==== December 21, 2013
==== Cerise and Yules
==== Desmeth and Yules bring take-away for Jiamoth and Cerise.

Dragon Infirmary
An exceptionally large cavernous area is set aside for the dragons of the weyr to convalesce. Immediately adjacent to the ground weyrs, it provides some privacy for those pairs whose injuries require more silence and solitude for recovery. But there are also a number of dragon wallows here for triage and diagnosis; those with the worst injuries have the wallows nearest the open air exit reserved for them until they're well enough to be moved further in. Bins, shelves, and locked cabinets store all of the medicines and raw ingredients the dragonhealers will need for treatment, as well as things like blankets and 'medicinal whiskey' for the riders of the afflicted. A lettering system applied to the shelves above one lone desk hint at a filing system used by those who work here.

Midmorning and time yet again to convince Jiamoth that yes, really, she wanted to blood this critter and look, it's good practice for when she's all grown up and ready for mating flights and no, honest, it was just killed and hasn't cooled down that much at all so why would the flavor be affected please just blood it. In short? It's midmorning and the greenling pair are already exhausted. Jis has just released the throat of a woolie ovine, the deep and bloodless puncture wounds mostly hidden in the fuzz. She busily smacks her lips, tongue curling in distaste- cooling blood ugh- while Cerise hunkers down to seize the dead animal's rear legs for dragging purposes. The green is sprawled on her belly this morning, bandaged limb held out and supported on a padded stand, the rest of her all a-droop and chalky. Some fresh color does begin to bloom with the meal, however, lending a slight sparkle to dull eyes and some gloss to her jeweled neckridges. "See, was that so bad?" Yes, yes it was, says Jiamoth's snort.

This particular morning, one pair of Weyrlings are on a mission of classified importance. Yules and Desmeth snuck out of the Weyr at first grey haze of dawn and have been not thought or heard from since, until now. Into the dragon infirmary pads Desmeth, something limp being carried delicately in his mouth. Beside him is Yules, her expression that of a harried house-wife who is putting up with some crazy scheme. They make their way quickly over to Jiamoth where Desmeth is proud to display his prize to the ailing green: a stunned young bovine, not quite aware where it is. "Cerise," Yules announces in her usual, non-introductory way, "Desmeth had a crazy idea to bring Jiamoth a live me…" « It wasn't crazy. » Desmeth interjects to Jiamoth, but Yules has spotted Jiamoth's early meal, "Oh no. She's already eaten." SAD FACE. Desmeth is smart enough to not put the bovine down lest it regain its senses, but Yules is still dismayed, "We spent a lot of time trying to stun this one." The bovine does look pretty appealing for dragon eyes, fat and sleek, if a bit drunk. Still, Yules is trying: "She… wouldn't still be hungry, right?"

« Crazy? No. Thoughtful, yes. But that is always and ever you, Desmeth. So very thoughtful. » This in lieu of a more formal greeting from Jiamoth, her head lifted on a neck gone spindly, her eyes fixed on the dazed calf with enough interest to satisfy Yules' question. Cerise puts her weight into her butt to backward drag the ovine out of the way, shaking her own head because dragons, man. "Yes, yes, he's your new favorite person. G'wan then. She needs all she can get." That last remark is for her wingleader, made after she tumbles the sheep carcass into a wheelbarrow for later disposal and ambles over to join the other woman. With a hand curled over her shoulder and arm slowly rotated to work out some stiffness, the weyrling looks tired- but not unhappy, while she watches Jia nose out to sniff at the animal dangling from the brown's jaws.

Desmeth gallantly gives the bovine a head-rattling shake just short of cracking the neck, and drops it before Jiamoth with the tantalizing thought, « Enjoy, lovely lady, » before backing away to give her room to dine. Yules examines the green with a hard eye, not missing the paw being held up, and she nods in response to Cerise, "Healing is hungry work." Turning to see Cerise's self-massage, Yules eyes the shoulder: "How are you sleeping?" she asks bluntly, never good at mincing words, "And eating?" Well, at least the Wingleader didn't ask something so crude as 'have you lost weight'.

Jiamoth attends to this meal with rather more pleasure than that brought to her by Cerise- something which the human weyrling doesn't take offense to. Quite the opposite: the stress in her expression softens to see the green delicately closing her maw on the bovine's throat, taking its blood with the slow and deliberate pace of enjoyment. Cerise breathes out slowly and glances to the side…only to try to snap into something like attention when Yules goes all authority on her. It's enough to make a girl offer up a skewed smile, which she promptly does. "Like shit," is her rich, ripe answer to both questions, "but I'm getting enough to keep me going. Arianne's been down here cracking a whip at me pretty much every day, if not every hour." Likely not how the brownrider sees it but! "How's Catmint? And your head?" she asks, eyes flicking up towards the other woman's hair.

Is that the sound of a straw being sucked on? Yules watches Cerise as Desmeth watches Jiamoth enjoy, the latter with more contentment than his rider. Suddenly, "I think we've found a knack for knocking the bovines out, now," Yules announces, "Though it took a while for Desmeth to stop wanting to bite them." There's no rankling in Desmeth's tone as he tells Jiamoth, « Mine exaggerates. T'was no hardship. » "We can start doing that more often, if that will help." Cerise gets a longer, more searching look, and Yules nods shortly, "Good. Keep on that," and her tone is more Wingleader than friend in that moment; and then, Yules smiles tiredly, "Catmint is back on drills, but everything is sharper now. Everyone, too." A slight pause and Yules continues quietly, "I think, between Wingleader and Wingsecond, that finally having seen what Thread can do has been the biggest incentive." A look back at Jiamoth's paw and Yules starts to open her mouth, but shuts it adroitly. Instead, Yules mutters, "My head is healing quickly. The Healer says the scar might regrow hair." A throw-away comment; she could care less.

« For you, of course not. » It must be the blood, rich and dark and hot from the heart- Jiamoth is able to summon a twinkle of humor for Desmeth, and another of gratitude. « Thank you for this, » she says as she pulls the last drop from the bovine's body. When she lifts her head this time, it is most definitely not with a yuck face. It's the color rather than the humor that Cerise is focused on, however, those hints of celadon and honeydew that she looks for in a hide gone pale and chalky. Seeing that return, however faint, is cause for an immense sigh- and a rueful smile for her Wingleader. "S'good, if it's making them fly that much better now. Avoid this nonsense," she says, fingers flicking towards the ichor-crusted bandages wrapped 'round Jia's paw. "No more casualties, aye? And if you go on up to my weyr, there's a chest in there with some've the hats and veils I used on stage. Might cover up any patchiness while s'growing back."

Desmeth speaks in tones of a sedate, satisfying ale, « It is my honour. » He leans in for a very brief, careful nuzzle and then delicately removes the carcass left behind as Yules watches with a faint grin that turns to Cerise. The seriousness of Thread can't be disputed though, and that grin falls away easily. "No. No more casualties," Yules repeats, cheeks flushing for a moment. Her voice is tight and determined, but she's pulled from darker thoughts by Cerise's offer. Blink. "A chest?" Desmeth is back, his tail not lashing in tighter spaces but definitely quivering with excitement: « Hats! » Like a polite young dragon, the brown is too polite to beg, but Yules sighs anyway, "Desmeth and I would be delighted and grateful to peruse your selection of hats." Yup, that 'thank you' was brought to you entirely by Desmeth's dictation, but Yules has her own input, "Is there anything I can bring down from your weyr for yourself or Jiamoth?"

Oops. Making Yules flush? Entirely unintended. Cerise reaches out to knuckle-nudge the Wingleader's shoulder. "Didn't mean it that way," she says, voice pitched low beneath the quiver of Desmeth's excitement. "Don't ever think I figured this all for your fault." Once that's said, she's not unhappy to move on though, lips tugged back into a faint curve by the brown's excitement. "Take what you want, I've got enough to last a lifetime. Never did really like hats all that much so…" And there she trails off to consider the offer. Behind her, Jiamoth has lowered her head to the wallow's edge and lidded her eyes, adrift in a rare, deep doze, belly warm and color good. She doesn't stir, even when Cerise's voice takes a turn for the gruff. "Nah, s'nothing up there we need, the way things are. But my knot's up there. You should pin it on someone else."

Yules is gruff in her reply, but she does try to smile a little, "Thank you." Yules was never one to make large speeches about anything except hot beverages, but she does let out a long, soft sigh that doesn't sound as convinced. As for hats, Yules gives her brown a sharp look, and asks Cerise cautiously, "You… don't happen to have a tall, pointy black one, do you? Desmeth has it in his head…" Which means that sooner or later, Yules is going to have a tall, pointy black hat in her closet, but hopefully that day is a long ways away. Cerise's addressing of the Wingsecond knot gets a tight-lipped 'hmm' from the taller woman, arms crossing over her chest when she says wryly, "Theoretically, we should be in our full Wing knots right about now. But…" Yules trails off for a moment of thought, "I think with the sudden Threadfall, everyone is concentrating elsewhere. I don't think most of the Weyrlings are too upset, though - most of them who were jumping to get all graduated are looking for more training." A shrug of one shoulder indicates that Yules isn't upset with this either, but she adds finally, "I'll consider it. You were damn good, though."

"Might have. I don't honestly remember anymore, s'been so long since I went through 'em." So poor unfortunate Desmeth will simply have to wait until Yules has an opportunity to search through the chests. Cerise is not long in following Yules in the arm crossed posture, folding and locking hers before her and looking down at the green sleeping in the wallow. "We were, aye," she agrees easily enough- though it has the sound of a rehearsed line, as if she were just playing a role. Something to make this part go more smoothly. "But were isn't now. G'wan, then. She won't be asleep for long, I need to sponge myself off and catch a bite before she's up. Glad you came by, Yules. Desmeth. Was good of you."

Desmeth is not a dragon to be subverted in his quest for HATS! He'll just have to talk to someone about this unique idea for a HAT that he has. Eyes whirling green with content and dreams of a plethora of hats, Desmeth is already starting to make his way to the Infirmary door. Yules gives a sleeping Jiamoth, and then a very unsleeping Cerise a long look, repeating only, "I'll consider it." If it's even her decision to make. Nodding a little, the former cook adds, "I'll have someone come in with some of my klah for you soon. I'll be back." Warning? Promise? "Keep taking care of yourself," she adds before turning to go after Desmeth who may or may not have just walked into another dragon outside in his quest. Something nice to think about, after this horrible seven-day.