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Harper's Tale 4 - Friday, August 09, 2002, 2:08 PM
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Hold Infirmary and Healer Hall
With a faint smell of redwort, the room is astonishingly clean, even for an infirmary. Recently made tapestries cover the outer wall of the cavern, protecting the patients from the weather outside. Shelves line two of the walls, with healing supplies neatly placed on the labeled slots. Cabinets are above them, where herbs and medicines are stored, a few with locks that only masters have access to. Cots line the remaining wall, with sheets that can be pulled around the bed for privacy or surgery. Glows are fastened everywhere, giving this room an intense brightness.
You see Master Maladi, Melanie, Infirmary Cabinet, and Sign - List of Cabinet Contents here.
You notice 3 people asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Healer Passage

Esmaya walks quietly but confidently in from the Healer Passage.

Aerrin slips in from the Healer Passage.

Morallen has gone and settled himself on one of the countertops, seated tailor-fashion and working with a bored methodicalness at cutting, rolling, and stacking gauze bandages. Many gauze bandages. Many, /many/ gauze bandages. One could, in all probability, wrap their own mummy with the amount of bandages he's been tasked to produce. And, looking at the bored light in the senior apprentice's hazel eyes, he'd no doubt be thinking about doing just that. If Pern had mummies. So it's measure, cut, fold, roll and stack.

Aerrin enters with a loud clatter as her hip nudges open the infirmary door and the many tiny bottles, vials, and jars that fill the pair of crates she's got hefted in her arms clank against each other. The Master frowns at the noise, but her expression eases as the empty infirmary - empty of patients, at least - is taken in. She slides around cots before letting her load drop - loudly - atop the farthest one with a sigh of relief.

Esmaya blinks at the sudden noise, quiet in her corner writing down lists of stock. "Hallo," She greets quietly. "Er, can I help you with those?"

Measure, cut fo-- Morallen's rhythm is interrupted by the clattering Aerrin. He quickly finishes prepping the bandage, and then offers a "Need a hand with that, Master Aerrin, ma'am?" in a tone of mild hopefulness. Something more interesting than bandages, at least.

"I've got six more coming in from the wagon outside," Aerrin replies, sweeping curls backward the instant her hands are free. She turns a smile on the pair of apprentices. "But don't worry - I grabbed some apprentices outside to unload. Putting them away, however..." The Master trails off, head bobbing in a single nod. "Yes, help would be good."

Esmaya sighs, and gratefully puts down her lists. "Sure- any particular places? I don't think the normal spots will hold this much," She says.

Morallen dumps the rest of the bandage-making on a hapless younger apprentice that happens to pass too close to the lanky young man, and levers himself off the counter to land lightly on his feet. "Yeah," he seconds Esmaya. "Any chance of getting some added shelving brought in here?"

Aerrin purses her lips, stepping back to puruse the shelving available. "It does seem a bit smaller than I'd remembered... and we've got a lot of.." The Master is interrupted by a clattering train of three apprentices, each hauling a single crate that's desposited on the floor near the door before they disappear outside again. Each crate is nearly overflowing with various medications. "Shards." Aerrin turns, brows lifting at Morallen and Esmaya in turn. "Suggestions?"

Morallen eyes the crates surmisingly, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger as he ponders available resources. He ambles over to examine the makeup of one of the crates, poking at the wood experimentally. "Huh. Well, you could try getting a hammer and some nails, and making the crates into shelves?" he offers at length.

Aerrin flicks a finger at the edge of one of the crates as yet another apprentice, crate-bearing, appears. "Ought to work," she agrees. "I'm not sure it'll be enough, but it can give us a start, at least." She bends, hefting a crate upward and carrying toward the work table. "So I suppose we need to empty these and track down some tools. Think you can get them up for us?"

Esmaya volunteers herself, "I can manage hammer and nails without hurting myself," She suggests. "Or we could just organize and stack them.. that way we can get into them more easily- shorter people won't be able to reach over the crates that will end up higher up," She muses, "And I'm sure there will be more crates soon," She ventures.

"I'm hardly a woodcrafter," grants Morallen, still eyeballing the crates. "But I think I can hold a hammer the right way around, at least." That said, he proceeds to collect an armload of jars and vials and take them over to a counter to sort.

AS if on cue, another pair of apprentices wander in, struggling under overflowing crate. "/That/ should be the last of it," Aerrin notes with a sigh. "So shelves it is, and then organization - we need to be able to find things quickly, so there won't be any of the 'shove-it-on-the-nearest-shelf' that people try to get away with..." Aerrin's on a roll now, and vials are flying out of the crate and onto the table, deftly sorted into a system that she, at least, understands.

Morallen hovers around, loathe to disturb Aerrin when she's making such a stretch run on unpacking. Either that, or he's just trying to figure out just /how/ she's organizing the vials. He pokes at the crates some more, and, once one's been empty, pounces on it, grabbing up a hammer and a packet of nails that some nameless apprentice has fetched. "Huh, let's have a look here..." Sounds of banging and nail-pulling ensue.

Graiham strolls in from the Healer Passage.

Aerrin simply nods silently - she's deep in vials and bottles now, frowning intently as she peers at this label or that. Occasionally she plucks a stylis from it's place in her hair - stuck admist curls for safe keeping, you know - to scribble a correction or clarification on a label, then places it in whichever category it suits to her herbalist's mind.

Graiham looks a little disgruntled about his chore, but he seems resigned enough to it that he's not actually grumbling verbally about it. He comes in carrying a wicker basket filled with unrolled bandages, sparkling clean and brand new, but in desperate need of sorting. He sets said basket on a vacant cot near the entrance.

"Got stuck doing that too?" queries a Morallen, who's quite happily tearing planks off the crates the medical supplies were brought in, the shriek of nails giving way echoing ear-tearingly at regular intervals. He tosses his head, as his hands are occupied, in the direction of his neatly-folded mini-mountain of guaze bandages. Satisfied that the crate has been deconstructed enough, he takes some of the packet of nails, snaps one of the slats to make supports, and begins making shelves.

Aerrin glances up at Graiham, hand automatically lifting to sweep curls backward and tuck them under the tie that's meant to be holding her hair in a pontail. "More bandages?" she questions, eyes dropping to his basket even as her hands continue to sort. Obviously, she's done this many times before. "Before we're done, we'll need somewhere to put /those/, too."

"Someone just sort of snagged me in the Hall," says Graiham, climbing up on the cot to sit in front of the basket with his legs dangling over the sides of the cot. "Shoved a basket at me and said, 'Here, go be useful.'" He shrugs helplessly, peering toward what Morallen's doing even as his hands get to work. "What's going on, anyway?"

Morallen concentrates on driving nails with a firm focus, the clatter of the hammer his only reply for a moment. Then, fatally, he takes part of his attention away to focus on the others and their conversation. "Maybe sort them into sizes, then keep 'em in some reed baskets? Not much risk of folks getting into trouble with-- OWW!! Bloody sharding wherrygnawed 'snakebitten skies!!!" Someone's just hammered his thumb.

Aerrin is nodding, attention shifted from Graiham to Morallen at his suggestions. "That's probably a good plan - easier to only use what you need, then.." She frowns suddenly, dropping a bottle with a clatter as she scrambles around one of six heaping crates to stand next to Morallen. "I know the infirmary was empty, dear, but did you really have to fill a cot yourself?" she questions with a dryly amused smile before stretching out a hand. "Let me see it."

Graiham can't help but laugh. Sure, it's tragic, in a way, but the humor is there nonetheless. The younger fellow picks up a handful of unrolled bandages, extending his arms toward the injured Morallen. "Need a bandage or ten?" he offers wryly, though his curiosity is piqued enough to peer at the wounded thumb. "You all right?" he adds a little more seriously.

Morallen sucks on the wounded digit with a furrow to his brow, before holding it to the light to eye the thumbnail. "I'll live..." he sighs, glaring balefully at the hammer as if it's betrayed him. "Worst comes to worst, I'll lose the nail or something." He makes no move to let Aerrin see it, hiding his hand down by his side and feeling the thumb throb slowly.

"Slap some numbweed on it and call it a day," suggests Graiham, who really did pay attention in all those classes (honest). He drops his attention back to his chore, tediously rolling up bandages and tying them with twine and tossing them back in the basket. One. After another. After another.

Aerrin drops her hand to her side, though her brows do lift at Morallen's refusal to let her look at the thumb. "Well, watch it... if it's swelling or if you split the skin, it could end up infected." She crosses her arms over her chest as she glances around. "Numbweed? Think you can still manage those shelves?"

"I," notes Morallen, grimly picking up the hammer again and ignoring his thumb quite pointedly. "Am going to finish those shelves if it kills me." Snort. Apprently it's a male thing. The hammer is plied, and the banging resumes, more cautiously, it might be noted. "Ah, there, how does that look?" he asks after a moment, displaying the first of the shelves-to-be.

Graiham glances over, but offers no real opinion on the handiwork as he ties off another bandage and tosses it carelessly into his basket. He's a Healer; not a Smith; his opinion is pretty much invalid.

Aerrin is already sifting through a second crate, this one filled with short, squat jars rather than vials and bottles. She glances up to eye the shelf critically. "Not the sturdiest thing in the world, maybe, but I think it'll do for temporary herbal storage," she agrees after a moment with a nod. "Maybe we can run hooks up above them and hang baskets over the top."

"If you're worried about it tipping," comments Morallen, surreptitiously sucking on his thumb knuckle again. "We could maybe run some supporting ropes or cords to an eyelet in the wall. Maybe. I'm no Smith." He pokes at the 'shelf' again. "But yeah, it'll do. How do you want the herbs organized?" he queries.

"You do the shelves, I'll do the herbs," Aerrin notes with a swift smile and a quick glance at the injured thumb. "We definately don't want them falling over.. I don't want to even /think/ about how many hours of work there are in these crates..." The herbalist shudders dramatically, grinning as several more jars make there way onto the table and are sorted into categories.

Morallen offers a wry smirk. "And considering how you'd probably rope senior apprentices like me into helping replace the simpler concoctions... I don't want them falling over either." he agrees, starting work on crate number two. He moves a little more quickly this time, now that he knows what to do.

"I see we have you trained well," Aerrin replies with an amused smile as she tosses another empty crate Morallen's way and hefts a third onto her table. "Just like an apprentice to be concerned about conserving energy," she teases. Nevermind that Aerrin mentioned it first.

"Of course, ma'am," replies Morallen sunnily, although he pauses in his hammering while speaking now. Another nail is driven, and he continues. "After all, what's the use of assigning apprentices horrendous amounts of extra prep work, out of the blue, if we all pass out asleep a quarter of the way in."

"True enough, I suppose," Aerrin agrees with a smile. "But then, apprentices ought to expect it - Healing is all about being ready for anything." She laughs softly, fingers picking out jars and twirling them so she can read the lablels. "Next time one complains about chores to me, I'll just tell them I'm teaching them to conserve energy when they can in order to be ready fr emergencies, hmm?"

Graiham's listening, obviously, as he looks between Morallen and Aerrin repeatedly, giving the former a look that quite plainly labels him a traitor. But he refrains from interjection; he's got enough chores for now, thanksverymuch.

Screeeeech. Another plank is pulled off another crate, ready to join its' fellow removeds as future shelves. Morallen, apparently no Harper, doesn't seem to mind the noise as he smirks unrepentantly at Graiham, and allows to Aerrin that "You could try that... just don't attatch /my/ name to the theory."

Aerrin's smile twists into something that may border on the evil. "Oh, but Morallen - I think it'd have much more credibility coming from an apprentice," she intones as another crate is emptied.

Graiham silently shakes his head, fingers working all the while. Too smart to speak up still.

Morallen snorts, and wrenches free another board. "Yeah, credibility. Much as that's a worthy goal, I'd rather /not/ have my head shaved while I sleep," he replies, placing the board on the little pile with the rest of them, and tilting the crate-turned-shelving-unit to get a better working angle.

Aerrin grins slowly. "I think it'd be a good look for you," she notes. Her hands drop to her side, and she scans the still unpacked crates that sit around the infirmary. "As for me.. I'm running out of table space. I think I'm going to track down a few people I need to talk to while you get those shelves up." Morallen and Graiham each get a look. "I'll see you guys later. Thanks for the help."

Graiham lifts a hand, with a bandage hanging from it, and waves after Aerrin kind of listlessly before he drops it back into the basket, scrabbling to find a piece of twine. "Head-shaving's not the 'thing'. Lately, it's emptying out presses onto cots and then making up the covers so you can't tell," he interjects after the Master's departure. "Just so y'know." Back to work.

Aerrin goes home.

Morallen blows a raspberry at that revalation, switching to a comfortable and not at all good-postured slouch once Aerrin's gone away. "Really? That's so... amateur, though. Not even permanent. Shaved heads lasted for /months/, especially if you got just one side and left the other..." He trails off to wrench off a final board and look wistful.

"Yeah, but I think," begins Graiham, tying a neat little bow on the next tidily rolled bandage, "that people got too afraid of people 'getting back' at them. Like, if you shave someone's head, they're likely to do something pretty vicious in return. Smaller prank, smaller risks."

"You've got a point there," the elder senior apprentice admits, nailing some supports into place while he pauses. "Prank wars can be a lot of good fun, but you've got to be pranking folks mature enough to know where the line is, and toe it."

Graiham says an adamant, "Right." He leans back from the basket for a second, taking a 'much needed' break from the oh-so-taxing chore. "And, unfortunately, there are some pretty dense kids in the dorms lately." Not him, of course. "Safer all-around to pick things that don't cause any permanent damage or you might get your notebook burnt up or your project sabotaged."

Morallen snorts again, nailing a slat into a proper place to turn it into a shelf. "Have to wonder what they're doing, training as Healers, at times." he comments, a cynic at not-quite-24, it seems. Or trying fo cynical. Takes his attention of his thumb, anyways.

"Wasting precious resources?" muses Graiham darkly. "I think a lot of them are here because their folks told them they need to join a Craft, and at least there's not MUCH manual labor involved in Healer training. Not like becoming a Smith or a Herder or something. Lifelong Apprentices, probably." Shrug.

"Wonderful." replies Morallen dryly, once again banging away at the shelf. "Although admittedly, when I joined up in Fort, it was pretty much only because I'd been told I needed to leave Benden for a time. So perhaps there's hope for a few of 'em." Another quartet of nails, and another shelf is placed. "Hmm... think I should go for four shelves, or fifve, with these things?

Graiham considers the shelves even as he says, "I guess this is a pretty good distance from Benden. So. Mission accomplished? You might as well do five?" He picks up another bandage, rolling it ever so neatly. "Obviously need the extra storage space, so just as easy to do it now as to have to come back later, right?"