LTCmdr. Quentin Collins - "An ill-sheathed knife, no more shall cut its master."

[Justin Partridge]

((Interior. U.S.S. Arrow, Deck 3. Sickbay.))

Quentin Collins felt like a righteous fool, but at least he now stood before the best two people suited for the job of helping him reclaim just a shred of his dignity. 

He had explained the situation as best as he could (omitting a few of the more pointedly embarassing details, like that he couldn't sleep and thought himself a sort of galactic swashbuckler). Wondering momentarily if he should have secured his new version of the field weapon before he had lit out for Sickbay, but then remembered cooly that the triggering mechanism would retract itself after a few minutes, as it was now disconnected from the same biometric "fingerprint" (his own) required for it's full deployment. 

A much appreciated "fail-safe" Crewman Tolar had hardcoded into the blade's interface all the way back on the Eagle where he had constructed the blade. But that didn't help him much in the NOW, with his hand still cramped painfully around the Andorian icing knife he just HAD to try and practice with.

The looks on BOTH of the doctor's faces were enough admonishment for the whole year, but Quentin thought he could have used a bit more. Maybe they offered a subscription service. They would make a killing.

Mason: You ran through the ship with a knife you can’t let go off?

Collins: Oh, trust me, I am keenly aware of how utterly ridiculous this makes me look. What can I do to help you help me? 

 

Mason: First try to calm down. We’ll get this taken care of as soon as possible.

Quentin took her sound advice and took two sharp, but deep breaths. Finding it...really did help. Much, much more than he expected it to. His facilities sloped back upward, allowing him the clarity of mind and eye to finally see the bay plain, still clamped with activity even at this late hour.

Both doctors flanked him slightly, giving him a respectable berth.

 

Ar'Gorvalei: Please come over to the biobed and lie down. 

 

He nodded knowingly to the officer and did as he bade. Ambling up and over onto the nearest open biobed.

 

Ar’Gorvalei: Can you please tell us what happened? 

He rubbed his neck, embarrassed.

 

Collins: Well, I, uh...had fabricated a new rapier. I wanted to test it out in the gym and thought I, uh, almost might try an off-hand weapon? I know you both said no stress on the new tendons but...

Mason: And this is an exercise you do often? I mean do you have a history of using knives with a grip like this?

Quentin's cheeks deepened in crimson.

Collins: I, uh, no...actually, this is my first time since my first major training sessions. At...the Academy.

Ar'Gorvalei: RESPONSE

Mason: So the only things that have changed between training in the past and tonight is this blade and your recent injury?

Collins: Correct, Doctor. Obviously I am mortified, but I don't think you have a treatment for that. Unless...you do? That would be lovely if you did.

Ar'Gorvalei: RESPONSE

As he spoke again, Quentin became aware of the officer's OWN injuries. Feeling now ten times as foolish for bothering them in the first place.

Collins: Are YOU okay, Mr. Ar'Gorvalei? What happened there? ::he said, pointing carefully with his free hand.::

Ar'Gorvalei: RESPONSE

Mason: RESPONSE

Collins: Cor blimey! I can wait, if need be. Cuts surely trump cramps, yes?

Ar'Gorvalei: RESPONSE

Mason: RESPONSE

Collins: I am so sorry. But I do have to ask...

He smiled slightly, despite his embarrassment.

Collins: How were the tacos?

Ar'Gorvalei/Mason: RESPONSE

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TAG/TBC

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Lieutenant Commander 

Quentin Collins III

Chief Science Officer

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U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829

ID: E239512QC0

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