Ensign Roy Bancroft - Living on Burrowed Time
Carter Schimpff
(( Primary Sickbay, Deck 7 – USS Artemis-A ))
Bancroft: ::deadpan:: That said... you might have something with the sonnet idea. I’ve heard she could have... let’s call it a specialized academic interest in classical romantic poetry. If you happened to recite one at the end of your presentation, purely for rhetorical flourish - well. Who’s to say how that might be appreciated?
Meris added a final note to their PADD.
Meris: An excellent note. Thank you, Doctor. ::thoughtful:: I did take up Tamarian throat-singing at the Academy, and I have been practicing a piece called “Lady Kijalt, Her Heart Open.” It is very romantic. Quite powerful. While not strictly poetry, I believe it could make an excellent selection to present for the Lieutenant.
oO Bancroft: Oh no. Oh no. That was irony. Medical-grade sarcasm. My hands are not clean here. I handed them the grenade and now I’m standing next to the pin.
::a pause::
… That said, “Lady Kijalt, Her Heart Open” does sound hauntingly beautiful. Like a dirge. Which feels thematically appropriate. Oo
Bancroft: ::long pause:: Ah. Yes. Tamarian throat-singing. Naturally. That is the obvious next step when courting favor with a senior officer. ::a beat:: I– well. I’m sure the result will be… striking.
Meris reached out, gently placing their hand atop his.
Meris: And, Doctor, I like you too. Or, at least, I think I could come to like you – as you said, it is a bit early yet. However, we will need to address the Burrowing Fen Worm you have wriggling beneath your nose. I find it difficult to focus on our conversation when it’s staring at me like that.
Roy was midway through the warm-and-fuzzies when Fen Worm hit him like a shovel to the face.
He followed Meris’ line of sight. Two and two assembled themselves into a tragic little parade.
The mustache.
They were talking about his mustache.
Bancroft: ::flatly, blinking once:: I… see. You’re referring to my mustache. ::dry:: I was under the impression it conveyed gravitas, or possibly roguish charm. But yes – Fen Worm. That’s… another interpretation.
He ran a hand absently across the offending worm, as if to sooth it. Or perhaps to check if it was, in fact, trying to burrow. Stranger things had happened on the Artemis.
Bancroft: ::dryly conciliatory:: Thank you, Meris. Your candor is… a gift. A mortifying, extremely specific gift. But a gift nonetheless.
He quickly logged the results of the physical – shining health, not a blemish on the chart – and filed them into the Ensign’s records.
A shame. So young.
They were going to be vaporized by Lieutenant Vailani.
And, in a very real sense, it was partially Roy’s fault. Mostly Meris’ fault, for being boldly unfiltered with zero apparent social awareness. But still. Technically partially Roy’s fault.
His brain scrambled for an exit strategy. Some indirect countermeasure. Maybe – just maybe – exposing Meris to a broader sampling of Artemis personalities would help them calibrate their approach. Dilute the damage before it detonated.
Bancroft: ::idly, packing away his equipment:: Oh, Ensign? One last thing. I highly recommend spending some time in the Main Mess Hall. Great place to… soak in the cultural tapestry of the crew. ::a beat:: There are plenty of opportunities there for relaxation, too, if you need a break from that PADD.
End Scene
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1