'm good at sharing space. Did it for years. Not like you can't go out and see him anyways, right?" He spies something that might be a strap of a bag, but when he pulls, it refuses to budge. Hm. "Uh… No. Not exactly in a rush to get back. It's… busy. And full," Sigam says with a weary, sheepish look.

F'yr isn't the best at sympathizing, so when he reveals that about his family she stares for a long moment with a slack jaw. "Oh," she murmurs after realizing she must say /something/. "Um… sorry. Must be… weird…" F'yr got an failing grade in personal relations. She squeezes one fluffy looking pillow to herself a moment and then lets it go, giving a strained giggle. "Ain't anything wrong with keeping things like that. I mean, you still got siblings and all and more of a family to remember than me." She starts counting off on her finger until four digits are sticking out. "Four Weyrs now? And there's gotta be a place that you actually like being at. Isn't that what a home to you is supposed to be about?" She seems to be questioning herself about it as well. And then she catches his look and frown, hastily saying a: "Yeah, I mean him." Change of subject. "Well, you'll always have /someone/ to talk to 'round if you're in the main dorms. Don't need much privacy myself." She watches him tugging and quickly heads over, looking excited. "Did you find it? What's it stuck on?" She also aims for the strap, giggling lightly again. "I don't blame you. It's a nice time to be 'round people, but not when it's people and work driving you mad. Tug on the count of three?" Well, she's actually already tugging with her little body.

Sigam inhales great big, and exhales with equal loudness before nodding. "It is… weird, I mean. But it explained a lot too. Why I'm not a morning person like them. Eye color, the way my mind processed things differently. Which revealed healer skills." One hand waves as though there could be more, but he's tired of over-thinking it. "You gotta point. Still. The little sisters give me the most embarrassing stuff. I have a glass kitten and a stuffed runner." He pauses long enough to smirk. "It's pink." A dramatic shudder passes along his spine, though he's smiling. "Four, huh? That's gotta be a record of some sort, for weyrs. I've stayed in four places myself, but two of those were dormitories." He pauses to consider that, then shrugs. "Yeah. I mean, I like being at Ista, and I liked the dorms at Ierne, and I like it here… but I thought I had a /home/, once. Not so much anymore." The Dragonhealer smiles, but it seems plastic somehow, and he only too readily allows the subject change. "This is very true. I like that about the dorms too, even if it's only the old aunties out to jabber. Privacy's relative - you can find that just by walking outside." He heaves harder on the strap before poking around, lifting away debris that could be pinning it down. "I think so, but it's hard to tell why it's stuck." Tug, tug. "It's not so much the work as the people there. Everyone seems to know what's best for them, but if that were true, why the hell are they in the sharding Annex? Right, on three. One, two, three!" He heaves hard, hoping the bag wasn't loose enough to topple them over from momentum.

"Morning person? Your career? I don't think that's stuff you normally get from your parents… I think." F'yr gives him an odd look at some of those points and then shrugs her shoulders, dismissing it herself that way. She mimics the smirk, waits, and then breaks out into snickering. "A pink runner's /so/ cute though. On your bed? Sleep with it?" she asks in a teasing tone. "I guess that's both of us that don't really know what to call home anymore," she says, glancing out the collapsed entrance of her weyr with a longing look. Turning back to the task at hand, she pushes against some piece of wood possibly from broken furniture with her foot, budging it a little. "Ain't— " tug " —much privacy in a Weyr, anyway. And that can be sharding annoying, /real/ fast. Don't blame you… but you still like being a Dragonhealer?" And then he's counting and she's pulling, her foot pushing that piece and it's moving! But her grip slips and she falls back with a hard *oof* onto her bum. Hopefully it was still enough to let Sigam pull it the rest of the way.

"Maybe not, but I'm willing to place bets. You've never seen me compared to them before klah. Still… I guess that was vague. Just the mental capacity, the… way of thinking. It's just so different from Emhall, who does whatever seems best at the time without regards to repercussions… Even my mother's impulsive, but not that bad." Again Sigam shrugs, mouth twisting wryly. "I don't know how else to explain it, other than, to hear how she talked about Gamen, we're a lot more alike." On a more immature topic, Sig flicks out his tongue, blowing a raspberry over at F'yr. "Oh yes, I sleep with it every night. You betcha," he chortles, eyes rolling. "Yeah, well, misery does love company. Bad things come in two's. If it weren't for bad luck, we'd have no luck at all?" He piles through the idioms with a light smirk, attempting to make fun of the situation. "Nah, there isn't, but I guess it makes those rare moments all the sweeter." Or something. He's too busy tugging himself, leaning back and lowering his center of gravity. "You oka-ach!" Well, at least she's not the only one dumped on her ass, the sudden looseness of the bag throwing Sigam down next to her. He looks surprised for an instant, then smug as he raises one hand from the strap for a high-five. "Yeah, teamwork!"

F'yr opens her mouth to reply to that, but seeing that he kept going she shuts it quickly. Might as well not interrupt. "I… guess that makes sense," she says, almost reluctantly. "Didn't really think it'd be so much a thing you gain through blood though. But… you're still you, and you're a good person and all. So what matters is what you make of yourself and not what your parents supposedly made you." Her chin bobs up and down stiffly, once, and finite. It all made sense to this brownie. She grins at the raspberry and giggles some more. "Aww… Sigam and his pink runner. I can almost imagine that." She pauses in her movements, staring at him in confusion. "So together… we make good luck?" Right… Tugging's turned to flopping, turned to a squeal as F'yr puts her hands up, almost expecting Sigam to fall back and squish /her/. But when she finds she is safe, she laughs and raises her hand to slap it against the dragonhealer's. "Hurray for supplies! The rest can… wait." She's happy with what she came for.

"I am a good person? Well, that's news to me," Sigam says with a laugh, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "You're right, though, and I appreciate that." Sigam ruffles his own hair a bit, thoughfully, as if considering the whole series of ideas together. Eventually he dismisses it with a shrug. "Hm. Anyways, yeah, a sharding pink runner. Named Mr. Shnookums, of all the crazy things. Why it couldn't've been 'Lily' or 'Bo' or something, I'll never know." Yep, it was a /male/ pink runner. "I'll be sure to show you it sometime, if you're going to be around the dorms and can keep it secret. Remind me." Her confusion causes him to knit his brows for the whole thirty seconds it takes for him to catch her drift. "Wha- hahaha, uhm. Sure. We'll go with that. Maybe we make our own luck, too." Snickering still, the Dragonhealer rolls to his feet, taking a second to dust off his pants before hefting the bag onto his shoulder. "You sure?" One hand extends to offer her a hand up.

"Oh, no, I guess I might be wrong in that though. You can be mean with the way you want to help dragons and their eggs or stupid brownriders needing a hand with a bed." The sarcasm is strong in this one. F'yr's grinning though, watching him for a moment before bobbing her head. "That sounds more the name you'd give to a feline. But Mr. Schnookums it is. Ooh, I'll definitely love to look at him. And sure, secret, I can do that." There's definitely evil thoughts twinkling just behind her eyes at him. Oh, the tales of the pink runner plushie. She'll just nod to the luck business. F'yr had a troubling relationship with luck at the end, being there in the fact she was still alive, but also not being there. Watching him get up easily, Fy tries to do it as well and having a very difficult time of it. It's only with a irritated sigh that she grabs hold of the offered hand and pulls herself up. "I'm pretty sure. Can't carry it all anyway. And I'll live. Thanks 'gain, Sigam."

"You never know. This could all be just one part of an elaborate plan - luring the weyr into a false sense of security and then wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am, I am the ruler of the joint." It's all said so ridiculously that there's no way Sigam can be serious. "Maybe not a real feline, but… I'm pretty sure Esiae names all of her stuffed toys Mr. Shnookums. Or Tweedledee, or what-have-you. Faranth bless her, but…" Sigam trails off, smiling wide, head switching from side to side. "Yeah? Good, Faranth knows I don't need the weyr knowing I have pink, fuzzy, fluffy things - I'd never hear the end of it." The man's voice, at least, is serious, as though he understands that eye-twinkle and is presenting a good reason for her not to say a /word/. "Okay, then," he says as he helps to pull her up too, trying not to chuckle at the frustrated noise. "Good point, it would be pretty hard to keep up with anything else." He picks his way towards the mangled doors then, glancing back long enough to shrug and wave a hand dismissively. "You're welcome. Now, let's get you settled in somewhere." Stepping carefully, he minces his way out of the weyrbarn without a backward glance.

F'yr tries to hold back some laughter, snorting instead in amusement. "Ruler? Sure, you do that, but only cause then /I'd/ be the real ruler seeing as I hold your Weakness." And he was her minion and all that. She tickles the air around him and gives a mock little cackle that almost sounds appropriate even with all the serious talk from before. "Little sisters… must be fun to have 'em. And the Weyr will never know so long as I'm not given a reason to tell." Oooh, blackmail! Once up she gives one last look around, nostalgic for a moment, and then sighs as she carefully picks her way out of the debris on the dragon's couch back to the exit with him. Her face perks up and her blue eyes stare at him in surprise. "Not back to the infirmary?" Then she looks reluctant even saying that, pretending she didn't as she nods. "Yeah, that's the next step. New bed to sleep on. Got clothes, got the dragon, got my treasures." And she's set to go wherever now.

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