Regrets and Broken Rules

[kyrillion]

The deaths of three classmates still weighed heavily on most weyrling's minds, and Kyril was no exception. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have been working in the forge to begin with when she was so distracted and so upset (although she was doing her best to hide it, and mostly succeeding). She should have gone flying with Ripariath – the fresh air would have done a world of good, and the sensation of flight always had a peaceful, lulling effect on the pair. But she had wanted something to really take her mind off things, and the knife she had been working on for the past weeks required both finesse and finicky attention to detail. The perfect distraction. Or so she'd thought.

She hadn't thought her memories of the incident, playing over and over in her head like a broken record, would be enough to cause her to lose focus. To make a mistake. Those sorts of things just didn't happen to the bluerider; she was patient, methodical and precise. Intent and difficult to distract. And yet here she was, heading with all appropriate haste to the infirmary, a frantic dragon hopping awkwardly after her. Okay, perhaps frantic wasn't the best word; Ripariath hadn't ever been one to get worked up by anything, but he was certainly concerned for his rider. Perhaps more than was strictly necessary.

It had been a stupid and careless mistake. In clear violation of Rule 11. She had lifted the still-forming blade out of the hot forge, but evidently hadn't had a good enough grip on it with the prongs. It was difficult to tell, sometimes, while wearing those heavy leather gloves. When she had moved to set the white-hot blade down on the anvil, it had slipped out of her grasp. Bouncing off the surface, it had landed on her wrist, scorching an ugly and painful gash down her left arm, all the way to the elbow.

And now here she was, on her way to the infirmary, cradling the arm in a cool, water-soaked towel. Her expression was frozen in a fierce grimace, and she was trying desperately to hold back tears. It wasn't a difficult expression to maintain; she was absolutely furious with herself. How could she have been so stupid? They were her sharding rules, for Faranth's sake! She felt like beating herself over the head with something heavy; she deserved the pain she was in. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Do not say that, Mine! It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone…[/color]
The blue's eyes were whirling tangerine with his distress, and he was trying his best to stick by his rider's side, though walking at her pace was proving difficult, even with his uncharacteristically long legs. He couldn't be bothered to focus on walking, anyway, and had settled instead on an awkward skip, letting his wings propel him after her. He had wanted to carry her, but she had refused, hoping that the walk to the infirmary would let her blow off some steam. So far, it hadn't been particularly successful.
It shouldn't have happened to me.
We are almost there! Hang on, KyrillionMine.[/color]
I'm not dying, Rip! But so help me Faranth, if you trip me on the way there…
The blue slowed his pace a bit, but remained stubbornly behind her, not at all comforted by her rather weak attempt at reassurance. With B'nyur temporarily out of commission, Noyth and A'mor would likely be the healers on duty, and Ripariath sought out the gray. It would only be practical to inform them ahead of time what to expect.

I am sorry to trouble you, Oveth, but Mine has burned herself badly…[/color]
Not that badly!
… and we are almost to the infirmary. Could you help fix her, please? And quickly. It hurts her very much…[/color] Though he was doing his best to be gentlemanly and polite, it was abundantly clear how worried he was about his rider. She, not wanting to be pitied or fussed over, was muttering curses to herself, clutching reflexively at the towel wrapped around her arm and scowling furiously. She could hardly focus on what her dragon was saying, hardly noticed that he was bespeaking someone. She couldn't focus on much of anything besides getting herself to the infirmary, in fact, and was in something of a daze, her vision tunneling from the pain. She was greatly relieved, minutes later, when she recognized the entrance to the infirmary in front of her, cast in shadow by Ripariath, who was mere inches behind her.

OOC. Didn't feel like going with a lounging-in-the-weyrbowl sort of scenario. Hope you don't mind. (:
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[4horseshowgirl4]

Mine?

[/color] Oveth said hopefully, plaintively, waiting a few moments before settling back down onto the stone floor, almost seeming to deflate. He should have known better at this point than to expect a response from His that would indicate that he was finally getting over his depression, but, after all, this was Oveth-- too much sweetness and not enough brains to go with it. He scratched at the floor idly with his talons, the soft noise sounding exponentially louder than it should have in the silent infirmary. He was itching to do something, patient though he usually was. For about a sevenday now, all Oveth had done was go out and hunt twice. They hadn't even gone up to the garden on the rib to check on their herbs! Thankfully, the metal panes had been set up before the accident, but they were going to need to be watered soon if they weren't already withering away...

Oveth stood and ambled over to B'nyur to snuffle gently on His. He went through this motion as if it were automatic by now, which it almost was. He'd done it enough. B'nyur was in bad shape. Oveth had nearly had to drag down B'nyur's friends to make him eat, but it was still obvious that the stocky Dragonhealer had lost a lot of weight. His hair was unkempt, his clothes were rumpled, and he needed a shave badly. Still, nnoneo f this was as worrying as the awful look of defeat in his eyes. They almost seemed... dead. Mine, please get up![/color] Oveth begged, tempted to drag B'nyur off of the cot that had almost become his permanent residence, but he had done that before, and it resulted in nothing more than B'nyur lying on the cold stone floor for several minutes until he became conscious of the fact that, well, he was lying a cold stone floor and slowly dragged himself back onto the cot.

Oveth whimpered sadly, lying his head next to B'nyur's cot. He hated this. His wasn't even His anymore. He really needed something to shake him out of this. A female needed to rise soon, one that Oveth could catch! A good dose of flightlust would at least make his sentient for a couple of candlemarks! Oveth was buoyed with hope for a moment, but he couldn't think of any of the fighter females that were due to Rise. Shanza chirped from her position at the top of the cabinets, but Oveth was too distressed to notice her faintly glowing hide.

What His really needed was a serious injury! A'mor was gone for now, so it would be up to B'nyur to save this hypothetically-injured person. It would force him to get off of his butt and make himself useful for a while. However, injuries of that caliber were few and far between, and people and dragons with minor injuries had taken to waiting for A'mor's shift or treating themselves, avoiding B'nyur when they could. Oveth looked up at His to see if His was paying the slightest bit of attention to what his lifemate was thinking, but, as was depressingly typical, he wasn't. Oveth nudged his hand affectionately before laying his head back down on the floor. At this point, he'd be overjoyed if B'nyur would just tell him to scrub the floors with that clumsy brush.

Oveth let his lids close over his yellow-green eyes, dozing off. However, he had just fallen into a troubled sleep when a mindvoice entered his head. His head shot up in excitement; no one had contacted him in far too long, and, at first, he mistakenly thought that it was B'nyur talking to him. He was disappointed, but only slightly, when he reidentified it as Ripariath's voice, the Blue of Kyrillion the Smith that had helped B'nyur set up those panes, back in the good times... his attention trailed off for a moment before Ripariath continued. Yes, Ripariath! We'll fix her![/color] Oveth chirped, almost delirious in happiness. A bad burn was painful but not too difficult to treat, and hopefully this would help His!

Oveth got to his feet, studying His. MINE KYRIL IS HURT HELP HELP HELP![/color] he screamed at B'nyur, but the Healer barely stirred. Oveth grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly from the cot, flinging him a dragonlength across the floor. B'nyur gave a roar of pain, hand clutching his right shoulder-- the arm that Oveth had grabbed. The arm was not bleeding, but Oveth had pulled his arm right out of his socket. Oveth's eyes flashed yellow before swirling the brightest blue. This was the first reaction he'd gotten out of his in a sevenday! He was ecstatic! And, a dislocated shoulder was not serious, B'nyur could almost pop it back in himself when he'd finished treating Kyril.

KYRIL BURNED HERSELF BADLY GET UP UP UP!!! Oveth shouted again, taking advantage of B'nyur's increased alertness to restate the problem. B'nyur winced, blinking heavily, before trying to stagger to his feet. Oveth grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him up. B'nyur was grimacing whether from the physical pain or the psychological; knuckles white as he clutched at his shoulder. Oveth nudged him towards the entrance, and B'nyur stumbled over. "Kyril? W-what's wrong?" he finally said upon seeing the Bluepair, voice hoarse from lack of use. He couldn't bring back those three dead Weyrlings, but Oveth was right; he had to treat Kyril, especially if the injury was as severe as Oveth had made it out to be.[/right][/font]

[fidelli]

Let's all do a refresher on A'mor, alright?

The young man was sleeping. Mind you, he wasn't a young man. He was nearly thirty two years old, and was panicking that - but he looked and acted so much younger than that, he was still a young man. Anyway, he was sleeping, quite happily. Contentedly sprawled out, his wavy tawny blond hair was fluffed and everywhere, but that didn't bother him - he was sleeping. Underneath fluttering eyelids were brilliant blue eyes - and under his arm was a young girl. Mind you, it wasn't what you thought, because two dragon's slept in the small couch that A'mor's Noyth slept in. A White curled with Noyth - if only because the aloof Gray liked the sweet White more than most people. But, I digress slightly, because the girl was his sister. Nim had a cold and night terror's - so A'mor had done something totally out of character unless you knew how much he cared for his little sister and invited her in, got her klah, and rocked her to sleep.

Of course, he fell asleep too. He had been running himself ragged, taking double shifts in the infirmary. People had taken to waiting for him to be there, and the Dragonhealer didn't really like people. But he helped as best he could, wishing that Fajra would import an actually Healer in, and thinking that he might as well go back and get his Journeyman's in Healing, because their wasn't a huge difference. Just more information went into being a Dragonhealing. But I digress, for I was looking at the pair of them together. It was surprising how much alike they looked - the two of them curled together. The same tawny hair, the same high cheekbones, the same faces - perhaps one was more professional. Around them was arranged a various color of flits - Bronze Klepto, Nim's lizard, was tucked next to Her's chest, and Orange Lady and Green Bubbly were draped over and around A'mor. The third lizard, a Blue named Fellis, wasn't there...

He was in the Infirmary, where the clever man had placed him with order's to watch incase anything happened.

Well, when Fellis came popping in between whistling softly, A'mor woke up. The man was feeling more refreshed than he had for a long time, and carefully placed his Orange back on the warm spot, letting Nim sleep, while Noyth disentangled herself from White. Zucherroth only let her go, creeping into the weyr to stretch out next to the bed, closer to His, and A'mor straddled Noyth and let her take off. "What's up, love?" A Blue weyrling is at the infirmary - but B'nyur has hurt himself. Scowling, and running a hand through his hair, he let Noyth land on the outside. Dismounting, he strode in and took in the scene, even as Noyth followed him inside and yawned. Hello Oveth, Ripariath. Little Blue - Despite the fact he was bigger than her - Hush. Mine will fix Your's.

Oh goodness. "Alright, B'nyur, sit down on the cot, please. We have to pop that back into place if it's dislocated. And... Why hello Kyril! It's a pleasure to see you again, I haven't talked to you since we searched you. I did get to say congratulations on Ripariath, yes? What do we have here? Sit down next to B'nyur, we'll get you both settled." He recognized the glazed look in her eyes as pain, and guided her gently over, making sure she sat down.

[kyrillion]

B'nyur appeared before her, suddenly, and she blinked bemusedly up at him as she tried to corral her wandering, hazy thoughts. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she meant to tell him what had happened - but the noticed that he seemed to be in some pain, himself. And he was clutching his shoulder, as well, which now that she mentioned it didn't quite look... well, normal. Her mouth closed with an audible click, and she moved forward into the infirmary only when Ripariath pressed his nose to her back and pushed her. The blue had hardly noticed B'nyur's injury, himself; he just wanted his fixed. As soon as possible, if not sooner.

Kyril was still trying to puzzle out the situation when A'mor arrived and, thankfully, took charge. Glancing up at him, she gave her head another good shake to clear it, and managed a small smile that looked a bit out-of-place, mixed as it was with her still-present scowl.

"Good to see you too, A'mor, and thank you." Her voice was a bit quieter than usual, but carefully composed, and she was going to quite a bit of effort to keep any trace of emotion from it - she was still fuming mad, and desperately trying to ignore the searing pain in her arm, but she still felt the familiar compulsion to appear calm and reasonable. Even if she was anything but.

Casting a worried glance at B'nyur, wondering how he'd managed to dislocate his shoulder, she let herself be led mutely over to the cot and took a seat beside him, still clutching the damp, cool rag around her injured arm. At length, she realized an explanation might be in order.

"It was a stupid accident." She gestured to her arm. "Had a project in the forge to heat; it slipped out of the tongs." Telling the story, even in the shortest, simplest terms, reminded her again of how absolutely furious she was with herself, and the glower returned full-force. Again, she resisted the urge to smack herself upside the head. What a stupid, stupid rookie mistake...

Ripariath, who had moved quickly aside to allow Noyth entrance to the infirmary, was hanging back now that His had been attended to. He had at last fallen silent, though his eyes still radiated bright orange and his attention was fixed raptly upon A'mor and Kyrillion. To the gray's assurances, he dipped his head in a grateful nod.
Good afternoon, Noyth.[/color] His mindvoice sounded weary, exhausted with worry, but unobtrusive and respectful even now. At length, he continued. She will be all right, then? And Oveth-[/color] He turned to the other blue, Yours, as well? I am sorry he has hurt himself, too.[/color] Humans were so easily damaged; and injuries were such stressful things! He would gladly take on the biggest dragon of Pern to protect His, or any of her friends or his own. And yet this silly, painful burn was not something he could fight or conquer. He felt altogether useless, and it was quite frustrating.