Difference between revisions of "Logs:Quarantined"

Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr

Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients.

About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.

It's early evening in the infirmary: the lull period in between mealtime and bedtime for the (few) overnight patients. Promotion to Weyrhealer doesn't let Madilla off the hook for non-standard shifts, and evidently tonight is one of those-- the dark-haired healer stands just next to the admissions desk, accepting a bundle of records from an outgoing male coworker. "G'mar's in a bit of a bad way," the other healer is saying, "but I've dosed him up and he's resting easier. It's been pretty quiet." The pair exchange a few more quiet words, and then the man is turning to leave, out through the double doors into the Inner Caverns.

In walks Jo. She passes by the male coworker, awkwardly moving out of his way as if she herself was covered in mud and grime. Once he's passed, she takes quick stock on the threshold of those present at this time of evening before she continues on. Dark eyes light on Madilla, her familiar form bringing recognition into her eyes. She tentatively approaches her, a bit of apprehension that could be seen in her eyes. Then, once she was a few paces away, she stops. "Madilla." She remembers. It took her a moment, but she remembered her name.

With her coworker on his way out, Madilla moves around the admissions desk, clearly intending to put those files down and get herself organised. She hums to herself as she does so - and perhaps that is why she completely fails to notice Jolie until the sound of her own name draws her gaze upwards. "Jo," she says in surprise, though not so much surprise that she can't instantly put a name to the face. And a properly shortened name at that. "Goodness. Yours is not a face I expected to see this evening. Is everything all right?"

Jo watches Madilla while she works on trying to keep herself from freaking out. When Madilla says her name, and the statement afterwards, it actually draws a smile that seems a bit nostalgic. "Been keepin' my head down, my nose clean." Right. "Been tryin' this thing where my ass isn't in a whole lot of fights so that ya -do- end up seein' me in here." Her try at a sense of humor. The smile then fades once the Weyrhealer lights on her reason for the visit, and the bluerider settles onto a worried, awkward frown. "Well...somethin' happened today. With me. And Leova." And she stops, trying to organize her jumbled thoughts.

Madilla is watching Jo, now, and even as the bluerider begins with such inconsequential things, her expression has shifted to something more serious. The stack of files are set down firmly upon the desk, and the healer pauses, then takes another firm step towards the other woman. It's a step that falters a moment later: "Leova?" The name hangs in the air for one moment, a second, and then: "What happened. Tell me. You're both all right?" Surely she's taken in enough that she can see that Jo is-- but where's Leova?

"I think we are," Jo answers the question, but a hand immediately shoots up when it looks like Madilla's about to get closer to her. "I wouldn't," is all she says, before she continues on. "So we were sweepridin', like always together, and we found this broken-down wagon," she explains, the words tumbling out as if they were just begging to be spilt. "And there were these men...and they talked about some stew bein' in their wagon...but it was fricken avians...and they said they were goin' to see an aunt, and this aunt was sick...and then one of them coughed..." The words falter for a moment, before she then blurts out, "Look, Madilla, I dunno if we have anythin' to worry about, but that boy wasn't lookin' all that good and he was near me the -whole- time!" This is probably the most words she's spoken to -anyone-. It can be jarring.

Madilla promptly freezes. Jo's hand has something to do with it, but the horrified expression that follows? That's all about the story the bluerider relates. She's not prone to cursing, but given the way her mouth half-opens, a word not-quite-said, it's safe to say she's not far off it, now. A lot of the warmth has left her tone, now, to be replaced by what sounds like genuine fear: "Who have you talked to, since? Who have you been near? You shouldn't have come back, not if you might be... Tell Leova to stay away. You both need to be quarantined. And the wagon. Where are they now? Tell K--" Beat. "B'sil. Get word out. No physical contact. I won't have you infect this Weyr."

Jo knows she's stepped in it now, but she seems determined not to be the one on blame here. "Hey, ya know those crazy people out there!" is her lame excuse, watching Madilla's face drain all of color. "And I didn' go anywhere else, I swear. It's just me and Leova...Damn!" Fists come up to rub at her temples, irritated. "What was I s'pose to do?" Jo, panicky. She breathes heavy, trying to clear her frazzled mind before she adds, more calmly, "Okay. Okay. The wagon's at some hold in Crom, where that sick aunt is. We fixed it. Kind of on the fringe of the territory." The last gets an easy, "Promise. I swear. Tac can tell them. I'm not goin' to end up dead, or have a nose fall off or somethin', am I?" Because, having her nose fall off could very well be as serious as dying, apparently.

It's Madilla's job to comfort the sick, and she's usually pretty good at it. Right now? Not so much. "Have Tacuseth tell Aristath exactly where," she says, all efficiency, those names tripping off her tongue easily: she knows an awful lot about the Weyr's dragons, it seems. "They'll have to be quarantined too. Come on." Without touching Jo, or getting any nearer to her, she ushers her on towards one of the back rooms: a small private ward, filled with several unmade beds. It's dark, and even the glow lamp Madilla picks up on her way doesn't make much of a difference to that. "We'll have to find out what it is. Until we do--" It's not that much like a prison cell. Mostly.

Relaying orders to the dragon was something Jo could do, the details wordlessly sent before she nods. "Tac, too? Where? He can't stay with me?" It seems, she's disturbed if they will be separated. But then she's heading towards the back room, her steps stilted as she takes in the back with its dim light. Prison cell. Jo's face is pretty stoic at this point. "So, I have to be-here-?" she asks, turning to seek Madilla out. "But---" Yeah. She's at a loss, but since she brought it into Madilla's sanctuary without thinking, she's not the one in charge here. It was pretty much a perfect end to an eventful day. "Leova." One name.

Madilla may be efficient, at present, rather more than she is sympathetic, but something about Jo's reaction has her pausing awkwardly, her gaze studying the bluerider's face. "For now," she says, quietly, with audible regret. "I'll-- maybe we can do something with one of the ground weyrs. But it's imperative we keep you away from other people. I can't-- the last thing we need is a plague on our hands." Leova. She doesn't have an answer to that reminder, and her expression is stricken for the mention. "You're going to be fine. If you are sick, you're in the best place for it. Go on in. Let me fetch some more glows." And hopefully some sheets and blankets, too.

Jo's holding it all in - mainly, the fact that she was freaking out right now. She stares back at the Weyrhealer when she's being studied, and the regret she hears in her voice is what works in starting to calm her down. She nods before saying, "Ground weyr. I think...yeah. If you can." And since Madilla was being nice, because the convict rider had barged in with this situation without thinking, there's a pregnant pause before she adds in, "Sorry, about this, darlin'." She pauses again, not sure what to say afterwards, before she finally heads in.

"I'll do what I can," promises Madilla, expressing herself with quiet steel: if it's possible, she'll deliver. That means it's probably going to happen. Her intentions of leaving to fetch those glows falter with the rest of what Jo says; instead, she shakes her head fervently. "No, no. I'm a healer. This is what we do. We can contain it. We-- we just have to make sure no one else is exposed. Just the three of us." 'Three' seems to indicate that she's including herself in that number-- and maybe that's why she's moving, now, to sit on the end of one of the mattresses, hands pressed tightly to her knees. "We'll get a team of healers sent out. Then we'll know more."

Jo's not used to having to reach out. It's perhaps one of the reasons why Madilla hasn't seen her around since her finding Tacuseth on the hatching sands. Well, not since all the trouble she and the other convict riders had caused the Weyrlingmaster during the weyrlinghood that involved them getting sent to the infirmary. Madilla's words and her voice causes the bluerider to smile a bit, which falters when she now includes herself in the quarantine. "Oh shit, Madilla!" she drops when she realizes, alittle stricken. Of course coming to the healer, meant the healer would have to section herself off, too. Jo wasn't even thinking about that. She moves to sit on the same mattress - it was too late now to be cautious - as Madilla and nods once to the last. "That woman they mentioned, she might not be the only one, and we didn' know where they came from or if those men had been to the hold before the breakdown." With a gust of air, she settles back further on the mattress and adds, "Don' this beat all, darlin'. Pass a turnday and the gift I get is probably a plague." She snorts, slightly amused by it, shaking her head.

Madilla's smile is more than a little rueful, the kind that acknowledges the gravity - and frustration - of the situation they find them in, but makes no move to complain about it. She nods along to what Jo says, but breaks off from the answer that she was clearly about to make after that final remark. "Happy turnday," she says, genuine despite the... despite everything. "We'll get to the bottom of it all. They should have warned you before you got too close. They should... but they didn't." Her shoulders shrug, and her expression shifts: she's clearly trying to push uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind, and concentrate on what needs to be done. "Could you have Tacuseth find someone who can find the healers for me? I'm sure Aristath is gathering them, but-- they need to know where we are in advance. No one else can come in. And I can't leave the Infirmary unattended."

"Thanks." Jo is wry in response, leaning back on her elbows. "I think a good bottle of something's finest would have been a better gift, if ya ask me." She pauses on the men with the broken down wagon, remarking almost dryly, "The sick one was gushin' all over me about him wantin' to be a rider and bein' searched. I got so distracted by the sounds in the wagon-" since she was practically casing it and all - "that anything beyond that said, it all sounded pretty standard for folk. Leova and I thought they were tryin' to pull something over on us, actually. The way they both were actin'." When Madilla asks about her bespeaking the blue, she gets right on it in the pause. It seems to take a little while before her face changes and she suddenly says, "Done. Tac says he got someone. The other healers...they'll be stuck too, right?"

"I'm quite sure," says Madilla, wryly amused. "Perhaps at the end of this... perhaps if we're stuck with each other for a few days," she swallows as she says that, then pushes a smile back into her expression, "they'll deliver one to us." The rest of what Jo says has her nodding more reservedly, expression thoughtful. "They'll-- any that get dropped in at that hold, looking at things, yes. The Hall will help out. Everyone will get covered. And maybe no one else will get sick. Maybe we'll all be fine in a matter of days." She sounds quietly hopeful, drawing herself up off the cot, but only so that she can pace. "It'll be fine."

"Worried that I might have a concealed shank in my boot?" Jo notes on the 'being stuck together' bit, amusement settling on her features. There's no shortage of gossip about the Weyr the last few turns about the nefarious convict riders by the names of M'ron, Kaitlin, K'rin, and of course, Jo. "If they would be so, so kind. I think I can get through all this a little on the sloshed side." But she could be joking. Could be. She watches Madilla, studies her. She listens, finally settling back to her normal self - which is observant, and quiet, and crass at times. "Ya ever gone through somethin' like this before?" she feels compelled to ask - something, perhaps, in the way the healer's talking.

"Do you?" Madilla's reply is teasing: no, she's not worried, not even a little bit. "Should I be worried? I do want to get home to my children eventually." She's quite casual about the mention of them, but-- it's obvious it bothers her a little bit. But what can she do? It is what it is. "They'll make sure we're comfortable. It's--" She turns her attention back to Jo more fully, quite calm in her explanation. "Something we train for. Preparation. No, I've never had to do it before. There were the Exiles, but-- we knew what we were dealing with, then. This may be nothing, but until we know..."

There's a crush of rock, of roughness. Of toughness. It's probably familiar since there's no warning or greeting: « Hey Vrianth! My girl thinks her face is going to melt off! She thinks yours wiil, too! Better get back here to the Weyr, and don't touch anything! » (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

If Vrianth has been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, she certainly doesn't have to show it: « Tacuseth. » Just his name. « Is that what the Healers say to do, » only Healers, that's the layered-on sense of people-who-know-humans, people-who-fix-humans, instilled into one murky-eyed woman. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

If Tacuseth sounds like he's in a panic - something that sounds like an avalanche of falling rocks - then there's a good chance that his rider is too. « They said to get yer hides over here! » was his response. So familiar with his tone. So. (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

Fine. « Expect us. » After a moment, the green troubles herself to send a zap of energy his way: distraction, but likely also meant to add that much more entropy so the avalanche can shake itself the rest of the way towards order. And, perhaps, because she has that much extra energy to toss off. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

And, fine, she'll show up. Not immediately, but... incoming. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

The zap rumbles Tacuseth's amusement. He's easily amused, but then, sometimes easy to anger, too. His 'avalanche' crumbles toward order and the blue sends « Mine says We can't fly, » to her. We. It's attached to them, as in, the pair of them flying together. They were quarantined, too. Rocks grate. He's not happy about this bit. (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

What?! If Vrianth hadn't already landed... or, maybe it's just Tacuseth and his rider. That would make more sense. Static rises, half-concealing her rider as Leova slips down, leaning against Vrianth's shoulder for a little while. Not that it's to soothe her, no. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

Tacuseth wants the partner to lament with. The rising static gets the added rumbling, like a quake starting deep within the ground out. It seems to want to blend with hers, rising a bit in pitch. He sends an image: him and her, grounded. His rider, pacing. (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

The infirmary is quiet this evening. Perhaps it's too quiet. With both Jo and Madilla in the dimlit back room, one would think there was no healer around. One could also probably tell that something was up. Back in the backroom, there's a pause from Jo on Madilla's bold responses, the younger woman's head tilting just slightly at her before she answers. "Yeah. I've got one, but no...you're safe." There's a 'with me' hanging there in the air, there but not there. It's almost as if to suggest that had she been one of the others, it would be something different. "I'm not a danger to anyone here," she feels like she should add, and then, she asks, "Ya have kids. How many? How old?" Because the curiosity is there, and perhaps, she misses the easiness of talking to the healer all those turns ago. Madilla's further response - her answer to her question - gets a single acknowledging nod - seeming to be filing this information away for later.

Madilla paces, visibly discomforted by this inability to actually do anything-- though of course 'her' healers have already been moved into action, even if they aren't in evidence just yet. Her gaze intensifies as she regards Jo, weighing up this answer with quiet thoughtfulness, but it's only a nod that she has in reply for that. At least talking about her children is something she can do, something to lay out as she wanders back and forth-- anyone would think that she is the one who fears a prison. "Two. Lilabet - Lily - is seven, and Dilan is three.

Not. All right. Vrianth's distinctly displeased with her rider's departure, for all of Leova's reassurances, some of them audible even to the other dragon as the greenrider walks backward into the infirmary. If Leova turns around, it's only when she's out of sight. Vrianth leans to butt her nose against her wingmate's shoulder, a subtle rumble of her own vibrant through flesh and bone and now, just barely, through vocal chords. She won't fuss like one of those weyrlings. But. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

And that's when Leova walks in, with her escort to make sure she doesn't actually touch anything she doesn't have to. She shoots the man a look that's not exactly thankful, and stops, taking up a drill stance and folding her arms. "Reporting." After that one flicked glance her wingmate's way, her eyes remain on Madilla.

Jo may not move, but by the movement of her gaze, she's watching Madilla from her leaning position like a hawk. Jo should be pacing, too, but she's not. "Lily," she lights on the older child, frowning slightly. "That would have been around the time I Impressed." She was going to ask something else by the parting of lips, but the question dies when Leova arrives. Leova would find her wingmate lounging on a mattress, looking like in all the world as if she was just there on vacation. " Her study remains on the greenrider now, taking in her stance and her clipped tone with a slightly raised brow of amusement.

Now that Vrianth's here, Tacuseth is actually calmer. Well. Not completely, since he had sent the image of some human with his face melting off - or what HE thinks a melting face would look like, which kind of resembles a child's painting of misshapen faces. Heh. The bump gets taken in stride, his rumble a brassy one filled with reassurance: he's sure everything's going to be fine. His rider sometimes overreacts. They'll be flying in no time...it goes on and on. (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

"About then," agrees Madilla, answering the question even as she's swinging around on her heels to lift her gaze towards the new arrival. Her teeth drop to rest on her lip, worrying at it for several intense seconds before she exhales and says, "Leova. I'm so sorry. I'll-- have them move us out into a ground weyr, as soon as I can. For Vrianth and Tacuseth. If we're lucky, it'll only be a few days. At most. It'll be fine." She looks pale, though, and worried.

Good enough: Vrianth isn't critiquing his creativity. Yet. She does twist that long neck around, staring at him upside down before sliding down to a crouch with a huff of heated breath. He can save his reassurance for his rider. ... Mostly. Her wingtips still haven't stopped twitching. (Vrianth to Tacuseth)

"'Us'." It's flat repetition. While Leova's at it, she sends a surreptitious hand signal to Jo that's not the politest thing on the planet, but then, maybe it'll be reassuring. "That bad? Thought it was just some sneezes. Or is this playing it safe. Fine. Just, somebody better tell my weyrmate." She'll climb the walls later.

For now, and since her wingmate has arrived, Jo lets Madilla off the hook with the questioning. She catches that hand signal from Leova with an amused snort, seeming to be taking that as a compliment. Behind Madilla's words, "Might be one of those flesh-eating viruses," she offers up, as help. Or, she's teasing. It's about as deadpan as Leova's first.

Images fade from Tacuseth's mind, perhaps figuring that he wasn't helping. It's certainly no rocks off his back, but since he seems to think he's a gentleman, he settles down himself beside her and keeps the reassurances on in the form of a quiet buzz. Rock ground to tiny rocks. A little bit of chaos. At least he's not sending her disturbing images anymore! (Tacuseth to Vrianth)

The flatness of Leova's initial reply has Madilla turning away again, resuming her pacing in a way that gives a pretty clear indication that she's not happy about this, either. "It's probably nothing," she says, sounding both apologetic and guilty, and at the same time, deeply uncomfortable. "But I can't take any risks. I can't. I'd rather you blame me for this than blame myself for a whole Weyr getting sick." Jo's remark doesn't make her smile.

Leova cuts another glance Jo's way, but then she's nodding to the Weyrhealer, refusing to pace. "I'll stay put. Except: let me get my straps off Vrianth, hm? Been touching them anyway, and maybe the dragons can go swim things off, can't leave her chafed." Scarcely a pause. "Oranyuth knows, anyhow, Jo. And the trees need watering." Verbal pacing. She cuts that off too. "What's next? Scald us?"

Tough crowd. Jo flicks a glance from healer to wingrider before she's leaning her head back against the pillow. She stays quiet through the exchange, watching. Always observing and seeming to file anything said away. Seeing that she was the one that set this whole thing off, she should be pacing right with Madilla, but she's lying on the mattress. Oranyuth knows. A brow does lift towards Leova at that one, regarding her before the question of what's next gets put out in the air and she turns her full attention to Madilla.

"We..." Madilla pauses. "Wait. That's it. There's nothing else we can do. Though yes, I will recommend we all clean ourselves and put on new clothes as soon as we can. And Vrianth-- of course. Let them get things ready for us, and then we'll go." She doesn't look at either of the riders as she says that, but continues her pacing, hands twisted together in an awkwardly uncomfortable gesture.

Again Leova nods Madilla's way, confirming. And if it's some little speck of freedom she's bargained for Vrianth, at least it's something: certainly Tacuseth could sense how she's, if not in the least relaxed, less twitchy. Tacuseth, and the others who watch them both. "Hope it won't be long," she says briefly, and steps away to edge onto the corner of the bluerider's cot. With another of those sidelong glances at Jo, "Could be worse." Could have been some sevendays prior.

"Yer pacin's makin' me nervous, darlin'." Jo breaks her silence as she mostly watches Madilla walk back and forth. Back and forth. Of course, she doesn't seem to look all that nervous, now that Leova's here. "What if we have, uhh, arrangements we need to meet?" she then asks, her gaze on the healer though she flicks one towards Leova, too. "I'm supposed to be somewhere tomorrow." She already knew the answer to that. She transfers her study from Madilla to Leova when she sits, the response given to her getting a "Could be. I suppose F'rint won' be pining any blame on anyone shirking duties this time, hmm?" Because she's gotten it, in the beginning. "I still feel pretty fine," she then notes to them both, running a hand over her neck, thinking. "Could be, I overreacted." She doesn't sound so sure.

It's only when Jo remarks on her movements that Madilla seems to register her own pacing; she flushes, and comes to an awkward halt, coming to lean up against one of the empty walls instead. It's unlike her - but then, this is an unusual situation. "You didn't overreact," she says, quietly, aiming to sound calm though there's an edge there that she can't quite cover. "We don't know what the incubation period is. It could take days. But--" She falters. "Hopefully not. Hop--" She doesn't finish that remark: there's a knock on the door, and that has her flurrying towards it, conducting a sotto voce conversation through the relative safety of the wood.

While Madilla's otherwise occupied: "Could be." Leova, seated, returns to her wingmate's prior comment in stride, her smoky voice deliberately low. Casual, just about. She takes her time. "Could be nothing, hope it's nothing. Could be we'll just be catching up on some card-playing with our good healer, here. Reckon F'rint should count that as part of duties: she's High Reaches too, should know these things." Maybe she does already, but just now the talk's what it's about. "Pity wasn't up Nerat way, somewhere else scenic-like, but at least there'll be food, hm? What could you have to do as that's better than winning who-knows-what off a journeyman. We'll be all right."

Madilla stops pacing and Jo notes the flush on cheeks. The smile is wry, one corner of her mouth lifting, and, it's meant to be assuring. "That's not goin' to be something I'll be lookin' forward to," she says on the incubation period, her smile now faltering at it. Days. Then there's the knock and she turns towards Leova and latches onto the idea of cards. "Ya any good?" she asks, since she's usually the one missing from the Snowasis card tables all her wingriders frequent. And, Leova's speaking her language. Cards. Food. "S'pose yer right," she gives then, the smile returning just a little. "Been a good while since I've cleaned out someone's purse." As in, if she's playing, she won't be the one losing.

Distracted by her conversation, Madilla misses much of the exchange between the two riders, turning back only in time to hear Jo's confidence in the cleaning out of purses. She falters, though it surely can't be because of the gambling-- and then shakes her head and says, "We can go through, now. Just... no touching. Of anything. And face masks." But at the other end? It's a well-appointed ground weyr, set up with a couple of beds, food, and - of course - a bottle of whisky. If you're going to be imprisoned... sorry, quarantined? Might as well do it relatively comfortably.

Comments

Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Tue, 11 Dec 2012 09:16:58 GMT.

Noooo~ My ladies! D: There might be icky sicky germies incubating inside you. *frets frets*