itinere | Some sneezes are more hazardous than others.

Some sneezes are more hazardous than others.

Kitten sneezes.

For most people, this wouldn't be such a remarkable thing, but then, most people are not sixteen year old dragons who have never, aside from a single case of indigestion, been sick in their lives. Most people also don't sneeze gouts of flame.

Kitten flings herself at the curtain she just set on fire, tearing it down and stomping on it. When she coughs smoke, the dragon eyes her surroundings and makes for an exit. She has to get outside. On stones, preferably. Somewhere she can't burn a building down around herself and anyone else who happens to be inside it.

She did see the message about illness, but Kitten assumed it wouldn't affect her. Immortals don't get sick. That she is now, and that fatalities were mentioned? Well, that's worrying.

Kitten is thoroughly miserable in her first illness, blue scales turning grey as she sulks about just how awful she feels. She is, after all, still a baby, however intelligent she may be. As time wears on, she gets more and more exhausted, color slipping out of her scales as they fade to near white. She'll have far less energy and patience for attempting to deal with communication barriers the more tired she gets.

Much of her investigation of the city so far has been done while camouflaged, scales blending in with her surroundings, so a 45 inch long dragon may come as a bit of a surprise to other residents. Right now, she certainly isn't bothering to hide herself.

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Luckily for Kitten, somewhere along the line, Prim will stumble upon her. Not quite literally, but close. Prim hadn't expected a dragon. This is a dragon, right? Still, it looks pretty miserable and even with the sniffles, Prim won't let it suffer alone.

"Hello?" she calls cautiously as she approaches. "My name is Prim. I'm here to help you."

Or try anyway. Prim will do what she can, even if it isn't much.

Kitten has always found it frustrating that she can't speak any language those around her will understand, but she's had sixteen years to get used to it. Usually, she bears up under communication difficulties admirably. Her current illness and the lack of anyone who knows her here, though, have her unsure whether she'd rather welcome the help or just be left alone.

Prim is younger in years even than Kitten herself, though, and kind on top of that. No sense letting her temper get the better of her. Kitten coughs, snorting smoke as she does, and turns her face away from Prim for a second just in case of flame.

When she thinks it's safe, she gratefully nods her acceptance of the offer, chirping thanks. After one brief croak of frustration at having to mime things, she makes her own introduction. Kitten pushes herself back to sitting, taps one foreclaw against her chest, points up to the sky with her snout, and then whistles a bar of a song. She could get out the device she was given on arrival and type her name, but claws on that screen are just so unwieldy.

It takes Prim a minute to fully understand the introduction. She gets what it is. Sky is obvious, at least. It's the second part that gives her a little trouble. "Sky... whistle? No. Sky... song? Skysong?"

That seems right. It's really pretty and Prim smiles. "Nice to meet you, Skysong." Kneeling down, Prim settles so she's sitting on the ground and pats her lap. She isn't feeling too great, either, but she isn't about to let anyone suffer alone. "You can sit your head in my lap if you want. I don't know much about what you are, but I'll try to help anyway, okay?"

Kitten nods, with appreciative whistles when Prim gets her name right. She mimics the pitch and cadence of nice to meet you as well as she can, four quick chirps to Prim. The offer of a lap to rest in, though, is met with a very emphatic negative shake of her head. Turning away from Prim for a second, she coughs smoke again to demonstrate that fire is likely, given how little control she has over her body right now. Resting her head in Prim's lap would be a very bad idea.

She does nudge Prim's leg with her snout, a brief gesture of thanks and affection, before resting her head on the ground angled very deliberately so that she won't do any harm to the girl offering to help her. Thanks anyway, Prim.

It's cute, even if Prim doesn't know exactly what all the sounds mean. She can guess just based on when they came after her words, but she doesn't know for sure. Still, she looks sadly at poor Skysong. "I can keep you company, if that's okay."

Even if they both just end up lying there in misery, at least they have company. It's better than being alone right now and Prim can keep her promise to help if Skysong seems to get worse.

This is the first time Naomi has been sick without her mother nearby to help or the Doctor and sickbay to make it all go away. She's never actually been sick for an extended period of time because the Doctor can heal anything she would have gotten. But here things are different and with the holodeck doors shut, she can't even leave to go find someone herself. She's tried everything but nothing works. Maybe Voyager's run into something and the holodecks got cut off again. Maybe her being sick is all part of the program.

That doesn't really make her feel any better when she's already so miserable.

So, on her way to somewhere she can rest, since she's never seen a need to have a place to live here when she never stays the night, she eventually just sits down on a bench. Seven isn't even here to figure things out. Everything is awful and now Naomi is scared. Really scared.

She's so upset that it takes her a minute to notice the being on the ground. What is it... an Earth dragon from mythology? She doesn't really know or care right now. Instead, she just waves feebly and curls up on the bench where she can lie down and still see the dragon-thing.

"Are you sick, too?"

About to nod in answer to Naomi's question, Kitten whirls as fast as her currently feeble body can manage, sneezing three times and leaving a scorchmark on the ground. She turns back to the girl to offer that now unnecessary nod. It's fairly obvious that she's sick, and unintentionally dangerous while she is. Kitten doesn't face Naomi, instead watching the girl out of one eye. If she sneezes without warning, she can't risk harming anyone else.

Kitten has always been protective. Naomi is older than her own human brother and sister, but not by enough that Kitten will refrain from crawling a bit closer and chirping what is clearly a concerned question, words or no. Is Naomi alright?

The horn-like ridges on Naomi's forehead may or may not be strange, too. Every so often, she tilts her head so they're visible, but for the most part, she's curled up in a way that may keep them a little more hidden. At the concern, Naomi shakes her head. She looks about as miserable as she feels.

"I'm sick and I can't get home to see my mom," she says as bravely as she can. "She's going to worry so much."

Kitten takes a look at Naomi and exhales all the breath in her so there's nothing left to fuel a fire. She approaches and rests her snout against Naomi's leg in comfort.

For the sake of a child, Kit is willing to fumble around the device with her claws, which are far from ideal for typing. She pulls it out of the small pouch she's been wearing around her neck, typing on the screen, 'No time will pass. She won't worry. The doors will open after quarantine.'

Of course, that might not be much reassurance. Kitten hopes that Naomi, at least, won't get sicker. She offers the device.

Convinced that this is a holodeck simulation, Naomi isn't really taking the reassurance. She can pretend. A little. She just nods, still looking miserable. At the end of the day, whether she's six or four or whatever other age, she's still a sick child who wants her mom. Offering the device back, Naomi reaches for her combadge. It's never worked while she's in here and that's just as distressing now as it was amusing at first. She can't even tell her mom that she's sick and she wants to be asleep in their quarters.

"I hope you're right," she says instead, dropping into a typical child's reaction and acting her age for once in her life. "I don't even have my stuffed Flotter here. I want to go home."

Home for her being Voyager. It's all she's ever known.

Kitten wishes she weren't afraid of sneezing fire right now. She doesn't usually act like a pet, but she's always made exceptions for children. The dragon would be more than willing to climb into Naomi's lap for comfort and cuddling. She exhales every bit of air from her lungs and nuzzles Naomi's leg affectionately.

She types again, 'My name is Skysong, but you can call me Kitten.'

Naomi won't have to go through a game of charades today, unlike other new acquaintances.

Normally, Naomi would love charades. It's one of her favorite games and she's very good at it. But today? No. It would not be a fun game.

Naomi reaches to give the dragon's head a little pet. "You have a pretty name. I'm Naomi. Will you stay with me? At least for today?"

Of course she'll stay. Kitten may still be a baby in dragon terms, but she's very much a big sister, with two younger siblings of her own. If Naomi needs company, someone to keep her from dwelling on how she feels and worrying about getting home, Kitten can do that.

She nods immediately.

Kitten isn't much of a musician, but she's heard enough songs that, if she's careful to keep magic out of her voice, she can whistle a verse or two. It might be as much an attempt to cheer herself up as Naomi.

Naomi might not know the song or where it came from, but a little bit of music never hurt, especially when accompanied by a friend. Naomi manages to stay awake for a while, but soon enough, her eyes close, her breathing slows, and she falls asleep.

It's probably temporary, but she really could use the rest, especially if she's sick.

Cassie definitely knew about illnesses, and what was seeming like a bad cold was a lot better than anything else it could be. A death sentence hanging over her head meant that a cold seemed relative blase. Or so she hoped. She prayed that was all it was and her life was just normal and a cold and...

A dragon.

Standing there holding a tissue to her mouth for when she coughed, Cassie just satred. She wasn't even sure what to think but that was, she was sure of it, a dragon.

"Oh. My. Uhmmm... You don't look well," says the lady with red rimmed eyes and a nose to match, and her words thick from the head cold she had. "Are you okay?"

Yep, she was asking a dragon questions.

Kitten doesn't look well, it's true, but she points to Cassie and shakes her head. Cassie looks no better. Misery all around, it seems.

The dragon finds herself more and more sympathetic with her human friends and family. She always disliked seeing them sick, of course, but she had no experience of her own to give her a basis for understanding the actual sensations of an illness. Broadening experience or not, she'd just as soon feel better now, thanks.

As for whether she's okay, Kitten huffs out a frustrated snort and tilts her head to the side briskly, neither a positive nor a negative gesture. Her shoulders aren't really made for shrugging. Kitten isn't sure whether she's alright. The illness doesn't seem too bad now, but that message about potential fatalities was far from reassuring.

She gestures at Cassie with her snout. What about Cassie? Is she alright?

"I know," she said, getting that gesture. Or hoping she had. "I think there's a bug going around and everyone is getting sick," she said, moving closer. If they were both already sick, then the only thing she had to worry about was fire but, honestly, Cassie was taking the chance. How could she not when there was a dragon here. A wee, cute, sickly dragon.

"Do dragons normally get sick?" She was not sure why she thought the dragon understood her, but maybe because she was reacting to the questions she assumed she understood the human language. "I bet we can find a vet around here. Or a doctor. Or whatever it is you need," she said, ever the Librarian and trying to help."

She stopped, smiling slightly. "I'm not too bad. I don't know. They warned me I could get sick a lot, because of my body," she admitted, thinking about her brain tumor.

Kitten shakes her head emphatically in response to the question, croaking a very petulant negative response. No. No, they do not. Dragons are Immortals. They don't get sick, and they don't die unless they're killed. The fact that she's sick at all, though, means that this illness could kill her if it gets bad enough, she thinks. Kitten just hopes it won't get worse. No one here is familiar with dragon physiology, she assumes, and so she isn't sure what good a doctor will do.

Cassandra's final statement is much more worrying, though, because if she's already more susceptible to illness than any other mortal, this could go badly for her. Kitten tilts her head, chirping what's clearly a concerned question. Why did she need that warning, and is she alright?

"That's not good then, is it? You poor thing." She made a sound, really worried about her. "And then this place made you all sick and you feel miserable, don't you?"

She wished she had an idea of what to do for her, wondering if she should go back through to the Library and see what she might be able to find out. She hadn't thought about looking before about dragons and their care, and now she was wishing she had. "We'll see what we can find you. Promise."

Cassie sighed then, knowing she didn't want to burden the darling but she had brought it up. "I have a brain tumor. It's not too bad right now, and so far I'm feeling right as rain," she said, straightening and trying to look healthy. "So we'll hope it stays that way and I'll do what I can for you and others."

Kitten chirps something halfway between pleased at the commiseration and annoyed at the fact that she's sick in the first place. She is glad that Cassie has some sympathy.

At the mention of finding her something, Kitten's head perks up a little. She doesn't think there's much a doctor could do for her, but she wouldn't mind something to eat. Kitten could get by without food. It's not as if she'll starve. But it would be comforting and appreciated. With a hopeful little whistle, she mimes taking a bite out of something and chewing. That's something that shouldn't be too hard to do for her.

She doesn't know anything about tumors or cancer, but anything affecting the brain is a bad thing. That much is more than obvious. She'll be keeping a wary eye on Cassie from now on, healthy-looking or not. That much is probably clear from the considering gaze and the soft, low whistle of worry.

The message about being sick cleared up a lot for Henry, even with the lack of explanation. He's not the only one getting sick, and that makes him feel a little bit better about the whole thing, despite being locked in town for the time being. As far as sickbeds go, this one's pretty nice, so he's not going to complain.

With a wad of tissues shoved into his pockets, he's decided to go for a walk. Someone important once said that exercise can help keep you healthy, he's pretty sure - it probably doesn't apply when you're already sick, but that's beside the point. Fresh air is good for all of them. He's just not expecting to meet a dragon along the way.

"Whoa," he says, slowly coming to a stop to watch Kitten amble along. "Cool. I didn't know they had dragons here."

Because the very existence of dragons is so very normal where he comes from.

Sick or not, Kitten manages a weak version of the series of clicks and whistles that serve her for a laugh. She's been traveling recently, and that comes with all the usual panic over unfamiliar Immortals. It's nice to have someone impressed and excited, even if she might normally be a bit prickly at the phrasing. (No one has her.)

She nods her head, chirping a friendly greeting.

And she talks back! How cool is that?

Grinning, Henry kneels to get on her level and have a better look at her. "Hey, little guy. I'm Henry. Do you have a name?"

Little guy? Kitten huffs out an annoyed breath at that, not overly fond of it and shorter tempered than usual today, but she'll still nod confirmation. His eagerness is no less welcome than it was it was a moment ago.

Now is when she could take out that device from its small pouch around her neck and type in her name. She could, but that entails very unwieldy motions of her claws and she just doesn't feel like it unless she has to. Kitten is short on patience as well as good humor. First illnesses make for sulky dragon kits. Instead, she points a foreclaw up to the open sky above them before whistling a few bars of a song. She'll give in if it takes him too long to guess, she supposes.

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Some sneezes are more hazardous than others.

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