LOG: The Sky Is Falling Part Two
Date: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 21
Location: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Even a simple meteor party goes wrong when W'chek starts talking about procreating.
Stolen from brazenbronzer, but with added dragon talk. Which made it so long it needed to be split into two parts.
"Fucking shells!" Gabe yells, and leaps up to make a fast running-dive under a bench. Not that they're safe from being hit, either, but it's at least some protection, as opposed to being out in the open.
Stands as the scream of pain reaches her ears. "We need to move." she says grabbing the children she'd lead outside. "Back inside now!" the young woman said ushering the creche kids inside now that rocks where coming side. "Shells..." she says in a tone of worry.
Silarra is just reaching for a mug of cider for herself as the rocks start crashing into the bowl. "Didn't have that one on the list." She mutters, making a dive to try to get under the table, and ending up with a richoceting piece of rock crashing into her leg instead, before she gets it pulled inside. And language uttered right after that? Must have known a sailor somewhere along the line.
Thunk. Some debris lands right between a little group of people on the blankets and there's a rather sickening sound of bone breaking and a shrill scream of pain in the dark. Amidst the chaos, Milani's ducked instinctively and when the tumbling rock stops falling, she's still for a moment, collecting herself, then she moves forward to help a couple of those people up. "Go inside, walk, don't run, be careful not to step on anyway," the headwoman says in a steady-enough voice.
"Mother--" Whatever the finish of that sentence is, it's lost as Z'yi ducks and covers his ass with the best of them. "F--" The best of them obviously fail, as he's struck hard on the shoulder, ends up rolling hard to faceplant in the dirt. There's a groan. Or maybe an expletive. Or three.
K'del has a few quips for the barkeep in return, as he settles for nothing more complicated than beer, but he's barely got the drink in hand before-- everything goes to hell. His drink is one of the first casualties, though not so much from falling rocks as surprise and shock: the weyrleader is utterly still for a moment, staring in absolute horror at the mayhem suddenly surrounding him. It's kind of a delayed response, for him, to put his hands above his head protectively - because that is so going to help, if something actually hits him. Silarra's fall, so close to him, finally grabs his attention: "Can you walk?" he wants to know. "Shells." And worse.
"My children would be beauti--" It breaks off just as quickly, future kids forgotten in the sudden wake of everything going to hell in a very large handbasket. "Fuck!" she yells, one long moment of panic in her wide eyes, gaping mouth as she whirls toward the sound of stone splintering. Aghast, she watches the descent of the Eye Rock down the bowlside to the floor, and does not move to run or dodge just yet: the Weyrwoman has never been a particular fan of self-preservation, after all. Instead, she turns to point at the three nearest, B'tal, W'chek, and Z'yi. "What are you doing on the ground?" she demands of the latter, never mind he's hit himself. "You guys, go grab the hurt, get them out of here. Everybody, inside!"
Impact, impact /nearby/... Leova's just gotten those mugs, but they're falling and spilling right with K'del's because she's diving, all but over the table to get the bartender /down/ and underneath what cover there is. No, he doesn't get to watch. No, he has to go down. /Stay/ down. Dragons are screaming. Tiriana's yelling. And she's not the only one.
Gabrion recognizes his cousin's voice and barrels out from under the bench, not caring if he knocks it over. He's at her side in seconds, kneeling on the ground. "Silarra! Silarra. Are you okay? Don't move." He's sizing her up with a healer's eyes, assessing injury as best he can.
Meanwhile, those pretty lights above? They're still going. It's just that... no one's really watching anymore. At least none of the other seem to be heading /weyrwards/. For now.
Silarra grits her teeth as K'del addresses her. Her lower left leg is bent in a rather unnatural way. "No. I don't think so." And she ignores Gabrion's orders, moving to prop herself up on her elbows letting out a hiss of pain. "Gabe? You alright? Your mother is never shardin' letting you out in the bowl again." She notes with a lack of the amusemed tone that statement might otherwise have.
The quick head count of the children and with one missing, Eldena bolts back out "Lyka!" she calls grabbing the child's hand and pushing her back inside the WEyr..
"Right," B'tal murmurs and gives the bronzerider another look, but whatever might have possibly come next is completely cut off by the chaos that comes instead. The greenrider curses audibly, very much so, at the first crashes and instead of running off, or walking as instructed, B'tal is moving away to go make sure nobody hurt is getting left behind. "Isz!" Of course that's where his attention goes, anxious, too, and he's heading toward the bluerider.
A bunch of aunties are following an only slightly younger woman towards the caverns, hand on each other's hip. It's almost like the macarena, only more like macabre.
The sound of the discussion of children, meaning death--no, that's really not how it's supposed to go, is it? Then there's falling rock and screaming and he just stands there for a moment--but at least doesn't scream. "Maybe you should be going yourself," he snaps back without a thought in Tiriana's direction. "She is not easily replaceable!" That big gold one who goes if Tiriana goes and keeps Tiriana from being murdered? Her. Who knows what else could happen at this point. But aside from that, he's following directions. That B'tal is headed for Z'yi gets a moment's glance, a flash of something on his face... but surely somebody else needs assistance inside.
It doesn't take too long for the healer brigade to show up, thanks to the wonders of dragons, and no doubt the arrival of a very injured watchdragon in the dragon infirmary. Madilla's amongst these, pale and scared, but apparently not unable to do her job all the same. Though she casts a wary glance upwards, she pushes against the tide of people fleeing for the caverns, heading for people on the ground. "Who's worst injured?" she's asking, casting around in dismay.
Gabrion lets the joke fly right by - no time for that. "Your leg is broken," he tells Silarra. "It's really important that you don't move, okay? There's some other people hurt. I need to go see." The good news, implied, is that he doesn't seem to think Silarra is in any danger of immediate death. Unless another meteor smashes her table, or something. "You just stay right there, can you do that?" He reaches out to grasp her hand, hoping to offer some comfort. Even as he does, he's looking around, looking up. And here are the healers. There's immense relief on Gabe's face as he gets to his feet and looks around, trying to locate other injured people.
"W--" It would help if Z'yi could breath, to adequately answer Tiriana's question. It would /really/ help. He's motionless for a long time, then inhales sharply, as if suddenly recollecting just how to do that. He doesn't move until Bety's voice reaches him, a motivating grace: he then moves to very groggily push himself up. "What th'--" Hey, he could pass as drunk, maybe. And he knows how to be drunk. So he'll just push himself upwards some more, try to stagger to his feet, blankly stare at Tiriana with no comprehension. Bewildered, perhaps a better word.
That Gabrion is now there to look after Silarra seems to relieve K'del, though he gives the young Apprentice a long glance, appraising. It seems to be enough, because he nods once, then moves onwards, stepping around debris and broken tables in a sort of desperate, impossible haze. Kind of 'what the hell do I do now?'
Wincing most of the kids made it back in and only minorly injurted,Eldena sinks to the side of WEyr... She waves off all the healers to let them attend to someone more greviously injurted she's only got a light scratch or two, maybe some heat-pain but nothing serious.
If there's one good thing, it's that the rubble, if not the dust, hits the ground pretty fast. Which... mostly just leaves digging out the rest of the people. "Fuck you," Tiriana shouts at W'chek when he actually talks sense, this one time. "I'm not leaving them." And stupid though it might be, she's not, even if the debris in the air sets her to coughing and covering her eyes as it billows over the bowl. "K'del?" Because he was just nearby; surely /he's/ not dead or buried.
Dragon> Amidst the chaos, Cadejoth extends a thought that is actually surprisingly calm. He's extending his mesh, testing his chain towards each of his pack-mates. << All safe, >> he reports, apparently relieved. No dead. At least no /draconic/ dead. << Iovniath, we will have to stop others from referencing our *Star Stones*. >> Given that they're now... irrevocably different. << We must all make sure we remember. >> (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)
Leova'll have to get to that dragon infirmary, have to get to work, but for now she's muttering at a bemused bartender about breaking formation, breaking formation, /there/. And: forget the booze, though fine, he can stick a particularly precious bottle down his shirt. Time to pick up the table above them and use it as a shield against shrapnel, heading for the inner caverns like a particularly demented turtle. And try, /try/ not to run anyone over. What are the odds?
Silarra drags her coat up over her mouth as the dust starts to rise in the air. "Broken. Right. That would be why it feels like a dragon landed on it." She states through gritted teeth. "Stay here? Where the shells do you think I'm going to go?" She asks him, giving his hand a squeeze, mutual reassurance maybe, despite her tough exterior.
Dragon> Vrianth's a spike of electricity back, distressed most by being denied: she's being asked not to swoop down and scoop up her rider, not to fly out and challenge those meteors coursing overhead lest they, after all, come here. Instead, she relays a sense of impact mingled with snow and spilled ale: Isforaith, injured? Perhaps. They'll find out. She'll /tell/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth and Isforaith)
Meanwhile, Milani continues to move amongst the blanket-area, helping people up and she hunkers down when her foot meets someone not moving. It's dark but there's a little cast light from the bonfire and the headwoman feels around for a pulse, looks grim after a moment and pulls the fold of blanket over the man's face. A little further onward there's another body on the ground, but this one has a heartbeat in spite of the large chunk of rock nearby. "Need a healer over here!" she calls out. "Unconscious patient."
Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Iovniath, too, is surprisingly at ease, her mind locked in snow. << If you will make sure of that, Cadejoth? And we shall tend the wounded. >> she asks of her mate. Her presence is already spreading out, ice to match the bronze's chains that seek out the dragons of the Weyr, to take on their pain and panic and provide calm strength in return.
B'tal is probably not particularly equipped to support the bulk of the bluerider but that doesn't mean that he's not going to give it a damned good try as the other staggers to his feet. "Hey," B'tal barks, attempting to draw Z'yi's attention to something, "Are you okay? We need to get you inside," where it's safe. B'tal presses for Z'yi to start moving cavern-wards, with or without him as support.
"Here," says K'del, sounding-- surprised? But relieved, too, maybe, as he crosses the remaining distance between himself and the Weyrwoman, glancing down to survey the rest of everyone. His head shakes. At least, aside from being covered with rock dust, he seems to be in perfectly one piece. "Cadejoth says there're some dragon injuries, but the watchrider's okay. Won't fly much for--" He breaks off, ducking his head to cough, splutter, breath. "Need to get everyone in. You, too-- can't risk you, Tiriana. Where's Ezalea, did she come out?"
Dragon> Electricity sparks and jumps down Cadejoth's metallic chains as he leans in to this contact, his salty buzz sitting sharply into his response. << Isforaith? >> he extends his words, a silent soothing ripple to Vrianth sent at much the same time. << Tell. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth and Isforaith)
Gabrion squeezes back, and smiles at Silarra. "I'll be back," he says. "Just hang on." He takes stock of the people around him, and then sprints over to where the healers are. "Over that way there's three," he reports to Madilla. "Female with a broken leg, conscious. One unconscious male. Another female bleeding from the head, not sure if it's superficial or serious." He stands stiffly and waits for instructions.
There W'chek is, talking sense, and fathering children, and maybe the world really is ending. But life seems to be going on somehow all the same. So, as B'tal gets his ex, W'chek gets--an old lady with a bad limp who may or may not have sprained something, as she seems to be too deaf to actually understand anything she's asked. She's not in any way 'little'; nearly as tall as he is and substantially rounder. But there he is, so dutiful, walking her towards the lower caverns.
As people start to trek towards indoors and a healer comes to tend to that fallen person in the dark, Milani turns to find some of the assistants and there's some quick instructions to head back to the caverns and start setting up to take a head count and put out both strong drink and get the cooks brewing up a large pot of klah: people are going to need it against the shock.
Madilla lets out a little unhappy cry as, having followed Milani's words, she notes the blanket-covered body, and the one nearer the Headwoman. She crouches, though, taking no more time than that single cry before she leaps in to action. "You should get inside," she murmurs to the Headwoman, eyes wide, as she lays down her kit to reach for the unconscious man, to test his vital signs. "Shells," she adds, taking a deep breath. "/Shells/."
"I'm fine," is Tiriana's brusque answer to K'del; seems she's not going to listen to him, either. A beat later, she adds, "Nahalith says she's fine, inside already--so you can stop pretending to worry about me. Get the healthy ones clearing this out, best we can for now. Is Milani still out here? She shouldn't, not with the--get her inside," she says, even as Milani's already moving to make all the subsequent instructions happen. "Tell her to go set up the living cavern with... water. Food. The healers can put up there for now, too; infirmary's going to be... too small," is her grim feeling.
Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth projects, << I will, >> confirms Cadejoth, all traces of happypuppy gone, gone, gone as he takes control of his part of this situation. Clear-headed and confident, he keeps a careful hold on this net of dragons, this pack, encouraging calm as he reaches outwards to warn Pern of the tragedy. << All will be well. We must be /calm/. >>
Dragon> Almost immediately comes her counter-reply: << Not him, but his rider, after all. We will have him seen to. >> Be soothed? She refuses, in all her brilliant tenacity. (Vrianth to Cadejoth and Isforaith)
Briefly, Milani's hand drops to Madilla's shoulder and squeezes, then she nods. "I -- I know. I need to get Milandra squared away," the headwoman says with a look around. "Giorda and Alieva are setting up headcount and Sheala's poking the kitchens to life to help take care of people." Her head lifts as she catches Tiriana's voice and her lips purse faintly. "I'll see you in a little bit. Stay safe, Madilla," the headwoman adds feelingly, then turns to head inside, reaching to slide her hand under the elbow of a staggering, shell-shocked woman. "This way, we'll get you something warm to drink. Everything'll be okay." And she acutally sounds like she believes that as she retreats.
Dragon> Just for him, a private little moment, Iovniath is neither dismissive ice or manipulative fur; just snow, gleaming gratefully underneath a thick coating of dust and grime. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)
Silarra isn't going anywhere on her own. She watches her cousin move off and then just bites her lip. She turns her head to the side to look towards the unconscious man Gabe mentioned before she turns forward again, watching all the scurrying.
Someone's brought stretchers out, and so two big and burly men are dispatched to go and fetch Silarra, get her on the stretcher as gently as possible so that she can be brought to the infirmary. Gabe is sent to assess the woman with the bleeding head. She's got someone's shirt wrapped around the wound. After he takes a look, he rewraps it for her. "It's not serious," he says, "but head wounds bleed a lot. You'll probably need some stitches, but you're going to be fine. Just keep holding that shirt on there and applying pressure." Her companion looks kind of pale. "Are you okay to get her to the infirmary, or do you need help?" Gabe asks the man briskly. He seems a little suspicious of the answer, so he nabs a young bluerider who's standing there looking lost to help shepherd the woman to the infirmary. Then he wipes his hands on his pants and looks around: next!
K'del snaps back his answer before he's no doubt had time to think; the strain is showing on his face. "Of course I worry about you, you stupid woman," he tells Tiriana. None of that stops him from gulping helplessly at mention of the infirmary; he nods, though, and turns away. "I should help carry. I can do that." And so, he takes a few steps away, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, though both are as dirty as each other. For a moment, though, he stares upwards, at the chilling sight of the star stones, minus one of their stones.
Dragon> Busy, occupied, holding his chains just so, Cadejoth has only a moment to extend his response to this: a perfect bell-like chime of metal against metal, chilled to suit her, and the sense once more of their place together: holding this pack together, this endless expanse of intermingled links. It's his pleasure; his duty. (Cadejoth to Iovniath)
"I will," promises Madilla, urgently, but taking only a moment to do so, in response to the Headwoman. She ducks her head lower, biting at her lip as she struggles with her patient; eventually, she raises her hand, waving it desperately as she calls for a stretcher. "I need to get him inside. /Now/." She can be really forceful when she needs to, good girl.
"Yeah, well." But the cutting retort Tiriana wants never quite materializes in the wake of K'del's comment, and so, with him dispatched to clean-up and Milani to tending the support networks, she sets out on her own self-appointed task of helping out the healers. Without much more skills than to yell for actual healers when she finds someone badly hurt and to give the hysterical a good kick in the butt to do something more useful, she starts moving around the wreckage of Star Stones. The dead are, for now, left where they lie; nothing more to be done for them.
When Leova's table-turtle makes it to the inner caverns, she sees him off to find his girl, the one that's still here. And she, /she/ has other duties that take her towards the dragon infirmary, eyes slitted against the dust and smoke, her goggles still hanging on the hook back in her weyr. If she's looking out for riders like Z'yi, well, it's with a clenched jaw that accepts U'sot's instructions to send less trained assistants out to find them instead.
A makeshift healer assistant finds the disoriented bluerider, even as a pair scythe through the air above. Z'yi lifts a hand, a feeble warding gesture, and follows placid as an old broke-down runner, though he winces every step and is rather obviously bleeding down the side of his chest. If he stumbles, well, go figure. He's obviously not in control of his facilities, entirely, and when brought face-to-face with Leova, at a certain point, he's so clearly in shock that it's a surprise that he recognizes her at all. There's a wan smile, and a slurred comment as if he's on the third day of a weekend bender, before he moves on to the infirmary: "The sky fell."
Silarra lets out another string of interesting language as she's loaded onto a stretcher, though it's not aimed at the burly men, who should have no problem with such a small young woman. "Sorry." She actually tells them once she's settled and on her way to wherever they end up carrying her. "Thanks for the ride." That's said dryly, on a hiss of a breath.
Gabrion looks around, and his eyes find Silarra again, but the stretcher-guys have got her well in hand, so although he bites his lip, he has to put worry for her out of his head for now. "Shells," he mutters to himself, and when he hears Tiriana yell for a healer, he appears at her elbow. "Hi, weyrwoman," he says warily. "There's some injured people who /can/ walk and are just kind of standing or sitting around waiting, if someone could tell them to get to the infirmary, that would be good?" The suggestion comes out tentative - healer apprentices don't normally boss weyrwomen around, after all. "What's up here?" he asks, meaning the patient she was shouting about.
Once Z'yi is settled with other people, B'tal seems a little at a loss about what to do with himself. He was already in a weird state of mind and now this. The greenrider might be a little more pale than usual but it's hard to tell so much in the darkness. He looks around, spots W'chek and starts trying to follow after him toward wherever he's heading with that other person.
In the lower caverns, once Milani's passed the baby off to the safekeeping of other arms, the headwoman moves through the corridors with typically brisk efficiency. Places are arranged for the walking wounded, food, drink and blankets passed out for those in need and that tally comes in eventually for the headwoman to bring to the Weyrleaders, a little grim-faced. The mess in the Bowl will indeed, have to wait until morning.
The unexpected confrontation's enough to send Leova into a sudden step forward, but a reach for the much-taller bluerider's shoulder turns into a thump towards his upper arm. Hopefully his good one. "Yes. Go." Whatever relief there was, now she has to call back the assistant, and get to work, her real work, cleaning and stitching and overseeing and even mucking, shoulders tight-braced against dragons' and riders' pain.
Dragon> From one Weyrleader's dragon to another's, Mecaith's sandy thoughts flow, touched lightly with what might be familiar static and the tang of sea salt, less so. << Cadejoth. Vrianth tells me that there is trouble at the Reaches. T'rev wishes to let the Reaches know that Fort stands ready to offer any assistance if it is necessary. Please let your rider and your queen know. >> (Mecaith to Cadejoth)
In this particular case, Tiriana is quite happy to follow Gabrion's request. "I'm on it," she tells him swiftly, turning her energy to that particular task. In short order, most of the layabouts and the squalling are scurrying away from her, leaving her to study the particular injured person that drew Gabrion over in the first place. "Leg's pinned. That's... bad, right?" she asks, looking from the pale young man to the healer. "Do we just move it off or is that worse?"
Dragon> There's no customary metallic spark to Cadejoth's response, though his thoughts are thick with the shifting, life-filled chain mesh that holds together his weyr - his pack. << The offer is appreciated, >> he reports, with audible thanks. << For now: please, any dragons heading to my weyr must not Between straight. Come via High Reaches Hold. We will-- ask. If we need anything more. >> (Cadejoth to Mecaith)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Mecaith waits politely for Cadejoth's answer and acquiescence follows. << We will let Fort know, >> is the sandy response. << Be well, Cadejoth. >> And the contact winks out as Mecaith turns his focus to broadcasting to Fort's dragons.
Dutifully, W'chek spends quite awhile helping people inside, mostly not the sorts of people he would ever give the time of day ordinarily. But he does it, without complaint. And once that's mostly settled, he returns to his own weyr for the night, just to be up again early ready to help with the clean-up process in the morning.
"Bad," Gabe agrees, after studying the scene with a certain amount of detachment. "I'm not strong enough to lift it. We need something to use for a lever, probably. Yeah. We don't have to lift the whole rock. Just pry it up enough to pull him free." He kneels down next to the injured man, who's kind of glassy-eyed. "Hey. Hey." He slaps at the man's face very gently. "Stay with me here. What's your name?" He'll get him talking, and keep him talking until someone who's able to move the rock comes.
The man's not completely there, very pale and only half-focusing on Gabrion while the young healer talks to him. But he still manages answers, while Tiriana grabs a couple of big riders and marshalls them into helping move the rock. It takes some heaving on their part, with Tiriana helping make sure the man's leg is free before they stop it rolling. "Okay. Now let's get him out of here."
Gabe jerks the man free, dragging him by the shoulders out of the way as soon as the rock is lifted. He's panting when they've completed the job. Conveniently, here's another stretcher crew just returning from dropping someone else off at the infirmary. He grins weakly at Tiriana. "Thanks," he mutters, and steps out of the way to let them load the man up. He wipes his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, and takes a few deep breaths.
"Yeah," is Tiriana's vague reply to Gabe; she's already eyeing the rest of the rubble, much as he is. It's going to be a very long night indeed, for more than just the healers.
There are no more impacting meteorites after that first one, and eventually, the dust begins to settle, though it's plain that there's quite a crater in the bowl, and the debris will take a long time to clean up. The injured are carried within: to the infirmary, to the living caverns, to anywhere where there's room; the dead, though there are only a couple, are also removed, carried clear of the site until they can be properly dealt with. The rest? It will all have to wait until morning, when there's light to see by, and enough space for a realistic evaluation of the damage to be made. Even in the dark, it hardly looks good.
By morning, there's reports of damage from the Holds, too.
Location: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Even a simple meteor party goes wrong when W'chek starts talking about procreating.
Stolen from brazenbronzer, but with added dragon talk. Which made it so long it needed to be split into two parts.
"Fucking shells!" Gabe yells, and leaps up to make a fast running-dive under a bench. Not that they're safe from being hit, either, but it's at least some protection, as opposed to being out in the open.
Stands as the scream of pain reaches her ears. "We need to move." she says grabbing the children she'd lead outside. "Back inside now!" the young woman said ushering the creche kids inside now that rocks where coming side. "Shells..." she says in a tone of worry.
Silarra is just reaching for a mug of cider for herself as the rocks start crashing into the bowl. "Didn't have that one on the list." She mutters, making a dive to try to get under the table, and ending up with a richoceting piece of rock crashing into her leg instead, before she gets it pulled inside. And language uttered right after that? Must have known a sailor somewhere along the line.
Thunk. Some debris lands right between a little group of people on the blankets and there's a rather sickening sound of bone breaking and a shrill scream of pain in the dark. Amidst the chaos, Milani's ducked instinctively and when the tumbling rock stops falling, she's still for a moment, collecting herself, then she moves forward to help a couple of those people up. "Go inside, walk, don't run, be careful not to step on anyway," the headwoman says in a steady-enough voice.
"Mother--" Whatever the finish of that sentence is, it's lost as Z'yi ducks and covers his ass with the best of them. "F--" The best of them obviously fail, as he's struck hard on the shoulder, ends up rolling hard to faceplant in the dirt. There's a groan. Or maybe an expletive. Or three.
K'del has a few quips for the barkeep in return, as he settles for nothing more complicated than beer, but he's barely got the drink in hand before-- everything goes to hell. His drink is one of the first casualties, though not so much from falling rocks as surprise and shock: the weyrleader is utterly still for a moment, staring in absolute horror at the mayhem suddenly surrounding him. It's kind of a delayed response, for him, to put his hands above his head protectively - because that is so going to help, if something actually hits him. Silarra's fall, so close to him, finally grabs his attention: "Can you walk?" he wants to know. "Shells." And worse.
"My children would be beauti--" It breaks off just as quickly, future kids forgotten in the sudden wake of everything going to hell in a very large handbasket. "Fuck!" she yells, one long moment of panic in her wide eyes, gaping mouth as she whirls toward the sound of stone splintering. Aghast, she watches the descent of the Eye Rock down the bowlside to the floor, and does not move to run or dodge just yet: the Weyrwoman has never been a particular fan of self-preservation, after all. Instead, she turns to point at the three nearest, B'tal, W'chek, and Z'yi. "What are you doing on the ground?" she demands of the latter, never mind he's hit himself. "You guys, go grab the hurt, get them out of here. Everybody, inside!"
Impact, impact /nearby/... Leova's just gotten those mugs, but they're falling and spilling right with K'del's because she's diving, all but over the table to get the bartender /down/ and underneath what cover there is. No, he doesn't get to watch. No, he has to go down. /Stay/ down. Dragons are screaming. Tiriana's yelling. And she's not the only one.
Gabrion recognizes his cousin's voice and barrels out from under the bench, not caring if he knocks it over. He's at her side in seconds, kneeling on the ground. "Silarra! Silarra. Are you okay? Don't move." He's sizing her up with a healer's eyes, assessing injury as best he can.
Meanwhile, those pretty lights above? They're still going. It's just that... no one's really watching anymore. At least none of the other seem to be heading /weyrwards/. For now.
Silarra grits her teeth as K'del addresses her. Her lower left leg is bent in a rather unnatural way. "No. I don't think so." And she ignores Gabrion's orders, moving to prop herself up on her elbows letting out a hiss of pain. "Gabe? You alright? Your mother is never shardin' letting you out in the bowl again." She notes with a lack of the amusemed tone that statement might otherwise have.
The quick head count of the children and with one missing, Eldena bolts back out "Lyka!" she calls grabbing the child's hand and pushing her back inside the WEyr..
"Right," B'tal murmurs and gives the bronzerider another look, but whatever might have possibly come next is completely cut off by the chaos that comes instead. The greenrider curses audibly, very much so, at the first crashes and instead of running off, or walking as instructed, B'tal is moving away to go make sure nobody hurt is getting left behind. "Isz!" Of course that's where his attention goes, anxious, too, and he's heading toward the bluerider.
A bunch of aunties are following an only slightly younger woman towards the caverns, hand on each other's hip. It's almost like the macarena, only more like macabre.
The sound of the discussion of children, meaning death--no, that's really not how it's supposed to go, is it? Then there's falling rock and screaming and he just stands there for a moment--but at least doesn't scream. "Maybe you should be going yourself," he snaps back without a thought in Tiriana's direction. "She is not easily replaceable!" That big gold one who goes if Tiriana goes and keeps Tiriana from being murdered? Her. Who knows what else could happen at this point. But aside from that, he's following directions. That B'tal is headed for Z'yi gets a moment's glance, a flash of something on his face... but surely somebody else needs assistance inside.
It doesn't take too long for the healer brigade to show up, thanks to the wonders of dragons, and no doubt the arrival of a very injured watchdragon in the dragon infirmary. Madilla's amongst these, pale and scared, but apparently not unable to do her job all the same. Though she casts a wary glance upwards, she pushes against the tide of people fleeing for the caverns, heading for people on the ground. "Who's worst injured?" she's asking, casting around in dismay.
Gabrion lets the joke fly right by - no time for that. "Your leg is broken," he tells Silarra. "It's really important that you don't move, okay? There's some other people hurt. I need to go see." The good news, implied, is that he doesn't seem to think Silarra is in any danger of immediate death. Unless another meteor smashes her table, or something. "You just stay right there, can you do that?" He reaches out to grasp her hand, hoping to offer some comfort. Even as he does, he's looking around, looking up. And here are the healers. There's immense relief on Gabe's face as he gets to his feet and looks around, trying to locate other injured people.
"W--" It would help if Z'yi could breath, to adequately answer Tiriana's question. It would /really/ help. He's motionless for a long time, then inhales sharply, as if suddenly recollecting just how to do that. He doesn't move until Bety's voice reaches him, a motivating grace: he then moves to very groggily push himself up. "What th'--" Hey, he could pass as drunk, maybe. And he knows how to be drunk. So he'll just push himself upwards some more, try to stagger to his feet, blankly stare at Tiriana with no comprehension. Bewildered, perhaps a better word.
That Gabrion is now there to look after Silarra seems to relieve K'del, though he gives the young Apprentice a long glance, appraising. It seems to be enough, because he nods once, then moves onwards, stepping around debris and broken tables in a sort of desperate, impossible haze. Kind of 'what the hell do I do now?'
Wincing most of the kids made it back in and only minorly injurted,Eldena sinks to the side of WEyr... She waves off all the healers to let them attend to someone more greviously injurted she's only got a light scratch or two, maybe some heat-pain but nothing serious.
If there's one good thing, it's that the rubble, if not the dust, hits the ground pretty fast. Which... mostly just leaves digging out the rest of the people. "Fuck you," Tiriana shouts at W'chek when he actually talks sense, this one time. "I'm not leaving them." And stupid though it might be, she's not, even if the debris in the air sets her to coughing and covering her eyes as it billows over the bowl. "K'del?" Because he was just nearby; surely /he's/ not dead or buried.
Dragon> Amidst the chaos, Cadejoth extends a thought that is actually surprisingly calm. He's extending his mesh, testing his chain towards each of his pack-mates. << All safe, >> he reports, apparently relieved. No dead. At least no /draconic/ dead. << Iovniath, we will have to stop others from referencing our *Star Stones*. >> Given that they're now... irrevocably different. << We must all make sure we remember. >> (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)
Leova'll have to get to that dragon infirmary, have to get to work, but for now she's muttering at a bemused bartender about breaking formation, breaking formation, /there/. And: forget the booze, though fine, he can stick a particularly precious bottle down his shirt. Time to pick up the table above them and use it as a shield against shrapnel, heading for the inner caverns like a particularly demented turtle. And try, /try/ not to run anyone over. What are the odds?
Silarra drags her coat up over her mouth as the dust starts to rise in the air. "Broken. Right. That would be why it feels like a dragon landed on it." She states through gritted teeth. "Stay here? Where the shells do you think I'm going to go?" She asks him, giving his hand a squeeze, mutual reassurance maybe, despite her tough exterior.
Dragon> Vrianth's a spike of electricity back, distressed most by being denied: she's being asked not to swoop down and scoop up her rider, not to fly out and challenge those meteors coursing overhead lest they, after all, come here. Instead, she relays a sense of impact mingled with snow and spilled ale: Isforaith, injured? Perhaps. They'll find out. She'll /tell/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth and Isforaith)
Meanwhile, Milani continues to move amongst the blanket-area, helping people up and she hunkers down when her foot meets someone not moving. It's dark but there's a little cast light from the bonfire and the headwoman feels around for a pulse, looks grim after a moment and pulls the fold of blanket over the man's face. A little further onward there's another body on the ground, but this one has a heartbeat in spite of the large chunk of rock nearby. "Need a healer over here!" she calls out. "Unconscious patient."
Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Iovniath, too, is surprisingly at ease, her mind locked in snow. << If you will make sure of that, Cadejoth? And we shall tend the wounded. >> she asks of her mate. Her presence is already spreading out, ice to match the bronze's chains that seek out the dragons of the Weyr, to take on their pain and panic and provide calm strength in return.
B'tal is probably not particularly equipped to support the bulk of the bluerider but that doesn't mean that he's not going to give it a damned good try as the other staggers to his feet. "Hey," B'tal barks, attempting to draw Z'yi's attention to something, "Are you okay? We need to get you inside," where it's safe. B'tal presses for Z'yi to start moving cavern-wards, with or without him as support.
"Here," says K'del, sounding-- surprised? But relieved, too, maybe, as he crosses the remaining distance between himself and the Weyrwoman, glancing down to survey the rest of everyone. His head shakes. At least, aside from being covered with rock dust, he seems to be in perfectly one piece. "Cadejoth says there're some dragon injuries, but the watchrider's okay. Won't fly much for--" He breaks off, ducking his head to cough, splutter, breath. "Need to get everyone in. You, too-- can't risk you, Tiriana. Where's Ezalea, did she come out?"
Dragon> Electricity sparks and jumps down Cadejoth's metallic chains as he leans in to this contact, his salty buzz sitting sharply into his response. << Isforaith? >> he extends his words, a silent soothing ripple to Vrianth sent at much the same time. << Tell. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth and Isforaith)
Gabrion squeezes back, and smiles at Silarra. "I'll be back," he says. "Just hang on." He takes stock of the people around him, and then sprints over to where the healers are. "Over that way there's three," he reports to Madilla. "Female with a broken leg, conscious. One unconscious male. Another female bleeding from the head, not sure if it's superficial or serious." He stands stiffly and waits for instructions.
There W'chek is, talking sense, and fathering children, and maybe the world really is ending. But life seems to be going on somehow all the same. So, as B'tal gets his ex, W'chek gets--an old lady with a bad limp who may or may not have sprained something, as she seems to be too deaf to actually understand anything she's asked. She's not in any way 'little'; nearly as tall as he is and substantially rounder. But there he is, so dutiful, walking her towards the lower caverns.
As people start to trek towards indoors and a healer comes to tend to that fallen person in the dark, Milani turns to find some of the assistants and there's some quick instructions to head back to the caverns and start setting up to take a head count and put out both strong drink and get the cooks brewing up a large pot of klah: people are going to need it against the shock.
Madilla lets out a little unhappy cry as, having followed Milani's words, she notes the blanket-covered body, and the one nearer the Headwoman. She crouches, though, taking no more time than that single cry before she leaps in to action. "You should get inside," she murmurs to the Headwoman, eyes wide, as she lays down her kit to reach for the unconscious man, to test his vital signs. "Shells," she adds, taking a deep breath. "/Shells/."
"I'm fine," is Tiriana's brusque answer to K'del; seems she's not going to listen to him, either. A beat later, she adds, "Nahalith says she's fine, inside already--so you can stop pretending to worry about me. Get the healthy ones clearing this out, best we can for now. Is Milani still out here? She shouldn't, not with the--get her inside," she says, even as Milani's already moving to make all the subsequent instructions happen. "Tell her to go set up the living cavern with... water. Food. The healers can put up there for now, too; infirmary's going to be... too small," is her grim feeling.
Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth projects, << I will, >> confirms Cadejoth, all traces of happypuppy gone, gone, gone as he takes control of his part of this situation. Clear-headed and confident, he keeps a careful hold on this net of dragons, this pack, encouraging calm as he reaches outwards to warn Pern of the tragedy. << All will be well. We must be /calm/. >>
Dragon> Almost immediately comes her counter-reply: << Not him, but his rider, after all. We will have him seen to. >> Be soothed? She refuses, in all her brilliant tenacity. (Vrianth to Cadejoth and Isforaith)
Briefly, Milani's hand drops to Madilla's shoulder and squeezes, then she nods. "I -- I know. I need to get Milandra squared away," the headwoman says with a look around. "Giorda and Alieva are setting up headcount and Sheala's poking the kitchens to life to help take care of people." Her head lifts as she catches Tiriana's voice and her lips purse faintly. "I'll see you in a little bit. Stay safe, Madilla," the headwoman adds feelingly, then turns to head inside, reaching to slide her hand under the elbow of a staggering, shell-shocked woman. "This way, we'll get you something warm to drink. Everything'll be okay." And she acutally sounds like she believes that as she retreats.
Dragon> Just for him, a private little moment, Iovniath is neither dismissive ice or manipulative fur; just snow, gleaming gratefully underneath a thick coating of dust and grime. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)
Silarra isn't going anywhere on her own. She watches her cousin move off and then just bites her lip. She turns her head to the side to look towards the unconscious man Gabe mentioned before she turns forward again, watching all the scurrying.
Someone's brought stretchers out, and so two big and burly men are dispatched to go and fetch Silarra, get her on the stretcher as gently as possible so that she can be brought to the infirmary. Gabe is sent to assess the woman with the bleeding head. She's got someone's shirt wrapped around the wound. After he takes a look, he rewraps it for her. "It's not serious," he says, "but head wounds bleed a lot. You'll probably need some stitches, but you're going to be fine. Just keep holding that shirt on there and applying pressure." Her companion looks kind of pale. "Are you okay to get her to the infirmary, or do you need help?" Gabe asks the man briskly. He seems a little suspicious of the answer, so he nabs a young bluerider who's standing there looking lost to help shepherd the woman to the infirmary. Then he wipes his hands on his pants and looks around: next!
K'del snaps back his answer before he's no doubt had time to think; the strain is showing on his face. "Of course I worry about you, you stupid woman," he tells Tiriana. None of that stops him from gulping helplessly at mention of the infirmary; he nods, though, and turns away. "I should help carry. I can do that." And so, he takes a few steps away, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, though both are as dirty as each other. For a moment, though, he stares upwards, at the chilling sight of the star stones, minus one of their stones.
Dragon> Busy, occupied, holding his chains just so, Cadejoth has only a moment to extend his response to this: a perfect bell-like chime of metal against metal, chilled to suit her, and the sense once more of their place together: holding this pack together, this endless expanse of intermingled links. It's his pleasure; his duty. (Cadejoth to Iovniath)
"I will," promises Madilla, urgently, but taking only a moment to do so, in response to the Headwoman. She ducks her head lower, biting at her lip as she struggles with her patient; eventually, she raises her hand, waving it desperately as she calls for a stretcher. "I need to get him inside. /Now/." She can be really forceful when she needs to, good girl.
"Yeah, well." But the cutting retort Tiriana wants never quite materializes in the wake of K'del's comment, and so, with him dispatched to clean-up and Milani to tending the support networks, she sets out on her own self-appointed task of helping out the healers. Without much more skills than to yell for actual healers when she finds someone badly hurt and to give the hysterical a good kick in the butt to do something more useful, she starts moving around the wreckage of Star Stones. The dead are, for now, left where they lie; nothing more to be done for them.
When Leova's table-turtle makes it to the inner caverns, she sees him off to find his girl, the one that's still here. And she, /she/ has other duties that take her towards the dragon infirmary, eyes slitted against the dust and smoke, her goggles still hanging on the hook back in her weyr. If she's looking out for riders like Z'yi, well, it's with a clenched jaw that accepts U'sot's instructions to send less trained assistants out to find them instead.
A makeshift healer assistant finds the disoriented bluerider, even as a pair scythe through the air above. Z'yi lifts a hand, a feeble warding gesture, and follows placid as an old broke-down runner, though he winces every step and is rather obviously bleeding down the side of his chest. If he stumbles, well, go figure. He's obviously not in control of his facilities, entirely, and when brought face-to-face with Leova, at a certain point, he's so clearly in shock that it's a surprise that he recognizes her at all. There's a wan smile, and a slurred comment as if he's on the third day of a weekend bender, before he moves on to the infirmary: "The sky fell."
Silarra lets out another string of interesting language as she's loaded onto a stretcher, though it's not aimed at the burly men, who should have no problem with such a small young woman. "Sorry." She actually tells them once she's settled and on her way to wherever they end up carrying her. "Thanks for the ride." That's said dryly, on a hiss of a breath.
Gabrion looks around, and his eyes find Silarra again, but the stretcher-guys have got her well in hand, so although he bites his lip, he has to put worry for her out of his head for now. "Shells," he mutters to himself, and when he hears Tiriana yell for a healer, he appears at her elbow. "Hi, weyrwoman," he says warily. "There's some injured people who /can/ walk and are just kind of standing or sitting around waiting, if someone could tell them to get to the infirmary, that would be good?" The suggestion comes out tentative - healer apprentices don't normally boss weyrwomen around, after all. "What's up here?" he asks, meaning the patient she was shouting about.
Once Z'yi is settled with other people, B'tal seems a little at a loss about what to do with himself. He was already in a weird state of mind and now this. The greenrider might be a little more pale than usual but it's hard to tell so much in the darkness. He looks around, spots W'chek and starts trying to follow after him toward wherever he's heading with that other person.
In the lower caverns, once Milani's passed the baby off to the safekeeping of other arms, the headwoman moves through the corridors with typically brisk efficiency. Places are arranged for the walking wounded, food, drink and blankets passed out for those in need and that tally comes in eventually for the headwoman to bring to the Weyrleaders, a little grim-faced. The mess in the Bowl will indeed, have to wait until morning.
The unexpected confrontation's enough to send Leova into a sudden step forward, but a reach for the much-taller bluerider's shoulder turns into a thump towards his upper arm. Hopefully his good one. "Yes. Go." Whatever relief there was, now she has to call back the assistant, and get to work, her real work, cleaning and stitching and overseeing and even mucking, shoulders tight-braced against dragons' and riders' pain.
Dragon> From one Weyrleader's dragon to another's, Mecaith's sandy thoughts flow, touched lightly with what might be familiar static and the tang of sea salt, less so. << Cadejoth. Vrianth tells me that there is trouble at the Reaches. T'rev wishes to let the Reaches know that Fort stands ready to offer any assistance if it is necessary. Please let your rider and your queen know. >> (Mecaith to Cadejoth)
In this particular case, Tiriana is quite happy to follow Gabrion's request. "I'm on it," she tells him swiftly, turning her energy to that particular task. In short order, most of the layabouts and the squalling are scurrying away from her, leaving her to study the particular injured person that drew Gabrion over in the first place. "Leg's pinned. That's... bad, right?" she asks, looking from the pale young man to the healer. "Do we just move it off or is that worse?"
Dragon> There's no customary metallic spark to Cadejoth's response, though his thoughts are thick with the shifting, life-filled chain mesh that holds together his weyr - his pack. << The offer is appreciated, >> he reports, with audible thanks. << For now: please, any dragons heading to my weyr must not Between straight. Come via High Reaches Hold. We will-- ask. If we need anything more. >> (Cadejoth to Mecaith)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Mecaith waits politely for Cadejoth's answer and acquiescence follows. << We will let Fort know, >> is the sandy response. << Be well, Cadejoth. >> And the contact winks out as Mecaith turns his focus to broadcasting to Fort's dragons.
Dutifully, W'chek spends quite awhile helping people inside, mostly not the sorts of people he would ever give the time of day ordinarily. But he does it, without complaint. And once that's mostly settled, he returns to his own weyr for the night, just to be up again early ready to help with the clean-up process in the morning.
"Bad," Gabe agrees, after studying the scene with a certain amount of detachment. "I'm not strong enough to lift it. We need something to use for a lever, probably. Yeah. We don't have to lift the whole rock. Just pry it up enough to pull him free." He kneels down next to the injured man, who's kind of glassy-eyed. "Hey. Hey." He slaps at the man's face very gently. "Stay with me here. What's your name?" He'll get him talking, and keep him talking until someone who's able to move the rock comes.
The man's not completely there, very pale and only half-focusing on Gabrion while the young healer talks to him. But he still manages answers, while Tiriana grabs a couple of big riders and marshalls them into helping move the rock. It takes some heaving on their part, with Tiriana helping make sure the man's leg is free before they stop it rolling. "Okay. Now let's get him out of here."
Gabe jerks the man free, dragging him by the shoulders out of the way as soon as the rock is lifted. He's panting when they've completed the job. Conveniently, here's another stretcher crew just returning from dropping someone else off at the infirmary. He grins weakly at Tiriana. "Thanks," he mutters, and steps out of the way to let them load the man up. He wipes his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, and takes a few deep breaths.
"Yeah," is Tiriana's vague reply to Gabe; she's already eyeing the rest of the rubble, much as he is. It's going to be a very long night indeed, for more than just the healers.
There are no more impacting meteorites after that first one, and eventually, the dust begins to settle, though it's plain that there's quite a crater in the bowl, and the debris will take a long time to clean up. The injured are carried within: to the infirmary, to the living caverns, to anywhere where there's room; the dead, though there are only a couple, are also removed, carried clear of the site until they can be properly dealt with. The rest? It will all have to wait until morning, when there's light to see by, and enough space for a realistic evaluation of the damage to be made. Even in the dark, it hardly looks good.
By morning, there's reports of damage from the Holds, too.