Logs:In Trouble

In Trouble
"We're all at risk. We're on Pern. There's illness in our Weyr. We're all at risk."
RL Date: 17 November, 2015
Who: Lys, Quinlys, Evyth, Olveraeth
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: Lys gets in trouble for visiting C'ris.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr
When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10)

Mentions: C'ris/Mentions




>---< Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr >---------------------------< Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise from the barracks beyond, the weyrlingmaster's office is a comfortable, quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together from twisted rags that stretches from wall to wall, just barely leaving room for the long bookcases and filing cabinets. On the back wall, a geometric tapestry and blue and black is hung, providing both insulation and decoration. -----------------------------< Active Players >----------------------------- Lys F 20 5'5" slender, blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s Quinlys F 33 5'4" soft, dark red hair, blue eyes 18s It does not take long for word to get around-- but is that a surprise, really? Sharp, Olveraeth reaches for Evyth. « Your weyrling, » he says. « In the office. Now. » Those nasal tones are more pronounced than usual, their usual geniality lost; someone's in trouble. Oh, and? « She's to cover her mouth. » Inside the office, Quinlys is still and composed behind her desk, waiting with both hands resting flat upon the surface, which is unusually bare of papers. Evyth's mind trembles at the sharpness. The little green is a sensitive one, despite her ebullient nature; her feelings become a wash of agitation. Her voice is just the littlest bit tremulous when she makes answer, « She's coming. » Lys' arrival is prompt, the blue cloth wound 'round her head (over nose and mouth) and tied in the back evidence that she's followed instructions (today). She salutes crisply, blue-green gaze unreadable above the edge of fabric. "Ma'am." At least she can follow directions. "Shut the door," says Quinlys. "But stay on that side of the room. What the fuck were you think, Weyrling?" Olveraeth, having delivered his message, is a little softer to the little green; wordlessly, he reassures. Quinlys is much more bark than bite, honest. Quinlys and Lys have that much in common (also the 'lys' in their names~), but that's probably not why Lys doesn't flinch after closing the door and turning to face back toward the weyrlingmaster. "That his mother was worried sick. That someone needed to stop in to see him and find out if he was dead, to tell her not to worry." Possibly other things as well, but the green weyrling stops there. Evyth, for her part, is appreciative of Olveraeth's reassurance. She's not trying to justify when she says, « It was good of her, to do something nice for him. » There's some measure of worry there -- will Quinlys' chastisement make Lys harder? More embittered? If you squint (and forget it's the plague), this was a good thing. "So you risked yourself, your dragon, your classmates, and their dragons." Quinlys lets that hang. "You decided that you were the best qualified person to do this, and hang the rest of them. The rest of us." Olveraeth's not wholly convinced of Evyth's words, but he doesn't dismiss them out of hand. « Good must be balanced out, » is what he says. « To go around doing good without considering consequences or ramifications... that becomes less good and more dangeorus. » Lys is silent in that hanging moment. "We're all at risk. We're on Pern. There's illness in our Weyr. We're all at risk." She manages to deliver this calmly, though there's suppressed feeling in her gaze. Still, stiffly, she offers, "I'm sorry that I put myself and others at higher risk." Evyth silently digests this wisdom from the blue, turning it over in her thoughts. There's nothing in that that Quinlys can argue, and in a way, it takes some of the fire out of her fury. "You're a weyrling, Lys," is what she says, a few beats later. "And I'm doing everything I can to protect you all... because if one of you gets sick, you could all get sick. Can you imagine what it would be like, if one of you died? Your dragons are still so young." She looks very tired, Quinlys, though it's not so long since she had that several day enforced vacation. "Quarantine measures are in place for a reason. It's not your place, or my place, or anyone's place to decide we know better than that." There's a very slight nod of Lys' heead to at least acknowledge the weyrlingmaster's words. "Ma'am," it's said slowly, and the question that follows is posed seriously, "Does it make a difference that my dragon is young and C'ris' is older? That he volunteered. I'm old enough to have done so, even if my dragon isn't." She takes a slow breath, "Would it be best for Evyth and I to move to a ground weyr for the time being?" Just in case, she doesn't say, but... "It would make a difference to Evyth's clutchmates," is Quinlys' explanation for that. "You live and work together. You see each other day in and day out. I've never lost a weyrling, Lys, and I don't intend to start now." If stubbornness alone could prevent infection... "What would you do, if you were in my shoes?" It's a prompt, the weyrlingmaster leaning forward ever so slightly. The jut of her chin encourages a response, though her expression is more thoughtful. "Is C'ris any less one of us?" is a quiet question for the Weyrlingmaster. Lys' eyes are, briefly, troubled. "He's a better person than I am." She confesses truth. Then with something between distress and disgruntlement, "his fire was out. There were enough trays of rotting food that I'm surprised we didn't have a shortage. If no one else is going to help take care of him-" she stops (probably biting her tongue, but who can say behind that mask?). "No." Too emphatic? "No." Quinlys' cheeks are faintly pink, as if silent admission that she considers C'ris a better person than she is, too, but it's to the last that she responds. "I'll make sure he's taken care of," she promises. "But not by you. Your job, Lys, is to keep your head down and learn. Learn to follow before you try to lead." The bluerider straightens, exhaling lengthily. "No, I'm not putting you in quarantine. But you're going to wear a mask and gloves at all times, do you hear me? You will not share dishes. You will not touch anyone else. Not until we are absolutely sure. And if even for a moment you think you might be sick... do you hear me, Lys? Do you hear me?" "Yes, ma'am," is even genuine when Lys says it. Her shoulders do roll though with the words, "I wasn't trying to lead, ma'am. I don't--" Feelings are hard. "It just seemed like the right thing to do when his mom--" who's almost certainly an excuse, but probably a convincing one. "All I did was bring him a tray, start the fire, put the trays on the ledge for pick up and change his sheets. I wore a mask. I washed my hands," and for that matter, "I washed all of me. I didn't go near him, except to set the tray down." As if any of this matters to a plague intent on infection. "I won't touch anyone, I'll wear a mask and gloves." She doesn't seem broken up about any of these requirements. "Weren't you?" Quinlys doesn't leave space for an answer to that one; she's already half waving Lys towards the door. Except, then, there's a pause. "How... was he?" Her voice is softer. Lys starts to turn at that half wave, pausing to look back over her shoulder. She doesn't bother to answer the first. "Not well enough to keep his fire alive or build a new one. He talked about dying, I told him he'd better not." She shrugs again. "His dragon is watching him." She probably doesn't want to admit because she's not a nice, thoughtful person (really!), "He tried to kick me out when he woke up." "As he should have." Quinlys isn't much comforted by the rest-- that much is clear upon her face, those eyes so tired, so sad-- but she gives a little nod. "Go, Lys. Just be glad I'm not inclined to ground you forever. Don't you ever pull something like that again." It's a lot easier to lie with a nod than words, so there's a nod to answer the Weyrlingmaster. Lys doesn't try to comfort her (if she even registers such a thing might be beneficial). Instead, she goes, using her shirt as a barrier between her fingers and the handle of the door (she probably even comes back to clean the other side in short order). In some ways, she's a good weyrling. Really. Gossip: No Touchy! It's not that weyrling Lys was going around touching people to begin with, but starting on 18, month 4, she started wearing gloves all the time, and fabric wrapped around her face to form a mask. On top of that, she's been extra attentive to not touching anyone. It doesn't take long for rumor to leak that she visited plagued C'ris and Quinlys, while not quarantining the green weyrling, has instructed her to take precautions.