Who

Baezyl, Alyna, A'lira, Doji (emits by Doji and Divale)

What

Tired of some of the ever growing rumors, Weyrhealer Jhothulos calls a conference to attempt to clarify the blue glow issue some. And despite what Baezyl might say, the Weyrhealer is pretty sure it's not a plague.

When

It is sunset of the thirteenth day of the eleventh month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr - Archives

OOC Date 02 Jan 2018 06:00

 

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"Just because we're announcing a plague doesn't mean we can't have a festive atmosphere now does it?"


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Archives

A remarkable legacy for those with the eyes to appreciate it, Igen's Archives are modest, in proportion to the weyr's similarly modest status; but though they be small, the room itself is mighty, with grandiose portent to the high, vaulted arches. These walls hold many treasures past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. The meticulous task of re-scribing old records is continually ongoing, with faded and disued hides replaced on a daily basis. The chairs and off-kilter tables seem to be heritage of a time long past, not in line with the rest of the vision of this room; but in all weyrs are budgets, and perhaps you've found one of Igen's budget cuts.


Since everybody and their brother was called out to help search for little Hila a couple days ago, it's not surprising that the gossip of the day has been dominated by the recent rescue efforts and talk about what that mysterious blue glow might mean. One person who has absolutely not been participating in said gossip has been Weyrhealer Jhothulos. The man's been even more crochety than usual since the normal peace and quiet of his infirmary has been over run by all the lookie loos and a few hypochondriacs convinced they breathed in some blue stuff and now they were gonna DIE. After the fifth such case of the afternoon, he had had it. And angrily declared to the nearest journeyman that there was going to be a meeting in the archives for all who are interested. The archivists have kindly rearranged some chairs in a little speaking area and already they're filling up fast, but the Weyrhealer isn't present yet.

The Weyrhealer may not be here, but that nearest journeyman? He is! Baezyl clearly drew the short straw this particular shift, and has been overseeing the set-up of chairs. "Nibbles? Do you think anyone would want something to munch on? Or wine!" This last is said brightly. "Everyone always does better with a skin or two in them!" The poor drudge blinks witlessly at the pertpetually and inappropriately chipper healer. "Sor?" Even as Baezyl crosses his arms to survey his handy work. "Best get some wine." He decides before striding over to a couple of other drudges. "Nonononono. Those chairs there." He gestures, ensuring that when Jhothulos does arrive, he'll be the CENTRE of attention.

Healer stuff and the library? It's like somebody wrote a recipe to get Doji's attention. And here she is. Already tucked in one of the chairs in the back of the set up with pen and notebook ready. Sure, there's probably going to be a harper around to act as an official scribe, but she's gonna have a transcript of her own. And she's definitely not trying to keep her head down and avoid catching the attention of a certain inappropriately boisterous former journeyman of her's.

Sure, the meeting is in the archive but that doesn't keep folk from drifting into the corridors and not at all by "accident" (don't listen to some of those claims!). Which would explain the presence of Guards, to shoo away the obvious lookie loos or anyone who even so much as looks suspicious. There's a fair deal of hushed muttering going on, with a few ridiculous claims of what it could be or what's happening. And two of the Weyr's Guards are by the door; good 'ol faithful Morss and Darr. Both of whom are sharing uneasy looks between each other when they think no one is looking and when they're not staring at Baezyl oh-so cheerfully bossing around the drudges.

Even though it is Autumn and not quite as hot as the summer, Alyna is wearing a pair of short shorts in brown leather, and a cropped top showing a whole lot of midriff. She stalks into the Archives, like a feline hunting, her eyes flickering about the room before finding a chair near the back. Her blue eyes are stormy as she is bombarded by her gossip-loving green dragon who is busy with a ring of suitors in the central bowl, her hide so bright it's almost giving off its own life. «Are you there? Who's there? What are they saying?» Haquith's mindvoice rings demandingly in her riders head, making her wince. »I agreed to come to see what was up, but if you keep nattering on at me I will leave and go take a nice cold dip in the lake.« And audible growl builds in the back of her throat as she crosses arms over her chest and just waits for whatever to begin.

Jhothulos might seem like he hates everybody most days (and claims he hates everybody everyday), but there are some folks he can tolerate more than others. Baezyl gets a scowl that can pass for the Weyrhealer's version of a friendly greeting as he limps on in to the archives, promptly ignoring all that hard work of setting up the perfect centre area and just slouching into the nearest chair to the entrance. "You better be getting that wine for me!" And maybe other folks too, but mostly for the master. "IS this everybody that's showing up?" He's just going to ask the room as a whole waving around his cane to try and get some attention.

Somehow the mysterious blue glow has managed to draw even A'lira out of his warren of a ground weyr — and all those many annoying trauma case files of his — to see what, exactly, is going on in the wider Weyr. He edges in behind the main group, finding a good spot to post up upon and sweep the area with his dark eyes, studying the various faces and trying not to fidget too much. Jhothulos is given the longest look of all, wryly amused. This's a new one — the crotchety old Healer cracking the whip.

"Just because we're announcing a plague doesn't mean we can't have a festive atmosphere now does it?" Baezyl asks the drudge that still hasn't gone off to get the wine the journeyman has decided is absolutely vital. "Chop Chop." He claps his hands at the simple man. "Before I do some chopchop to you!" It seems that a threat to ones manhood is understood even by those blessed with less than average understanding. The guards get a coy little finger wiggle. "Heeeellooo boys!~" There's a cheerful greeting for you! "Heeeeellooo girl." And a cheerful greeting for Alyna. "Heeeelllo Master~" And a cheerful greeting for the man who is in charge of his destiny. "We only need a couple of brave souls to repopulate Pern once the plague has passed." His gesture encompasses everyone, even as his words give extra weight to those cheery 'hellos' just moments before. "Doji's here too." Because what better time to reunite master and apprentice than on the cusp of the apocalypse?

A few more who were lagging rush in, once they hear Jhothulos' "summons" as they were. Morrs and Darr remain vigilant, though none seem to be turned back; except for a few shifting folk who look to just be here to gawk. "Move along now," One of the Guards mutters in a near-to bored tone… or pretending to be. It's been the talk of the barracks, that blue glow stuff! And how it just oh-so conveniently showed up where it did. Suspicious Guards are Suspicious, okay? Bezel's quip about 'plague' has the pair darting looks again, but they're good at their job and just go back to it — minus the vague smirk and slight tip of fingers back from Morrs to the Journeyman. Hello~ "Want us to close the doors, sir?" That'd be Darr, addressing the Weyrhealer.

Did that Journeyman Healer just say a plague? Alyna's thin pale brow hikes up her forehead in suprise. Then when he offers her a cheerful greeting, he is rewarded with a fierce look and a low growl before she crosses one leg over the other and slumps further in her chair hoping they will get on with whatever there is to get on with and make it snappy. The more people arrive, the more bristly she gets, but the tongue-lashing she would get from her dragon for bailing now is keeping her firmly in her chair, for now.

"If you don't quit talking about plague, I'm going to repopulate you," If Baezyl is close enough, Jhothulus will try to swat at the not-so-helpful journeyman. If not, eh. He'll just wave the cane around for the effect. A dismissive wave is given to the guards. "Leave the doors open. Prevention's worth more than a cure anyways and best way to cure misinformation is to get the right stuff out there early. Let them hear." He'll cough to clear his throat as he turns around to face the group, but he doesn't stand up. Forgive the old man with the bum leg that. His voice at least carries well enough. "First off. Nobody is dying." A stern look is shot Baezyl's way. "At least not any faster than they would of any the thousands of ways we die already."

Oh, joy: rumors of plague. Isn't that just what A'lira wanted to hear. Baezyl's good cheer is met with baffled amusement before he decides he'd be better off hearing all this seated. He slouches into the chair next to Alyna, offering her a polite little nod, patently ignoring her grumbling — grouchiness is hardly unusual in this Weyr these days.

Baezyl just grins adoringly at his master before shutting up and sitting down. And that drudge returns with wine! Good thing the guards left that door open!

Alyna shoots a look at who would dare sit next to her, eyes narrowing at the brownrider she recogninzes. His polite little nod is given a suspicious look from her blue eyes. Then she has a small flask in her hand, where it was stored, who know? But she undoes the cap and takes a swig of the strong liquid within. Ok, no plague, well that's something then.

Too late, damage is done! As those doors are left open, the two Guards are going to mutter about plagues, which gets overheard by someone else out in the corridor and… well, you get the picture. As there isn't immediate panic, clearly level heads prevail outside. Even if the two Guards caught here are trying not to fidget uneasily. "If you say so, sir." Darr isn't so sure about letting everyone and anyone catch the details, but he's not there to argue. A gesture to Morrs and they'll take their places just by those open doors.

Jhothulus doesn't want to take all day, but he will pause to get a cup of wine when the drudge returns. So his throat doesn't dry out with all this talking, of course. But wine in hand and it's back to business and since Pern doesn't have an equivalent of HIPPA probably, he can come out and say "And miraculously, even Hila's doing better than there was any right to expect. A wound that deep, left unattended for hours in a damp cave with bug guts and all, one would expect there to be some serious infection by now, but there's not a sign of any."

Suspicious Greenrider is Suspicious, indeed. A'lira, however,is unfazed — he's hardly going to try something odd here, in the middle of a meeting. Instead, he fastens his attention on the Weyrhealer, quietly taking in all the necessary information — and hoping against hope the man gets to the meat of the matter; the blue crap everyone's been going on and on about.

Baezyl is just going to pretend that this is all news to him (which lets face it, it could be!) Composing his features to sufficient gravitas he scans the small crowd once more. "Well that's good news isn't it?" He announces to those gathered, hopefully his voice travels to those hovering about the door too scared to come in. "I'd love to talk to anyone on the Search teams who hasn't already popped in to see us." He does seek his masters permission for that addendum with a raised brow.

"So what you're saying is," One voice pipes up from somewhere. Some wise ass, by the sound of his tone and the incredulous scoff. "Is this blue fungus…glowing…whateverinFaranth'sname forsaken thing this is, just cured the girl outright?" Another stifled laugh, or maybe a groan. "Not cured, you idiot! Warded off infection! And I'm with him." Cue one supporter for Baezyl! The announcement has definitely started some murmuring among the gathered, including one who makes a hasty exit just outside those doors. "Well shit," Morrs mutters under his breath, eyeing the escapee. "… here we go."

Doji stops mid-note taking and scrunches up her face. "Not infected? But how?" Considering battling infection might be one of the biggest problems for Pern's trauma healers once they manage to get folks stabilized from any possible blood loss.

«Hila? Wasn't that the child who was lost at Kurkhar?» The buzzing of Haquith's mindvoice loud in Alyna's head as she takes another swig from the flask. She had also heard of this, but when all the Master has to say is that she is doing better than she should be. "How is this a big deal even?" Alyna grumbles under her breath, having no healing experience, the greenrider has no idea why this is such a big deal.

The weyrhealer nods his head towards his journeyman's volunteering for something besides wine duty for a change. "Good. Anybody with any more concerns about possibly coming in contact with that blue stuff, see Baezyl… Or Amarante." Because it might be unfair to stick all that work just on one man. "And I'm not saying that it cured it. We don't have enough evidence for that at the moment. But what I can say, is that the people that have been in contact with this the most so far have no come to any harm for it. They're in as good as health as they can be, considering the tumble she took. So, not dying. Not a plague, unless other folks have spontaneously started falling down cliffs without telling me. Any other questions?"

Baezyl would love to discuss whether or not some idiot girl-child literally stumbled upon a disinfectant more effacious than traditional redwort, but not in a room full of the uninitiated who might not understand his enthusiasm. He does much more than fetch wine, when he's doing his trauma specialist thing THANKYOU. "I'd be interested to hear of any pre-existing conditions any of the searchers might have had." Maybe the girl stumbled upon a cure for jock-itch!

Oh, there will be questions! Mostly about the new glowing substance and if there will be further "testing" of it. Some nitwit even goes as far as to throw out the: "Should we test it on Threadscore?" Which immediately starts a heated argument about the logistics of THAT (or would it be morals? risks?). Morrs and Darr just grumble among themselves. "… Bazaar is going to be full of knock-off bullshit now…" Because it's true~ Where there's rumour of a cure-all? You bet someone's gonna try to profit on it. And probably get folk real good and sick, just to make the lives of Healers that much more pleasant!

A handful of glows… a little slime! BUG-GUTS FOR ALL!
Nobody likes me! Everybody hates me! I'll just go eat some WORMS!!!

Rolling her eyes at the inane questions, Alyna gets that far off look to her eyes as she bespeaks her dragon, »Dear heart, please can I leave? Apparently they found some bug guts that help healing. Hardly riveting stuff.« The buzzing of gossamer wings increases it's tempo until it's almost deafening. «NO!» Comes the demanding response from her proddy dragon and Alyna winces and then chugs the remains of her flask in one gulp. Then she turns and nudges A'lira with her elbow, maybe a little harder than intended. "Hey, you wanna go get drunk after this?" She says in a low voice, icy blue eyes piercing.

"Mostly to keep the gossips from formenting fake information." A'lira explains to Alyna, grinning a little. "Here's to hopin' it takes." Likely it won't — for people, being people, always love a good rumor. He eyes the flask curiously, then shrugs. "And you gotta realize that the other — well, every healer's gonna want to find out if it has a use medically. Including me." Experiments are fun.

"Any tests will need to be controlled," You really don't think Jhothulos and the Weyrleaders are just going to allow anything to be slapped on their rider's Threadscores without extensive testing, right? "Farmcraft is sending some folks in. And some more Healers from Fort." And else where once word starts spreading." The Weyrhealer will heave himself out of his chair with much reliance on his cane. He's going to just take this wine skin with him. "If you need me, you know where to find me." And he's going to shuffle on off. And any of those random folks who might need him may need to go through at least two more junior healers before reaching him. Perks of seniority. As far as he's concerned, meeting adjourned as unofficially as it was called.

More people descending on the Weyr (Kurkar, actually)? JUST what any Guard wants to hear! Or anyone, really. Much more muttering now as the Archives cease to be half as peaceful as they usually are. So many discussions at once and debating that it's enough to give some a headache. Morrs and Darr look like they want to leave but they'll be stuck here until just about everyone clears out and only the drudges are left to put everything back as it were.

Baezyl gets to his feet much more readily than his Master… one of the perks of junior-ity! And gives a jaunty little half-bow to the man in charge of his destiny (or at the very least his career), and rather considerately sends that simple drudge after the Weyrhealer with a bonus skin of wine. "For those of you too shy to speak right now. I will be available during the evening shifts for more… private conversations. Amarante will be available in the mornings." And he wiggles his fingers again at the guards, the proddy green-rider, and pretty much everyone. "Oh! And while you are all here." Baezyl's eyes light up as he seizes the opportunity. "If you could all refrain from stabbing, beating, and otherwise seriously injuring each other, that would be great." Underneath his casual cheer is the hint of steel that comes from someone who is really sick of patching up other peoples stupidity.

At Baezyl's request to keep the serious injuries to a minimum, Alyna snorts derisively and mutters under her breath, "I make no promises." At least until her green gets her fat ass in the air for her flight. But as the meeting breaks up, the greenrider quickly takes her leave, making a beeline for the nearest bar.

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