Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - Roybertsonius Bancroftius

[Carter Schimpff]

(( USS Artemis-A – Roy Bancroft’s Quarters ))

Here, in the modular nesting chamber of a Federation starship, we observe a rarely seen behavior: the emergence of Roybertsonius Bancroftius from his overnight cocoon.

A solitary species by nature, Bancroft greets the morning not with grace, but with the gutteral moan of a creature denied precious REM sleep by his own curious refusal to stop reading at 0300 hours.

Roy rubbed his face, eyes puffy, hair askew, PADD stuck to the side of it, as he sat up and rotated slowly to place his feet on the floor. 

He shuffled toward the replicator with the gait of a wounded shorebird.

Note the disheveled plumage. Curiously, this is not a sign of illness, but rather a complex display known by some as ‘Not a Morning Person.’ Researchers are unclear on its precise function, but believe it may be intended to deter unwanted social interaction.

Roy squinted at the replicator panel through one eye. 

Bancroft: ::muttering:: Coffee. Black. Hold the existential dread.

The replicator chirped obligingly and a steaming mug appeared in a swirl of white and blue moments later. 

Roy took a cautious sip, staring into the middle distance and blinking slowly.

Caffeine forms the core of the Bancroftian diet. The ritual consumption is both sacred and necessary, much like the morning sun is to Terran Lizards.

Observe the majesty as the young officer begins to rejoin the realm… of the living.

Roy stood before a mirror in his bathroom, toothbrush hanging loosely from his mouth as he updated patient notes on a PADD held in one hand.

Multi-tasking is a hallmark of this species. And, while coordination is not its strong suit, the Bancroft compensates with sheer determination and a stubborn refusal to slow down.

It is here, amid minty foam and a misplaced sense of duty, that his journey truly begins.

(( USS Artemis-A – Main Mess Hall ))

The mess hall was alive with early-shift activity. Officers and crewmen in various states of alertness moved through the space in practiced, orderly chaos. Trays clattered. Silverware tinkled. Conversations rose and fell like distant birdsong.

We now enter a communal foraging zone known as the Mess Hall.

In this dynamic environment, status, rank, and proximity to the ‘best’ replicator determine one’s place in the social hierarchy. Here, the Bancroft must navigate complex rituals of eye contact, tray balancing, and seating selection – each fraught with peril.

Roy stood before a replicator, scanning the options as though he’d choose something different than he had the previous… all of his life.

Bancroft: One bowl of oatmeal.

The Bancroft is, after all, a creature of habit.

Bancroft: And… a banana. Bananas seem… trustworthy.

A surprise! What other mysteries might this day yet hold?

The replicator chirped and materialized his order. Roy lifted the tray, turned–

–and immediately bumped into Lieutenant K’Wara, nearly upending his entire tray onto them.

Ah. The classic Bancroftian blunder. A miscalculation of spatial awareness. Fortunately, no sustenance was lost. The banana, ever loyal, remains firmly in place.

Roy mumbled an apology before finding an empty seat near the windows, lowering himself into the chair with all the grace of a collapsing marionette.

He peered suspiciously at the oatmeal.

Bancroft: You look… lumpier than usual.

The Doctor samples his prey. His expression suggests mild betrayal, but he soldiers on. It is not taste that sustains his momentum, but obligation. 

This… is the breakfast of the chronically overworked and emotionally unregulated.

Two trays clacked down onto the table across from him. He raised one eye slowly from his bowl to see which poor souls had elected to join him.

Imril/Tho’Bi: Response

TAG/TBC!

===

Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft

Medical Officer

USS Artemis-A

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