Tis only a flesh wound! [Open!]

[Jack]

"Oh stop crying. You are not going to die."
The healer was frowning, his brows knit with annoyance and his eyes peering with great distaste at the whining woman sitting on his table. She sobbed all the more when he mentioned death, clawing at her stomach as though that would help solve the problem. L'natic had had enough. He rose from his desk with a short huff, slipping his glasses over his eyes and lowering three of the magnifying lenses.

He approached the table and unceremoniously pulled part of her shirt up, ignoring her squeal of surprise as well as her more flirtatious oohs. He stared for a moment at her belly button, looking less than impressed with her rather flabby stomach. But quickly he stood up again and turned away, fiddling with things on his desk. "You have a parasite that is beginning to eat its way through your uterus. It is not contagious but it will linger for quite a while, sucking the life out of you until it has grown too large to exist within your stomach in which case it will rip from your gut and attach itself on your breast."

The woman had stilled, her brown eyes locked wide-eyed on him. He sank into his seat and stared right back at her for a while, clearly having no intention to elaborate further.
Mine...
"Oh alright." Rolling his eyes, the young man slipped his glasses off, staring at her sternly, "You're pregnant."
Surprise, then relief, then joy passed over the woman's face like a colorchanging lizard's hide, and L'natic's lip curled in distaste. She thanked him, bouncing up and down, and as she bolted out to tell her friends, her family, and the poor sap that had laid with her, the healer snorted and scooped his Gold flit from her perch on a shelf. "Well! That baby will be dead within a week."

[Purnip]

{That's totally a scene from House, Pern style. xD}

New refugees were still arriving each and every day, some during the light of dawn and others just after dusk. So different were they from one another, though all were connected by the same tragedy. Many were broken, barely holding themselves together. The smallest noises set them off, some would start screaming unprovoked, others sulked in the shadows and accepted their rations quietly and patiently.

Turlough was a little bit of it all, with no excess, aside from the lack of screaming. He didn't sit in the shadows when he silently wandered this half-weyr. He was broken, but not obliterated. The past haunted him, but he did not let it becoming the mist that could cloud the present. His eyes were keenly focused ahead, thoughts keeping as far as possible from the subject of memories. What ran through his minds were the facts of the moment. Here are the caverns. More refugees visiting the healers today. Poor sods. He didn't look upon any one person for too long. Those with fair hair reminded him of his mother. Those with angular faces reminded him of his dad when he was starting to go with hunger. Tears weren't even able to well up to his eyes these days. Too many were spilled already and they didn't bring anyone back.

When he got here all he needed was a bit of food, but then again, so did everyone else. Luckily this island was left untouched by thread, as far as everyone was concerned. He had trouble believing it. Why would the thread skip over this abandoned speck of land and take the lives of many others on the mainland? It didn't have a mind of its own, but sometimes Turlough had to wonder. That Red Star was nothing but a curse upon their planet. It didn't need to be there, but in a way it kept the world in check. People and dragons were once again endangered species. When he got here, after finally getting fed, he was practically recruited to be a Candidate for the next Hatching. Whatever that was. His family told him precious little of dragons or the ways of weyrs. He would be learning, as would the other newbies, just what was expected of him.

For now, all he expected was to learn something from all this chaos and tragedy. As he was starting across the cave where the healers examined the injured and ill, he paused and glanced up to see a woman leaving the cave with a bounce to her step; a bright bubbly star amongst the huddled masses. Her mate was holding on tightly to her hand and her friends were chattering to her excitedly. For about three seconds, life felt normal. Then he caught the stench of dirt and feces again. Turlough stopped staring at them and saw that for once the entrance to the cave was clear. All the people he thought were patients were just that woman's friends.

What to make of it? Was this some sort of feat or what? Or were other patients waiting just around the corner? Turlough needed no assistance. He wasn't injured or ill or even mildly concerned about his health. He simply stood at the entrance of the cave, wishing that this sort of service was available to his sister when she needed it. Hard times these were. Turlough only wanted to be strong enough to take them on.

He had in his left hand a book, one which his grandmother on his mother's side put together when she was his mother's age, or something like that. Lately he had learned enough how to read in order to understand it. Choosing a spot by the cave entrance to sit and read, he did so. The smell of feces was actually a lot less stronger here.

[Jack]

The moment the insane woman had skipped her way out of his hole, L'natic had delved straight back into it, burying himself partially in a box full of miscellaneous mechanical what-nots. He returned with what looked somewhat like a hand, and was just about to sit down and truly get to work, when a shadow crossed his path.

The man frowned--more of a pout really--and looked up. His fingers twitched around the hand, a guilty pleasure of his he'd been working determinedly on for nearly a day now. It was the fifteenth prototype of a working human hand, and it was without a doubt, his greatest pride. It even twitched correctly if the right things were tugged! It was his goal--the moment he could get away with slicing the flesh away from a human's fingers--to try and connect his own pieces to the various muscles of the hand. Only then would he be completely certain the item would work on its own. So far, everything was correct, a complex series of wires tinier than hair allowing it to function...but it wasn't perfect.

Eyes narrowed as L'natic stared at the newcomer, watching him as he slid from the entrance to sit down, a book in hand. A black brow arched, and the man clucked his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully before looking down at the mechanical hand. Unconsciously, he wiggled his own fingers against the puppetry like wires, and it seemed to wave its fingers at him. His grin snapped into place like a rubber band and he took a moment to kiss one of the fingers before scooping it off and stalking to the entrance.
"You don't look very ill." He spoke, purposefully interrupting any sort of train of thought the boy was having, "Nor do you look particularly injured. You seem to have all your fingers and your toes, I believe that's a chest and I assume that's a nose.'"

The man froze ,catching himself in a rhyme, and shook himself as though disturbed, clucking his tongue again. "Well. Since you appear so healthy, you must have some dreadfully unsightly ache somewehere, hm? Or perhaps there's another reason you're clogging up my doo--" Blue eyes flicked up slightly and the man flinched visibly, crouching down and pulling the boy so L'natic could hide partially behind his form, grabbing his hand and pretending to investigate his hand.

"My Faranth, boy!" He said loudly, pretending to ignore his previous patient in favor of this "new one", "That does look rather awful. No, no. I don't believe you'll be using your fingers again. We'll have to amputate! Immediately!" The woman had frozen, and the color began to drain from her face. Watching out of the corner of his eye, L'natic grabbed a large saw-like knife from his side, "I'm afraid I won't be using any pain killers--there just isn't time!" He leaned in close to Turlough and added in a whisper, "If you wouldn't mind, a blood curdling scream would really seal the deal."

The woman had already scurried off, but L'natic was no fool. If she didn't hear pain, she'd come back. Pregnant women were much like crazy wherries in that respect--they'd be back for blood. The moment he was sure she was gone, however, the healer was up and clearly uninterested in Turlough, fiddling again with his metallic hand. "Ghastly creatures, women with child. A kin to Golds in anger, determined as a starved wherrie and about as stupid as a particularly fat herdbeast. Ugh. I believe I need to wash now."

ooc: xD I think part of his attitude came from House. I love that man.

[Purnip]

He didn't expect to remain ignored, but L'natic's interruption of his peaceful reading still caused the hairs on his back to bristle in discomfort. The moment he sensed sarcasm, which he caught on to very quickly, he resumed reading even through the healer's little speech. Eventually he was going to get to the part where the usurpation of his space would take place, so Turlough wanted to enjoy it while he could.

All was well and expected until an unpleasant surprise took place. Suddenly he was being jerked aside like a rag doll and he was no longer able to continue ignoring the man. He scowled, only getting further and further annoyed by the Healer's antics as he was being used for cover from the woman that had just left the place. L'natic's fabricated diagnosis of a condition in his perfectly functioning hand did not strike any fear into his heart--it was simply trying his patience. Glaring at the Healer all the while, he didn't have a chance to get a word in before the Healer reached for a knife from his table and addressed the need to amputate. It was then when Turlough broke into a bit of a cold sweat at the thought of losing something, anything, because of some mad stranger posing as a Healer waving about a knife. Eyes widened for a moment, though they narrowed upon L'natic's knife-wielding hand and he started to struggle to get away. Fear was being circulated into the desire to stay in one piece.

This short-lived struggle was broken by a whispered favor from the man. There was no reason why he should feel obligated to honoring this favor, however the scream slipped out of him before he decided against doing so at all.

It was well acted, nearly genuine in nature. Not quite blood-curdling, but certainly impressive. Turlough might have been proud of his efforts if it was his intention to rid them of the worried pregnant woman, but instead he felt used and bothered by the stranger. It would serve to teach him never to sit on his doorstep again. The woman scurried--she didn't even simply turn and walk away. She flat out sprinted.

He retracted his hand out of L'natic's loosening clutches, massaging it a little to get the flow of blood back. The boy turned to the man, his anger panning out as Turlough had trouble staying angry at anyone these days. He was still clearly irritated however, as it showed in his furrowed brow and half-pouted lips. He watched L'natic carefully as the Healer started to mess with what looked like a shining object that sort of looked like a claw. Turlough didn't have anything to say about what just happened. He knew it wasn't likely to happen again and that nothing he could possibly say would change the man. Men were stubborn like that. Who the hell listens to a snot nosed kid, anyhow?

When he heard that woman was with child, Turlough's expression seemed to loosen itself up instantly. Memories of his mother carrying Tella surfaced. He now had something to say.

"She's lucky," was all that came out, becoming a little distant. "She knows it. She just doesn't want to lose the kid now, when the worst has ended." His mother did everything she could to keep them safe. Telly ended up dying anyways, even after what his father had done to keep her alive. That woman was lucky, and so was her unborn runt. They'd be able to smile and laugh with each other for a proper lifetime.

[Jack]

Already L'natic appeared to be in his own little world, gently encouraging the hand to work as he commanded. A tiny screw driver appeared in his grip, and he gave a slight hum of approval as he fixed up a movement that wasn't just right. But he was listening nonetheless, and scoffed. "You scream like a woman in labor." He announced ruddely, exaggerating quite a bit, "Albeit, your scream I could probably tolerate much longer than theirs."

He snorted and looked over at the boy, his glasses up and hiding his stare as he clucked his tongue again. "Yes, yes," He rambled off at last, waving a hand distantly at the idea, "I suppose she believes herself rather lucky. Not that I could understand it--we've got enough hungry mouths and screaming children running around here right now. Personally, I could do without a few of the ones we have--can't imagine more of them." He shudder and mumbled something to himself, before promptly sitting down in is chair, one leg over the other.

"But my opinion is usually over-looked. Who wants to listen to a young healer who actually gets some things done?" Snickering, he licked his lips and set the hand down, patting it lovingly, "Quite frankly, however, I won't allow myself to be the one to deal with the results when the Ring Islands are squeezed of the last of their goods." He chuckled and leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable.

[Purnip]

Turlough didn't care what his scream sounded like to L'natic. The bastard could have been a little more grateful, but like hell he'd try to force the Healer to apologize or thank him. He'd be expecting a blind man to describe the color of a spring bloom before he'd expect either one of those two things. His gaze trailed about the place, cozy as it was for some hole in the ground. Turlough still wanted to leave, but the man didn't seem to wish away his company just yet and in all honesty the boy had nothing better to do but go back to reading. It was tempting though.

So he just let the criticism slide and listened on, wondering what this bundle of sunshine was going to say in response. Not unexpectedly he touched on the subject of supply and demand. Apparently it's easy to devalue human life when resources are low. Turlough couldn't blame the rest of the world for overlooking L'natic's opinions in the first place. If they had nothing to do with healing, why should they? L'natic sounded like nothing more than a weary old man. Typical impression from a fourteen-year-old who was only wisened to some degree by the terrors that preceeded this moment.

"The resources are there to be spent, not squandered." Squandered. Am I using it right? Turlough just didn't want his youth to show well enough. He had a feeling once L'natic realized he was talking to some kid, he'd get kicked out. He was probably going to get the boot anyways. His gaze fell, having no trouble imagining it yet wondering why he didn't think of it much before. It was true; someday this island wouldn't be enough for the refugees. Someday they would end up over-populating the land. But didn't recent events just prove that numbers were restrained when the time came for it?

"If there's not enough to go around people will start dying anyways," Turlough added, believing that pointing out the obvious was good enough in this case. "I guess the people in charge of the rations will start to notice how little they have left, and suddenly there will be people who are more important to feed than others. Everyone else will probably end up dying or trying their luck elsewhere."

[Jack]

Squandered? A brow quirked up, the man's stare resting completely on Turlough as he tilted his head birdishly to the side, snorting soundlessly. "Yes...I suppose..." He replied, the words lolling slowly off his tongue, "But I fail to see how saving and storing the supplies could be considered squandering." A smooth smirk slid onto the blackette's lips, curling the edges of his mouth into an almost sinister expression as he bared his teeth unconsciously.

But all at once the expression was gone, his attention wandering to the flit upon his shoulders. She chirruped--a very demanding sound from such a high-pitched voice--and he lifted a brow, attempting to stare her down. The attempt failed miserably and he gave up with a muffled "oh alright" before rising to his feet and gracefully crossing the room. he pulled a small bowl of fresh meat from a small box, pulling paper from the top of the bowl before abruptly plopping it on the table. Chukachu stared...and with a grunt L'natic picked the bowl back up, sitting back in his chair as he began to feed her by hand. "Demanding woman." He complained, albeit fondly.

"Now you're catching on, boy." L'natic crooned after a few moments, his eyes flashing behind his glasses as he handed another piece to Chukachu, who snapped it up greedily in her golden claws. There was no false sense of royalty from this demanding Queen--she was the royal family and needed no such encouragement. A strange creature, she did not feel the need to display the regal continence of a true Queen--why should she? She was a barbarian ruler. Tiny eyes flashed with a flicker of red as the Gold glanced over at Turlough, an eerie sight with her metallic maw stained with blood and a chunk of flesh hanging from her teeth.

But she swallowed it quickly, throat swelling then slimming as the chunk slid down her neck, and began snapping hungrily at more pieces. "People will realize it soon. If the mainland is not taken back--we will eventually starve to death." He chuckled and tapped his fingers on the table, eyes smiling as keenly as his lips, "What a conundrum. Escape one horror just to flee right into another."

[Purnip]

The Gold flit only caught Turlough's attention when she made her presence known. In all his life, up until now, he had never seen one that large. Greens and Blues with the occasional Browns he spied when his family visited his granddad long ago, but whether he couldn't tell the Brown and Bronze apart or not, anything larger was yet to have been seen. This was also the first time he could recall ever being this close to one. It was a little unsettling, like being watched by any sort of non-human creature. The worst part was the intelligence behind that glare. Had it been some dog or cat, he would have shrugged it off as being mildly interesting. Now he felt like he was being scanned.

It was a fitting pair, he had to admit. A strange man and his moody golden mini-dragon.

But something irked him about the Healer, aside from the man's unique personality. Was he a dragonrider? He didn't think dragonriders spent any time away from their dragons--not for this long. Or maybe he had a dragon that died in the Fall.

How was it that so many dragonriders fell that day? Weren't the weyrs' walls made out of stone? Why didn't they hide when the sky was blanketed with death? Daring as it might have seemed, it was suicide. Even those below knew it.

Their current predicament wasn't as big of a conundrum as L'natic had it sound. Turlough was just fourteen turns and he knew it didn't necessarily have to be that hard. If the people on the mainland were mindless, wouldn't they eventually run out of obvious things to eat and die off? Zombies didn't know how to farm. The latest crops were consumed by the thread-apocalypse. If left entirely alone for a month or so, they would have either eaten each other off and ended up dead anyhow.

"It's not going to be as hard as you make it sound," Turlough started, trying not to stare at the Gold that was giving him the red eyes. "The infected lose their minds, they eat, and just like when they were sane, they die when there's nothing left to eat. Most of the plants are dead out there and the survivors are fleeing for cover. They'll run out of food in a matter of months." Unfortunately, both sides would. Still, here they could farm. They could outlast the infected. The aftermath however...he could imagine how haunting it would have to be to pick up all those dead bodies.

[Jack]

"Are you quite sure of that, boy?" A smooth smirk curved into L'natic's features, ringing clearest in his eyes as he lowered his glasses, haunting blue eyes peering at the other as though seeing into the future. He chuckled, pushing his glasses back up on his nose, and set aside the bowl of meat, replacing the cover as Chukachu--with a bulging belly--curled herself around his shoulders and neck.

Her tail was stretched out partially long one arm, and it seemed to be glued there as he rose to his feet, moving with each motion of his arm. "People, remarkably despite their stupidity, linger. People survive, and people breed regardless of the things that rise against them. Look at us." He glanced over at Turlough, "We riders survived--fled our homes and our fellow man in an attempt to save our own hides." He yawned, almost absently, and began to fiddle with another metallic what not. "You clearly survived as well, and so did that mother to-be. Do you think we who linger here are the only ones? Nonsense."

Sneering, he sank back into his seat, adjusting the wires on a small metal finger. "Just as you somehow survived Ending Fall, so did hundreds of humans. They hid in the stones of the Weyrs and Holds...with or without the dragons help." He glanced up at him again, "Those that did not leave the mainland remain there now. They are growing stronger and growing braver. Many of them have probably discovered how best to avoid VT...or how to detect it." He slipped his fingers up, caressing his flit's ehad. "Those with animals, especially, will be very resilient. But with humans, come human creations. Fields will not prosper at first, but they will begin again. And so long as people are able to farm, able to raise animals, able to bring the very dead earth back to life...VT will linger." He smirked, eyes narrowing, "Our survival is a clear sign that zombies survive. The only difference is they are practically dead and don't need nearly as much to survive as us...well...and they exist in the...millions whereas we are but one little string of islanders."

He chuckled and set back to his hand, humming.

[Purnip]

It didn't strike Turlough as a surprise that L'natic could so easily speak of such matters with a satisfied smirk on his face. He must have seen so much tragedy himself that he handled it his own way. Some people actually mistook Turlough as insensitive, even when he near-sulked around silently. It was in his matter of speaking, when sometimes he could sound so normal once he was gotten to speak up. The way he handled all the horrors he had dealt with was to try and move on and move past them. Being a kid of course, it wasn't easy and he couldn't shrug it off like a professional. He was no L'natic.

But hearing the explanation of details Turlough had obviously overlooked, a frown deepened on his face as he realized just how hard it certainly would be to re-claim the mainland. He still didn't think the infected were going to be able to outlast them, ultimately. Whereas they had the drive to consume, they had no other desires. It was pretty hard to think about in detail, vaguely remembering his mother as she slipped out of sanity. He was happy not to have been there to see it. As for Mamarie...

Suddenly he didn't want to speak on this subject anymore. The VT infected were not just redshirts that needed to be killed on sight. They were friends and family. They were sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers. The hardest part was remembering that they were not any of those things. Not anymore.

But in L'natics words, whether he meant it or not, there was hope. Turlough watched as the man moved on, fiddling with his invention again. His words came out faint, but clear enough to be understood. "We'll survive. We've still got the desire to live. It's what saved some of us mainlanders in the first place." He cast down his glance, taking a backstep as if meaning to retreat soon. "But not all of us will. I just want to be one of the ones that do." And would that be enough? Most here, if not all, had gotten here on boats from the mainland. A majority of those people probably got here on crowded filthy vessels that carried at least one VT infected person on board. Somehow, this island had kept itself relatively free of the plague. Sometimes it all seemed so unreal to him, this little haven of safety, that he had believed he had died months ago. This was just some sort of strange land beyond between; a section of purgatory built especially for him. But then he'd come to his senses when he'd realize that whether this was or was not, he had to try to live as long as his family was no longer around to do so.

[Jack]

Sharp eyes latched onto Turlough, and a smooth smirk curled onto the man's lips. He chuckled, sitting back in his chair, and stroked Chukachu's nose delicately, never taking his eyes off of Turlough. "If you want to be the one to survive," He chirruped, attention drifting behind the other for a moment, "Then chances are, you will. When you understand that you cannot save everyone, you really start to realize you can save yourself." A strange sound--halfway between a laugh and a snort--rattled in his throat and he looked away from the younger boy, seeming to be no longer interested in continuing the conversation.

A few seconds passed, however, and he suddenly rose, making short work of the distance between them. He stood in front of Turlough, looming despite his average height, and frowned, gently reaching out to grasp the other's chin, tilting it up slightly. A brow quirked up at Chukachu hissed, and he hmphed, releasing the other. "L'natic--" he barked, as he escorted himself around the boy and gestured to the large shape now blocking the entrance, "--would be me." He glanced back at Turlough, inclining for the boy to move slightly as Bravesth gracefully slipped into the building.

The Blue was half-supporting and half-carrying a large miner, a cheerful looking fellow who somehow managed a half wave as he was settled onto one of the operating tables. His breathing was laborious, and L'natic gave a soft huff as he noticed the large gash peeking out from the man's side.
One of the caverns dropped a stone when some of the small ones were throwing things at it. Braek covered them when it fell--I believe he has several broken ribs..but is otherwise mostly okay. He's either lucky, or incredibly hard skinned. Bravesth rumbled aloud, peering at Turlough as the white-haired man managed a light laugh.

L'natic snorted, but couldn't hide the smirk that quirked onto his lips. This particular young man was a regular ever since he and his psychotic friend had arrived. Usually, however, Taeln was the cause of the problem, not rocks. "This is Bravesth." L'natic sighed off-handedly, gesturing at the Blue as he began to gather things he would need. "Now if you'll excuse me, young man, I need to keep this wherry-head alive." He glanced back at Turlough, "I expect to see you in here again." It was not a question...nor was it a suggestion. He smirked and turned his back on Turlough. "Now, Braek...where exactly is your catastrophic friend? I'm not quite sure I want him barging in here and breaking anything again."

ooc: Heheheee. Cameo.

[Purnip]

Once upon a time he might have believed that every life could be saved. He wasn't the sort to turn into a 'wide-eyed idealist' after the tragedy he underwent. There was no saving everyone. To believe that everyone can be kept alive if "we just tried" was to believe in a lie. He was realistic however, not pessimistic. Turlough believed that it was up to a human being's will to survive that would ultimately determine their fate. He didn't think the world and everyone in it was doomed due to the Ending Fall.

Ever since he lost control of his own life, it was easy to keep himself going and stop worrying about anyone else. All the people he knew and loved died, a few before his own eyes. He was here, still living; for them and himself.

The boy drooped like a plant in the shade when L'natic rose his chin. Eye contact was made, and at that moment it was then that the Healer chose to give his name. For a second, Turlough rightfully misheard the message as the Healer's attempt in calling him a lunatic, causing his brows to furrow in both confusion and offense. Then, just as the man clarified it as his name, the boy's expression suddenly slipped into a perplexed one. What sort of name is that? Fitting, is what it was. Though Turlough didn't think L'natic was actually insane, he could understand the irony of such a name.

When it became clear that L'natic was having him move, Turlough complied and stepped away from the entrance, turning about 90 degrees to see a great Blue slip inside with an injured man. Long ago, in another life, he used to see dragons once in a while. They were far overhead, just colored and winged specks in the sky. They fought the silvery thread with bursts of flame, keeping their land safe from danger. Since he got to the Ring Islands, a couple of turns after having been 'reborn', he had seen several overhead and only two up close. A pale yet bright Green with a spot over her eye that he swore winked at him as he passed by, and the very Blue that was just stepping inside. He was larger than the Green he met with his own unique shape. Dragons didn't always look alike. Comparing this one to the Green was like comparing an apple to an orange. Needless to say, he stared at Bravesth until the Blue peered back at him. He looked away quickly, remembering those glowering red eyes of the golden firelizard that perched on L'natic's shoulder.

When Bravesth was introduced, Turlough looked to L'natic expectantly before turning towards the dragon and giving the Blue a bow. He wasn't sure what were proper dragon-greeting manners. His family told him nothing about dragonriders or their culture, but based on what he heard of them from the men on the ship over here {who talked very negatively about the dragonriders as if the Fall was all their fault} they were to be looked highly upon yet at the same time they were being unappreciated. Turlough could only think of reasons why they should be looked up to. Had they not flown for the duration of the fall that came before the Ending Fall, the lands would have been devastated long ago.

Now he was being kicked out, though he had a feeling L'natic was taking the action as thoughtfully as possible. There are worse ways to be dismissed. He even expected that Turlough would return. The boy wasn't sure how to take that. Either L'natic would desire his company again in the future or he'd be in here for the same reason anyone came to the Healer's office--to be fixed. He hoped the Healer wasn't suggesting that he expected Turlough to get hurt. But alas, in this world, maddened as it was, the chances were far from slim. He gave a bow of his head. "Turlough." Clear and simple, plus unlikely to be mistaken for anything other than a proper name. "It was pleasant," he added, just loud enough for the Healer to hear. It actually was. A little conversation here or there, as long as it wasn't hostile, was better than sitting with a book or wandering around half-lost.