Fort Weyr - Central Infirmary
This room looks fairly similar to most other infirmaries, with it's faint scent of antiseptic and an eerie quiet that goes along with convalescence. Rows of cots line both walls, each separated by a privacy screen. Breaking the line of cots along the outside wall is a entrance to the dragonhealing section of the infirmary. The far end of the oval room is filled with metal cabinets that hold the tools of the Weyrhealer’s trade, as well as a desk from which the healer can supervise his domain. Upon one wall rests a thick 'chart' containing the information on all patients within the infirmary.


Aaron is laying on one of the myriad cots, on his stomach. It's been a couple days since the explosion that took out the Weyr's smithy, and Aaron's still not up and about. The fact that he's mostly naked under the bandages, along with the fact that he's only recently stopped soaking through said bandages in the last 12 hours may be some indication as too why. He's still awfully pale beneath his tan, but he's at least conscious. An apprentice in her mid teens is seated by the head of the cot, writing down whatever it is Aaron's telling her, probably a response to a letter from the hall or somesuch.

Abigail had been gone to Monaco Bay during the whole mess with the Smiths, and for good reason too seeing how her dragon caught a gold an the eggs where finally hatching which kept her busy. Right now though she is making her way on nto the Infirmary, looking over the place as she takes in a faint breath. "Damn mess…" Is grumbled out to herself at everything. shes taken a look over the Smith's and now is coming to check on people that are here it seems.

"Precisely," the Weyrhealer, nearby, overhears Abigail's comment and agrees; she is actually talking about a literal clutter-mess in the infirmary at that moment, but there have been a lot of messes Mirinda can toss some shade at. Her smile is thin but about as welcoming as it ever is when the infirmary is at impressive capacity, and she too is checking on someone who had been involved. Sort of. She is expressing simultaneous curiosity and disapproval: "You aren't a scribe," she tells the apprentice taking dictation. "I'm sure there are apprentice smiths who can do this?"

The girl looks up, turning her shoulder a bit so that her knot is more visible. "I am a smith apprentice, ma'am," she says, as she tucks away her notebook and pencil. "I'll let you know as soon as there's a response, Aaron," she says to the man on the cot, slipping down off of her stool and heading for the exit with a nod for Abigail and Mirinda. "Dare I assume that I have more visitors?" Aaron asks, not bothering to try shifting around to look. The last couple days have broken him of that habit of politeness. "It is a damnable bleeding mess, isn't it? I haven't seen much aside from these walls, but I've eyes elsewhere." There's a pause, and he sighs. Such a bleeding mess.

Abigail sends aglance over to Mirinda and nods to her before she glances back to Aaron and lifts a brow at the question. "Ta some dagree." Is offered while she moves along to peer curiously at the man. "No worries, life outside still goes on, and when your free from the walls her yer see it." Though why is she here? "I'm Abigail, Wingleader of Thunderbird wing." So now she's been pulled into it now that she is back fully at the Weyr, which means she gets to try and look into what may have happened it seems.

Mirinda gives the girl a smile; it's a quick one, but understanding, apologetic. "Ah, good then — I keep getting more people here I don't get a chance to meet, and I would've yelled at anyone who put a healer to writing duties. Feel free to use one of our dragons," because the Infirmary totally has its own section of Haast (not really, but there are two healer riders), "to deliver that note if you need. I'm actually just here for the literal bleeding." She's eyeballing his wounds, though at the moment it's from a respectable distance; they've probably been spending a lot of time in each other's company these past couple of days. "You can ask whatever you need, Wingleader, you're not interfering with anything I need."

Aaron attempts a smile, though Abi and Miri are the only ones that'll know how well it goes. "Oh, I've no doubt it goes on, Wingleader. I'd just rather be a bit more involved in it, I'm sure you understand, rather then stuck here like a useless lump. Obviously, I'm Aaron, Journeyman Smith, for now. Pleasure to meet you." He has indeed spent some time around Miri, though it's questionable how much of it he'll remember. "How /is/ the bleeding looking, Weyrhealer? It doesn't feel nearly as badly today, except when I try to move. Or breathe." So, yeah. At least he's not dead, right?

Abigail smirks a bit as she hears Aaron. "I can understand that honestly. Been in yer shoes a few times." There is a pause, well different injuries but still the same idea really. A slight nod is sent to Mirinda. "I'm sure ye've been asked this before, but as I'm coming into the scene late I'm at a loss so to speak." She offers with a faint glance to Mirinda and lifts her head a bit at the talk of the bleeding, a brow lifting slightly. "Still?"

"As one would expect," says Mirinda softly, taking a step closer. "It probably will hurt to breathe a bit for some time, there's smog buildup in the lungs and there isn't much that can be done about that except cough it out." What a place this would be if Pern had access to technology such as a good suction! "Which is, as a result, going to bleed, but your face looks a good bit better today."

Aaron tilts his head a bit towards Abigail, a questions look on his face. "Been asked what? What happened? Best as I can remember, I got distracted by a smith/rider, and a couple of kids snuck into the Smithy. I think one of them was her son. Don't recall any names, I'm afraid." Concussions are a bitch like that, aren't they? "The blasting powder was way in the back, as secure as we could get it for inventory, and they pried open a couple of mostly empty barrels. Some sparks blew out of a forge, and the rest is history." He listnes to Mirianda, nodding. "Sounds pleasant… I was going to ask if the phlegm was supposed to be black. I suppose so." Yeah, right now he'd be thanking Faranth they /don't/ have suction, if he knew what it was.

"Aye that be the question of the hour." Abigail offers from her spot while she curiously listens in on what is told. Names missing so far but she is sure someone else has found out more then her. "Pretty much is black for a spell I would imagen. That sort of smoke does it." She should know, she got caughtout in the fire a while back and was left with a cough that still comes back at times.

Mirinda doesn't point out that the other kid was her child — her fosterling, actually her niece, but then again Kyzen was also actually Kiena's nephew. No sense getting anyone into any more trouble. What she does say is a simple, "I think the entire thing was an overwhelming series of small accidents. No foul play, for once." Twice, considering the whole Lycander thing, but she's got to be one of the only people who still thinks about that. "And … yes. Afraid it is. Black and bloody, but in many ways it's a good thing, as that could just be staying in your lungs. Think you'll be able to drink?"

Aaron chuckles a little, though that ends in a bit of a coughing fit. "Shards, and to think I passed up a chance to be a miner, eh?" He finally gets out. "No, I never expected any foul play, unless you were thinking that the Hall had sent me here to sabotage the Weyr or something," he says, with a half-smile. "Oh, I would happily kill someone for a nice drink of whiskey right about now, but I expect I'll have to settle for some watered down wine, won't I?" he asks, managing to keep himself from chuckling. It's not the first time he's been in the Healer's care, and it likely wont be the last. "Any idea how those kids are doing? I didn't see much before I passed out, but neither of them looked horribly bad for the wear." It's not the first time he's asked, but again, he likely doesn't remember the answer.

Abigail winces just a touch at that coughing fit, she knows the feeling and takes in a soft breath. "Well I'm happy ta hear it was't foul play at least. Everyone else is alright then I hope?" This questioned with a glane to Mirinda. The bit on the whiskey makes her grin a touch. "Perhaps I can sneak some in ta ye later." Yeah she totally just said that in front of Mirinda. "Though, so ye know. If yer coughing like that an drink whiskey it'll burn like the dickens. Trust me on that one."

"They're fine," Mirinda is able to say confidently, because she does see those kids on a pretty regular basis. She pointedly does not comment about anyone being sent to sabotage the Weyr, just in case. She certainly doesn't suspect Aaron! But ruling out that anyone might be would be asking it to happen. "And —" Tiny, tiny little smile. "It would definitely not be proper for me to pass out any alcohol, except maybe a touch of wine in water, especially if you'd like something stronger for the pain. Fellis’d coughs won't hurt, but you also won't really be conscious for them. Now, we don't inspect gifts brought to patients, that would be horribly rude." So Abigail is absolutely welcome to feel free. She'd have objected were his case something that would be more harmed by it than the brownrider already pointed out.

Aaron grins a little, nodding. "Right now, though, it'd be well worth it. But, yeah, nothing intentional. Just a case of bad luck and worse timing. Terric said they left the barrels out like that during other inventories, and had never had a problem with outsiders poking around… Lisena tells me that they just /happened/ to pick that day to pull the cover off the chimney and clean it." At Miri's words, he nods and sighs again, though somehow this one sounds happy. "No, no more fellis. I've had enough of that dreadful stuff to last me a lifetime. Maybe tonight if I can't sleep." Her words do get a grin, though, when she gets to gifts. "I believe that apprentice that just left might be back later with such a gift, just so you know."

Abigail nods slightly as she hears Mirinda. "Good to know they are alright then." She would hate to find out they were hurt as well. A soft chuckle is heard though at the gift bit. "I'll see what I can do." If he likes whiskey that is alright in her book seeing how much of it that she can drink.

"I'll make sure it's available overnight," says Mirinda in a way that's meant to be reassuring — it's not as if it isn't often available at night, but apprentices can't give it, "Just in case. Racking cough can keep people awake to an absolutely absurd extent, sometimes, it's terrible." Her smile's the kind of sympathetic that has been there from both sides of that. "And — I'll be back in a few," she adds, as yet another disaster comes through the door. At least this time it's just someone who's fallen and cut his face on a rock. (Again.)

Aaron nods his thanks, through a yawn at Miri's retreating form. "Oh, excuse me, Abigail. I'm afraid my brain's decided that it's time for a nap. It was nice to meet you, though. I've met more folks in the infirmary here than I have since I was assigned here," he says with a chuckle. "I'll see you around, I'm sure?"

Abigail nods slightly after Mirinda and then glances to Aaron. "No worries, rest well." This said with a slight wave before she is moving off. "I'm sure yer see me around. I'll bring that present by later and just leave it for 'ye." With that though she is moving off.


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