Who Aignes, Kezresan
What Aignes has a cold. Kezresan has… meds? Sure.
When Winter - Month 11 of Turn 2717
Where Infirmary, Fort Weyr


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 Weyrhealers 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.

Some might say that winter is the most wonderful time of the year! Those people have obviously not had to step foot in the infirmary on one of those first few snowfalls. Along with the tide of sniffling children and red nosed riders who really should have remembered to wear their scarves, comes Aignes looking even more miserable than usual. Not wanting to fight with the entire harper's class that seems to have arrived just shortly before her, she tucks herself on a spare chair in a waiting area and tries to give an impression of a statue. Except for statues noses don't wrinkle. And their heads definitely don't jerk forward with possibly Pern's loudest AHHH-CHOOOO!

Kezresan might not have any particularly strong feelings towards winter, or any season, but he /does/ have some rather strong feelings towards riders who don't wear scarves and then wonder why they get head colds. And frost-bitten noses. Thankfully, someone else is handling the herd of harpers as Kezresan might not be in the state of mind to be /polite/ about whatever ails them. Of course, this means that he gets to handle the living, sneezing statute instead. And so it is a handkerchief that is offered, rather than a 'hello', and a clearing of his throat rather than a 'how are you'. "Name?"

Aignes wasn't fool enough to be wandering around with the cold to end all colds without her very own hanky. From a pocket of her sweater comes a very dainty little handerchief. Poor hankie. It doesn't deserve such a fate. Habit has her reaching up to tend to that running nose even as she realizes that someone's holding one out to her. The weaver's eyes go wide for a moment as she stares at it, nose mostly obscured for the moment until the question jerks her to attention. After dabbing at her nose a bit more, a very muffled "Aggh-nuss." comes out.

One never knows, in this Weyr. A quiet repetition of, "Aignes," if just to confirm, before Kez is wondering, "and you're here because?" which /might/ seem like a silly question to ask of someone who is sneezing and sniffling and potentially feeling (and looking as though they feel?) somewhat miserable, but ask it he does. "Suppose you want the common remedy," is murmured, more to himself than to her. "though calling it a remedy might be a bit misleading. There is no /cure/ for the common cold. But I can provide some relief." A pause, and a consideration toward the weaver before he wonders, "That is why you're here, right? The… sneezing? Not something else?"

Do sniffles count as confirmation? Aignes gives a few as she nods her head that the name is indeed correct, although at the question of why she's hear, the woman's eyes widen a bit as she fights back another sneeze. The fight was fruitless, but she does at least follow the proper etiquette of turning her head and sneezing into her shoulder instead of the healer's face. "Yes. This darn cold…" The hankie hand flails slightly in despair. "I can't work if I keep sneezing like this. I poked my hands more than the fabric." A couple of her finger tips are already carefully wrapped in some clean bandages.

"Have you considered taking some time off work?" This, coming from the workaholic healer, who hasn't seen a day off in /months/. Kezresan is already moving away, headed towards a small set of shelves and the myriad of items stashed upon them; poking here and there to find what he wants. "I can make you a salve that will help ease the congestion; though a hot bath might do the same thing. I can give you a cough suppressant but you seem to be… sneezing more than coughing," he observes, twisting around to cast a critical gaze at Aignes. "Something to sleep, perhaps? Though truly," he adds as he comes back to the desk with his armload of /stuff/, "time will be your greatest asset. And /rest/."

"And do what?" Like a true fellow workaholic, the thought of taking time off had not even occurred to Aignes, although she'll probably be triple washing anything she touches before giving it to the buyer. Nobody wants to be a purveyor of plague blankets, after all. "Coughing has only been at night. During the day…" She has to break off into more sniffling. "Something to sleep would be good." Because if she's going to take time off work, she's probably going to have to be drugged to sleep through it and not start personal projects.

A quick, "Mmhm," that is… really not a response to anything. But while he's working away furiously at the table, pestle and mortar in hand, Kez was definitely listening. At least he's quick and efficient about it, soon enough scooping the goopy mess into a smaller, portable container and swinging around to hand it to Aignes. "Smear that on your chest and breathe deeply — not right now," he's quick to amend. "Home. Alone. Whatever, just… do it and it'll help you breathe," and back around to collect a few more things, bottles of this and that, which he's soon enough attempting to offer over as well. "Cough suppressant," just in case, "and this," he explains as he holds up a satchel of dried leaves, "can be brewed into a tea. Sip it before bed and it ought to help you get to sleep faster, and sleep deeper." Standard warnings apply: no operating heavy machinery!

Aignes was about to object to being asked to smear anything on her chest in public, but then there's the clarification and she lets out a sigh of relief. Or maybe it was just her trying to breath through the nose that's not wanting to nose. It's hard to tell at the moment. But the weaver will collect all the bottles and satchels that are handed to her, nodding dutifully at each instruction. "Thank you." And with that, she's off! And hopefully she won't try to sew while medicated. The results could be… colorful.

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