Ensign Roy Bancroft - The Deluxe Welcome Package
Carter Schimpff
(( Deck 7, USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: ::wryly:: This is my first posting. Do all command officers haze their med staff with sprints, or is this just the deluxe welcome package?
Munro: It's the special Munro brand. It's that or a shot of whisky.
Roy blinked. That had not been in the onboarding packet.
Bancroft: ::incredulous, panting:: Whisky was an option? You’re telling me I sprinted when I could’ve been self-medicating?
She didn’t answer – at least not right away. She slowed to a stop with all the graceful ease of someone not experiencing cardiac distress, then casually dropped into some post-run stretches. Roy did not. His post-run stretch consisted of existing.
He doubled over, hands on knees, trying to coax his heart rate down from "warp core breach" to "light social banter."
She was watching him now, casually, like one might size up a particularly out-of-place llama in a dog park.
Munro: I ran on the track team at the Academy. I won a few medals, if it wasn't for that the only thing I’d have been remembered for was winning the hula dance competition at The Launching Pad :: winces :: Not my finest moment but I've still got the trophy - it's shaped like a bottle of rum. I never could figure out why they just didn't give me an actual bottle of rum. :: competitive :: So, what was your final time on the Academy track?
There it was – the glint of competition, subtle but unmistakable. Roy stood upright again, wiped a hand across his forehead, and offered the kind of smile you usually see right before a Cardassian interrogation.
Bancroft: ::recovering his breath:: Ah, it was never about speed for me – it was all about the distance, the grind. That’s where the stress really pours out of you. I think my best time on the 5km track was somewhere right around 21 minutes. ::a pause:: How’d you do on this one?
She glanced at her wrist chrono, and Roy watched as it blinked obligingly – synchronized with the ship’s internal sensors, which were somehow still operational despite half the Artemis being held together with duct tape, field patches, and the raw force of collective denial.
Munro: Impressive. I haven't established my Artemis time yet. Once the ship is repaired I'll have a better idea :: playful :: I wonder how you'll measure up? If you can, that is?
Roy gave a theatrical sigh, fake-tapped his commbadge with the kind of dramatic flourish usually reserved for Shakespearean death scenes, and intoned:
Bancroft: Bancroft to Sickbay, medical emergency. Ego down on Deck 7. ::pause:: Please don’t send Meyers.
Then, with great ceremony, he slid down the bulkhead until he hit the deck – already cashing the check his ego had written. The overdraft fees were going to be brutal.
Bancroft: ::smirking:: You realize the Artemis will be fully repaired long before I recover from this run, right? So, sure. I’ll measure up. ::a beat:: Just give me… ::checks nonexistent watch:: …six to eight business weeks?
Munro: Response
Bancroft grinned.
Bancroft: Ah, fair point. Tomorrow morning then? Same time? I could use a good push. ::a grin:: Nothing says “personal growth” like getting absolutely smoked by the new XO and then signing up for more, right ma’am?
Munro: Response
There was a long pause between them after that. Not uncomfortable – just still, like the moment was waiting to see who would break it first. Finally, Roy decided to go out on a limb.
Maybe he’d find a kindred spirit.
Bancroft: ::candidly:: You know, I used to feel incredible after a run – especially a hard one like that. Clear-headed, calm, even a little euphoric. Lately… I’m lucky if I just feel a little more like myself.
Munro: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1