Just a Disaster

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.

It's getting to be close to the evening hours, when a normal person's duties will be called to a halt for the day so they can head back to their weyr and relax, or do whatever they do for fun. The rain hasn't slackened and it's been nearly eight days since Tenebrous dragged Phylicia from the burning forest before collapsing himself. The girl hadn't looked good then and she doesn't look good now, her limbs are still wrapped in bandages, and there's a light sheen of moisture on her face from freshly applied medicine. Amazingly enough, the girl is awake at the moment and trying not to make too many protesting noises as her healer-on-duty is finishing wrapping a new set of those bandages around her right lower leg.

The door slams open, accompanied by an ominous crack of thunder, then Bloodstone, Tourmaline, and Tipsy appear from /between/ above Phy's cot, settling far enough way to not do any damage and giving an indication of the less-than-quiet visitor. M'nol is… well, haggard seems too light a term. His hair is damp and unkempt as are his clothes. He looks like he may have even slept in the latter (since sleeping in the former isn't an option). He doesn't even notice Phy is awake at first, trudging across the room to sit beside her without even a wave to the duty healer, so exhausted is he. He starts talking to Phy, as he probably has done every night for the last several days while sitting at Phy's bedside, "It was raining again today, though I doubt that surprises you… Found another couple of holders stranded by the storm." He sighs softly, "The valley doesn't even look the same anymore between the fire and the flooding."

Phylicia flinches as the door flies open only to be accompanied by a flash of lightening and a crack of thunder - neither of which do anything to sooth her nerves - barely surpressing a cry of pain as tender skin strains momentarily against their bandages. The small loll of her head is the sort that someone would do while they're sleeping, shifting. So the only thing still that indicates she is awake is a pair of chocolate colored irises looking at M'nol, his haggard appearance seeming to come like a blow. There's a sharp intake of breath which sends her into a dangerously heavy coughing fit, which has the healer on duty standing from her perch on a stool, and holding a cup with a straw to the apprentice's lips for her to drink. "Now miss, we've told you to avoid putting any strain on your throat. It's raw." The healer repremands the patient as she obediantly takes a few sips before twitching her head away, only to look back to M'nol. "Bad … day?" She manages to ask of M'nol, her voice sounding either like someone dumped a pond full of frogs into her throat, or a ton of gravel. Or a combination of the two.

M'nol blinks twice, having to take a deep breath to keep from shouting. After a moment, he murmurs at the more appropriate tone for the infirmary, "Seems like they all are, lately. Ever since the fire…" He sighs softly, his absent attempt at straightening his hair making it look even more haphazard, "I… It helps me, though, to see you awake." One hand moves up towards her, then returns to his knee with a sigh, "I wish I could hold you… and you could hold me…"

Phylicia's eyes are like another form of communication for her in the last few days she's been awake, and agony that isn't based off of physical pain runs through them as she notes the hand rising towards her, and then falling. Of course, she herself isn't up for much movement at all just yet, more often than not managing to feel lightheaded and generally weak. "Didn't mean.." She murmurs, trying to say what she wants in as few words as possible. ".. get caught." Somehow, she probably overlooked the whole fact the forest had caught on fire while her feet walked a familiar path and her brain wandered in thought. "Sorry." That last is almost inaudible as she diverts her eyes, looking down at her leg where the healer has resumed wrapping her leg, carefully tying off the bandage at this point in time.

M'nol's eyes soften at her assurance, "Oh, Phy. Of /course/ you didn't do it on purpose. Faranth, I know that." He's still haggard, but /that/ at least is something he knows. He glances between her and the healer, then asks quietly, "Can I… can I hold her hand?" He's been wanting to do more than that, but one step at a time. Even slathered in numbweed he could still cause serious damage if he were to suddenly hug her. He turns a smile back to her as he waits for her answer, "So long as you're healing, Phy."

The healer picks up her stool that she was perched upon while re-bandaging Phylicia, and just looks at the young man for a minute, completely serious as she ponders this request. "Wash your hands. And your arms. Thuroughly." Comes the woman's stern answer as she turns to leave the pair. "But if she shows any pain, any discomfort. You let her be. Hear me? Infection is a very real, very dangerous possibilty still!" It's slightly hard to tell what Phylicia is thinking at this point in time, because she still hasn't returned her eyes to M'nol's face. "Healing. Slowly." She responds hoarsely, almost waiting for that healer-woman to pipe back up. But M'nol has likely heard that it'll be weeks for the burns to heal, and possibly a few months for her lungs to regain their strength. "Was stupid." She manages again, before she starts looking around for that glass of medicated water.

M'nol nods solemnly to the bossy healer, standing slowly to walk to the large sink. He sloughs his riding jacket, leaving it there on a hook, then rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and begins scrubbing. It takes several minutes to get all the dirt off, then scrub some more until his arms have a nice pink-ish shine. Returning carefully to her side, he offers her the offending glass of water and smiles softly, "You once told me you can't rush healing. Stupid happens, just don't push yourself too hard too fast. I need you."

Healers have a reason to be bossy, especially in situations such as these, where an infection could very potentially kill the bandaged girl, depending on the severity of said infection. But Phylicia has been lucky, with no infections spotted. "Not pu-pushing." She says, choking on a cough. Alright, maybe she is a little. But being presented with the cup, and the straw to the liquid, she cranes her head as minimally as possible to take another few sips, letting the medication work soothe her raw throat as she digests those last three words, which seem so new for some absurd reason, almost seeming to look guiltier as she does, for the resason she nearly got herself crisped alive.

M'nol can't help but notice the slight change in Phy's eyes, but he passes it off as part of the hurt she's going through overall. Once she's done with the drink, he sets it aside carefully, one hand gingerly resting on one of hers, ready to pull back at the slightest indication of pain. Her being in the forest isn't out of place, so he has no reason to think it was anything other than just another jaunt, "Just be sure that you heal all the way up."

Phylicia doesn't jerk away or anything, but neither does she force herself to move. To rotate her arm and take his hand in return. It was a fairly normal 'jaunt' into the woods for her indeed, minus the fact her mind was wandering until she smelled the smoke too late. Humans out running fire is a laughable thing indeed. "Trying." She rasps, her voice almost painful to listen to, though it can't be a joy ride to speak either. But the topic, much like the wounds, is still rather painful to touch. "How ar-are you?" She asks, trying to switch it to something lighter; something else as she speaks around another cough.

M'nol makes a valiant effort not to wince at the gravelliness of her voice. It hurts him to hear her sweet voice so rough and to know that it could stay that way forever. He does his best to smile, but it's definitely a sad one and he sighs softly, "Tired… /exhausted/ really. It seems like only yesterday the weyr was dry and clean." Some water finds its way to his eyes, "I've seen so much pain… I don't…" He sighs again, "Maybe I should've stayed a miner."

"Fa-Faraeth would argue." Phylicia manages to only stutter once though her eyes close momentarily as she seems to be catching her breath which ran out on her. But the protest is more like a reminder for him to remain strong, because she's certainly in no place to be lending any sort of aid. Not to mention crying is one of the last things she needs to be doing, which is what talk of the fire and all of the pain threatens to bring forth from her as she blinks her eyes, the muscles in her neck tightening, which she was advised against.

M'nol nods, half-smiling and fighting his own desire to squeeze her hand, "He would indeed… and I can't imagine not having him it's just… this is the first time I've been in a position to really help people… it's a lot harder that way." He second hand strays towards her face for a moment, then stops midair before settling on the bedspread, "Don't cry, love. Everyone's working hard. It's just a disaster."

The door to the Infirmary opens a moment later. It's been many days since ancient Fraille left this placed, called away on some mysterious errand. The truth of such things becomes a bit more apparant as she stumps back into the room, staff leading the way before her stormcloud face. "Gonna get my damn Flit and feed it some eggs, and see if you nibbly idiots keep following me around," she mutters to herself. And sure enough, behind her comes a trio of Healer Hall staff, all wearing robes and knots identifying them as healers of considerable rank. "I don't have time to wipe anyone else's backside at Fort," she calls over her shoulder angrily. "Maybe if one of you fools had paid more attention during my lectures, I'd feel safer about letting someone else practice medicine on these two." And then she turns her grim eyes to Phylicia. One hand points at the door, and to the stafflings behind her. "Get out," she growls to them. To a one, they pale before mumbling departing comments of respect, and file through the door. Only when they're gone does the acidic woman turn back to eye the apprentice healer and her company.

Why is the infirmary never a quiet place when people really are injured? Not that Phylicia was trying to sleep, with M'nol merely resting a scrubbed hand upon one of hers, reclined in bed but awake and looking a little winded. It's probably safe to assume that she's been trying to talk, though not overly so, since the healer watching over her is just starting to get prickly, bristling in her seat until Fraille walks into the infirmary, which gives the other woman a pause. Phylicia is distracted out of her threatening tears by the tone of the Master before M'nol's words sink in and she looks at him as if he has started to grow something unusual. "Just… a disaster." She repeats. Maybe she's just missing his meaning here.

M'nol nods to Phy, not noticing Fraille at first (oops), "Not just like just nothing, just like oh Faranth what now…" okay, not the best explanation, but at least he's made it clear he's not trivializing it. /Then/ Fraille catches his attention and he inclines his head to the old master healer, "Master Fraille… I… I'm not sure glad to see you is right, but glad to know you're caring for Phy… Very glad of that."

The closing of the Infirmary door is like some great portal booming closed in a bad sci-fi movie. Fraille staves herself forward slowly, eyes moving from face to face in the pale light of the room. M'nol is all but ignored, but for a gaze to his hand upon Phylicia's form. To the On Duty, she rumbles, "Note on her chart. Until the wounds on her body are closed over with a new layer of flesh, no one touches her without gloves on their hands or red root under their fingers." The On Duty merely nods, murmuring, "Yes, Craftmaster." As Morl spaces off into dozeland, Fraille turns fully to face Phylicia, keeping her voice even. "Senior Apprentice Phylicia, I am here to inform you in an official capacity that your apprentiship to Journeyman Tenebrous has been formally terminated, without option of consideration for the immediate future. Pending your medical discharge from this facility and its care, your presence has been requested for a brief period at the Healers Hall, with a posting to follow shortly thereafter."

Phylicia completely misses that whole 'craftmaster' bit from the other Healer on duty. It also seems like she missed the importance of those other three trailing after Fraille like ducklings. As Fraille turns to her she almost tries to straighten her spine as if she's trying to puff up, but after a moment decides that it's worth far too much pain to do something so silly when it likely wouldn't matter. But what comes out of Fraille's mouth definitely is not what the girl was expecting and for a moment it looks like she has stopped breathing. "What?" Despite the harshness of her voice, it still manages to convey the dismay, shock, apprehension and a touch of dread, if her eyes fail to communicate all of that for her. "But… Says who?" And since Fraille's promotion hasn't set into the girl's brain, the tone has a good amount of sass to it.

The old woman straightens a little, and her knuckles pop around the staff that she grips tightly. "I am Fraille," she growls. "And that is enough. Your orders stand, Apprentice. I am in no mood to repeat them at this time." Her lips tighten a little over her teeth and she eyes the On Duty for a moment. "Station," she says tensely, and without even a word, the On Duty stands and bows her head a little. No sour look, no rolling of the eyes, nothing. Just instant, unflinching obedience. Only when she's out of earshot do Fraille's eyes return to Phylicia. "You get to ask two questions. One stupid one, and one smart one. Then I have to go." And she waits.

And Fraille is being awful generous in her assumption that Phylicia will be able to think of a question worthy of being called 'smart' with pain haunting the back of her eyes. As much as she wants to protest it, she can see the termination of her apprentice for the 'immediate future' since it's going to take her so long to recover, though she has no clue how extensive her mentor's injuries are. The girl is regulating her breathing to semi-shallow breaths as she prepares to string more words together than she has since she's woken up. "Why can't I… be reassigned from… here if I'm… being reassigned… somewhere else?" Each pause has a small breath to it, though a small wave of disorientation washes over her eyes as she finishes asking her question, waiting to see if that one qualifies as her smart or stupid one.

Fraille snorts a little. "Might as well get the stupid out of the way first," she grumbles. She inhales for a moment. "Seveal of the masters are curious about the progress you've made during the near year that you've spent working with the Boy, myself included." She's still a moment. "Such inquiries are not to be conducted outside of the hall." She leans in a little, drumming her fingers on her staff. "One left."

M'nol starts suddenly, not realizing he'd dozed, but his hand been moved from its prior perch whether intentionally or by his own motion and Fraille is at the bedside staring at Phylicia like she should be turning into a prune any second. Doing his best to look like he hadn't fallen asleep he glances between the two, but keeps his silence, sensing the foreboding tension there.

The On Duty might not have given Fraille any trouble, or looks, but Phylicia almost seems to be trying to bore a hole into the ancient woman at the grumbled response. "Forgive me… if the pain.. gets in the way… of my /thinking/." Phy snarls half-heartedly, not all of the anger actually directed at the new Craftmaster. From the interactions, it may not seem like it, but the girl might actually like a touch of 'not so bad!' from the other healer. M'nol starts just enough to grab her attention for a moment before the next question nibbles at her again. "Why?" She gets out at first before she has to pause. "Why… formally terminate it? What's wrong with Ten?"

Fraille purses her lips for a moment. "One smart question, and one stupid, and you've already asked the dumb one. But I'll throw you a bit of a bone." She leans in, her face looking equal parts angry and tired, and opens her mouth to deliver what would almost certainly be a scathing comment. But instead, she closes it and sighs. Then, after a moment, she staves around to the other side of Phylicia's bed. "Tenebrous doesn't even know who you are right now, Phylicia." She almost looks at a loss for words before finally adding, "We're not exactly sure what happened, but something big hit the right side of his body…hit the right side of his head. The mindhealers and the neurologists are looking him over right now, but…there was damage done."

M'nol blinks, giving Fraille a look that would stupify a bovine, then glances back at Phy. He knew how much she'd looked up to Ten, even he had in his own way, then he sighs softly, shaking his head. Quietly, he mutters, "As if things weren't bad enough…"

If anyone wanted a way to completely take the wind out of Phylicia's sails, all they need to do is talk to Fraille, since the woman seems to do such a good job of it. The apprentice just looks at the old woman as the words come from her mouth, and Phy's face loses any emotion it might have had. Or at least until the lack of emotion turns into agony and something dangerously close to self-hate. Blame. Despite the protest of her healing burns, her hands wrap around her middle as she tries to sink further into the bed, as if she can disappear and take it all back. "Go away." She rasps at first, really trying to hide herself. "Please." The girl adds almost as an after thought, not quite willing anymore, to talk to either of them.

Fraille nods slowly, and for a very brief moment, something that's either sympathy for the girl, or indigestion, crosses her features. "For now." She steps back from the bed, the shod foot of her staff grinding on the ground as she turns, and a moment later, she begins that slow plod over to the On Duty's desk. A thick folder is produced from the woman's satchel and placed in front of her. "Her new Attending will be arriving tomorrow morning," Fraille murmurs dryly. "See that my POT is followed, for both patients." A pause. "And let Kherissni know that I'm ready to leave." To both statements, the On Duty simply nods. "Yes, Craftmaster." Then she's moving for the door, and eventually out of it.

M'nol looks… hurt, yeah, that's probably the best first impression… but there's concern there, too. He'd slept through the pronouncement of yet another absence on Phylicia's part, one that might end with her assigned to yet /another/ Weyr, making things all the harder on them both. He catches Fraille's instructions, though they sound like they're coming through a tunnel along ways away, but still he processes that all important fact: craftmaster. He glances back at Phy, nodding very slowly as he begins to stand, "I… I'll go… if that's what you want… but… oh, Faranth I'm sorry Phy, but I love you…"

Phylicia doesn't respond to M'nol at first, though she manages to drag herself up from her pit to nod minutely. "Please." She chokes out as she attempts trying not dissolve into tears in such a place, shoving them behind a wall. It seems like the On Duty is going to have their hands full with the girl, once that barrier breaks. She can't be held during this, and that piles another item onto the list.

M'nol's pain is clear as he nods back to her, "Please remember that I love you… I know your firelizards can find me… if you need me… as much help as I can be." He takes in a deep, calming breath, mutters something about a bath and changing clothes, then turns back towards the door, dragging his feet just enough for her to call him back if she chooses, but not expecting it.

Phylicia indeed isn't going to be calling M'nol back to her bedside, since it'd only be added torture for the pair of them if she even heard his offer, and the area of the bed Phy resides in falls silent as the girl stares at the nearest inanimate, unmoving object. She's lost in her own little world for the time being.

M'nol disappears through the doorway, gait dejected, head hanging low. Tourmaline and Bloodstone follow. Tipsy stays since he's already fallen asleep.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License