Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 02 [0007 hrs.] Rally & Riposte

September 12, 2017, 12:14:43 AM

[ Lt JG Nator 159 | Junior Officers' Quarters, Deck 08 Port Quarter | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan
1940hrs

Hir feet remembered the way to hir quarters, it seemed. Down the corridor to the turbolift, down a deck, forward a section, left at the corridor junction. A hundred metres to the door that opened as s/he approached. The cloying, decayed scent of a months-dead Kaladian lily drifted down the hallway as s/he placed a hand on the threshold and stepped through. Hir nose wrinkled... anyone else might have noted it and been able to filter it out. But to the sensitive olfactory surfaces of a Hermat it was as if someone had wiped the rotting flower across hir top lip.

Nator looked around hir billet; the relatively small rooms afforded to the junior commissioned staff aboard the Theurgy. Just as s/he left them before leaving for the general quarters alarm... Three fucking months ago. S/he grimaced as s/he picked up the plant pot and a couple of fallen, grey leaves and dumped the lot into the replicator by the desk. As it dematerialised, the oversweet stench faded a little.

"Computer, cycle the air in here. It's stale."

[Affirmative.]

A faint hiss could be heard as the local environmental circuit pulled overtime to swap the air volume in the room, taking most of the smell with it. It was still there, though, probably having impregnated the soft furnishings over time. Another reminder of what had been taken from hir. S/he tore the sheets from the bed, the cover from the couch, and every cushion in the place, and stuffed them all into the replicator to be destroyed. A few experimental sniffs, and s/he decided it would do. Though Nator suspected that the traces s/he could still smell were just whatever clung to hir nostrils.

Hir room was fairly spartan at the best of times, but without coverings or hir flower it might as well have been in a Theurgy still fresh off the production lines at Antares. At least the activity was something to keep hir distracted... every little helped. S/he drew fresh sheets out of the replicator and remade the bed. The couch could wait, s/he decided.

The slender humanoid hugged hirself as s/he paced around hir quarters. S/he was at a loss. Speaking to Thea didn't appeal. S/he didn't know - besides Nicander and the Captain - who was even a surviving member of the crew s/he'd shipped out with before- well, before. And to find out, s/he'd need to look it up. And that was a rabbithole s/he wasn't quite ready to delve into.

"Good grief, get a grip," s/he growled to hirself in the dappled blue light spilling through the window from the Azure Nebula outside. Their current refuge. From our own fucking Fleet! S/he wanted to kill something. S/he wasn't even hungry - not a lot of calorie use in stasis, after all - but s/he wanted to hunt something just to murder it. S/he wasn't accustomed to feeling helpless. It was not a feeling s/he relished.

Two more breaths to pity yourself. Then get to work.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

Exhale.

Clenching hir fists as s/he dropped hir arms to hir sides, s/he stalked back to the replicator again and punched in for a saved pattern - a Vulcan spice tea, with a little terrestrial cinnamon added. The pungent, aromatic smell did a wonderful job of clearing the last of the dead lily out of hir nose, which made a little progress to (temporarily) improving hir mood. Nator slid into the seat behind the desk, pulled out a pair of oversized Engineering PADDs, their larger screens usually used for blueprinting and the like, and activated the console. First things first, get up to speed.

With the two screens to one side and the main panel ahead, s/he dragged out every departmental log, submitted duty report, damage tally and casualty list s/he could find, organised by date and clustered by event. Nator was forcibly reminded of being back at school, probably during revision for hir final secondary exams when s/he was one and a half or so. Another time s/he'd rather have been on a kill-sprint through a forest, come to think of it.

It was not easy reading. The panels scrolled when they detected hir eyes reading over them, paused otherwise, and s/he pulled up ancillary details on the PADDs whenever s/he wanted extra information. Every death and injury, s/he wondered if hir presence might have helped. If s/he'd been manning a duty station instead of someone else, or an extra pair of hands on damage control that prevented a later failure, or a sharp second pair of eyes that might catch someone else's error before it became unrecoverable. Every log s/he read about repair time estimates, s/he wondered if s/he might have contributed to their mitigation.

So much that s/he had missed. That s/he had been cosy and tucked up in a stasis pod for while hir crew mates and colleagues had struggled and fought and fucking died without hir. A few rapid blinks chased away a sudden influx of extra water in hir eyes... s/he took a moment to breathe deeply in through hir nose as s/he looked up towards the deckhead. S/he almost wished that the plasma conduit had killed hir, three months ago...

But then s/he'd never have had the opportunity to compensate for hir absence. S/he was one of the few in the galaxy awarded such a second chance. Wasting it seemed a disservice, somehow. S/he read on.

---

The Hermat blinked hard, scrubbing the pads of hir thumb and forefinger against hir eyelids as s/he sighed, and pinched the bridge of hir nose. S/he wasn't sure what time it was. But s/he'd gotten to the part of the logs where the Theurgy was about to drop out of warp into the vicinity of Starbase 84. In a minute.

S/he stood a little stiffly, stretching lithely and listening to the handful of small pops from hir back as hir spine straightened back out. "Ah," s/he sighed to hirself, before raising hir voice again. "Computer, another spice tea. Same blend." The hum of the replicator sounded behind hir as s/he picked up the two PADDs and threw them onto the bed, before s/he collected the fresh mug and kicked off hir boots.

Nator hopped up onto the bed and sat cross-legged, setting the tea on the sill within arm's reach and pulling up more information on the PADDs. On one, the sensor feed showed the bulk of 84 flash into existence as the Theurgy dropped into sublight on its attack run. The other showed several columns of scrolling logs and data points as s/he read. One arm curled around hir midsection, holding the other elbow. S/he held hir chin with the other hand as s/he hunched over the PADDs, forcing hirself to keep watching. Keep reading.

The least s/he could do was witness, vicariously, what hir crew had had to do without hir.

Nator swallowed as weapon batteries on both sides set fire to the recorded night.

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #1 – September 13, 2017, 11:32:26 AM

[ Dr. Nicander | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Top Hat
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Just when Doctor Nicander had finally meant to leave sickbay, he had been informed by the team in Vector 01's med bay that a patient had gone missing. He had taken a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted to three before tapping his combadge and acknowledging the medical officer, asking who it was.

So, weary beyond words, his usually unkempt hair wet from washing his face, Lucan was heading to the quarters that Thea claimed the patient was hiding hirself in. He ran a tattooed hand over the stubble of his chin, and his red-rimmed, pale grey eyes read the numbers and names on the doors he passed by. The meds he had taken to last the entirety of the day was wearing off. He had been forced to medicate in order to deal with the aftermath of the battle, having used Câroon abilities in the Temporal Observatory Lab. He had almost drained himself trying to stop the cycle from beginning anew, and while it was not recommended to medicate in such a state, he had the knowledge to do it without greater risks. Juiced up, he had preformed surgery on several patients, one of them being Amelya Duv, who had yet to wake up. Not because of malpractice, or course. The symbiont and the new host had not established a full joining yet, the failed joining to the previous host - Edena Rez - likely being the cause.

He - but primarily the parasite - might have had a personal interest in the symbiont dying too, of course, but the delay in Amelya Rez awakening was not without its benefits. It would give him time to figure something out. Something to keep the truth from coming out, and stopping him from serving the crew to his best abilities.

Reaching Nator 159's door, he pressed the chime. He waited for three seconds before he spoke, his patience that frayed.

"Thea, could you kindly inform Nator 159 that I know s/he is in there, and that s/he better open the door. If s/he doesn't, I will make a security override and come in regardless."

[Acknowledged, Doctor.]

Faintly, almost as if he imagined it, he believed he could hear Thea's voice from the other side of the door.

[Ensign Nator 159. Doctor Nicander wishes to inform you that if you do not answer the door, he will make a security override on his authorisation as Chief Medical Officer and enter your quarters.]

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #2 – September 15, 2017, 11:36:54 PM

[ Lt JG Nator 159 | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

Nator hoped s/he wouldn't come to associate the smell of hir favourite tea with the things s/he'd watched and read since s/he came to, back in sickbay. It might end up that s/he'd never drink the stuff again, and it was one of hir favourite things. It had even been a choice of comfort this time around, still reeling from the revelation that s/he was three months behind everyone else and their names had yet to be cleared.

Charitable though hir people might profess to be, even they wouldn't take a persona non grata... Hermat or not.

S/he couldn't help but shake hir head, though, at the images and scans of yet another Starfleet ship gutted by torpedo impacts, courtesy of the Theurgy. The number of lives claimed by the ship's guns was an increasing tally in one corner of the PADD, and every integer made hir feel a little more sick. It was hardly a one-way street, though. But even then, hir inner utilitarian cried out. There were a thousand lives on the Theurgy. To preserve them, they'd claimed far above that.

And there was a M/ARA annihilation inside Starbase 84! A small one, thankfully, but even then the gamma release would have been... deleterious. Grief, the civilians on that station... A station, no less, that Ives had knowingly attacked.

Fifteen years in the Fleet and s/he had no idea what to feel. Obviously, s/he hadn't been around to witness first hand the things that had happened to the crew and the ship, and so couldn't fully understand the processes and level of groupthink that had gone into them. S/he was, ultimately, now an outside observer - stuck on the inside. But where was s/he to go? This was hir crew. Even if s/he wanted to leave, nowhere would take hir; s/he was guilty by association. Nowhere would-

Hir door chime rang. Nator frowned at the door, then sipped hir tea and looked back at the PADD in hir lap.

[Ensign Nator 159. Doctor Nicander wished to inform you that if you do not answer the door, he will make a security override on his authorisation as Chief Medical Officer and eneter your quarters.]

Reflexively, one hand came up so s/he could count the pips on hir collar. Still two - and one had the raised edge that betrayed its hollowness. Evidently, s/he hadn't quite gotten over hir demotion back at Utopia Planitia. Then s/he rolled hir eyes. "Thea, you said that to get a rise out of me. I think I'm more annoyed that it worked."

Nator sighed, powered down the screen on the PADD and slipped off the edge of the bed and back into hir boots. "Let him in."

Though s/he might be craving solitude right now, and he'd already proven himself a little fast and loose with personal space when s/he was still in hir biobed, it wasn't really feasible to deny him entry. He'd just refuse to allow hir back to duty. Probably.

That said, when the doors opened, s/he nearly asked Thea if it was sure that the person at hir door was Doctor Nicander. His face didn't fit... but s/he reminded hirself that s/he'd recognised basically no one within a few seconds so far. In the back of hir mind was the hope that this wasn't permanent - but if it was, could s/he hide it from the medical staff? If s/he were signed off-duty now s/he had no idea what s/he'd do.

The svelte Hermat was content to let 'Nicander' speak first. He'd come to hir. Let him to do the work. S/he was in the middle of something.

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #3 – September 19, 2017, 01:53:06 AM

[ Dr. Nicander | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Top Hat
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When the Hermat opened the door, Lucan did not try to step past hir or anything like that. What he meant to say could be said without the need for pleasantries. Oh, or course the parasite had the notion that he'd force himself upon the alien creature, or woo her despite the odds, yet Lucan swatted the images from his mind with no small irritation. He was too tired to deal with the vague shadow of the parasite; this residual taint left after Heather McMillan freed his mind from it. He had just wanted to dismiss the very idea to go to the Hermat. It was too late, and his meds were wearing off, but his staff in the med bay of Vector 01 had come to him, and he knew what kind of damage the Hermat had suffered - what the symptoms of any complications would be.

So, when Nator 159 appeared behind the sliding doors, he raised his tattooed hands, dismantling the situation despite his current mood. By the winds, they are fascinating people. A carnivorous species capable of parthenogenesis. Predators, yet no longer slaves to their own nature.

"I'm a doctor, not security," he said, his Câroon accent rolling off his vowels, and he even managed a weary smile, though it didn't quite reach his pale grey eyes. "I just have to make sure you are not having any lasting complications from your cerebral trauma. I realise you left because you did not want to remain for observation, but for your own sake, you should let me examine you before I can can clear you for duty."

Having said this, he had a feeling she would try to brush him off, so he continued to speak, only addressing the concerns that would ensure her compliance. He had no patience for debate, eyes red already and limbs feeling heavy. "Remember, no matter the reason for leaving your assignment without authorisation, I should be reporting you to the Chief Operations Officer. You are currently assigned to rehabilitation and close observation due to your injury, because when you went into stasis, you had duranium shrapnel blown through your skull."

Non-cooperative patients were restrained for their own sake, at times, and while it might have amused the parasite to enforce it, Lucan had no such plans. "Please, I have not reported you to your superior officer, and I generally avoid having my patients confined to treatment in the Brig. So, would you just let me evaluate you so that I can sleep soundly, knowing that you may not die any moment because of post-surgery complications?"

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #4 – September 22, 2017, 08:30:37 PM

[ Lt JG Nator 159 | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

The humanoid in the corridor was attractive enough, if dimorphism was your thing. Symmetrical features, intense gaze, and a keen wit. But it may as well have belonged to a perfect stranger for all s/he could place it. Not that s/he could quite remember what Nicander looked like at the moment, but Thea seemed convinced this was him. It wasn't until he spoke that Nator recognised the man definitively.

Momentarily, there was something in how he looked at hir that raised the hackles on the back of hir neck. In reflex, hir claws extended by a couple of millimetres before s/he relaxed again as his expression moved on. It had only been a split second, and could have been a total fabrication of hir imagination anyway. Besides, there were few species capable of endangering an alert Hermat, and s/he suspected Nicander was not among them. Not in his current state, anyway.

"I'm a doctor, not security."

And he looked like shit. S/he supposed he would have had to keep working in sickbay since s/he quit. His sweat carried an acrid undertone of metabolised pharmaceuticals... 'physician treat thyself', indeed. Stimulants were a risky business over extended periods no matter what branch of the service one occupied, but s/he imagined the risk was somewhat greater for those in Medical. It wouldn't take much for a slip to... complicate a case. Once again s/he was reminded of hir disastrous attempts to learn medicine at the Academy. Yeah. Quite grateful I switched tracks.

"I just have to make sure you are not having any lasting complications from your cerebral trauma. I realise you left because you did not want to remain for observation, but for your own sake, you should let me examine you before I can clear you for duty."

S/he took a breath to respond, but he cut hir off. Hir mouth closed again as a small crease formed between hir eyebrows in mild irritation. "Remember, no matter the reason for leaving your assignment..."

It took effort to squash the immediate, bitingly sarcastic and bitter retort at the concept of being 'assigned' unconsciousness and stasis; hir fists clenched at hir sides. Nator suspected s/he'd be annoying any nearby Betazoids for a fair while yet, given the simmering fury s/he still felt at having been absent for hir crew's trial.

"... because when you went into stasis, you had duranium shrapnel blown through your skull."

"Yes, Doctor, thank you. I was there." Broadly speaking, anyway. Nator suspected that s/he would never have a complete memory of the time between the explosion and being put into stasis. And given hir current trouble with faces, s/he couldn't help but wonder if those memory problems would continue.

So far, at least, it seemed that s/he retained most or all of hir procedural memory; accessing the computer and pulling out logs through the LCARS interface had been trivially easy, even if the task was not a complicated one. Facial and temporal memory... well, it remained to be seen.

"Please, I have not reported you to your superior officer, and I generally avoid having my patients confined to treatment in the Brig. So, would you just let me evaluate you so that I can sleep soundly, knowing that you may not die at any moment because of post-surgery complications?"

The Hermat stepped back, waving Nicander through the door. S/he reflected that he seemed to be playing Good Cop, but couldn't shake the feeling that there should be a Bad Cop for that. He was somewhat spoiling the effect with the perceived threats to turn hir in, of course, but who was counting. S/he was technically in violation of orders, after all.

Even if they were stupid ones.

"You look like shit," s/he informed him. About as good as I feel. "Help yourself to the replicator if you like."

For hir own part, s/he retreated to the couch - still bare of its coverings and cushions - and sat with one leg hooked over the other knee. The Azure nebula backlit hir fair features, turning hir light hair a brilliant shade of aquamarine as hir unblinking gaze regarded Nicander across the room.

"Evaluate away, by all means. I feel fine."

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #5 – September 24, 2017, 05:54:43 PM

[ Dr. Nicander | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Top Hat
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When the Hermat said the obvious about his state of appearance, he could but chuckle as he moved through hir quarters. His gait was sure-footed, balanced, because he'd been raised in Envon, where stairs and paths were steep and the winds tore at anything it could find. Yet as always - and perhaps much akin to the Hermat - he was encumbered by the damnable footwear that was a part of the Starfleet uniform. It lent a slight stiffness to his steps as he glanced towards the replicator.

"By the winds, it has just been one of those days," he said in obvious understatement as he approached hir, his weary smile creasing the corners of his pale eyes. He looked back at hir where s/he sat. "Thank you, but no. I would prefer to sleep once I am finished here. Because I had to use my zi'naaq during the battle, I truly don't know which has been the worse for me, the ordeal we went through at Starbase 84, or the aftermath, where my staff has been working double shifts to try and treat all the injured. As if that was not enough, the state the ship was left in prompted the early 'stasis-revival' - as we we come to call it - of officers we could treat, just to ensure we have enough able bodies to handle the current shipboard situation."

As he spoke, he picked up his medical tricorder, seating himself beside hir. With slow movements, he began to scan hir. His white medical coat had spread itself across the couch, and one side of his exotic features were lit by the nebula - the other cast in darkness. The eerie light made his lined eyes look even more tired, and because only one iris was lit, the other eye-socket looked like his skull had been stripped from flesh altogether.

"This is, of course, where you come in. After the visit at the Black Opal, we had enough medication and supplies to keep your cerebral hemorrhaging of affected tissues from killing you when the foreign object was removed. The rest was a matter of boosting your Hermat physiology's own regenerative system, feeding it with the ideal nutritional agents to ensure tissue regrowth, and using synthetic bone to cover the  entry-area. In short, once we could isolate the rupture to your head, we could mend it... but odds remain you will still experience difficulties with your memories."

Saying this, his visible eye moved knowingly from the readings on his tricorder to hir, and he continued to expound the diagnosis, giving hir the temporary comfort of not having to confess to any said difficulties.

"The Hermat hippocampus is, like for most humanoid species, essential for memory function. This is the area that was directly affected by your injury," he said in his deep voice, and he lowered his tricorder. Despite hir assurances that s/he was fine, he knew better. Still, he was not done, but the pause had been unmistakably telling about his findings.

"The hippocampus is, however, one of the few areas of the brain capable actually growing new neurons, although this ability is impaired by stress-related glucocorticoids. Believe me, there are few words that describe the situation aboard as well as 'stressful'. So, this puts me in the position of either restricting you from preforming any further duties until more tests have been made," he told her, again, with that pause in which hir continued duties aboard lay in balance, "or to believe your regenerative system will also be able to handle the neuron regrowth in your hippocampus, despite what you are in for."

Having told hir this, Lucan rose from his seat and sighed, and looked down at hir where s/he sat. "So, Junior Lieutenant, aside from claiming that you are 'fine', even though you are not... what manner of assurances can you give me that you will be an asset to your department... rather than the liability my readings say you are?"

The parasite, this vile spirit hidden inside Lucan, wished that he'd make hir preform sexual acts for him, forcing hir into something as a cost to getting hir sought clean bill of health, but this was not what Lucan meant. No, he merely wished that s/he would recognise the dangers involved for hir, and for hir to cease riding the delusional wind that s/he was immortal, and realise that he could keep even Captain Ives from his duties if the Chameloid proved a danger to hirself or the crew.

As weary as his face was, it was also dead serious. Go ahead, dare brush me off again.

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #6 – September 28, 2017, 09:54:52 PM

[ Lt JG Nator 159 | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

The svelte blond humanoid wondered if hir translator had malfunctioned as Nicander mentioned a 'zi'naaq', before remembering that he wasn't as human as he looked. Presumably it was to do with his Câroon heritage... s/he hadn't taken a lot of time to keep abreast of most species' peculiarities after s/he dropped the idea of joining Medical.

It took some effort to control hir expression as he not-so-subtly shot a hole through hir assertion that s/he wasn't having any problems, zeroing straight in on the memory problem. Hir hippocampus was still healing, apparently, though s/he could have sworn he should have been talking about hir amygdala. But then, Nicander was the currently-serving CMO of a dreadnought-displacement vessel, and s/he was the one who'd flunked out of medical school, so s/he was willing to concede that he was probably right.

"So, Junior Lieutenant, aside from claiming that you are 'fine', even though you are not... what manner of assurances can you give me that you will be an asset to your department... rather than the liability my readings say you are?"

Nator raised an eyebrow at that, tilting hir head to one side before standing to match him - if somewhat shorter than the swarthy humanoid in front of hir. Slipping past him, s/he leaned over the edge of the bed to reach hir mug and retrieved hir tea, sipping it as s/he stood before stepping back towards him again.

"My coordination is fine. My procedural memory is fine. Rationalisation is fine. Motor control is fine. Eyesight, hearing, olfactory, tactile, and taste - all fine. Autonomous reactions are fine, as far as I've been able to tell without actually being surprised yet."

Hir gaze momentarily flickered away from his eyes to another spot on his face, a small line appearing at the corner of hir mouth as s/he seemed to consider something. Another half a second, and the hand not currently holding the handle of the still-steaming mug flashed up towards his face - specifically, towards one of his eyes. Nicander felt the tips of two claws brush the top of his cheek just under one eyelid.

"You had a loose eyelash."

S/he held up the offending hair follicle between claw tips between them, before flicking it away and sipping hir tea again, satisfied s/he could say s/he'd defended hir physical ability. Hir face settled back to its usual deadpan rest, unblinking eyes once again boring into his.

The hermat didn't move away from the doctor - remaining instead in what a lot of people might consider his personal space. There was no over-familiarity in hir stance, either, but more what could comfortably be described as an assertion of intent. There was an implicit challenge, even if there was an intellectual acceptance that s/he did not hold the balance of power in this conversation. "Frankly, Doctor, if I was brought out of stasis to help, you may as well let me help. Trapping me in sickbay or putting me back in a pod is both pointless and a waste of resources. I came back to my quarters to take some time to do what I needed to marshal my thoughts, and catch up as quickly as I could with the ship's situation.

"I will shortly be getting several hours' sleep, after which I will eat and get to work. As you said yourself; Thea needs every available pair of hands." One wiry shoulder shrugged. "Or we can continue this dick-measuring contest wherein you tell me how easy it is to get me signed off duty and I tell you how indispensable I am."

Nator was still a beacon of anger - at hir injury, at the political situation, at the deaths, at the damage. At the relentless pursuit. It was bleeding into hir judgement more than s/he'd be comfortable with, at any other time. Right now though, as far as s/he was concerned, some jumped-up bino was just trying to get in hir way for the sake of proving his seniority. It seemed so... unnecessary. But no, s/he had to play the game and fulfil the role of obedient junior... come by sickbay, regular checkup, don't exert hirself... s/he could vomit.

S/he awaited judgement.

Re: Day 02 [0007hrs] Rally and Riposte

Reply #7 – October 03, 2017, 10:48:28 AM

[ Dr. Nicander | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Top Hat
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In private humour, Lucan asked himself whether or not he'd had this conversation before? Oh, he most certainly had. Strange, how the constant arguments with over-ambitious officers were the same, no different in this current situation with Nator 159. The difference, truly, were in how injured s/he'd been compared to most, and how hir regenerative abilities played a part. At least s/he could, without a doubt, demonstrate hir physical abilities to preform hir duties - finding inventive ways in which to show him how precise hir eye-sight and hand-eye coordination was. He was too tired to react outwardly to hir antics, looking at hir and waiting for hir to finish with hir assertions - most being spoken save for the truly important one.

"The ease of refusing you medical leave was never the question," he said, folding his tattooed hands behind his back where he stood - looking down into hir androgynous features, "nor how indispensable you are. This is your assumption, and far from my intent. I should take offence that you even suggest it, but by the winds, I am too weary to have this argument."

Sighing, Lucan looked up, as if to gather strength, and then looked back into hir eyes as he laid the matter out in no uncertain terms. "You take your health too lightly, being abrasive towards a superior officer in doing so, and delude yourself in thinking you know your physical limitations better than I. You are the last in a long line of patients that have had this argument with me today, the vulgarity of your words and your lack of respect towards the both of us is the only thing that sets you apart." His tone suggested just how moronic he thought this was. "What I need to hear from you, should I consider giving you medical leave to preform supervised duties under Stark's orders, if that you will resign yourself to be supervised until your superior officer notifies me of your unimpeded performance... at which point you will be off the proverbial leash."

Whatever frustrations he had in his current state of fatigue, he could not let the presence inside him take over. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his impulse control still intact. Faintly, he sensed the intentions in the coiling darkness, but he paid them no heed.

"Make no mistake, this is not a subject of debate, either you accept this condition or you don't. Despite your assertions, you can't demonstrate your procedural memory lest you actively try to preform your duties. I will inform Stark that you need someone to hold your hand for a couple of days, and you will resign yourself to having eyes on you at all times. You will end each shift by coming to sickbay for a scan, and you will do so with a happy and compliant little smile. This is the only conditions under which you will be able to serve this ship, because regardless of your cavalier attitude towards your own health, I will not let your temerity be a liability to yourself or this crew."

Having lowered his hand whilst he spoke, his pale grey eyes had caught the light of the nebula again as he looked into hir eyes. "Go ahead, have the effrontery to tell me I exert my medical faculty out of entitlement, and not because I care about my patients," he said, his voice lower, reverberating deep down in his chest. "What is the point in giving you all a second chance at life if you throw it away? Frankly, I feel you take the efforts of me and my staff for granted, and should apologise for acting like a spoiled little child... but what is the worth of an apology requested... than one given freely?"

Having said this, he turned away and walked towards the door, and on the way there, his voice lashed like a whip. "So, what will it be?"

Re: Day 02 [0007 hrs.] Rally & Riposte

Reply #8 – October 07, 2017, 04:12:22 PM

[ Lt JG Nator 159 | Junior Officers' Quarters | Deck 08, Port Quarter | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

Somehow, s/he'd half expected more of a shouting match from him. Or even just a flinch at the points of hir claws a centimetre away from an eyeball - and there was a larger part of hir than s/he'd ever admit that had childishly wanted to provoke him that way. An excuse to punch something, whether hir 'sparring' partner deserved it or not. His declaration that he was 'too weary' to argue struck a chord of truth, though, and a kernel of guilt took root before s/he let the weight of her directionless anger swamp it.

Nator scoffed at the assertion that s/he didn't care about hir health. On the contrary, s/he was confident that s/he was not about to keel over and be reduced to a gibbering wreck - the ability to remember faces was not necessary for hir to do hir job. Perhaps there's a danger it might spread? some quiet, treacherous little voice piped up inside hir skull. S/he wasn't prepared to consider that Nicander was truly right about hir; s/he had a good head of steam worked up and didn't really want to surrender it just yet.

Hir scowl deepened, however, when he continued. S/he was to be leashed, with a regime of regular trips to the infirmary to have hir doubtlessly-clean bill of health issued after every shift. There were people who were still bedridden after the attack on 84, and now they were to waste hir time and the medics' for the sake of box-checking? And s/he was expected to be grateful for that?

"Happy and compliant," s/he said, quietly, with an expression as if the words tasted like potash and vinegar.

"Go ahead, have the effrontery to tell me I exert my medical faculty out of entitlement, and not because I care about my patients."

For one mad moment, s/he wondered if he was telepathic, and if s/he'd forgotten that fact at some point. Given the positive wealth of evidence (thought s/he, with a good dose of sarcasm) that s/he'd built up in the less-than-quarter day it had been since s/he'd awoken, it was entirely possible that s/he could have lost such a recollection. Hir expression softened a little, as the realisation of just how far out of hir depth s/he might well be.

"What is the point in giving you all a second chance at life if you throw it away? Frankly, I feel you take the efforts of me and my staff for granted, and should apologise for acting like a spoiled little child... but what is the worth of an apology requested... than one given freely?" He moved to the door. "So, what will it be?"

Hir fists clenched at hir sides, clawtips digging into hir palms. S/he was right, damn it; the numbers and the logic spoke for themselves. But Nicander had the privelege of rank and the apparent assumption that s/he would be unable to know whether or not s/he was hale enough to go on. But s/he had little choice but to acquiesce - to do otherwise would see hir confined. And depending on how vindictive Nicander was feeling, brought up on disciplinary charges for how s/he'd spoken to him to boot. With some effort, Nator squashed the building indignation within hir.

Just let me do something!

S/he followed him halfway, stopping at the desk, and jabbed a finger into the control to open the door behind him. Hir voice was cold. "I'll see you tomorrow. Commander."

---

FIN