[JP] LT JG Roy Bancroft & PNPC LT JG Charlotte Brexis - You've Got an Acquaintance in Me (Part 1)
Carter Schimpff
(( Sickbay - Deck 7, USS Artemis-A ))
Brexis: Are you the doctor that sent me that lovely message?
Bancroft: ::waving:: Doctor Roy Bancroft, purveyor of polite ultimatums and questionable bedside manner. At your service.
Betazoid, he remembered immediately from her new patient intake file Starfleet had sent over. He didn’t flinch – he was getting better about that – but a quiet voice in his head started flipping through the Greatest Hits of Past Mistakes, beginning with The Storm Incident.
Brexis: Right... Do you send everyone those messages? Or am I special?
Bancroft: ::idly:: I find it’s safer to assume all of my patients are special until proven otherwise. Cuts down on surprises.
She gave him a look – one of those confused blinks that people used when they were trying to figure him out. Good luck with that. His chapters were out of order and the index was heavily water damaged.
Still, he had to admit: she had presence. The kind of effortless confidence that usually came with either dangerous levels of competence or the total absence of self-preservation instincts.
He’d seen both – sometimes in the same individual.
Brexis: Okay then. Where do you want me? ::she turned to him with a casual glance:: Clothes on or off?
Here we go. There was usually at least one question like this. Maybe not word-for-word, but certainly spiritually. It was often the result of someone trying to hide their nerves – what is the mean doctor going to lecture me about this time?
He didn’t miss a beat.
Bancroft: ::dryly:: Unless your uniform is the source of some illness, it’ll remain a contributing member of this ::gesturing broadly at Brexis:: aesthetic.
He didn’t bother mentioning that if said uniform did need to be removed, it would be replaced with a medical gown so unabashedly hideous that it could likely be deemed a war crime.
He patted a nearby biobed while opening his tricorder with a practiced flick.
Bancroft: Come and have a seat here on biobed three. It’s where the magic doesn’t happen.
The words were delivered with all the enthusiasm of a man offering a seat on a bus – functional, inevitable, and absolutely no cause for celebration.
Her eyes narrowed a bit. He clearly wasn’t interested in her nonsense, but that didn’t stop her.
Brexis: Does that mean one of the other beds does? If so, I want that one instead.
Roy didn’t bother hiding the slow head-turn that followed as he scanned her with the detachable probe of his tricorder.
Bancroft: ::nodding toward the larger surgical bed:: That one’s got all the bells and whistles. Stasis fields, extra-special scanners. I even understand how some of them work. That’s about as magical as it gets if you ask me.
He offered her a wink – quick, dry, and firmly in the “dad-joke” category.
With her arms crossed and a faux annoyance she moved towards biobed three.
Brexis: Fine.
As she settled onto one of the standard-issue slabs Starfleet optimistically labeled ‘beds,’ Roy began to log his readings into her file. Heart rate, blood pressure, respiration – standard baselines. No explosions so far, which was promising.
Bancroft: So… what brings you aboard the mighty Huntress, Lieutenant Brexis? ::beat:: BP and heart rate look great, by the way.
Brexis: Oh… You know… Getting back into the swing of a real ship. Frontier Day took out my old one. ::Glancing around:: This seems like a decent one to land on honestly. ::beat:: And of course they look great. I’m great.
Was she laying it on thick? Possibly. Was he amused? No. Was she going to stop? Absolutely not. That was one of the joys of Charlotte. Uninhibited, unhinged, smart and an absolute stunner– and she knew it.
Bancroft: ::continuing to scan:: Ah, Frontier Day. That’ll do it. Trauma and bureaucracy, the Federation’s cocktail of choice. ::glancing at readings:: Respiration and vascular system are excellent. ::entering data:: Well, welcome aboard. We’re mostly upright and rarely on fire here, unless Lieutenant Cole is on the bridge. She’s in security. I have a feeling you two together are going to be… wildly combustible.
Brexis: I used to be in security, but that didn’t really tickle my fancy as much as I had hoped. I was offered Strategic Operations here. It seemed like a perfect fit. ::Holding back her smirk:: Just like my butt in these pants.
Roy cast her a sideways glance. Betazoids were known – no, renowned, for their openness – but he’d seen this chapter and verse before. An attractive woman, supremely confident, seeing just how easy it would be to get a rise out of the poor unsuspecting doctor.
Bancroft: ::sighing:: I’ll take your word for it. Tailoring is handled two decks down – I just do the internal organs. Your musculoskeletal system is in supremely good shape, though. Exercise and diet?
Brexis: I work out and I run sometimes. ::Tilting her head from side to side:: That’s to counterbalance how much junk food I eat. So I’d say I’m the picture perfect subject of health.
To add flair to her statement she dramatically flipped her long hair and nonchalantly looked at her fingernails. For a moment feeling extra grateful she had taken the time to stick her hands in the replicator long enough to get a shiny layer of bright blue deposited on each nail.
Bancroft: Ah yes, the classic Starfleet regimen: cardio, over-confidence, and replicated snacks. You’ll fit right in. ::closing his tricorder:: You’re all set – I’ll forward a copy of this report to your private terminal later this evening. In the meantime, my shift is coming to an end. Would you like a tour of the ship?
The words had barely escaped his mouth before his brain sounded the alarm.
Why? Why had he said that?
Charlotte grinned, a wide, almost evil smile as the look of regret crossed the doctor's face.
Brexis: Uh yeah! How sweet of you. ::Raising one eyebrow:: I don’t suppose your quarters are a part of the tour?
He nodded, cool and casual on the outside. On the inside, a small part of his brain – the one responsible for poor decision-making – was sprinting in circles screaming I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
He cleared his throat, straightened a PADD that hadn’t needed straightening, then replied.
Bancroft: No, my quarters are decidedly not a part of the tour. Neither are yours, to be clear. You see Ops about that. Let’s begin somewhere… ::voice straining slightly:: very public. Well-lit. The bridge, say.
Brexis: I guess I won’t show you my Knick-knacks. ::Shrugging unapologetically:: Lead the way sir.
She hopped off the biobed with a bounce and followed behind him, closer than she would anyone else, but the want to make him sweat even a little— was strong.
(( Bridge – USS Artemis-A ))
The turbolift doors sighed open, parting like the dramatic reveal in a B-level holodrama, to reveal the bridge of the USS Artemis-A. Even in low-duty orbit around Ferenginar, the space buzzed with quiet urgency – an orchestration of blinking consoles, murmured conferences, and the occasional exasperated sigh.
Bancroft: ::grandly:: Behold – the bridge. Heart of the ship. Brain of the mission. Unrivaled nerve center of strategic excellence. ::beat:: I am almost never here. When I am, I try hard not to touch anything.
Brexis: ::Taking a deep breath in:: This is my happy place… Well, one of them anyway.
She did love being on the bridge. It made her feel important, like she was an integral part of something bigger. A quick-firing neuron in the brain of the ship.
They moved towards the Mission Ops console – unoccupied at the moment. Roy gestured toward it with vague confidence, mostly sure this is where Brexis would be stationed, when–
From somewhere down the short corridor behind them, a muffled voice rose – Fleet Captain Addision MacKenzie. The hair on the back of Roy’s neck stood up.
MacKenzie: ::muffled, distant:: And what… think… authority to promote–
Roy winced at the sharp, commanding, weaponized voice that was – thankfully – pointed at someone else’s face for the time being. He gestured haphazardly toward the hallway behind them like a man pointing out a live minefield he had zero intention of entering.
Bancroft: ::low, too casual:: Captain MacKenzie’s ready room. Sounds like someone’s about to get… airlocked. ::beat, sweating slightly:: Let’s, uh – let’s go look at something safe. Like… the mess hall. Yes. Deck 3. That should be far enough away.
Not only did Roy get quiet, but the entirety of the crew on the bridge tensed and minds went silent.
Brexis: Strong women frighten you? Good to know.
He shot her a glare. It wouldn’t do to respond to that one – he knew a goad when he saw one. Usually.
She pretended to hold a PADD and act out that she was taking notes before pausing to look up at Roy.
Brexis: Mess hall. Does that make this a lunch date?
Bancroft: ::warily:: It’s a lunch… situation. We might even call it a ‘nutritional incident.’ Let’s not label–
Her hand shot up to stop his ramblings.
Brexis: It’s a joke. Settle down cowboy.
Roy rolled his eyes, silently wondering which vindictive deity he’d offended to land her physical during his shift. She could’ve come in at any time – literally any other time. Let Jaran have her. Let Morgan have her. Hell, let that nuisance EMH have her for all he cared. Surely someone, somewhere on this ship deserved this more than he did.
As they began to head off the bridge— away from the ready room, Charlotte leaned in and whispered in his ear.
Brexis: ::Low and soft:: I don’t think you could handle me anyway.
They entered the turbolift.
Bancroft: ::dryly:: Bold of you to assume I’d make an attempt. ::looking up:: Deck 3.
In the moments of silence she continued to make vain attempts to hear his thoughts. But there was nothing aside from hints of emotional static. It didn’t make sense. She never met a human she couldn’t read. Roy was an enigma. And that drove her absolutely insane.
Continued in Part 2
===
Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1
And
Lieutenant JG Charlotte Brexis
Strategic Operations Officer
As simmed by:
Samantha Richards
Civilian Scientist
((OOC RANK: Lieutenant JG))
USS ARTEMIS-A
A240103SR3