neutral ground (open!)

[tuathade]

Ralvyn was not a lustful individual, on the whole.

This wasn’t to say he didn’t know what it felt like. He was a teenage boy. Raging hormones: they happened sometimes. But it all just stayed… bottled up. Stuffy old man in a young man’s body. So when Iiateth Rose, it wasn’t that Ralvyn was unaffected – he was tremendously uncomfortable, freakishly hyper-aware of every inch of his own skin, and honestly he wanted nothing more than to strip all his clothes off and throw himself into the river until the unwanted urges passed. (Where had THAT thought come from?) But practice came in handy, when it came to repressing. Even with the Flightlust settled firmly in his mind and sending waves of unfamiliar heat through his body, he was at least coherent enough to sort out what was going on.

There were prisoners running around, with weapons. There were guards chasing them, also with weapons. Everyone was addled by Iiateth’s Flight. It added up to one thing: mass prison break. Which meant that Ralvyn would be needed in the infirmary, because people were going to get hurt.

He grabbed only the most basic of supplies from the Masterhealer’s office. Bandages, disinfectants, things he would need to treat injured guards right then and there, not necessarily to keep them comfortable. As an afterthought, Ralvyn snagged one of Lanakirene’s surgical tools, a wickedly long and sharp instrument that was probably used for ligature or something equally finicky. Regardless, it looked like a weapon, and he could brandish it with enthusiasm if not with any particular finesse if he needed it for self-defense. That got tucked in amidst the rest of the supplies, and then he set off for the prison infirmary.

Poor, sharding idiot Ral, running right into the heart of danger.

Prisoners were running wild, wreaking havoc, and he narrowly avoided the worst of the fighting. Briefly, just briefly, he passed by a man with a machete – but Ral froze, a frightened creature, and the man’s eyes passed over him as if he weren’t even there. As close a brush with death as he ever wanted to get. Ralvyn was wearing his knots and his Healer’s violet openly; hopefully that would be enough to declare him a noncombatant in this riot. Heading straight for his usual place in the infirmary, he kept an eye out for fellow healers on the way.

((OOC note – safe thread! Anyone needing a place for their characters to hide, or get wounds treated, can hunker down with Ral or help him fortify the place.))

[Zen]

Ever hadn’t known it was coming. There were some whispers, but Ever stayed away from whispers like that. She knew where they led to, and she wasn’t about to give up Bailey or Jayne just for joining in on some fun, or whatever it was that they were going to do. Certainly they weren’t going to break out? No one who broke out of Warden’s made it past… well, Warden’s. The mile radius was hard enough to escape to much less run through. But somehow the prisoners, the ones who were doing the actual breaking out, knew that the Opal Iiateth would Rise. And just that powerful combination would set off the whole Weyr in a turn of events that led to escaped prisoners.

But not Ever.

The woman, not particularly afraid of breaking out, had made it a habit to think about her father in all of the events she’d been through. That’s why she’d been wherrybrained and had her fingers eaten off by that green, Individith. But she felt no qualms against Reeva’s green. There was no need. The past was over and done with and there was no reason for her to resent what had happened. It had happened, as simple as that. And because of that, she had fewer fingers on one hand than the other. It no longer hindered her, so she no longer minded. It also meant that she, as a prisoner, shouldn’t break out because that’s how her father would have seen her. He would have pegged her for that, and she would not give him the feelings of accomplishment, even if he would never know.

That’s why, when the breakout happened, she tried very hard to get the prisoners to listen to her. After they broke out, once they were captured again, they would never see their freedom. Most scoffed at her, asking her where her mommy was, or ignored her altogether. One of them, so enraged and filled with lust, punched her in the nose to quiet her up. That sent Ever reeling, and she blinked back tears for a couple moments before realizing that she was bleeding from her nose, her nose hurt, and that blood was going absolutely everywhere. Her first instinct was to head to the Infirmary.

Iiateth’s lust was overwhelming. Ever was torn between pain and lust, but pain quickly overtook lust as she made up her mind. She would not fight, and she wouldn’t be a sissy asking people to think about this. Their minds were made up; they could go die in a rotting wherryden somewhere. Holding her nose, trying to stem the blood flow from it, was probably the best cure for keeping a sane mind. She headed to the infirmary, aware of the fighting going on around her, and looked behind her for only one second—and walked into someone.

Blood went everywhere. Her blood, someone else’s blood, she didn’t know. Most likely hers. She pushed back away from the person, her head pounding with nerves, and noticed Ralvyn. The two had worked together on patients in healing and she was happy that she’d found someone else who she could talk to. At least she hoped; Ralvyn might have travelled to the dark side.

“Ralbyn?” She asked, her nose stuffed with her own blood. Good thing her prisoner clothes were red. “Are joo okay?”

[Nikkel]

At first, Nikkel didn't know what the hell was going on. But he'd sensed that something was happening, and something big. Flake sensed it too, and his eyes whirled with fear.

And then the chaos started. The breakout. The ongoing Flight served as a fitting distraction. This must have been carefully planned, by someone. Who, Nikkel wondered, and why, but perhaps he was best off not knowing.

He turned his back to the commotion and laid in his bed, doing his best to act asleep, but several times, rowdy inmates 'awakened' him with their loud whooping, banging and clattering on the walls. Nikkel grumbled and wished he could leave his cell.

As if on cue, the door opened with a loud creak. When Nikkel looked to see who had opened it, they were gone. But it was open. He was... free? Did he even want to be free? Sure this wasn't his favorite place, but there was food and a roof over his head, and wherever the escapees were going, those weren't assured.

Flake seemed to agree, crooning at thoughts of the safe and familiar prison, and hissing at thoughts of the dangerous unknown.

Nikkel usually ignored the flit, but this time it was right. But, he considered, dangerous inmates might be loose in the prison. He needed to go someplace safe. The infirmary immediately came to mind - it had to be well-defended, what with all the drugs - so he made a beeline for it.

Inside the infirmary were two others, neither of whom he recognized. One was marked as a Healer, though it could just be an impersonation - Nikkel himself had once done something of the sort. Still, this was as safe a place as any, for now. He huddled down and exhaled a sigh. "Faranth's ass. This place has gone crazy. If it wasn't crazy already. We'll be lucky to survive this."

[S'yal]

"Do you need any help?" The voice was soft. A shivering form had darted through the crowd, ducking underneath flailing limbs and skirting around crazed addicts who might have considered the prostitute easy prey. Pink eyes rose to look at Ralvyn... and for once in his life F'ox didn't look afraid. He had to be brave. If he panicked, he was going to die. Even with flight lust roaring in his mind and the terror that Snowth would take off from the ground and Fly, be ripped apart by the greens that he could hear fighting and shrieking above the yells of prisoners and guards.

The thin man shivered in his too-big yellow clothing, his right hand hanging limply at his side. The reason why could be seen in an instant... F'ox was armed. A machete, taken from the corpse of a guard. People were dying already. He was afraid, so very afraid, even though he looked the calmest he had in a while. Don't be afraid, F'ox, you have to be brave. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Be brave! He told himself, resisted the urge to scream and cry. You're a guard. You're a rider. You have to protect people. Snowth's love flooded to the albino, stabilizing him and giving him courage he didn't have.

F'ox fought against the lust, shoving it away. It was hard, so very hard. But he was a prostitute... losing control was never something that was afforded to him. He looked at Ralvyn nervously, biting his lip. "I'm F'ox of Snowth. I... I can help you heal. I don't know much, aside from bandaging. But I can help. Or... I could try and keep people away. I'm not very strong. But I can do it!" He could help. He could do it.

F'ox glanced to the two prisoners, pink eyes widening before he recognized Ever. He smiled shyly at the woman, turning attention to the prisoner that had spoken about dying. "I won't let anyone die." He said, his voice wavering and uncertain.

Because if he didn't help the prisoners and healers, who would? Would they just leave Ralvyn and these two to die at the hands of the prisoners breaking out. No, no. F'ox couldn't let that happen. He couldn't leave someone else abandoned to those that would hurt them.

F'ox wished his classmates were here. He was so scared. So very, very scared.

Crypt perched on F'ox's head and hissed, while Rage (he's so creative) screeched at the prisoners around her. FUUU- WHY WAS EVERYTHING GOING CRAZY!?

[tuathade]

"Oh - Ever! Oh dear... No, I'm all right, but you're not! What happened?" Ralvyn knew Ever, not well, but well enough. A prisoner, but not a violent one... And from the looks of her, she'd run into one of the more aggressive escapees. For a moment he reached out towards her - then his hand wavered, faltered in midair, and stopped just an inch short of actually making contact with fabric. No, better not to distract himself in this condition. Instead the gesture merely ghosted through the air just beside her shoulder, still a silent invitation for her to come with him, just - not actually making physical contact.

Others were arriving. The infirmary was safe ground. One, another prisoner, from his clothing, looked unharmed... Then one of the weyrlings in yellow. It didn't matter at this point - Ralvyn would accept help from anyone who offered. "Thank you," he replied to F'ox, eyes flickering back and forth between the weyrling, Ever, and Nikkel. "I think... I think this is as good a place as any to defend, but we'll need to be careful. Some of the others might try to break in, looking to steal fellis or whatever they can get their hands on - you two," he indicated Nikkel and F'ox, "can you have a look around the place? Anything that might be used as a weapon, it should either be with us or locked up where the violent ones can't get to it..."

His voice was still soft, even a little hesitant, but with an undeniable ring of determination behind it. It was not in his nature to take charge. But currently he was the healer in this little group, and that meant staying calm and keeping things under control. "Do you need help?" he added to Ever. The bloody nose was obvious, but the red prisoner uniforms camouflaged everything else, and he honestly couldn't tell if any further blood was her own or someone else's. It could be either, given the situation outside.

[Lesa]

C'fael groaned at the feast of flesh laid before him, eyes roaming the skin laid bare by his rapidly moving hands. Soft yet hard, perfectly tanned, just waiting for him to touch... he looked up to the face of his lover... and abruptly woke up screaming.
WHAT THE SHARDLINGSHARDINGSHARDS?! R'SEY?! Oh Red Star, no. The brownrider visible shuddered, shaking the bed he had chosen to nap on. Ansyth would wake him if anything happened... Ansyth was the one that had forced him to sleep, after all. Then it hit him, with all the subtlety of a dragon landing on his head. NEED-WANT[/B] Oh dear sweet scorched Faranth sitting on her shell-shards. C'fael grimly began the work of shoving the rapidly building lust back into the quickly apologizing Ansyth, the brown going between chasing after Iliateth and resisting pulling apart fighting greens, for fear of them hurting themselves.

A keen rose from the brown's throat at the feeling staggered him. One was gone. One had betweened. C'fael used the shocked grief to lock everything away, for the time. He'd pay for it later, that was certain, and pay dearly. But there had to be a willing female guard somewhere in this joint, enough of them had made eyes at him when he came, sharditall, he'd just take one of them up on it. That settled, the Healer stood from the bed he had taken over in Detox, reaching underneath it for his second sword (what, you didn't carry your two swords with you to the Infirmary? What sort of Healer are you?)

The blond rammed into the doorway to the main Infirmary as his mental block failed, shaking his head as it became clear. There was a pretty girl here. A very pretty girl, looking prettier by the second. Oh, crackdust. Fingernails bit into flesh on his free hand, as the pommelstone pressed into the one still clutching the blade not strapped to his waist. He shook himself, centering on the other violet-clad person present.

"Ral, can you handle a blade?" he asked, before turning and beginning a rapid-fire multi-person speech in the hopes of keeping himself from going over and shoving the prisoner-healer-Ever-pretty-pretty-sexy-girl over his desk, "F'ox, good to see you, and yes, you can help, we're going to need all the help we can get. You too, Ever." C'fael said, distinctly not looking at his fellow blonde. That way lay madness, in truth. Augh, Flightlust!

[Nikkel]

The healer eyed Nikkel and one of the others. "Can you have a look around the place? Anything that might be used as a weapon, it should either be with us or locked up where the violent ones can't get to it..."

Flake squeaked a meek protest, but Nikkel quickly agreed. He set to work gathering scalpels, syringes, anything with sharp edges. And a few things without them. (Those little hammers for reflex-tests... hey, you could probably kill someone with that if sufficiently determined.)

Once he'd amassed all he could, he presented all of them to Ralvyn, letting him decide what to do with them. Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe he'd kept one for himself, just in case.

<Maybe,> echoed Flake with a giggle, briefly amused. That was probably his favorite word.

Nikkel ignored him and looked at the new arrival. Another Healer, maybe - certainly didn't look like a prisoner. But he wasn't wearing knots or crafthold colors either.
^{[OOC: at least I assume so, as C'fael's profile says nothing of that sort]}

"Ral, can you handle a blade?" the new person asked.

"I can," Nikkel offered. "But, uh, I've never killed anyone before." He swallowed. There was a bad feeling in his stomach that said he'd never killed before, but he might have to now.

[Zen]

Ever felt flightlust push through her haze of pain. She tried to snort back the blood that overflowed from her nose but her nose only made slight sucking sounds without even quelling the flow of blood. She knew her nose wasn’t broken, but it hurt too much to be completely sure. Instead she just hastily pushed her long-sleeved red prisoner’s garb across her face. It wiped around the blood, mopped some of it up, but generally just made her face look gruesome. She tried to smile reassuringly at Ralvyn as he asked what happened. “It’s a breakout, Ralvyn. I got punched when I tried to stand in the way of those breaking out.”

Then more men came along with a fresh wave of flightlust. She recognized Nikkel, another prisoner, and… was that C’fael? What was he doing here? Oh, yes, he was a Healer. Her eyes sparked as the realized she was the only female in the group, and each man was probably being hit by the same waves of flightlust as she was—C’fael even more so. She wasn’t sure if the man liked men or women better, but the way he stared at her as he entered made her know exactly what he was thinking. She felt a shiver of… emotion course through her body. Questioningly, she stared into his eyes and then squeezed her eyes shut before shaking her head. Now was not the time. Now was definitely not the time.

“Nice to see you, C’fael,” Ever replied distractedly as she ran her arm under her nose again. She was well aware that the only thing she was doing was smooshing the blood around her face. She attempted another smile but was vaguely aware that she looked more horrifying than reassuring. “I believe I could help.” She quickly announced, her eyes focused attentively on C’fael. He seemed to be the leader here, and while Ever wanted to help him with it, she was sure that a lady ordering men around during a Flight as strong as this one would not be a good idea. “What do you need for me to do?”

[S'yal]

They were all very pretty and F'ox just bet that he knew more tricks then everyone here and-

No, stop! Stop, stop! F'ox shuddered at the unbidden thoughts, and Snowth let out a shriek from outside in response to her riders distress. It took all of F'ox's willpower to not collapse into a puddle of crying albino, the shivering male looking away from the others in his group. Think about non-sexual things F'ox! Think of... uh, trees! Yes, trees. Trees were not sexual in the least.

F'ox nodded at the order, the skinny weyrling moving to grab everything he could. Nikkel had gotten most of it, but F'ox, paranoid thing he was, also proceeded to pick up every blunt object he could and bring it back. He knew very well that the simplest of things could become weapons. Once he'd done that, he looked expectantly at Ral.

"I... um..." He nudged the ground with his toe, avoiding looking at everyone because he didn't know how long he could resist and he never wanted to do anything like that again. At that moment, he HATED that Opal. He hated her with all the fury he could muster, despite the little part of him whispering it wasn't her fault.

"I... anything else?"

[Filch]

H'und did not look fighting; H'und was fairly good at fighting, but H'und did not like fighting. Sure, were he thinking clearly, he would have organized himself enough to realize fighting was neccesary and he should be doing something. However, Coreth was currently soaring, dazed and happy, after the Opal, and the young rider's thoughts were...far from coherent.

Far from coherent in the sense that he really couldn't summon up anything tactical to do. There were people escaping, people getting hurt, but for Faranth's sake, the only thing he wanted to do was find some other man and just drag that person to an undisclosed location and do terrible, icky things.

Oh Faranth, make it stop.

H'und didn't do well with lust. It scared him and he liked to avoid it because it just seemed weird and now, now it was just highly illogical and it made him want to drive his head in to a wall. While he hadn't been able to do that, the man's nails had dug in to his scalp, a bit of blood actually being drawn from the furious, furious grip. The pain helped to stay away from the haze of seething, desperate thoughts, and, while it did little, the action helped direct some of the lust to anger and energy that needed to be spent.

Some vague assumption had lead the tall man to the infirmary and, actually he kind of felt like turning around the minute he got there. However, words were forced out. "Do you need help protecting the place?" Who was he talking to. He didn't know. HE JUST WANTED TO LEAVE because there were mostly people he didn't know OH AND F'OX OH FARANTH THAT WAS JUST GREAT.

He really wanted to go drown himself raaah.

[tuathade]

C’fael was here. Oh, good. Ralvyn was no longer the Designated Healer. That meant that he could relax a little. Not a lot, because holy shards still in the middle of a breakout, but he no longer felt like the responsibility of keeping this little group alive rested solely on his shoulders… and that was a welcome relief.

Ralvyn accepted the proffered instruments from F’ox and Nikkel with a little grateful nod to the both of them. He was keeping up the outward appearance of calm, at least: if his hands trembled a little where they brushed against the other two boys’, if the blue-green of his eyes was drowned in the black of dilated pupils, he was keeping his reactions more-or-less in check. (He felt bad for Ever, though, surrounded by men… Ral himself was straight – probably – he thought – so the guys posed less of a distraction, but even with that the Flightlust was so strong that gender hardly seemed a barrier at all.) With one foot he nudged a desk drawer open and dumped the potential weapons inside, then fished his own makeshift weapon out of the pile of supplies he’d brought with him.

Could he handle a blade? This seemed like a silly question. “I can just barely handle a scalpel, Healer,” Ral admitted frankly. Now was not the time for stupid bravado, not when there were people who did know how to use blades running around. “Even this –“ he waved the wicked-looking surgical instrument – “was just for bluffing if I ran into anyone on the way here.”

And then he dropped it on top of the rest of the pile of sharp bits, shoved the drawer closed, and leaned something heavy up against it. There. Sharp bits all out of reach.

“But I can bandage, and keep people stable if they come in wounded… I’ll try my best, Healer.” Another man came in, Ralvyn recognized him as a bronzerider, and offered to help protect the place. Good. More people who could actually fight. H’und would get a grateful smile from the young Healer apprentice.

[nozomi]

They made it! They finally made it to the infirmary and, thank all of the pretty shiny dragons of the world, they managed to get there without J'thir bleeding out all over T'di. Groping the couple somehow, someway, kept to a minimum, T'di managed to drag himself and the prisoner-rider to where Ral, Ever, and the others resided. He'd stopped crying somewhere along the way, the wantneedcrave flared up in the depths of his stomach to give his cheeks some random amounts of color that didn't have to do with tears and panic.

"Help!" The bluerider had little voice to speak of, but his eyes widened with the sight of others, hurrah! "Help! He's in yellow and walked at me and I panicked and stabbed him and - and he wasn't attacking so he needs help."

Panicked blathering much? Never T'di! Ever calm, ever patient, his face flushed more, small chin trembling. "And- and flightlust is just - I mean - ugh, oh shards, someone gag me, I'm blathering but I stabbed him and someone needs to help. I don't know healing."

He didn't know healing and there was a hand on his ass. T'di wanted to grab at him and be highly inappropriate but - he stared towards Ral first, then the others in the room. He knew some of them by sight, though none of them were horribly good friends. He didn't have many, outside of Leshta. Depending on the kindness of strangers, and all that.

[Spiffy]

The walk to the infirmary from... wherever they were, was a difficult one. Difficult because he had a knife buried in his side still, but knew better than to pull it out quite yet. Difficult because he was steadily leaking blood everywhere, even if the flow had stemmed slightly since he'd stood, but was not helped by the movement. Difficult because he couldn't quite put away the wantcraveneed that plagued his mind for the man pressed up against his side, holding onto him just as much as he was holding him back... and other things, but this was flightlust, yah? Shit happened.

Even if it was with another man.

He stumbled into the infirmary, T'di at his side, the smaller man calling for help. "Too bloody right..." he managed to mumble as the other rambled on.

"Please do." he said when T'di rambled about gagging him. T'di was talking too much. J'thir didn't want him to talk. Though he would never admit it, he wanted him to shut up, then he wanted him on a bed, clothes off, and to get down to business.

But he had to deal with the knife first.

He held onto that thought.

He glanced around at the other in the room, vision slightly hazy, though whether that was from flightlust or loss of blood he couldn't tell. Probably both. He didn't recognise any of them, except the little pale one. "F'ox," he said, nodding oddly to his classmate and fellow prisoner Weyrling. Oh wait, and the woman - oh shards a woman. He fought down another bout of flightlust at the sight of her. Knife first. Knife first... He could have sworn he knew her. She'd been at the hatching, right? When he'd Impressed Golith... he looked hazily at her hand. Yep. That was the one.

Forcing his thoughts away from Ever, he stumbled over to the nearest cot, never mind the fact that it was for detoxing dusters, one of which he'd been strapped into for that very reason not a few turns ago. He sat down on it with a hiss of pain. "Someone get this sharding thing out of me or Faranth help me I'll do it myself." And make a huge mess of it, he told himself. No, let someone else do it. This was the infirmary, someone here must know how to do it properly...

[tuathade]

Pern did not have a Murphy, but apparently Murphy’s Law still applied everywhere. (M’rphy? Of Oshith?)

Just as Ralvyn was beginning to relax and think maybe this wasn’t so bad, maybe the breakout was already contained… In stumbled T’di supporting one of the weyrlings with a knife in him. A knife that T’di had put in him, albeit by accident. “W-“ Ral just about formed the first syllable, then snapped his jaw shut over it. Not Weyrleader. Not anymore. That was Lanakirene, and by the love of little green dragons did that make his life complicated.

When T’di made eye contact with him first, and asked for help, Ral stepped forward without even thinking. The healer apprentice remembered himself a moment later and looked questioningly to C’fael, but J’thir was threatening to take the knife out himself, and oh dear Ral was not about to let that happen. “No, no, it’s all right. Don’t worry.”

J’thir could still walk well enough to get himself to a cot, and he was still conscious and more-or-less coherent (Flightlust aside) all of which were good signs. He gathered up the nearest clean cloth to staunch the wound, then followed the injured rider to the bed. Ral placed a gentle but firm hand on the grayrider’s shoulder, guiding him to lie down. Better to have him already lying flat if he did happen to black out, and keeping the wound and the heart at the same level would slow the bleeding somewhat. “Try to relax. Deep breaths.” Easier said than done – this was going to hurt, but anticipation of pain would make it worse, not better.

As quickly and carefully as he could, Ralvyn extracted the knife from the wound. The instant the blade was free, he set it aside and clapped the bandage over the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Luckily it was not a large knife, and from the length and angle Ral didn’t think anything life-threatening had been punctured. Not that he could be 100% sure when there was blood everywhere.

[Spiffy]

"Good," was all that J'thir said as someone who looked healery told him not to bother. He looked slightly panicked at him suggesting he'd do it himself, which was the effect he'd wanted. At least it had spurred someone into action.

The kid - wow, he was young for a healer, he thought mildly - placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle but firm push downward. The grayweyrling wasn't exactly inclined to disobey him, gritting his teeth and muffling a groan of pain as he lay back. Once he was down, he realised that being horizontal was a damned side less painful that being upright was.

Or it would have been, had not Ralvyn chosen to then pull the knife out of him. He clenched his teeth together, retaining the presence of mind to keep his tongue far out of the way lest he bite it off - he knew it would hurt - but even that didn't keep back the mangled gasp/groan/agonised yell of pain that escaped his lips. He didn't relax, far from it: he tensed up so much that he almost sat up. It didn't last long. He soon collapsed back down onto the cot again, gasping raggedly in pain and slight shock, his knuckles white as his hands were locked around the cot frame in a death grip.

His head was fuzzy. For the moment, all traces of flightlust were gone. There was just the pain, hot and seething. Then in a flash his hand went from the bed to clasp around Ralvyn's wrist where he was pressurising the now open wound.

"Don't... ever... do that... again..." he grated.