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[2381] USS Theurgy: Clinic Hours

[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Recovery Ward | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]
The following logs are recorded from random patients during the weeks of shore-leave in orbit of Qo'noS and are ALL SERIOUSLY CONFIDENTIAL

[Log 1.22, Day 6 - 0736 hrs]

Arven entered in typical fashion; white coat over a standard duty uniform, PADD in one hand, open bag of coconut flavored cashews in the other. He didn’t bother with the door chime, preoccupied as he was with reading and munching. Violet eyes narrowed as they flashed over the patient's file:Crewman Richards, Cole. 23 year old human male, vitals elevated but stable, complaining of abdominal pain. Mildly dehydrated, superficial scratches to back – mild abrasions to buttocks.

Sounds promising.

Leux stopped chewing for a moment as he raised his eyes to Mr. Cole, who sat perched on the bio-bed, unwilling to make eye contact. He watched the younger man for a few more seconds, thinking of the other two similarly uniformed (security or engineering-type) gentlemen that he’d just seen idling in the reception lobby, waiting to be seen. The three looked a tad worse for wear – clearly hungover – each with nearly identical expressions of worried nervousness that was almost comical in intensity.

Arven tried not to sigh, but wasn’t successful. “It’s not your abdomen,” he stated dryly around a mouthful of cashews as he turned away to drop his PADD upon the small desk, keeping his back to the patient. “What color is your urine? Neon green? Hot chocolate?"

“Uhh...w-what,” Cole laughed nervously.

Arven ignored him and emptied the rest of the cashews into his mouth; a finger up over his shoulder while he chewed. For several long seconds, it was the only sound beyond the idle hum of the ship itself. “Love cashews,” he announced, turning to face the patient with a bounce of his dark brows. “Nothing like a good snack to start the day, eh,” he asked rhetorically, leaning back onto the desk a bit. “Synthetic, of course,” the Trill shrugged, “but, then again, what isn’t on this ship, you know,” he offered a flash of a smile that lasted no longer than a blink. “So, what did you and the boys,” his head jerked to the door, “get up to last night?”

“Uh,” Cole hesitated with a frown, “h-how…uh…,” he cleared his throat and lifted bloodshot eyes to Leux’. “I-I mean...just…a bit of leave planetside, nothing –“

“Illegal,” Arven deadpanned. “Sure, of course not,” he shrugged again. “But since I’m not an idiot, and you clearly are, how about you just give me a hypothetical,” his brow lifted then, with a slight tilted of his head. “If you wanted to do something stupid on Qo’noS, what would you do?”

Cole proceeded to stammer is way through a stammered, dull yarn of mildly reckless behavior and questionable decisions; none of which really surprised Arven because he knew the kid was full of shit. So, once he couldn’t take any more, the Doctor simply sighed, scooped up a tricorder, and held it up to the Crewman’s slightly flushed and sweaty face.

“You know what this is,” Arven interrupted, his tone dry and clearly uninterested in receiving an answer. “You know what’s great about it? It doesn’t lie,” he continued, giving the tool a little jiggle. “It also stores every scan I make in a database – and your personal file – for perpetuity. That’s a big word that means ‘forever’,” he whispered with a nod, then flashed another quick smile. “Get my drift? Feel like starting over yet? I feel like we should start over.”

“Uh..y-yeah,” Cole nodded, eyes wide as he backed away from the device. When the confession came, it came rapidly. “Orion girls. T-three of them, one for each of us. We ate, had some glit –“

Kortar or Qui’Tu,” Arven interrupted in a tone that sounded almost curious.

“Hell if I know,” Cole frowned, “the...purple one,” he shrugged.

“Enlightening. What else?”

“Uh…we…swapped…after,” the man grimaced. “The girls, I mean. I don’t know, it just happened. So we went with it.”

“I mean, sure, why wouldn’t you. Nothing bad could possibly happen,” Arven drawled sarcastically as he unfolded his arms and began to scan the man, who flinched as if he was about to be shot. “Relax, it only stores what I tell it to store,” he mumbled with a snort, then paused to verify his assumption when the device beeped. “Mhm, that’ll do it,” his brows rose and fell. “Well Mr. Cole,” Arven pursed his lips in thought for a few seconds in thought. “Which would you like first, good news or bad news?”
The crewman managed to shrug quickly with a stupid, worried expression on his sweat streaked face. “Good news?"

“Sure thing; good news is you’ll live, so stop sweating all over my bed. Bad news is you picked up a passenger,” Arven frowned with a half-shrug, tilting his head at the image of a multitude of barbed, worm-like bacterium that were swimming around in the man’s urethra. “Fortunately, it wont survive in your system long and you’ll pee it out in the next day or two. Probably,” Arven half-shrugged, then closed the tricorder and met Cole’s nervous eyes. “Not sure why you knuckleheads didn't use the transporter, but then hey, we wouldn't be here having this fun and interesting conversation! So - moral of the story - next time you decide to get high and ‘take a romp’ with pretty green ladies with the boys, remember how it feels to piss fire. Nurse will be along to give you something for the discomfort,” he flashed another cold smile, then turned and left the room, humming to himself absentmindedly, fingers tapping away on the PADD in his hand once again.

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