Fort Weyr - 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.

It's been a good week or so since D'mos hit the wall. Literally. The Healers have kept him under wraps given his leg and some of the tendons and such required time to heal, and it was easier to do it here than have him climb up his dragon and fly to his weyr. Thauth has been crouched outside worriedly all this time, and hasn't gone to eat in long enough that it's a certainty he's ravenous. There's no moving him from where he's waiting for D'mos, however - he's a stubborn brown, more so than others perhaps. He's actually tried to come in more than once before the Healers and even D'mos himself have told him he has to stay outside and wait. He couldn't fit through the door regardless, but he'd probably kill himself trying. His head is pointed towards it, though, muzzle within yards of the entrance, and his eyes haven't left their worried swirling hues since they transported his rider here. The broken straps are still dangling off him as well, waiting to be replaced. It's not that he hasn't kept others from approaching him, but more that they've not tried. Not yet at least. For his part, D'mos has been slathered with numbweed and has remained in a sleepy manner thanks to fellis juice, all for the pain and the fact he's recuperating. He's currently awake at the moment, however, and a Journeyman Healer is checking him over in preparation to let him stand for the first time in a week. (re)

B'ky enters the infirmary quietly, the Roc wingleader having been looking more than a little bothered this past sevenday. He's paler than usual, with slightly darker circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and overwork. When he's not been working, he's probably been worrying, though perhaps not just because of the rider who was injured; no more flaming or flight practices have been scheduled, and there's been a distinct lack of cheer in the man's voice lately. His expression when he steps into the room is more solemn than anything, although he does manage a thin smile and a polite nod in greeting as he approaches D'mos' cot, murmuring a "Hello," as he stops a little ways from the healer, not wanting to interrupt if it's a bad time. Thauth's state certainly hasn't gone unnoticed, and B'ky glances back toward the entrance, a faint crease appearing between his brows. When he turns back, the says softly, "I wanted to come by to see how you were doing," in explanation of his presence, "And to see if there was anything you might need?"

D'mos grimaces as he is helped upright into a sitting position. "Nnngh. Get m'shardin' dragon t'go eat 'n' have someone bathe 'n' oil him," he replies immediately in that deep, gravelly voice of his. "Might be nice. He's not wantin' t'listen t'me, 'n' nobody's been willin' t'carry m'stupid arse out t'the feedin' grounds so he'll actually do it." He sighs a bit, and then smiles faintly. "Y'look almost bad as I do, Win'leader. What's eatin' y'?"

B'ky nods faintly, eyebrows rising just a little as he glances back out to the infirmary entrance, pale gaze unfocused for a few moments as he sends his own dragon off somewhere. "I'll have Avideth speak with him?" the bluerider offers, turning back to regard D'mos, smiling somewhat sympathetically, "Avi was the same way when I was injured in Telgar." And he frowns slightly at the memory of that, shaking his head slowly and then in answer to whats eating him, replies simply with, "Work.. and other things," he almost shrugs, and then his gaze passes over the rest of the infirmary, almost as if.. searching for someone? Was D'mos not the one he came to see? It doesn't seem to matter, as he turns back to the brownrider, nodding and saying, "I'll have someone see to him, if he'll have it," about Thauth, and indeed someone will probably be by soon enough, to remove those straps at least. As for Avideth, his misty mindvoice reaches politely toward the brown, «Mine would like me to bring you something to eat, if you wish?» because not even Avideth is going to try to convince Thauth to move any further away from his injured rider, although the blue probably won't drop the slain herdbeast too close to the entrance, just far enough to be out of the way.

Thauth's mindvoice is also slightly misty, but only around the edges. Within it is comfortably dark, like a room at night, and there is candlelit parchment ruffling in a breeze within. «I would like that, yes» he agrees with a twitch of his tail. «He hurts.» The brown sounds ever so worried about that last part. D'mos, of course, takes a breath and slowly has the apprentice lower him to his bare feet. He's clad in his skivvies, and that's about it right now. He settles his weight slowly, wincing as muscles twinge and ache, and other parts do the same, before offering in a taut voice, "Yes, that's a good thin'." He breathes in and out slowly yet deeply before offering in a less strained tone, "What happened? I don't remember much."

It's not long before Avideth is bringing the promised herdbeast, a nice healthy one from the feeding grounds. And if any healers complain about a dragon lunching outside the infirmary, the blue will glare at them till they go away. Leaving the herdbeast for Thauth, Avideth settles out of the way, promising in that same misty tone, «He will be better soon, I am sure of it.» He has every confidence in the healers; his rider is the worrier of the pair. Inside the infirmary, B'ky nods, finding a counter to lean back against and politely not staring at D'mos, gaze wandering the empty cots across the room. "I'm.. not entirely certain, to be honest," B'ky admits, about what happened. "It seemed as if Thauth was distracted by the arrival of, ah, another dragon. And," thin brows come together with a slight frown, "your straps snapped." The sight of D'mos splatting against the bowl wall is a memory B'ky is not going to forget anytime soon, and the bluerider grimaces slightly.

D'mos takes a single step forward with the apprentice's help, and limps without a sound of protest. "I checked th' straps 'fore we took off," he explains with a long breath out afterwards. Another breath goes in, and he offers with a shake of his head, "I don't know why they broke, unless it was somethin' I missed, or it was weak 'n' I didn't see it in th' excitement I felt. I figure it was due t'rider error more'n anythin'." Another horrible grimace as he takes another step. "I feel like a shardin' weyrlin' for it. I'm gettin' m'just due for bein' careless." Thauth, outside, sends a warble that's soft yet grateful for the herdbeast he's offered, and rises to tuck in with growing hunger. He really IS ravenous, but just couldn't leave his rider…

Remaining where he is, leaning back against a nearby counter, the bluerider glances momentarily at D'mos' attempts to walk, wincing in sympathy. B'ky simply nods about the straps, the man looking more guilty by the moment, murmuring, "I shouldn't have allowed you to fly without first going through some form of.. mm," But instead of being cautious, B'ky had been perhaps a bit too enthusiastic. If he had a mark for all the 'ifs'… He just sighs and rubs the back of his neck, frowning lightly, "We were all fairly excited to see the dragons flame," said quietly, "I'm just glad you're alright." Because if D'mos had died? B'ky would never have been able to forgive himself; he's a wingleader or something - that makes him responsible. Or something. From his expression, it's likely the man still feels guilty about having allowed the brownrider to try flying and flaming. "Flaming practices have been postponed for the time being. We'll be.. moving them somewhere safer." Like some isolated place outside the weyr.

"The attempt was courageous, nevertheless-" Kessa's voice adds in, the Weyrwoman having managed to slip in without causing too much fuss up front. There were still some healers twitching from not being able to report as quickly as she had demanded from them earlier. She pauses a few paces away from them, standing there in a fur lined jacket which the hem swings at her calves. Underneath is a set of trousers more comfortable for the cooling climate. "Men and women used to do this every day," she smiles a bit, rocking her weight onto one foot as she considers the pair, "And you did exceptionally well, until your straps fell apart." She wanders a few steps further into the area, tilting her head, "Are you feeling well though, D'mos? You gave us all quite the scare." Choth was likely trying to help too, somewhere in the mix.

D'mos snorts, but it has the choked tone to it of someone stepping just so and feeling a spasm of unexpected pain. "Can I not have some trous?" he grumps at the journeyman helping him with the moving around. "Don't like flashin' m'fish white bits at innocent folks." He sighs and pauses, but frowns over at B'ky as Kessa enters. "We learn a bit in weyrlin'hood," he reminds the Wingleader. "But Kessa's right. Flamin' 'n' flyin' ain't that hard for a dragon. They come from flits, 'n' flits did it for a long time 'fore we came 'round muckin' about with their stuff t'make dragons. Who did it a long time too 'fore now." He almost shrugs, thinks better of it what with the bandages around his torso, and simply finishes with the growly comment, "Only way t'get better is t'practice. I jus' went too fast 'n' far. 'n' didn't do what I was su'posed t'." He nods at Kessa though. "Better. Not all th' way though. Obviously." He finds an apprentice Healer offering him his trousers, but just stares at the young boy for a moment. "How'm I gonna get 'em on?" he asks with more than a little dryness.

B'ky straightens immediately at the sound of Kessa's voice, coming to attention almost automatically before looking just faintly sheepish and allowing his shoulders to relax somewhat. He inclines his head politely with a soft, "Weyrwoman," in greeting, the bluerider's own clothing still is sporting Fort's colors - the sleek black leathers and brown jacket, with the matching braid. He does smile, just slightly, murmuring in agreement, "Flaming is an old tradition… one that should be kept in practice." There's a nod for D'mos, "I imagine the riders, more than the dragons, will need the training," although he does raise a brow slightly. Practice indeed. The trousers situation has B'ky looking away, lest his eyes give away any amusement, expression carefully neutral as he addresses the weyrwoman, saying quietly, "I've been meaning to ask about the winter games. K'shan had a rather.. brilliant idea for one of the events," and his eyes flicker over the infirmary a moment, though alas, he fails to find said healer.

Kessa listens to their remarks, nodding vaguely to them, agreeing with B'ky, "Yes. They should be kept in our training, Thread or no Thread. It's part of who we are as dragonriders. A'ven believed it and so do I." She smiles between them, "Practice makes perfect. Of course, it's unfortunate that golds cannot do the same. Apparently it fools with their ability to breed." She rolls a shoulder, looking momentarily envious, but lifting a finger afterward, "So I would like a ride on a flaming dragon, soon as the skill has been perfected." Yes, no need for a Weyrwoman to end up as a pancake. She drops quiet to listen to their conversation, turning her eye on B'ky when he mentions the Winter games, "What was the idea?"

D'mos has a Journeyman Healer holding him steady. That said, he is guided back to the cot he was lying on, and sits carefully. Thus, he gets his trousers on, one leg at a time. Though not without a quiet, "Just… tie a couple pairs on m'waist. Liftin' that leg is torture, right now." He manages it, though, and is once more up and tottering around. Just this time, he's only shirtless, and not almost completely naked. Much as he's well-built enough to be eye-candy. "Healers said I'd be fit for th' Games," he tells B'ky honestly. "If y'want me t'fly 'n' flame, I'll start practicin' soon as they tell me I can." He does fall silent, though, in order to listen to this idea.

B'ky is politely not watching D'mos, likely deliberately given that the brownrider is probably well-built enough to be eye-candy, despite that face. That, and B'ky just starts looking guilty every time he glances that way. There is a look of surprise on the bluerider's face as he blinks and actually does turn back to regard the now-pants-wearing D'mos. "I'm glad to hear it," he says quietly, about being fit for the games, and then hesitates just a moment, considering, before he adds, "If you're willing to volunteer." B'ky nods faintly to the weyrwoman, Kessa's remark about dragonriders bringing the first genuine smile to his face since the accident during the flaming practice. It even reaches his eyes. Clearly, the man believes it as well, murmuring a soft, "Thread or no thread," in agreement and smiling warmly at her, "Hmm, what about… flamethrowers? I've heard that the queen's wing used them during threadfall long ago." He does not, however, offer to take her up on Avideth. Faranth forbid something should happen and, well, B'ky just isn't about to tempt fate just now. Instead, he explains the games event idea, "Simulated threadfall.. using ropes doused in paint, with flaming dragons in formation. One weyr's wing flying above, throwing the ropes down. The other weuyr's wing below, flaming. I've been looking at some of the old scrolls from the library and I have a few ideas…" He trails off, however, waiting to gauge her reaction, perhaps.

D'mos frowns a bit. His lips aren't puffy now, thankfully. "If we paint 'em in weyr colors," he notes thoughtfully. "We go up 'n' flame ones painted in their colors, they go up 'n' flame the ones in ours? Makes it easier t'tally 'em up later. 'Specially if we have th' exact number of 'em for each side. Ones on th' ground minus th' total." He smiles a little. "Keep it simple, I say." The apprentice moves under the Journeyman's direction to help D'mos bend and stretch out the wounded leg gingerly, but it's still painful to say the least.

B'ky tilts his head, listening to the brownrider's suggestion, and smiling a little more about weyr colors. "That's a good idea," he says, nodding in agreement about keeping it simple. "I imagine it shouldn't be too difficult to keep track of the number of ropes," B'ky folds his arms across his chest as he leans back against the counter again, hmming thoughtfully, "If there are enough volunteers, we might be able to do another demonstration at the end of the games.." a brief pause before he suggests, "Both weyrs, flying together in a sigle formation." His eyes are distant, expression softening as he imagines what that might look like. More softly, he murmurs, "I'd rather see the weyrs brought together by the competition," and then he shakes his head gently.

D'mos nods his head just a fraction. "I think… that might just be a sight t'see," he agrees, trying to picture it. "Almost like a weyr th'way it would've been back in th' ol' days of Thread. Full wings 'stead of th' fragments we have t'day." He looks dubious. "Or so Thauth is tellin' me. He knows more 'bout thin's than me. I can't read nearly well enough."

B'ky's smile remains, the bluerider saying quietly, "Even with Thread gone, we should continue the old traditions. There is always a need for wings of dragons who can flame. The flying practices.. teach discipline and teamwork, even if the maneuvers aren't put to practical use anymore," and he chuckles softly, nodding, "It would be something to see.." Turning a moment to regard D'mos, B'ky asks, "Were you able to attend the Connell Festival? It was… rather spectacular. There were volunteers from all over the weyr for the flyby." The man could wax nostalgic about that, honestly. But before he gets going, he stops himself, instead saying, "Someday, I hope to see all the weyrs flying together. Perhaps the games.." but then he just trails off with a gentle headshake, having gotten ahead of himself there. There's a nod and a glance out toward the infirmary entrance, the bluerider quiet a moment before pushing away from the counter slowly and turning beck to D'mos, "I need to return to work, but I will send someone down to bring oil for Thauth. And.. when you're feeling up to it.. I know I'll be glad to have you training with us for the games." There's a polite nod as B'ky turns to leave, looking much less bothered than when he came in, although his grey eyes sweep over the infirmary one last time, the man giving a soft, disappointed sigh as he heads toward the exit.

D'mos nods as B'ky prepares to depart. "I'll be there," he replies simply. "'n' thank you, Wingleader." He hesitates and then asks almost inaudibly, "Wonder if she's even come by?" There's no doubt about who he's talking about. B'ky may hear him, or may not. All the same, D'mos doesn't expect an answer to that particular question. And, perhaps, he's hoping not to get one either.

'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.