Ensign Roy Bancroft - The Lieutenant Storm Transparency Accords
Carter Schimpff
(( Primary Sickbay - Deck 7, USS Artemis-A ))
Storm: Look, I’m not your boss, and I certainly won’t tell you how to do your job. You just might want to keep in mind the fact that I’m not the only Betazoid on board or that while some people might appreciate your methods, there are plenty that won’t. Just don’t pull it on me again.
The words landed without heat, but with the easy precision of someone used to hitting what they aimed at. Still – she hadn’t hit him, which counted as a win in Roy’s book.
He straightened, closing the tricorder with the quiet finality of a bartender capping the bottle after last call. No theatrics, just an acknowledgement that the game had changed.
Bancroft: ::smiling warmly:: Understood, Lieutenant. From here on out, this will be the most aboveboard, plainly narrated physical you’ve ever had. Every step announced, with space for questions, clarifications, or strongly-worded letters to Starfleet Medical.
He let the smile linger, not as a challenge, but to represent the professional courtesy of someone who’d just been handed a boundary and intended to keep it.
Storm: There may be one or two things that I’m afraid of, but this ::She patted the biobed before turning around and slipping up onto it. The tactical officer sat there with her feet swinging just slightly. She raised her hands palm up to shoulder height and shrugged.::
Roy followed her to the biobed and tapped the console, coaxing the overhead scanner awake like a bartender nudging a regular who’d dozed off.
Bancroft: I promise, no more scans without your express permission. ::a beat:: Unless the ship is on fire. Or you are. But I’ll try not to get distracted by edge cases.
Storm: What other scans do you need? Or rather, do I need, in order to complete the physical?
Roy moved to the foot of the biobed, switching the tricorder back on. The gentle hum of its power-up filled the pause, a sound he’d always thought was halfway between precision instrument and appliance with a grudge. His posture shifted into something faintly ceremonial.
Bancroft: We’ll begin with the baseline bioscan – vitals, cellular integrity, and a quick confirmation that you haven’t been replaced by a changeling since breakfast.
Storm: Response
He lifted the tricorder in one hand and the detachable scanner in the other, holding them out like a chef presenting fresh ingredients before cooking.
Bancroft: I’ll start at your boots and work upward, keeping the device in plain view the whole time. And, in keeping with the Lieutenant Storm Transparency Accords of ::glances at chronometer:: fifteen seconds ago, there will be no sleight of hand, no covert subroutines, and absolutely zero shenanigans.
Storm: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1