Characters:

Projects:

Other Stuff:

Like what you see?  Don't like it?  Just enjoy writing emails?  Regardless, send me a message at

icefire_147@yahoo.com

I'll probably write back, if it's not spam or random flames.

Back to Logs:

Harper's Tale 3 - Friday, July 19, 2002, 4:05 PM
------------------------------------------------

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-three firelizards.
You see Bartender Lem here.
Obvious exits:
Dining Hall     Great Hall
You stand in the rather rambunctious Flying Mug.

Sii'kyn strides purposely in from the great hall.

Wyn walks in from the great hall.

The sounds of hushed but heated cursing can be heard coming from a table off to one side. Well, the meter is right for cursing, at least, even if the words are thoughtfully kept too low for innocent ears. The source of the theoretical bad language is a large pile of scrolls and hides and a glass of juice. Or, the lanky young man behind them, to be more exact. Morallen, it is, feverishly attempting to write something in his impossible handwriting, and oblivious to new arrivals.

Sii'kyn slinks in. "So, Sash, y'think we'll be able to actually get half-drunk, instead of just a buzz, today?" Lips twist into an ironic grin. "Yo. Leeeeeeemmmmm... A shot of something stiff," the brownrider cheerfully sing-songs, shifting into a barstool in a lithe movement. His smile's too wide; he looks too smug; he actually /whistles/. Something's up.

Wes glides through a door into the great hall.

Sasha slips silently in from the great hall.

Wyn tugs off her riding gloves, folds them, and then tucks them away inside her vest with her standard bland attention to detail. Strolling in a half-pace behind the other 'Reachians, the petite bluerider nonetheless chips in her two cents with a dry drawl of "Get much beyond half-drunk, my dear Ike, and I'll sit on you to keep you from flying home 'til you're sober. Somehow." The curses get a glance, though. Something decidedly familiar about that voice.

Sasha raises a brow as she strolls in with a good natured grin, flicking her braid over her shoulder and seeking familiar faces through the crowd. Her smile broadens as Wyn and Ike are noticed and she slips through the other punters to join them. Catching Sii'kyn's greeting she tilts her head slightly. "That what you are aiming for? I'm game...gonna join us on our quest to pickle ourselves at every bar on Pern, in one sevenday, Wynners?" she cheerily puts a hand on Wyn's shoulder.

"Oh, trust me, my dear greenrider," pipes up Morallen with a friendly smirk, upon identifying a couple of the arrivals. "You do /not/ want to see Wyn drunk. She's a scary sight. Not to mention that I'd have to rat you out to Dad, kiddo." He adds as an aside to Wyn, waving a scroll haphazardly by way of greeting.

Sii'kyn turns around. "You can sit on me any day," he murmurs suggestively to the petite bluerider. Whoa. Is everyone /sure/ that Ram isn't a green undercover, and proddy? 'Cause that is /very/ un-Ikeish.. Grin shifts to more of a lopsided smile, at Sash. "I want to be as sloshed as I can get away with. Which.. unfortunately isn't that much." Mournfulness sketches over his face, before he snickers at Morallen's words. "She's /very/ scary when drunk, ain't she? 'Specially when she starts.." His voice cuts off, and an angelic look plasters itself upon his visage. Innocence.

Wyn eyes the hand on her shoulder as if it's some wierd cancerous growth that she's not sure she should remove or not. But then manages to give Sasha a fairly game smile and nod, pats the hand gingerly, and then... ducks out to pivot on her heel and favour both males of her acquaintance with an exasperated glare, before tossing her head and proclaiming "You wouldn't start telling stories about me... not when /I/ have enough dirt on the both of you as it is, my dear brother and best friend." A vaguely triumphant little smirk, before she returns to looking studiously bland. "Benden white, Lem, please."

Sasha nods in agreement with Wyn and chuckles. "Benden white sounds good to me...although whether I decide to match your attempt at drunken oblivion remains to be seen!" she chuckles winking at Ike. " What brings this on then? Why the desperate need to destroy some braincells?"

Morallen favours his little sister with one of his stock of Irritating Elder Brother smirks, and abandons his attempts at working on his journeyman's project with an air of mild relief at a distraction. He pads over and leans against the bar with his juice, giving Sii'kyn a knowing nod and apparently ignoring Wyn's threats completely. "That she is... Did she ever tell you about that one time when she was sixteen...?"

Sii'kyn shifts, blinking at Wyn for a moment. "Must you make /everything/ a bore?" he teases lightly, taking the shot and downing it. "Mmm. Good stuff," he mutters. "Another one!" Yep. He's gonna get drunk as a sailor. "Uh.. D'no, Sash. Just an urge?" Innocence. "Oooh, when she was sixteen? No, she hasn't told me much about that era. Was she a blonde back then?" Grin. Innocence.

Sasha's eyes glaze suddenly and for a moment seems rather distracted. "Looks like I'll have to destroy some of mine another time, but hey... you won't miss this little one... " she shrugs ruefully as she snatches the next shot lined up for Sii'kyn and downs it in one. then with a cheeky wink at Wyn and her brother she saunters out, calling over her shoulder. " Next time!"
Sasha has disconnected.

"No, that was when I was fifteen..." corrects Wyn blandly from over her glass of wine. Sasha is given a little wave as she dashes off, before the petite young woman offers a quiet snort. "Ah, but that story Morallen's threatening me with is /nothing/ compared to that stunt he pulled at eighteen... Weyrwoman's daugther, was it?" she inquires with an innocent smile to the Healer, before cocking her head at Sii'kyn. "But indeed, what's got you in such an exceedingly ebullient mood, Ike?"

The housekeeper arrives to cart Sasha off to bed.

Morallen's mouth silently forms a comeback a couple of times, before he just settles for smirking, and reaching over to quite thoroughly muss the neat hair of his sister, along with a mutter of "Brat. And it was her niece, and none of your business." Snort, and another smirk. "See what her family has to put up with?" he inquires of Sii'kyn with a mock-longsuffering air. "Vicious, simply vicious."

Sii'kyn shifts, glares after Sasha, muttering something about 'that greenrider' and 'stealing drinks', before returning to his cheeky, amiable self. He calls for another one; Lem looks vaguely suspicious at his basically sober self. "Oh. When you were /fifteen/." Ike rolls his eyes, and beams. He doesn't say a /word/ when it comes to 'the stunt at age eighteen' - hitting too close to home, perhaps? - but arches a brow at Wyn. "I don't know," he confesses. "Ram lost /two/ green greenflights over the last couple of days, and I still feel like a million marks." Innocence. "Aw, but she's always a brat. It's just her personality," he discusses with Morallen. "I don't think any person will be able to break her of /that/ quality. That brat-like, right-under-the-surface I-wanna-be-like-Tatia viciousness, that is."

Link walks in from the great hall.
Link leaves the noisy Mug for the dining hall.

"The difference between fifteen and sixteen," intones Wyn with a sage air. "Can make all the difference in the world." She then trails off to give Sii'kyn and Morallen a fishy look. "Why is it that /I'm/ the only one of us with any Mindhealer training, and yet I'm the one being dissected. Rest assured that I most certainly don't aim to be like that estimable greenrider." She takes another sip of her drink, then offers a mischevious "I rather /like/ getting some action in the bedroom." Heh.

"Wyn." notes Morallen, suddenly looking actually longsuffering. "I'm your /brother/. You aren't supposed to be sharing that sort of... information... with me." Wince. "It's bad enough," he continues, taking a steadying pull of his juice. "That your boy-toy Alain is incapable of shutting up." Grumble. "I'm not sure whether to congratulate him, or punch him in the nose," he allows at last, glancing over at Sii'kyn for support. "Do /you/ have any younger sisters?"

Scyther explodes from ::between::! in chirps and cheeps!

Sii'kyn shifts, and blinks at Wyn. "It's one /turn/, Wyn," he states, indignantly. "Not much difference can be infused in the changing of /one/ turn. Unless, of course, you apprentice or walk the tables or.." A secretive, slightly soppy smile's sent in the vague direction of the beach, "...Impress." A pause. "Well, if you ever want to get action in the bedroom, please, for my sanity, don't talk about it around /me/." Wince. "Unless I've just lost a flight. And then, you're forbidden, 'cause I might do something that we /both/ would regret." He affixes the Big Brother Eye on Wyn. "Got it?" Hack. Being around Morallen brings out the worst in him. "Boy-toy Alain? Oooh, the one Vor scared half to death?" Then, a nod, and he raises one finger. "One. A single one."

Wyn eyes one big brother, and then the other, since they both seem to be taking the job at the moment, either by blood or by adoption. And then, very slowly, very calmly, and just a bit theatrically, she proceeds to bang her head against the countertop, earning a concerned glance from Lem, before the barkeep decides that everything's all right. "You." she notes, with a little roll of her eyes. "Are incorrigible. All three of you." Three? A certain smug rumbling can be heard from the direction of the courtyard. "Fine, so, let's change the subject then," she decrees briskly. "We have an Ike who's in an insanely cheerful mood, a Rallen who actually looks like he /might/ just have been doing /work/ when we came in, and a Wyn who is being teased far more than is humane."

Morallen gives Sii'kyn a steady nod. "Glad to see my kid sister's got /someone/ to keep an eye on her up at 'Reaches," he intones. Good brownrider. Have a biscuit. "But Vor scared him half to death?" An appreciative snigger. "Heh. The kid neglected to mention /that/ little wrinkle. Always knew he was a good dragon." Snicker, and a sip of his juice. "So, how /is/ the coldest Weyr on Pern?"

Sii'kyn shifts, innocently watching Wyn bash her forehead on the bartop. "We are not! Are we?" he queries of Rallen. Way too innocent, yep. "Aw, Wyn does her own thing, most of the time. I just make sure she doesn't hurt herself planning evil wicked vengance on evil wicked healers." A slight, knowledgable nod. "Oh, the 'Reaches is good. Like always. Berry-pickin' season, you know." Light grin. "Insanely cheerful? Why, thank you, Wyn."

Wyn rolls her eyes again, looking theatrically pained. At least to observant eyes like those of her brother and wingmate. Anyone else might just suspect mild indigestion. She then ignores further comments for the peanut gallery, and drinks more wine. "Berry picking indeed," she agrees. "You know, the black marshberries make an excellent purple-black cloth dye, if you get enough of them." she allows. "I was thinking some wall drapes would look nice in my weyr..." Hah. If she's forbidden from freaking them out about her love life, she'll retaliate with matters of fashion.

"Little Miss Mindhealer seems to think that we are," allows Morallen to Sii'kyn with a sunny smirk and a toast with his now-empty glass at Wyn. "Of course, in my books, incorrigible can a sharding lot of fun." Reaching over to select a trio of scrolls from his pile, he lowers his glass to the counter, and then sets about juggling them. "This, after all, is highly incorrigible behavior."

"Being incorrigible is the spice of life. Faranth knows that I have enough incorrigible behavior to put Purr in the grave twenty turns too early.." A low snicker. "Trajan could tell you /all/ about that." Ignore the little devil-horns. Really. He nurses his scotch, ignoring Wyn's fashion-advice altogether, though he /does/ smile sweetly at her. "And that is /not/ highly incorrigible. You don't know the word if you think /that's/ bad." Wheeeeedle.
..Ike's pose, obviously. Cough.

Elphaba walks in from the great hall.
Adelaide strolls in from the great hall.

A rather short hop, skip, and a jump sets Adelaide firmly into the Mug on her tavern tour. At least, that's what she's taken to calling it when she manages to get herself out of the weyr and towards a new Hold. Gingerly, the teenaged creature slides into the dull murmur and company of this particular tavern with a slight smile and amiable enough expression.

Wyn flickers an eyebrow. "I am /not/ seeing you juggling scrolls, Rall, I am most decidedly /not/." she notes to her misbehaving older brother. "Because if, say, Journeyman Erik, were to walk in and see you doing that, he'd have you copying them for a month, and would probably drag /me/ down too... Once an apprentice, always one, to him." she notes, in an aside to Sii'kyn. The little bluerider then nurses her wine and wags a finger at her wingmate. "Ah, ah, ah... if I'm not allowed to mention my conquests, then /you/ aren't allowed to share any dirt about your weyrmate." A prim sniff.

Elphaba walks through a door into the great hall.

Morallen shakes his head, and turns to Sii'kyn, expression almost comically grave. "Sii'kyn, my friend, can't you get her to loosen up a little bit? She's been like this since she was sixteen, believe it or not. And with me being off at Fort Hall since then, I really haven't had time to work on her social skills." Yes, talk around Wyn until she smacks one of them. An excellent plan.

Sii'kyn shifts, and shakes his head sadly. "I've not yet been able to get her to 'loosen up', m'friend. I've tried everything. I force her to get out, make her go to parties, make her come to bars with me. Nothing works. I've been thinking of hooking her up with a nice bronzerider I know from Ista.. but she'd be insufferable if he's as good as he claims." A roll of silver eyes. "And of course I can talk about my weyrmate. Just nothing graphic." Snicker.

"Insufferable? I doubt it," notes Wyn blandly, before a spark of mischief twinkles in grey eyes again. "But if he's that good... I might just have one more reason to stay in my weyr, now wouldn't I." A serene little smile. "And /you/ brought the topic up," she notes, before poking Morallen in the shoulder. "I'm not a potted plant, you know, brother of mine," she censures with a touch of amusement. "Really, I ought to write mum and tell her that your manners are getting atrocious." she teases with a cluck of her tongue.

The two riders are given a brief smile, Sii'kyn a brow waggle as the young resident chooses a seat in an out-of-the-way corner. Her fingers twitch her skirt idily into place, tracing along the ivory designs before thirst dictates she try something, though as to making an actual decision is a lengthy process for the ambivalent girl.

Morallen shakes his head, ceases in juggling his scrolls, and collects the rest of his papers, apparently planning to head out. He brushes a kiss to Wyn's forehead, before heading off towards the doors, sandals slapping on the stone. "Well, I have a class I need to go teach," he allows. "But good running into you two. And behave, Wyn." A smirk, a casual salute, and he slopes off.

You pass through a door into the great hall.
You stand in the enormous great hall of Ista Hold.
You walk into the Healer Hall.
You stand in the hub of Healer activity.
You go to the Healer Great Hall.
You go to the Classroom.

Classroom
Glows bright the room immensely as they highlight the many hides hanging around the room. Tables and chairs are arranged neatly so that the instructors can teach from almost any place in the room, slate boards decorating the entire northern wall. Herbs and spices fill the room with a pleasing aroma, as shelves are covered with hides, scrolls, herbs, and all manners of teaching aids. A small hearth is here, mainly used for demonstrations although there is a pot of klah warming on it, brought over from the hold's kitchens by the apprentices daily.
You see Healer Interview Board, Healer Board, Narali's Herbal, Infirmary patient, Tray5, Tray2, Ripple, Teobald, Cocoa, and Pewter here.
Elphaba and Celeste are here.
Obvious exits:
Healer Great Hall     Records Room

One of the desks at the front of the room has been completely taken over by a creeping pile of hides and scrolls, and even a few plumey quills. Around this spreading amoeba of writing-stuff hovers Morallen, his unruly tousle of hair even more unruly, as the senior apprentice mutters to himself about "Lesson outline... /lesson/ outline... where /is/ it??"

[OOC:] Morallen pokes. You two alive? OK, following general rules on class RP, it's one pose per everyone elses, as much as possible, and if you want your X for this, you need to participate. :)

Celeste slips into the classroom, looking vaguely worried as she dives into the seat nearest the door. Is she late? Sleepy eyes gaze around the room while she opens her notebook upon her desk. Normally mussed pigtails are mussed more than normal, and the little apprentice rubs one eye tiredly. Celeste was taking a nap. Can you tell?

If Celeste is late, Morallen is likely in no condition to notice, still rummaging through the morass of paper, parchement and bits of former herdbeast, in search of... "Aha!! There you are!" The prodigal hide is siezed with a smirk of triumph, and he turns on a heel to face the desks, blinking to notice that there are, in fact, students there. "Oi. Where'd you all spring from?" he puzzles, before waving a hand, clasping both of them at the small of his back, and pacing around the front of the room like a peripatetic Old English Sheepdog. Swiping his bangs out of his face, he grins. "So. You're here for a class I'm assuming, and I'm here to teach one. This is a good thing. Anyways, I'm Senior Apprentice Morallen, and I'll be teaching First Aid One today. If you're in the wrong class, better run now, 'fore the rankers get you for being late."

Elphaba is already seated near the front, twig-like legs bent awkwardly under her in a position she deems comfortable. Her spindly, knotted hands hide under themselves in her lap, and she only raises her amber, feline eyes when Morallen speaks. She glares at the messy desk with measurable distaste. "First Aid One, sir? As in.. Basic first aid?" Her voice, as silent as a death rattle and twice as dry, is almost lost in the room.

"I'm Celeste," Celeste chirps back brightly upon Morallen's introduction. Aside from this greeting, however, the little apprentice remains quiet. She turns to a new page in her notebook and prepares her pencil for the frantic notetaking that's sure to follow.

"A point for the lady in the Herder knot, and well met to the rest of you." grins Morallen, giving Elphaba a nod, before waggling an eyebrow at the class in general. "So... if I'm going to teach it to you, who here can tell me just what in the blessed name of Faranth first aid /is/? Crib notes are fine, but don't let me see, eh?"

Elphaba tugs a couple of hides and a long stylus from the depths of her robes, clearing her throat with the minimum amount of noise before scratching down the class name and instructor. She presses a decisive bullet-point into the hide before raising her hand. "First Aid is what victims receive from the first person on the scene - immediate care that can stabilize their condition until serious help can be given."

You look more closely at Celeste, but don't notice anything different.
Ribbons that were once neat bows now hang disheveled from cute ringlets of honey-gold bouncing around Celeste's round face. Pools of melted bronze pose as Celeste's wide eyes, framed by her honey-light lashes. A smudge of freckles crosses plump cheeks and round nose. Wide mouth, predisposed to smiles, completes her cherub-like features. Body, short and compact, still retains it's little-kid cuteness, but it's beginning to melt away into the awkwardness of adolecence. Chubby hands and feet lead to chubby limbs, which in turn lead to a pleasently plump tummy and torso.
Bright colors splash gaudily across this sundress. Periwinkle-straps loop over tanned shoulders, while look-at-me-yellow and cobalt sweep across Celeste's chest. Falling from empire waistline, skirt swishes around Celeste's ankles in a mix of green, red and pink. Wherhide sands clad her feet. Perched on Celeste's shoulder is Dolphin. Celeste wears Celeste's Listening Tube around her neck.
Single looped strands of purple and white twist together in a slightly grubby knot; Celeste is a bona fide Healer Apprentice.
Carrying:
Dolphin Celeste's Notebook
Celeste's Listening Tube
She is a teenager of about 13. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

You look more closely at Elphaba, but don't notice anything different.
The hue of her skin leans towards a milky blue, the faint coloring of veins underneath deathly pale flesh lending a haunting aura to the waif-like girl, increased by the depth of her inky eyes, slightly too large for the overall balance of her features. Dark lashes accentuate the sharp definitions of her features, highlighting the line of a pointed nose and lips prone to a calculated smirk. Her hair is the color of bronze, often displaying a greenish tint in harsh light. She is tiny, almost the height of a child, but her usually fierce countenance denotes strength.
Her clothes seem to be an attempt to mask her awkwardness. A billowing black robe cloaks her frail form, swishing along the ground with each step she takes. Beneath it, sensible and steady black boots are strong enough to keep her stable when she walks. For the colder months, she crams a black, woolen cap over her curls. She is never seen without a broom in hand, both for the practical purpose of cleaning and to aid her balance. Soft wherhide shines as the saddle gleams in the light. Beautiful tooling can be seen weaving its way across the saddle, and even on the bridle that shines with the same polished color of the saddle. Perched on Elphaba's shoulder is Fiyero.
Elphaba wears the knot of a Herder Senior Apprentice.
Carrying:
Runner Wreath Saddle and Bridle
Feline First Aid Fiyero
Runner First Aid Shepherd's Delight
Canine First Aid
She is a teenager of about 16. She is awake and looks alert.

Celeste raises a chubby hand to answer, but begins to speak before she's called on. "First aid is what you get right after you're hurt. The aid you get first." Celeste seems pleased with her answer, and as usual ignores the fact that Elphaba technically answered before her. Elphaba's answer might have been more technical, too. But Celeste's was cleverer. Right?

Morallen isn't one to be stingy with praise... that's the job of the more elderly journeymen. So both replies get another of his friendly smirks. "Quite right, the both of you. First Aid is the medical attention given by the first Healer on the scene. Or, for that matter, the first person on the scene period. Now, let's set a scene, just 'cause I think better with examples. You're out for a walk on the beach, and you see someone lying down by the water's edge. They aren't moving. What do you do?"

Elphaba searches back through her memory, devoid of any notes but those written in her head. "Uh.. Considering the proximity to the water," she begins, licking her dry lips thoughtfully, "one might assume that they've drowned. Might not be, though. So.. Make sure it's safe for you, then check their airway for anything that might block it." She casts a long glance at Celeste, waiting to see if the girl agrees with her.

Celeste peers down at the notebook in front of her, as if searching for the answer, but al it holds thus far are the words 'first aid', so it clearly won't be much help. She furrows her brow and shrugs. "Well, call to them? See if they answer? Maybe they're just sleeping. You never know." She pauses and nods at Elphaba's response. "Plus, see if they're breathing." Pause. "But you could do that just by feeling or looking for air, right? And /then/ check the airway if they aren't, maybe?" Celeste obviously isn't too confident in her response, but she tries anyway.

Morallen nods thoughtfully, processing the information, and then hopping up to sit on a desk. "Those are both good ideas to start with." he grants. "And Celeste, you're quite right in that you should see if the person is just taking a nap. But, back to the topic. Once you've gone and discovered that, yes, the person /is/ in trouble, one of the first things you should do is to summon help. There's a reason why apprentice Healers aren't to Heal unless it's absolutely necessary, and that reason is that it's very easy to do more harm than good. Got that? So if there's any chance of a Healer getting out to where you are, take the time to send a firelizard or a messanger off to fetch them."

Elphaba winces. Of course - Check if they're sleeping. Keeping her head carefully ducked in self-admonition (Hey, someone has to be hard on her), she scrawls down a few notes and underlines key words. That done, she sits up straight again and avoids Morallen's eyes, waiting for the next question by which she might redeem her lowly self. Bad Elphaba. Bad.

Celeste flushes slightly, bobs her head, and turns down to scribble something her notebook, the word 'HELP' printed rather largely across the page. Glancing back up at Morallen, she nods again. "Right. Summon help." Silly little apprentice. Thinking she can save the world.

"Hey, easy there," notes Morallen, somewhat nonplussed by the blushing and ducking. "I don't bite, honest. Now, the second general rule is, First, Do no harm. This is part of our Oath as Healers, but what it really means, is don't make the situation any worse. If, for example, someone has a neck or back injury, you don't want to move them any more than necessary, because you could leave them paralyzed. Generally, try to move your patient as little as possible anyways. There are exceptions, though. If the victim is in a location where they're likely to get hurt worse by being left there, move them out. Another thing! Only approach the victim if it's safe to do so. You aren't helping anyone if you yourself end up needing help."

Elphaba nods quietly, penning in these notes before looking up again. An inner debate rages before she finally raises her hand. "Sir? Say you're tending to a.. a canine, sir." Well, there goes her secret specialty. "What happens if you can assess that the situation will never get better and the animal is in a lot of pain? What if there's nothing you can do - Not even a Master can help?"

Celeste headbobs thoughtfully, pressing the end of her writing stick against her pursed lips. "Okay. So we've got help, now. And we aren't going to cause any more harm. Then what?" She raises her eyebrows at him expectantly, pencil poised to copy down any response. Elphaba's rather odd comment captures her attention, and Celeste's bright gaze turns toward the other girl. "A canine?" Celeste blinks. Maybe she got the wrong /hall/, not just the wrong class.

Morallen blinks. "Where'd the canine come from...?" he puzzles, before shaking his head, and agains swiping his bangs from his face. "Nevermind. Well, if it was a human, that would be a question more for an Ethics class... But a canine? Well, if there's nothing to be done for them and they're in a lot of pain, probably the best thing to do would be to give mercy. Canines wouldn't understand anything but that they hurt. Does that help?" he asks, before clearing his throat and turning back to the rest of the class. "Ahem. Yeah, back on topic. What happens next depends on the sort of injury. The really cool major injuries are covered in First Aid II, so let's leave the example for now, and just go over some specifics. Cuts! What can you tell me about 'em? What kinds are there?"

Elphaba, again, turns to her notes and record Morallen's answer, for her own interest rather than for study. At his next question, she raises a hand. "Well, there's superficial cuts and scrapes that don't require major attention. And there's puncture wounds.. And.. Um.." she trails off, glancing at Celeste for more.

Celeste considers both Elphaba and Morallen with a completely confused expression for a long moment, and then shakes her head to clear it. "Uh... cuts. Right." She pauses, glances at her notebook, and offers an answer. "Like she said," Celeste waves a hand at Elphaba. "There's the little ones that are unimportant. Like this one!" She points to a small scratch on her knee. "And then ones that are bigger, and maybe need a bandage. And then the /really/ big ones."

Morallen cracks a smirk, but the expression is still a friendly one. "Er, you've both got part of it," he agrees. "But Herder ... er, what was your name again?" Great memory, Rall. "Anyways, /she/ had more what I was looking for. Scrapes can involve a large area, but generally aren't deep. Puncture wounds are deceptively small, but can be quite deep. And slices, like from a knife or other sharp edge, can be deep, but are generally clean-cut. So, how would you go about treating a scrape?"

Elphaba beams slightly at the attention, her grin small and shadowy before disappearing. "Elphaba.. Beasthealing Apprentice." Ah. That explains the canines. "A scrape could probably be easily treated by a simple rinse of redwort to clean it and.. Well, I suppose if it was really painful you could use numbweed, though that's hardly necessary."

Celeste frowns, and ducks down to peer at her notebook again. She said the same thing. Just in smaller words. Right? Writing for a moment, she offers her response without looking up. "Redwort. And maybe a bandage?" Celeste is /sure/ that someone must use bandages sometimes for something. So she'll keep using it as an answer until she's right.

"Redwort is correct. And yes, if it's a larger scrape, numbweed can be a good thing. The main thing with scrapes, though, is seeing that they're cleaned properly initially. As for a bandage... getting air on it is probably a better route to go." opines Morallen, before moving on. "Next... what about sliced cuts, like from a knife. What would you do there?"

Elphaba nods, slipping another look at Celeste. Maybe she should let her take this one. So she shrugs carefully, the movement of her sharp shoulders ugly and uncomfortable, and simply grabs at an answer. "Uh.. Clean it, pack it with mosstea, maybe? You might.. probably put a bandage on it - But I think Celeste knows more about this than me." This said, she goes silent and ducks her head down.

Celeste blushes again, and clamps her mouth shut. Clearly, Elphaba knows more than she, so Celeste will just stay quiet for the time being. Scribbling frantically, the little healer appears to be writing down nearly every word either Morallen or Elphaba says. "What Elphaba said," Celeste offers as a response, and then pauses. "Huh?" She turns wide eyes on the herder. "I don't know more. Put a bandage on it?" Again, Celeste tries her backup answer. Bandages. They must be used /sometimes/.

Morallen laughs. "Getting to the bandages eventually," he assures Celeste. "And Elphaba, you're a step ahead of me. With clean cuts that are narrow and deep, stitching is a real possibility, once the wound's been cleaned with a redwort solution. Here, catch." A barrage of orangefruits rains down upon the class, tossed neatly to land one on each desk. "You'll notice that these have had their skin slashed, and that there are trays of needles and catgut at the end of each desk. Orangefruits," he notes. "Are a lot like people, when it comes to sewing them up. Now, how you do that is you make a series of criss-crossed stitches, like this:" He holds one up to display the neat XXXXXX row along it's repaired side. "Try to keep the stitches fine, small, and as even as possible. Give it a go, then show me your results, or if you have trouble."

Elphaba goes pale. Fine stitching? With her mangled hands? Setting herself up for failure, she fetches herself a needle and a length of catgut and settles back down at her desk, settling the orangefruit between her hands. With a look of hearty determination on her face, she pokes the needle in close to the seam and draws it down diagonally, piercing upwards through the opposite side of the slash. "Sir, is our skin a little more.. stretchy than an organefruit's peel?" she questions nervously. "THe catut is tearing mine a little. Am I doing something wrong?"

Celeste brightens slightly. She made Morallen laugh. That must be a good thing, right? Or perhaps not. Either way, Celeste grabs her orangefruit and peers curiously at the gash in it's side. "Orangefruits are like people?" The apprentice marvels at this idea, but doesn't really expect a response as she reaches out for her needle and jabs it into the skin of the fruit. From there, she slowly threads it through, stitching it as neatly as she possibly can. The tip of her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth, and she gazes down intently at her fruit, creating little Xs along the cut. "Like this?" Celeste holds up her partially stiched orangefruit for Morallen to examine.

Morallen hops off his desk to pad down the aisle and lean over Elphaba's shoulder to examine her efforts. "Our skin is a great deal more elastic than an orangefruit's, yes," he agrees. "But... I think that if you're getting tearing of the skin, you're likely using too high a tension on the gut. Try a little looser and a little slower," he suggests, before lolloping over to eye Celeste's handiwork. "Hmmm... looking good for a first attempt. Nice small size. Watch your path, though, you look like you're going a little crooked right there."

Celeste beams happily at Morallen and bobs her head. Finally, things going her way. Bending her head back over her fruit, she traces the path of her stiches with her finger -- which is indeed slightly crooked -- and continues. The little girl's small hands are finally making themselves useful. Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Elphaba sighs and begins slowly stitching again. Once she's got the hang of it, the peel stops tearing and she actually begins to enjoy it, stitching with slowly accelerating ease. In fact, she stitches more than just the gash. When she's done, you can just call her orangefruit Fruitenstein. "Uh.. sorry. Got a little carried away. What's next, sir?"

Morallen chuckles. "Well, after it's stitched, you /can/ add a light dressing if you feel it's necessary, but really, again, airing it is the best. Now, pucture wounds. What would you do for one of those?" he poses, retreating back down the aisle to sit on his desk again.

Elphaba smiles in her element. M'am Jaina taught her this, yes. "Well, a puncture wound is caused by a sharp object piercing the skin. It can be anything from glass to sharp metal or wood," she begins, tone well-mannered and soft. "If the object is still embedded, you shouldn't remove it - it may be preventing bleeding. Get the victim to the Infirmary as soon as possible. There, you'll need to remove the embedded object by either pulling it out in reverse, if it's just sticking in, or pulling it out in a straight line if it's poking out the other side." She pauses for breath, then continues with as much as she knows. "Make sure there are no pieces of the object still in the body, because they could cause infection. Then, rinse it with a redwort solution.. Um." Here she stammers, slightly unsure. "Pack it with mosstea and bandage it?"

"Right on the mark," praises Morallen, looking a bit surprised that a /Herder/ would get the question. "Right... on the mark. I really can't add much to that definition. And yes, flush it with redwort, pack it with mosstea, and bandage if needed. Now... how about burns?"

Elphaba sighs merrily, feelign the need to explain. "I've taken a brief class with Journeyman Tarot, sir. He taught us about puncture wounds and cuts and scrapes and that sort of thing. Burns? Rinse it immediately with cold water, apply a salve, and bandage it?" Not that she knows what /sort/ of salve, but it sounded okay.

Morallen nods, not delving into details beyond "Yes, a salve, ideally one containing numbweed. Aloe is also useful, as it helps promote regeneration. As for bandaging... Again, use your discretion. I personally like letting the injury air as much as possible, but you also need to strike a balance between that and keeping it clean. Threadscores... Treat them exactly like burns, although /very/ occasionally they can be stitched." He trails off, stands, hunts down his lesson plan, reads it, and then announces "Strains and Sprains! Tell me about 'em!"

Elphaba nods, jotting this information down before looking up again. "Um.. Ice them, elevate them, wrap them securely and stay off them for a few days?" she proposes. This is an area she hadn't covered.

Morallen, the physical therapy specialist, fairly beams. "Right again!" he crows, looking for all the world like he's about to thump Elphaba on the shoulder approvingly. Fortunately, he doesn't. "When in doubt, follow the RICE protocol: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Do that, and you won't need to come see me for rehabilitation therapy. Now, on to the good stuff, finally. Fractures. There are two main types. What are they?"

Elphaba absolutely glows with all the praise, warming immediately to her teacher. "Fractures? Umm.. Hairline and compact? I think. And if you have someone with a fracture, you should.. immobilize the limb and get them to a bonehealer. I think. Again."

Morallen nods. "Right again. The more commonly used terms are 'simple' and 'complex', for future reference, but the meaning is the same. To put it bluntly, a complex fracture is where the bone is poking out through the skin, a simple one is not. And yes, immobilize the limb, and see them moved to the Infirmary as soon as possible. In First Aid Two, you'll learn how to set a broken bone. Now... what are some good materials for making a splint?"

Elphaba quickly scrawls down the extra terms, noddign about the complex fracture. Learned that from Tarot, yes she did. "Um.. Wood? Pillows, if you have enough and can't find anything firmer. You can tie this stuff on with some rope. If the fracture is in the leg, you can bind one leg to the other. If it's in the arm, you can bind that arm to the chest."

Morallen nods. "You can also use cloth, from the victim's clothing or your own. And, in a slightly more grisly addition, you can also use legbones from a herd or runnerbeast to splint with. Or human bones, if your situation is /really/ macabre." he allows with a glinting grin. "But, tell me more about wood. What would make a good piece of wood for a splint?"

Elphaba pulls a face. She'd never descrate a herdbeast in order to help a human. Then again, she's slightly unbalanced. Moo. "Wood.. It should be smooth and straight and strong - Strong and not very flexible. Smooth so they don't get splinters, though I suppose you could wrap it in some cloth?""

Morallen nods. "Good answer," he allows. "And while smooth is desirable, it's not necessary. After all, if it comes to a choice of having to immobilize a limb that's flopping like a piece of meat, versus avoiding a few slivers... go for the slivers." he advises. "Now... that about covers my lesson plan... Got any questions?"
go for /getting/ the slivers.

Elphaba will always go for the slivers. Yes. "Uh.. no questions, sir." With that, she begins gathering her materials and tosses the grotesque orangefruit back to her teacher.

Morallen catches the orangefruit one-handed, and proceeds to peel it and start eating it, giving a nod and a casual wave. "Well then, you were a good student, thanks for coming to my first class, and g'wan and scoot back to your critters."

Elphaba walks out.