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Josy - Tuesday, May 11, 1999, 9:01 PM
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The following is a roleplay-log from SouCon MUSH (soucon.godlike.com 4201). The world of Pern is copyright to Anne McCaffrey.
You walk toward the Weyrhall.
Foloran walks over from the Landing Field.
Illiara is busily sweeping the floor, finding about a billion things to do, her eyes looking anywhere but at the entrance to the Landing Field and some of the residents in the Hall. So earnest is her sweeping, that a few of the drudges are sneezing their lungs out.
Or was that coughing? ;)
Foloran walks in with Joslyn. Anyone ever wonder how quickly someone can let go of someone else's hand? Watch Foloran. The moment he spots Illiara, he lets go of Joslyn's hand. Honestly, it's quick enough so that she probably didn't even see it in the first place. Whew.
So it's all dusty in here? Great. Oh, and Joslyn just got her hand ditched like it was on fire. Even better. Super-happy-glad that she decided to venture into this scene, the goldrider frowns at Foloran and just goes to get her own cookies, then.
Tarrin sits quietly watching Illiara working sipping at a glass of juice.
Ha! She /tries/ to get her own juice and cookies, but Foloran does still get them for her, glancing nervously at Illiara once or twice in the process. Deep breath. Cough.
Illiara's too busy to notice as she brushes past a few of the riders. And looking up, she blinks, sneezing involunatarily. Rubbing her nose, she blinks, catching Foloran and Joslyn. Ohing, she nods absently, moving towards the side of the room. Nonchalantly, the girl stiffly moves for the hearth, preparing to clean that and ignore the occurances around her.
Oh, yeah. Like that's just going to make it all better, steward. Joslyn's not a total idiot, contrary to popular belief, so she just gives Foloran a rather mild and unimpressed look for his cookie-getting and goes over to sit down someplace. Good natured and in passing, "You been doin' this long, Illiara? S'a little dusty."
"Hmm?" Illiara turns to regard Joslyn, a cool look but after a while, a shrug is issued, "Nothing else to do, I've finished with the copying and cooking, all in a few hours, so I guessed cleaning would the second best thing to keep m'self.. occupied." And as she finishes with dusting the hearth, the girl turns about, dusting herself off in the process.
Tarrin says softly, "Perhaps you could find something more entertaining to do? if you finished your work."
"Second best?" Foloran asks, taking cookies and Juice to Joslyn, a nice and apologetic look for his quick, panicky reaction earlier.
Joslyn receives the cool look and sets to blinking about it a time or two before she ohs and nods. "Well, sounds like you're definitely doin' that. Keeping occupied, I mean." Still a little bewildered to be the recipient of the cool glance, she plops down in a chair with her snack and shuts up. Contemplating.
Illiara lifts her shoulder in a shrug, "I may later.." She remarks, already tossing some food to a passing wild lizard, eyes narrowing just briefly as she regards Joslyn and Foloran, but that look passes just as quickly as it came. "It's better than nothing."
Foloran blinks at those narrowed eyes, and furrows his eyebrows, letting out a slight little sigh. This isn't going to go well. He can tell already.
Tarrin sighs softly to himself and slumps down in his seat looking back around the room once more..
That's what /he/ thinks. Illiara's not about to blow up or accuse anyone of anything. Taking a deep breath, she looks around again, but heads for the kitchen, an abrupt decision. I assure you. Her hands are totally filthy.
Joslyn's just looking innocent and sweet and thoughtful, eating her cookies and drinking her juice - and pausing every now and then as she comes across a nut. Gross.
Bertha glances over from the child who's knee she's bandaging and wonders, "Is there any Southern Red left, honey?"
Foloran ows softly for some reason or another..but doesn't complain further. He's just going to keep quiet and ride this out.. Is he sweating?
Oh c'mon, a goldrider's hardly innocent...! Yeesh...! Not that Illiara cared too much, since she herself led a rather sheltered life back home. Returning from the kithchen, she wanders over towards the serving table, taking a bubbly pie and then moves to the residents hall, speaking nary a word, looking more thoughtful than anything else.
Illiara quietly opens the infirmary door and enters.
Illiara emerges from the infirmary, closing the door behind her.
Illiara walks out towards the Residences clearing.
And the moment she's left, Foloran sighs and lets his head fall onto the table - still attached to his shoulders, of course.
Huh? "Oh, I'm sure there is, Bertha. Want I should get you some?" Joslyn offers, a bright smile for her favorite, gossip-y old auntie. She bites a cookie, chews it up, and sort of forgets about Bertha to look after Illiara for a moment. That sucked.
With an audible thump, his forehead hits the wooden platform. Softly, to Joslyn. "I'm sorry.."
It's not that easy. Not with Joslyn, anyway. "Sorry for what?" she asks, a sweet smile for punctuation. Sorry about ditching her hand or sorry about Illiara sending mean glances to the goldrider? Or is it something else entirely?
All of those, but since Joslyn didn't /say/ any of them, Foloran has to. "Sorry I panicked and let go of your hand...and sorry for her reaction." He picks his head up off the table, a nicely apologetic expression on the poor young man's face.Foloran says "Told you she'd be upset."
Joslyn patpats the back of Foloran's head (it really is a habitual thing) with her cookie-crumbly fingers, and tries to look sympathetic. "It's okay, really. I mean, I'd prob'ly have let go, too." Which is mostly a lie since Josy's not afraid of anything let alone holding someone's hand. "And she'll prob'ly get over it."
Pjorin walks over from the Landing Field.
"I hope so," Foloran comments, glancing at the new entrant, and nodding politely. "I'd be a bit upset if she never talked to me again over this." You have to admit, that /would/ be sad.
Pjorin strides in, carrying a bag of scrounged tubers and other vegetables. Nodding jerkily at the others in the room, she turns for the kitchen, where a cook is already bellowing for her goods. "Hello," the tall thin youth says rather shyly before darting away west.
Tarrin looks overs and smiles slightly as he sees a new arrival
Xyanda emerges through the archway leading to the Weyrfolk residences.
Xyanda wanders in, a basket of cookies in one hand, and a basket of yarn in the other. "I brought goodies from the kitchen!"
Joslyn, sitting at a table with Foloran and a plate of cookies, looks up to smile at the skinny kid, and then at the girl with the basket - a little more interest shown in the latter. But back to Foloran real quick (conversation in progress): "There's nothin' for her to be jealous about," she notes.
Pjorin ducks her head, the motion awkward and trembling as she comes back in from the kitchens, some feet behind Xyanda. "I -I have fresh juice," she offers, the pitcher nearly spilling with her motion. "If anyone wants..." she trails off. "Any."
Illiara emerges through the archway leading to the Weyrfolk residences.
Xyanda smiles, "I'll take some to wash the spice cookies down."
Tarrin smiles, "I'll take some..."
Foloran raises his hand - she offered, after all - and grins, "We'll take some more juice over here.. Thanks." Grin turns to a smile.
Foloran then turns back to Joslyn again, not having noticed Illiara's entrance just yet. Speaking softly, "I know..but she looked upset anyway.." He sighs.
Illiara quietly returns into the Great hall, but looks remarkably better than she did previously. Nodding silently, the girl gives a few of the folks a wide berth, preferring to stay to herself, just for now. Moving, with a roll of hides and a set of drawing sticks in her other hand. Settling down, she proceeds to unroll a hide and begin sketching...
Pjorin returns the smiles offered her way, her features turning from plain into quite attractive. "I'll let you pour. I seem to spill," she says as she settles the large pitcher onto the table. "I already changed clothes twice. Ma'll kill me if I havta do it again."
Shasta walks over from the Landing Field.
Marila walks over from the Landing Field.
Marila pushes her hair out of her eyes as she follows Shasta in.
Joslyn frowns a little at the grinning Steward, then at her pretty much full mug. "Uhm, I'm fine, thanks," she tells Pjorin and her pitcher of juice, putting a palm over the mouth of her glass. In an undertone to Foloran, who she's sharing a table with presently, "So? Nothing to be upset about. It'll blow over." Firm nod.
Tarrin sighs and slips down in his chair furth..
Shasta heads, with some trepidation, towards the serving tables by the kitchens. A wave is directed off towards the folks sitting around the tables, and the brownrider begins picking over the food available.
Xyanda nods, "I'll be happy to pour." Xyanda grabs the pitcher and neatly pours herself a glass.
"Nothing to be jealous about," Foloran repeats softly, reassuring himself with those five words. /Now/ he ventures a glance about the room, noticing all of the new entrants, offering a smile and wave to each.. Deep breath, Foloran.
Marila starts layering up a sandwich, fish sandwich today. Layers of fish and vegetables and that creamy white sauce. She places another piece of bread on it.
Xyanda munches a cookie with her juice and sets them down on the table nearest her. She pulls out a ball of yarn and needles and begins to work on a nondescript piece of knitting.
Barely acknowledging the arrivals, Illiara only flickers a glance up to regard the room, now and then, but always, she returns her attention to her drawing, meticulously adding details to the artwork. Her brow is furrowed slightly with concentration, heading tilting to the side.
Joslyn sends a collective wave toward those by the serving table - namely Shasta and Marila - and then goes back to picking the nuts off her cookies with her free hand. She looks, if you can believe it, a little bit thoughtful this evening. (Evening's okay, then?)
Pjorin trips over her feet just slightly, jostling the table that has the pitcher of juice on it. "Ah, Anyone need a cup? I can get one. There are lots, over there--" A long thin arm is directed toward the kitchens, before dropping inelegantly to her side. "Oh, Hey Shasta. I havta tell you I got some tubers and roots with vegetables still on them and a bunch of other food--you looking better, you feel better, I hope? Anyways, I am glad to see you're in here and not out in that field cause Ma was worried aboutcha not eatin' right." Warmed up, the adolescent chatters rapidly. "You need anything at all, you say okay? Cause I can get fresh--oh--" She blushes, realizing there's an audience. "For anyone of course."
Marila waggles her fingers at Joslyn as she continues to make her sandwich.
Shasta keeps her head back from the food she peruses over, selecting bits of a salad, and a roll. Forks, spoons, tongs, and whatever utensils that rest in the dishes of the creamy sauce and other rich foods get fiddled with, but quickly abandonned. With a plate barely covered with greens, she turns back to the Hall. A gentle smile is directed to Pjorin, as the lass - lad? - babbles as quickly as C'ley might. "I'm fine, really, thanks," A pause, as the Weyrsecond grasps for a name. "Pjorin." She reassures, amiably.
Tarrin looks up seeing Marila he tries to stand and sneak out..
Foloran leans over to Joslyn, speaking softly to the goldrider, brows furrowing again.
Foloran mutters to Joslyn, "Are... alright..?"
Foloran whispers "Are you alright..?"
Marila doesn't notice Tarrin as she continues to make her meal. She fills a small bowl with soup and then adds some hot peppers to the plate.
Tarrin strides over to the Landing Field.
Joslyn quirks an interested brow at the talk of Shasta's health, trying not to gawk but she still wants to know. If the Weyrsecond is feeling poorly, the weyrwomen ought to know about it. "Huh? Oh, accourse. Shouldn't I be?" is her reply to Foloran's muttered inquriy.
Pjorin grins widely at Shasta. "Are you sure? And yea, that's me, I'm Pjorin and I... You... Oh..." She turns a bright red, and skitters back toward the safety of the hearth for a moment, though her dark eyes don't quite leave Shasta's form. A crush? Probably. She seems to get them at the drop of a hat.
Marila settles down at a table. She starts to eat with the all the gusto of one who enjoys her food. She is obnoxiously thin however. This weyrling stuff is hard work.
Foloran ohs softly, and nods, "Well..yeah. You just looked..." Folroan shuts up with a sigh. Things are going oddly tonight, and there's nothing he can do about it. He leans his head down against the table again. Poor guy.
Xyanda continues her knitting, watching with interest. She munches her cookie absently, and stares at it. "Needs more spice," she mumbles, with a mouthfull.
Illiara's lips purse but she manages to draw over a mistake, gaze resting slowly upon a particular person, brow lifting before more details are thus properly added. Pausing in her work, she blinks, regarding Foloran, fingers twitching as she resists the urges to move over and comfort him. Joslyn's besides him, she's closer.
Shasta takes a deep breath, muttering under her breath about 'long walk'. But the vanishing act by the kitchen girl's taken with a soft chuckle. "You and your ma are sweet to fuss over me," is called after Pjorin. This, to the awkward girl, and 'I'm FINE' to Marila? Her plate is set down with an empty sounding clatter, and the Weyrsecond takes a seat, appearing a little winded.
Joslyn slides the plate, with a handfull of assorted cookies on it, down the table toward Marila at the other end. "Here. Knock yourself out," she offers with a grin. The weyrling looks like she could use them more than Josy could. In return for Foloran's earlier concern, she makes sure to ask, "You okay there, assistant steward sir?"
Pjorin creeps back over to the rest of the grouping of people, settling herself into a chair that allows her to look at most everyone and not be in the center of attention. Conveniently, Shasta's seat is near the center of the room. A long, swoonful sigh can be heard as the thin youth rests her head on her hands and just watches everyone, her eyes darting from one face to the next, but returning frequently to the weyrsecond.
Foloran lets out a muffled sigh, and a few muffled words - his face is against the table and his free arm, see. The words go like this: "Yeah, I'll survive. This is just an odd evening, is all." He's totally oblivious to the rest of the table's occupants. Even those with crushes.
See? and Illiara looks back down to her drawing, adding a bit of this and that before it's looked at, then rolled up. Tying it tightly with a ribbon, the girl sets it aside, thoughtfully, wondering to herself upon if she should or shouldn't. After a while, she takes the roll of hide and places it in a safe place, where it won't be... destroyed or marred.
Shasta delicately holds her fork above her plate of greens, but with a wrinkle of her nose, sets it down again. "So." The brownrider says, giving the plate a little nudge, and reaching for the roll. "How were your days?" The questions' directed to anyone within hearing distance. Though her smile occasionally rests on the young kitchen helper, she seems be unaware of the swoonful sigh, nor the frequency with which Pjorin's gaze rests upon her face.
Joslyn makes a wry face and returns, "Okay. If you say so, hon. Just 'member to breathe. It's important." With that advice delivered, she sends a super quick glance at Illiara - can't help herself - then looks almost immediately at Shasta. "I've had worse. Yours? Want some of those cookies?" since she's not eating her greens.
Xyanda looks at her knitting and streaches it out, and sees that the lenghth is as long as she is tall. It's about the width of her hand to elbow, and she drops the green yarn and picks up the blue and begins to add it in. "I burnt three batches of cookies," she adds in, weither anyone's listening or not.
Pjorin pushes the errant coil of hair that flops forward over her face back behind her ear, her obsidian-dark eyes blinking with slow and careful frequency. She doesn't want to miss anything that Shasta says or does or looks or, well, anything... when the woman is not looking at her, of course. "There's fresh juice," she offers, her chair moving of it's own accord closer. "I mean, I can get some... more." A thinly arched brow rises at Foloran's sigh, her attention drawn to him for a moment. "You want a pillow? It can't be comfortable, with your head like that."
Xyanda giggles at the young girl, attempting to smother it by carefully checking a stich.
A grin, unseen to everyone but Joslyn, who's the only person with an unobstructed view of his face, curls the young Steward - excuse me.. /Assistant/ Steward's lips, and he shakes his head a bit. "No thanks.."
Illiara had enough of the noise and rises to her feet, hastily and gathering her things, she beats a hasty retreat to the haven that is her own. Her cothold. Mumbling an incoherent "g'nite.", she half hopes everyone is busy and won't pay much attention to her.
"Very good juice, too," Joslyn comments, takiing a drink of her own and then tilting the mug in a toast of sorts toward Pjorin. "No thanks?" she repeats, and leans down a little. Huh? Oh, and she kind of noticed Illiara leaving, but it hasn't registered yet.
Bertha looks over from her mending and wonders, "Is there any water left, luv?"
Shasta pulls her roll into several pieces, the fresh, warm bread parting with ease. "Mine?" She asks, shoulders bobing in a shrug. "Same as the last few days. Any news on that trader group, the ones heading inland?" A grimace is directed at the cookies, and another to Xyanda. "Three batches? Oven a tad hot?" She eyes a chunk of the bread, as if considering whether or not the tidbit will poison her, when a smile dawns upon her face, her eyes alighting on Pjorin. "Juice? Pjorin, I'd apprecite some. Just the thing, I think."
Illiara walks out towards the Residences clearing.
Pjorin glances over at Illiara, about to wish her a good night when Shasta speaks. She swallows, standing far too quickly. "I--You want juice? I'll get it." This from the person who begged others to pour as she was too clumsy just moments ago. But Shasta's request plucks at her, and the thin, gangly youth makes the effort. "I'll get a cup. I'll be right back! Don't move!'
Joslyn shakes her head. "What traders heading inland?" she asks. Goes to show how globally informed Josy really is. Local gossip is easier to keep track of. She looks, briefly, after Pjorin and offers a conspiratory bit of advice to the brownrider: "Mind you don't get a lap full o'that juice. Clumsy."
Marila takes another bite of her sandwich her eyes closing with contentment.
Xyanda blushes, "Well, not exacataly. I wasn't paying attention enough. I was watching, uh, I was watching another thing also. Yeah." Yeah, that's it. She wasn't staring out the window watching the dragons. Nahhhh, not Xyanda. Never.
Pjorin dashes from the kitchen, a cup in hand, her plain face bright with earnestness. She's going to pour and it will not spill! Faith thrums through her as she sets forth to do her quest with no less determination than Lancelot fetching the grail for Guinevere. "I got a cup," she breathes quickly, almost trembling with effort. "You want redfruit?"
Shasta chuckles, shaking her head of sun-touched curls. "I'll stay put," She intones, though likely too softly for Pjorin to hear. "Helpfull, isn't she?" She asks of the others, before popping the chunk of breadroll into her mouth. A moment or two chewing - far longer than most woud take to ingest such food, and she grins. "I'll be set to jump." Is her next, quiet, comment. Louder, the story of the traders is elaborated. "Heading inland, hoping to reach some of the smaller holds up in the mountains. We need their plans, in case Falls' due where they'll be. Oh, redfruit would be lovely, Pjorin."
Oh. It's about Threadfall. That's why Joslyn hadn't heard about it. Other people's areas of expertise. "I'll ask about it next time I talk with Tel," the goldrider promises, though odds are on Shasta finding out for herself well before that. Seeing Pjorin approach with all that zest, Josy just grins and settles back to watch for a while.
Xyanda finishes off another cookie and shakes out her knitting, as she has amassed a collection of crumbs on it.
Foloran is just bein' quiet and listening for now.
Pjorin beams at Shasta. "I can do that," she promises the brownrider, settling the cup near the pitcher. "Just a second." With that statement, determination lowers her brows so that the meet above her beaky nose, her thin lips narrowed along with her eyes as she regards the pitcher carefully. You can never tell with these things--they sometimes move unpredictably.
Be that as it may, Pjorin reaches for the pitcher and grasps it by the handle, preparing to lift it. It should be a slow, graceful movement, but the dratted thing is lighter than it looks and Pjo overcorrects. Juice, pitcher mug... all go flying, a spray of color and clang of noise in the air. "Oh crack it!" she cries.
Foloran gets splashed with juice. Oh joy. He blinks a few times, sitting up abruptly, glancing around to see what, exactly, has just happened. Glance to Joslyn. Is she splashed, too? He checks.
Some of the juice lands on her sandwich, Marila takes a bite, "Hey not bad.."
Xyanda ducks for cover as she sees juice a' flyin. She manages to avoid everything but a few drops, but the end of her knitting is soaked. She stares at it, mournefully. "Oh, dear."
Illiara emerges through the archway leading to the Weyrfolk residences.
See, it was a good thing Joslyn was paying attention 'cause it meant she could move her chair back out of the way so only her boots got dampened. "Wasn't me," she tells Foloran quickly, palms held out empty and innocently. Her forehead dips toward Pjorin as the culprit.
Shasta favours the goldrider with a smile, taking her eyes from Pjorin's eager approach for an instant. Just as pitcher, mug, and juice all become airborn. Juice slops across the table, dribbling into her lap, and splashing over her front. "Oh!" Is about the only word that escapes her mouth - thankfully so, given the choice phrases that've been heard comming from the brownrider in the past.
Illiara is nothing but a mere blur as she speeds by, quite fast in fact. Oh wait, they mean the same thing, now don't they? Looking over to the airborn... objects, she runs headlong into a chair someone carelessly left un... uhm.. unpushed and there she goes, head over heels, flipping over the chair and landing upon her ... head?
Joslyn repeats, everyone listening?, "Wasn't me. Somebody better get a towel." She picks her boots up off the floor and plants them in the chair, sighing at the state of her boots. Juice stains, shardit. A tumble alerts her attention again and she looks up, blinking about the Hall.
Xyanda shakes her head, as the hall reverts to mass chaos. "Oh dear," she repeats, beginning to wring out her kintting. She stoppes sudden as Illiara goes flyin', just like the juice. She splats, too.
Beneath that tan on her face, Pjorin turns white. "Oh, oh!" she echoes Shasta. "I didn't mean -- I am so sorry, please ....I..." She ducks backward, heeding Joslyn's suggestion. "Towel. I can get a towel," she mutters, then: "Someone, please just kill me now," she says when she returns with towels and more towels.
Marila holds her sandwich towards her sister, "You know.... this is pretty good.. wanna bite?"
Foloran blinks suddenly at the tumbling woman, which would, of course, be Illiara...unless anyone else plans on falling over, too. Anyway, he calls out to her, standing from his seat, "Illi? Are you ok?" This is an odd evening. Yep.The sandwich drips with bits of fish, white sauce, some redfruit juice and hot peppers.
Xyanda bundles up her knitting and rusher over to Illiara, "Are you alright? Don't move anything!"
"You okay?" Joslyn echoes, leaning up in her own chair and trying to look across the table at the tumbled girl. She glances at Pjorin - way to go - and then starts to get up as well. She makes doubly certain she's clear of the chair.
"Do I know you?" Illiara looks up to the blurred images, looking rather pale as she nods, slowly. "Fiiiiiiiiiine..." Slurring a bit, she tries to sit up but ends up just laying back down, wishing the stars would stop spinning in front of her. "Wow...I didna know y'all had twins..."
Shasta pulls her now damp shirt, from where it had slicked to her body with redfruit juice, still without verbal comment beyond the 'oh'. With an expression of utmost patience, or of one doing her best to maintain patience, she speaks to Pjorin, accepting a towell with some grace. "It's alright, it was an accident, right? Not to wor.." The reassurances are cut short, as the horrid sandwich is pushed her way. And the patience of her expression turns into the strain of one struggling to retain the contents of her stomach. "Uh. No. Thanks?"
Xyanda shakes her head, "NO! Don't move a muscle. Stay right there, ok? You hit pretty bad. You're seeing double?"
Marila nods to her sister, "As you wish.." She pulls the sandwich back and finishes it off greedily.
Foloran lets go of Joslyn's hand, and jogs on over to Illiara. "Here.. I'll carry her into the infirmary.." He waits for people to back away so he can do just that. Softly, "Are you alright, Illiara?"
Joslyn, having stood up, now has to stand there looking lame and scratching at the back of her head. "Uhm, I should maybe go get a Healer," she volunteers, much as she hates the bothersome people. Finding some humor in this scene, she adds, "Come with me, Shasta?" Right now, all covered in juice.
"Triplets....wow.. trip.." the rest of Illi's words are mushed along with a groan of pain, "Shardit..my head hurts..." She doesn't see to register anything else besides the fact that about everyone has a triplet. "I shou' be more car'ful.."
Marila peers at Shasta and Joslyn, "Why do you need to go to the healer Jos?"
Pjorin passes out towels to those who ask for them, murmuring "I'm sorry, really, so sorry," even as she blots at herself (most ofthe juice sprayed outward, but her tunic is drenched. Approaching Shasta, she tries to 'blot' the older woman along with the table and chairs and floor.
Xyanda nods to Josy, "I think that'd be an awfuly good idea to get the healer."
Joslyn points, for Marila's benefit, over toward Illiara who's likely cracked her head on the floor. "She fell over a chair," she explains simply, leaving out the details for the moment. "But I think they're gonna take her to the Healers, instead," and she takes a step or two toward the infirmary. Couldn't miss this.
Shasta regains some composure, at least for someone with a tunic wet with juice. "Healer?" She asks, finding herself blotted across her front by the kitchen helping girl. Seeing Illi upon the floor, the Weyrsecond reaches for Pjorin's hand, assuring the girl almost offhandedly, "I'm fine, it's alright, really." She's been saying that a lot, lately. Apparently, the shock of cold juice made her oblivious to the accident. "Surely. Keep her on the ground, would you? Try not to move her."
Marila smacks her hand on the table, "Shasta you said you would go to the healers. Why not take her and then get yourself checked out at the same time.. I think it would be convenient.
"Ok," Foloran says in response to Shasta, nodding quickly. He stays kneeled beside Illiara, though, taking hold of the girl's hand, and patting it gently. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asks, holding up three with his free hand.
By now, Illiara's not too comprehensive or coherent, just merely a person laying upon the ground, dazed, hurt and wondering what's going on around her. Wanting to speak but unable to find her tongue or the willpower to to do so. She eyes Foloran's fingers, blinking. "Six?"
Xyanda shakes her head. "Oh dear, six? I think we'd better carry her, if not bring the healer to her."
Pjorin stands stock still, staring at Shasta's hand about her own. A slow red flush rises over her face, but Pjorin doesn't let go of the weyrsecond's hand until she realizes that it's SHASTA's hand--and then, quick as a flash, she darts away, cuddling her hand like it might be hurt or burnt, nearly tripping over the group around Illiara's prone form. "Ah, oh.. you--Should I get a healer?"
Joslyn takes a step back. She's looking really out of the loop right now. "You really that sick, Shasta?" she asks, brows knit as she eyes the Weyrsecond closely. "Here. Everybody stay put. I'll get a Healer!" That will solve the problem, no doubt.
Shasta frowns to her sibling, reclaiming her hand, and already getting to her feet. "Marila, Illiana is hurt," she states, returning to that regard of patience, maintained at some cost. "I'm fine, really." Again, that phrase, now directed to Josy, as the brownrider infeffectively picks at the still dampish tunic.
Joslyn frowns some at Shasta, but there really isn't time to go into this now. To spare the Weyrsecond, more than likely, the goldrider beckons to the clumsy girl with the towels. "You can run on back to the cotholds and I'll check in the infirmary," she directs, and both head off to do just that.
You quietly open up the door to the infirmary and enter.
You quietly leave the infirmary.
Shasta eases into a seat, as it seems like everyone else is running about. Draping one arm over the back of the chair, she still gives the air of hovering close. "Try to stay still," She advises the girl upon the floor.
Foloran is still kneeling beside Illiara. As Joslyn re-enters the room, he glances over, hoping to a god that no one believes in on this planet that there's a Healer with her.
Yanam hurries after the junior Weyrwoman, his hands tinged reddish with redwort, wafting the acrid scent of the herb about himself. "What happened?" He demands, even before he's reached the tall, prone, girls' side.
Infirmaries are generally good places to go looking for Healers, so it's really no wonder that Joslyn managed to find one in there. Triumphant, the goldrider emerges with the Healer in tow, making a Vtol-line toward the 'scene'. "She fell over a chair and knocked her head," she informs.
Xyanda looks up as Joslyn reenters and moves back a bit to let the healer in.
Ok, the healer's there.. Foloran stands, and slowly backs away to let the man do his work. He backs up straight toward Joslyn, too, launching a worried/thankful/confused look at the goldrider. Odd evening.
Illiara's eyes open as she groggily looks up to the healer. Bringing her hand up to her head, she yelps softly as her hand jerks back and away from the bump that's forming on her head. "Yow!" She whimpers.
Yanam crouches down beside Illiara, regarding the girl with soft brown eyes. "Easy there, that's quite the bump," He speaks, voice gentle.
Chuckling at the odd evening, indeed, Joslyn makes room for Yanam, stepping back a little to let the fellow work. "She'll be okay, right?" she asks in the process of her retreat. "Nothing's permanently broken or anything?"
Illiara would nod, yes, but it only jars the headache that started when her head connected with the ground. Hard stone ground, may I add. She whispers softly, "Knock me out of my misery..." and closing her eyes, she lays back.
Xyanda sees that the situation is under control, and gathers up her juice soakes knitting, and is off to try and salvage it.
Xyanda strides over to the Landing Field.
The healer, a journeyman by his knot, gestures to an apprentice hovering by the infirmary. As the girl disappears within for a moment, he murmurs to Illiara. "Just let me take a look at you, we'll get you something for the pain in a moment." Speaking softly, he asks, "Now, could I get you to look at me? Am I clear to you?"
Illiara's eyes lift as she blinks furiously, but she shakes her head, looking but adding softly, 'You're fuzzy.."
Joslyn takes no response as a yes and just saunters on across the cavern where it's a little less congested. "That was an adventure," she comments, picking up her abandoned dishes so's not to leave a mess.
The healer apprentice trots back into the hall, a cervical collar of soft wherhide in one hand, and something brewing in a mug in the other. Yenam reaches for the first, barely taking his eyes off the supine girl. "I'm sorry, weyrwoman," He appologises, still not lifting his eyes. "We'll know, soon. Now, Illiara? Can you tell me what time of day it is? What season?"
Shasta remains close, but not intrusive, watching closely. "Quite an evening," She repeats the goldrider, though it seems she's forgotten her damp tunic in the excitement.
"Uhm...time? Uhm..." Illiara doesn't want to think, her head is hurting and it's driving her up the wall, and she wants everyone to SHUT up! It's hurting her ears and head. "Autumn, I think.."
Cool, redstained hands slip the cervical collar about Illiara's neck, taking care to disturb the girl as little as possible. With a chuckle, the mans' soft voice intones, "Aye, it's autumn. Hard to tell here, though, isn't it? Now just hold still, let's get this collar in place, it'll protect your neck in case you did anything to it. Does your neck hurt?"
"Well, if no one wants to throw juice on me or knock me upside the head, I think I just might head on back and give Jeuneth a good oiling," Joslyn says, having tidied up some and paused long enough to peek down at the 'patient'. "Hope that doesn't stain, Shasta."
Shasta groans, tugging on her shirt. "I hope not." She agrees. "Give my best to Jeuneth, then." Of course, she's not about to slap the goldrider upside the head. There's this little matter of a protective gold dragon that might prevent it.
"Yeah.. I think it's about time I left, too. This has been a strange night." This comment directed, of course, by Foloran to whoever has their wits about them enough to listen.
So, if it wasn't for Jeuneth, Shasta might actually knock Joslyn upside the head? That's a fact worth knowing. "I'll do that. Tell Muinyth I said hullo. And feel better soon, huh?" she adds, for both the Weyrsecond and poor Illiara. "Left for where?" is asked curiously of the steward.
Shasta nods quiet agreement with Foloran, watching the healer tend the girl. "My thanks, weyrwoman," Shasta notes, to Joslyn, with a smile.
See, that part he hadn't quite figured out yet. He doesn't have to be Illiara's hero right now, though, since the healer's there, so... "To clean..?" Maybe if he does it /all/ day, he'll get finished in this lifetime.
Foloran did that.
Illiara's peaceful as she rests where she lays...
"Weyrwoman? Oh, okay, Weyrsecond." Joslyn rolls her eyes a little at the formalities, and then grins over at Foloran. "I's kind of hoping you'd say that. Pretty messy in there. Shall we?" She offers out a bent arm.
Now if Illi was awake and coherent, she would be running for her cothold, not wanting to see Fol and Josy as cozy as they are. But nevermind that thing, she's out and mercifully so.
Foloran catches Josy's arm with his own, and nods, eyes on his now unconscious ex-lover for a few more seconds before he responds with a simple, "Yeah..let's go."
Yanam finishes his examination, and finally rises to his feet. "She'll require rest for a few days, under observation." He pronounces towards Shasta, his voice carrying to Josy as well, hopefully. "I suspect a concussion, and some soft tissue damage to her neck." He states, seriously. Almost as if cued, the healer apprentice returns with assistance, and a stretcher upon which to carry Illiara off.
Illiara quietly opens the infirmary door and enters.
Joslyn shakes her head a little, likewise lingering a second or two to listen to the Healer. "I guess it could be worse..." she comments, a little uncertainly to judge her tone, and the way her nose wrinkles up at the diagnosis. "After you."
Foloran strides over to the Landing Field.
You walk over to the Landing Field.
*** END LOG ***