Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Threat Level Bancroft
Carter Schimpff
(( Holodeck 1 - Deck 2 - USS Artemis-A ))
Roy Bancroft arrived at the end of the corridor with his uniform slightly crooked and his hair in full rebellion against regulation. He had long ago made peace with the fact that no matter how many pips he accumulated – or how many catastrophes he narrowly survived – he would never be the most put together officer on the deck by the end of a shift.
No, that title, he was convinced, belonged in the hands of people like Imril, who waved at him as he approached the entrance to the holodeck.
Imril: Hi.
Bancroft: ::offering a crisp half-salute with two fingers:: Lieutenant. You’re looking… very alert for this hour.
He glanced upward at the bulkhead lighting like it might offer him absolution for losing track of the day’s chronology. Judging by the golden hue, it was… well, it was definitely no longer morning, anyway. Oh well. Time was an illusion. Especially in Starfleet.
Imril: Is it weird that I’m not even done doing this yet, and I’m already thinking ahead to renewing my shuttlecraft license?
Bancroft: ::grinning:: Not weird at all. That’s peak Starfleet: survive one brush with simulated death, immediately sign up for the next one. Honestly, I respect the hustle.
And he did. There was something admirable about Imril’s drive and precision – two things Roy aimed for but routinely missed, often by way of his own chaotic charm.
The holodeck doors hissed open.
Lieutenant Alex Storm stood framed by the cool geometry of the holo-grid, flanked by a pedestal and three pristine phasers, laid out like ritual offerings. A small twitch flickered somewhere below Roy’s sternum. Then another, slightly higher.
oO Arrhythmia? At a time like this? I knew that tuna melt looked shady… Oo
Storm: Good afternoon. Come on in.
Roy stepped forward with a touch more stiffness than usual, like he’d forgotten how knees worked. He nodded – not too much, not too little – and carefully avoided tripping over the threshold.
Bancroft: Ah, the sacred training grid. Where friendships go to die and bruises bloom eternal.
oO Nailed it. You’re back in the zone Roy. Professional, calm, a little dash of wit– Oo
Storm: Are you excited, nervous, terrified? Or the very popular all of the above?
Imril: ::Smiling:: Don't forget, I asked you for this. Thank you, again, by the way.
Bancroft: ::sideways glance at Imril:: I still maintain that’s a cry for help. I just want you to know – I support you. Emotionally.
He gave Imril two thumbs up, the universal sign for ‘I don’t know what to do with my hands right now but I’m trying to be casual about it.’
oO What the hell was that? Double thumbs up? Nobody does that. Not even you, you… sociopath. Oo
He wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with him at the present moment – the list of possibilities was as long as it was strange. He decided to blame the most likely candidate: performance anxiety. A phaser was a lot of power to carry around dangling from one’s waist – both temperamental and terrifying when pointed the wrong way – and he hadn’t exactly logged many quality reps in his short adult life.
Storm: Don’t worry. I promise this won't hurt. Much.
Imril: Whatever’s about to happen, I expect we’ve all seen worse recently.
Bancroft: ::mock-somber:: You mean the part where I threw my phaser at a giant alien spider because someone ::glancing meaningfully at Storm:: clearly told me phasers didn’t work?
His voice tilted just slightly at the end. Was his statement a challenge? A joke? A plea for validation? He wasn’t, in truth, entirely sure anymore.
Storm: Response
Imril: ::to Storm:: I may be stepping out of bounds, Sir, as I’m not in charge of this session, but I’m curious. Knowing what you know now, on the other side of the spider fight, is there anything you would have done differently? ::to Bancroft:: Or you?
Bancroft: Me? Oh, for sure. ::beat:: I would have thrown something heavier. Like a medkit. Or Commander Silveira.
He gestured with both hands, pantomiming the graceful arc of a well-yeeted Silveira.
Bancroft: Aerodynamically speaking, he’s surprisingly viable. Long limbs. Low center of gravity. Would’ve made a beautiful arc.
oO Is there any universe where you act normal inside this room? Oo
Storm: Response
Imril: I wish I could have actually got a shot on the weak-spot I created. But I just couldn’t keep up with that thing’s leg. How fast it was moving. I was trained to shoot for center of mass, and that wasn’t.
Storm: Response
Bancroft: So, Al-Lieutenant Storm, I know this is theoretically just phaser re-quals, but if there’s time, I wouldn’t mind brushing up on hand-to-hand as well. Y’know, ‘sweep the leg’ and all that.
There was a pause.
The kind of pause that stretched just long enough to become awkward.
So naturally, Roy made it worse.
Bancroft: ::leaning slightly towards Storm, mock-proud:: I’ve been told I have a very sweepable leg. ::beat:: It’s the left one. ::whispering:: Tell no one.
oO Wow, man. Wow. Oo
Storm/Imril: Response
Roy straightened as though nothing had happened and looked toward the phasers with a serene little smile.
Bancroft: ::seriously:: Oh, I gave up on any notion of flexing years ago. This ::waving his hand in front of his face:: is all just stylish flailing at this point.
Storm/Imril: Response
Bancroft: ::sighing theatrically:: Alright fine. Let it be a cautionary tale, then. Still – ::gesturing around them:: We’re here. We’re learning… things. We’re growing as officers. I see this as an absolute win.
oO Please just be quiet. Please please please. Oo
Storm/Imril: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1