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Harper's Tale 3 - Tuesday, August 13, 2002, 2:17 PM
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The Flying Mug
A few shades too bright for the lighting to ever be called quite dim, the interior of the Flying Mug reveals upon closer inspection the marks of a much-frequented bar. Although the tables all match and the chairs are of a set, one or seven chairs have a wobbly leg, a few tabletops have big gashes across them, and each surface has an intricate pattern of turn-old mug rings. A well stocked, well polished and well maintained bar stretches across the expanse of the wall, facing the series of shuttered windows looking out on the courtyard. The bar stools are better maintained than the chairs, with low backs. And they spin, too! An intricate 'mural' covers the ceiling and there's a 'note' on the wall.
High in the rafters are twenty-seven firelizards.
You see Anisha, Randell, and Bartender Lem here.
Elphaba, Diarmund, Beka, Nieve, and Jasper are here.
Obvious exits:
Dining Hall     Great Hall

Mitciv suddenly disappears ::between::!

Morallen pads into the Mug, reeking of redwort and looking rather patently glad to be seeing something other than Infirmary walls. Of course, redwort doesn't really reek, but he certainly smells of it as the Healer settles at the bar to inquire hopefully "Juice, Lem?," turning about on his barstool once the his order's been placed. Hmm... a few people, two he knows by sight, one he's actually spoken with.

Qnastu has left.

Beka is, by no means, kicked in the shin -- since that's powerplaying, of course. She merely dodges the badly-aimed kick, and gives a snort. "Some people." A mutter. "Of course you're my pet, luv," she leers at Nieve. Uh-oh. Beka's in one of her moods. V. bad. "New one? Ah. Picked it up from a friend." A slight nod, and she sips at her lemonesque drink, giving Lem an approving beam. "I know you spiked this, but I ain't sayin' nothin, old man," she sing-song calls out to the 'tender, who half-blushes and ducks his head. Ha. A swift eye is brought around to bear on Jasper; that's a new one. Battered and bruised -- and broken -- the Herder leans against the bar, sipping at her drink, observing the crowds. Morallen's scrutinized, too, by the shameless apprentice.

Elphaba recognizes Morallen as her First Aid teacher and nods to him, shifting seats to peer at Diarmund. "Why'd you stop them? The bag wasn't important, really. Besides, I'm sure it would've come back to haunt them in the end. Everyone gets what they deserve, I think." She goes back to watching the steam curl from her mug and keeping a hawk-like eye on Beka. "You really should be lying down," she scolds. "I don't like you walking around exhausting yourself." Speaking of exhausted, Elphaba doesn't look so rested herself. She's pale and gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes from working day and night to tend the animals wounded in the catastrophe.

Diarmund turns from the other smithies, a clearly surprised expression on his face, saying to the Healer, "Why shouldn'nt they have been stopped. Better in haunts them now than later," as an afterthought, in referrence to her request for writing meterial, "and, though I am no Healer, I should think you have little enough to spare for capering children." With a shrug, talk of expensive jewelry at an end, he makes a chore of drinking his ale.

Nieve cracks her knuckles, then beams at Beka. "I'm your pet? Reeeally?" Aww. "You're my sexy little doll, you are." Cough. Nieve's obviously in a flirty mood today. Her klah is sipped to shut herself up, and blue eyes sweep Beka up and down. "I can always nurse you back to health." Wink. Woo, run while you can. Isn't it just great being bisexual? Dark hair is tossed back then, and she promptly turns away from Beka to order a few meatrolls. "An' hurry up. I'm starving," is ordered to Lem, who heads off to fix them. Snappy little thang, ain't she?

Morallen's juice returns, and the senior apprentice grabs it, smirks in thanks to Lem, and begins to sip. Beka's sing-songing gets another smirk from the lanky young man, who takes another sip of his own beverage of choice, and then pastes a mock-mournful look on his Gallic features. "Lem never spikes /my/ juice," he recounts, before turning a casually roguish grin to the eldest of the Herder girls. Or heck, why not include all of them in it. In a friendly way. "Of course, /I/ am not a pretty girl. Morallen, with Healer." he introduces.

Elphaba laughs, a raw, raven-harsh call that's pleasing only to certain ears. "I'm no healer," she admits, finally lifting her cup to her lips to drink. With a hiss at the temperature and a low sigh, she twitches fine 'brows in Diarmund's direction. "I'm a Healer, if you can't smell that.. Well, I do try to keep clean, but the scent of fresh hay and less-than-fresh stalls tends to stick in my robes." Still, it's a pleasant mixture of saddle leather and grains that surrounds her when she offers a gnarled and twig-like hand. "I'm Elphaba, Beasthealing Apprentice here at Ista." While she greets Diarmund, she grins at Morallen. "Hey - I got my stitching down! No more orangefruits required."

Mitciv blinks in from ::between::!

Diarmund accepts the hand with a smile, "Diarmund."

Beka snorts. "Woman, I look better than you do," she stoutly berates Elphie. Okay, so.. it's not the truth. "You know, I'm about ready to saw this braid off," she growls, brushing flyaway wisps of mottled blonde hair away from clear eyes, carefully avoiding contact with the dried-over, stitched gash on her left temple. All the other miniscule scratches are just ignored. Her gaze settles on Nieve, and she curls coral lips up into a light smile. Her saucy reply to fellow apprentice is cut off by the lanky Healer; blue eyes shift over to Morallen, and judge him a bit more intently. "No, no, you're definitely not a pretty girl," she states, leaning back and sipping at her lemonfruit-spiked-sweetened-juice. "Beka, with Herder," she states amiably, "Well-met, Morallen."

Beka murmurs something, as a familiar hissing bronze emerges from ::between::. The note is unrolled, read quickly, and she tosses back the drink. "Excuse me. I forgot I had a class." A sheepish grin, and she mock-salutes Elphie and winks saucily at Morallen. "Don't get in too much trouble, you two," she intones, before limping out.
Beka walks out.

"I'm so glad it's obvious to you," replies Morallen in his proper Benden/Fort drawl, and with another smirk, a little lighter on the roguish this time. "But definitely well met, Beka with Herder... Ista, or a visitor from Keroon?" he queries, taking another sip of his sadly unadulterated but still tasty glass of juice. But... then she's gone. But winking at him? This is good. He abandons the bar to go chat with the remaining Herder. "Got it down cold, eh?" he asks of Elphaba, helping himself to a seat nearby her. "Good to hear... and I have to admit, my hat's off to you if you can stitch while holding on to a beastie. Although..." he muses, pulling a thoughtful look. "Herdbeasts don't whine for fellis."

Elphaba snorts, taking a long pull from her klah. "Yes, but I doubt your patients have the ability to remove a hand if they're not muzzled, or kill you with a single good kick to the head," she counters, chuckling dryly. "Beka's from Ista, with me," she supplies at his questioning look. "This recent disaster has given both of us a lot of practice in treating and dressing wounds, that's for sure. I'm surprised you have a spare moment to sit down."

"Very true," agrees Rallen with a sage nod, resting his hands on the table, and lacing his fingers loosely around his glass, idly doodling patterns in the condensation as he nods, and then gives a shrug. "Healers need to take breaks now and again, or they'll end up too tired to Healer properly or even safely. But to answer your not-quite-question, we're in a bit of a lull at the moment. Infirmary is cleaned up, the immediate injuries have been treated... in about a sevenday, we'll get swamped with a pile of folks needing stitches taken out, and then in about six to eight, we'll get another wave, for folks needing casts off."

Elphaba nods quietly, crossing her knees beneath the folds of her robe. "I find it difficult to rest. There are more Healers than Beasthealers, and a lot of people keep their pets at our Hall while they go away. As a result, there's a lot more chores to be done and with the injured Herders, not enough hands to do them. I haven't slept a single night since the whole thing happened. It's mad. And, of course, while Beka was trying to help me she copped a kick to the ribs and broke one." She's forced to laugh again, that death-rattle of a sound that escapes and disappears almost before being heard. "We've had a few foals dropped every day due to spooked mares."

Morallen's smirk turns somewhat wry, although he manages a chuckle to accompany the sound of amusement from Elphaba. Really, you /can't/ call it a laugh. "Ah, so no good deed goes unpunished, I see," he rejoins, with regards to Beka, before looking someone intrigued at the mention of spooked mares and dropped foals. "Hmm... so no premature ones, I hope..."

"Unfortunately, too many," Elphaba admits with a low sigh. "We lost one this morning, though I'm pretty sure he died before his dam even went into labor. We've saved a few, though - Dalaynia had to resuscitate one, I had to cut the cord quickly on one that could've choked.. Trust me, it's madness down there right now."

Morallen shakes his head. "I can well imagine," he agrees, having lived through his own bit of madness, although his was mercifully shorter lived, it seems. "Pity you folks don't have more Beasthealers and trainees. I'd offer to help, but I'd probably end up worse off than your Beka." A wry smile. "I've never been around much in the way of animals, y'see."

Jasper has disconnected.
Diarmund steps away for a moment to scrawl out a message to someone.

Elphaba casts a glance at the door through which Beka only recently left, nodding quickly. "Yes, we could use a few more, you're right. I'm praying I'll be promoted soon and I can train a few Apprentices myself, though who knows how long that might take." Her eyes flash for a moment and she raises her head, quickly changing the subject. "So, things have probably been worse for you, then? You're right, your job is worse - My patients are.. well, patient. I couldn't stand listening to the complaints of humans all day. Ugh. I don't have the patience."

Diarmund returns, sending a firelizard off to deliver the message.
The housekeeper arrives to cart Jasper off to bed.

Morallen chuckles quietly, and finishes tracing patterns in the fog on his glass, instead taking a sip, and wiping them clean away. "Nice bit of wordplay, that last," he notes, waggling one eyebrow, before giving a more serious nod, hazel eyes settled intently on her beneath the careless tousle of his hair. "It's been busy... but there are plenty of trained hands to help. As for complaining, well, willowsalic is one thing we're not short on, so if needs be, we can keep them all doped up. I don't think I'd trade you duties, right now."

"Well, each to his own," Elphaba supposes, rolling her narrow shoulders again with another death-rattle laugh. "I much prefer my animals, which is why I'm a Herder and you're a Healer." Reaching the bottom of her mug, she quickly orders a refill and swivels slightly to inspect Morallen. "So, apart from being busy with work, what else have you been up to of late?"

Diarmund has disconnected.

Morallen chuckles again, and cups his chin easily in one palm. "To each according to their desires, from each according to their gifts," he agrees, apparently fond of quoting aphorisms, but managing to deliver them un-stuffily, somehow or another. An easy shrug. "Well, aside from bandaging, sterilizing, stitching, cleaning, organizing and waiting hand and foot on whiny patients, I've actually had time to finish up the book I put together for my Journeyman's Project." With a reverant ait, he retrieves the volume from his satchel, and offers it up for a look. "I dunno, I thought it was useful."

You drop Physical Therapy - An Introductory Guide.

Elphaba takes the book gently and sets it on the bartop, flopping open her bag and removing not one, but three volumes which are hastily shoved at 'Rallen. "Me, too. Just waiting for approval and promotion, now. Then.. Journeyman. I can't wait." Her eyes glitter, adding a degree of beauty to her otherwise.. not-so-beautiful features. It's obviously her life's goal to be promoted. She flips through the Guide, eyes widening and small cooing sounds floating from her mouth. "Hey.. This is really interesting! We could probably use a lot of this down at the Hall, especially with rehabilitation for the runners."

Elphaba's enthusiasm is infectious, because soon Morallen's added a crinkled grin of his own, and a pair of avid hazel eyes to the equation. "Indeed," he intones. "I've been working for eight turns towards it, myself." is his comment on the subject of The Big 'J', before looking pleased and intrigued all at once. "Really? You think so? We ought to liase and do a little research, once we're both knotted," he posits. "After all, muscles are muscles, be they belonging to man or beast."

Elphaba nods excitedly, flipping further into the book and tapping a page about setting up a regimen. "This is good, too - Too many pet owners thing treatements should work once and then they're done with it. They don't realize that it's important to continue working with the patient - animal or human - to ensure full recovery. We usually walk runners with injured legs in the sand or water, because it creates a bit more drag and it exerts less shock than the cobbled roads or granite courtyards." She colors slightly, skin going the color of young gum leaves at Morallen's suggestion of working together. "We should, yes. I think you're the first person who's bothered to find out what I work as, let alone offered to work /with/ me."

Morallen nods along, not one to pass up an opportunity to talk shop. "Yes, yes, exactly." he replies "Of course, it's hard to get humans to stick to things, even if you prescribe them, silly creatures that we are, but it definitely is important to stress that it takes time. And I do the same thing in physiotherapy, with the water. We call it 'hydrotherapy', to be fancy, but it's the same principle..." The young man runs down with a sheepish smirk at his sudden flash of volubility, before noticing Elphaba's blush. Gallently, he doesn't comment on it, instead pronouncing that "Then, more fools they, then. I find the idea quite interesting. And you're interesting, too."

Elphaba shuts up, closing like a clam at Morallen's praise and turning back to the book, remaining silent until she comes across a page of excercises and diagrams. "This works, too. I mean, if you look at the skeletal structure of an animal - Specifically mammals, though some reptiles work, too - Anyway, my point was that the basic body structure is the same. Arms, legs, ribs and central spine. It would be relatively easy to adapt these excercises for the runners." Shielding her words with a shuffle of turning pages, she manages to mutter: "Thankyou. You're interesting as well."

You take Physical Therapy - An Introductory Guide.

Morallen chuckles good-naturedly at the muffled compliment, and gives an easy grin. "Thank you, I certainly try to be, at least." he quips, taking up his glass and draining it, before replacing it on the table, folding his hands over the top of it, and resting his chin on his hands, eyes bright as he watches Elphaba parsing through his creation. "Hmm... never thought about that, really, but that's quite true. Although I believe that runnerbeasts have knees and elbows on the same set of limbs," he kids, trotting out his sole interesting fact on runner anatomy that he knows..

Elphaba nods again, head bobbing pleasantly as she flips a few more pages. "Of course. But really, most of their injuries are focused around their knees and hooves. Of course, they don't get a lot of the more human diseases. Most of their injuries are caused by mishandling or fighting with others - Like with this latest issue, we have a lot of gashes and cuts on runner rumps and quarters because they panicked and stampeded, leading to biting and kicking. Just things like that. With the smaller animals, we get breaks and strains, along with the occasionaly case of poisoning - Though I don't suppose there's much therapy in here for that."

Morallen nods along at pertinent points, idly fidgeting with his empty glass. Apparently, the young man is physically incapable of keeping perfectly still for any extended period of time. "Hmm..." he muses. "Poisoning might not lend itself to a direct approach, but let's say that animals who survive severe poisoning are like human fever victims. They get a little debilitated, right?"

Elphaba cants her head to one side, herself a stone-still figure of no movement but the occasional blink or the rise and fall of her breathing. "True - And they can often develop stiffness in the joints as a result of the treatment. You might just have a point, there. You're in luck, too. I work with a lot of racerunners - We could draw a relationship between exertion and the various injuries caused, and then outline a treatement plan. Dragonriders, too - Stretched and torn muscles, broken bones, overworked joints?"

Morallen nods slowly, wheels obviously turning inside that tousled head of his. He fishes around in his satchel, and hauls out a scrap of hide, on which he proceeds to scrawl out the ideas being bandied around in positively horribly handwriting that seems to support /that/ particular stereotype about Healers. "Oh, indeed. My Da's a rider out at Benden, and I've got some half-sibs and a full sister that ride as well... bet I could get them to cough up some research subjects for us. My kid sister's actually taking Dragonhealer training, too..." he muses, no doubt already plotting how best to drag Wyn into his plans. And then, of course, one of the everpresent healer apprentices pokes his head in the tavern doorway and hollers. "Yo, Rall. Y'got infirmary duty in five, man." And so, with a grabbing of book, and papers, and the hurried stuffing of them into his satchel, he gives Elphaba a wink and a grin and an "I'll see /you/ later, babe." in a standard playful manner, before loping out in disorganized fashion.