Ensign Phrik - The healing power of grumpiness (Tags: Aitas/DeWhitt/Vargas)

[dan.prior1701]

 ((Officer's Lounge - Raskor I))

 

 

Phrik: Ensign, I believe the questioning may be your area of expertise. If you’d like to begin? ::He motioned towards his patient with a hand::

 

DeWhitt: You know I can call security.  Or medical...  ::She offered rationally.::

 

Aitas: We might need both, I fear.

 

::Phrik knelt down next to the man, closely inspecting the glass shards that jutted out from his face. The smell of alcohol was overpowering.::

 

Vargas: Lieutenant Vargas, Operations.  You assaulted me!  ::He tossed back with outrage before calling towards the bar:: Call security on these people!

 

DeWhitt: I'm getting to it.  ::She tossed back, curious to see where this would go.::

 

Aitas: ::calmly:: You are the one who shoved me. Hardly a logical response to a simple question.

 

Phrik: When someone’s as drunk as he is logic is a rare sight. ::He said almost absentmindedly, holding a dermal regenerator into the air, adjusting the settings.::

 

::Phrik leant in again, grabbing the mans’ chin to hold it steady, only to be shook off by his wriggling.::

 

Vargas: Leave me alone!  Get me the base doctors!

 

Aitas: Given that alarm, the base doctors may be preoccupied.

 

Phrik: Hold still you blasted imbecile and let me fix your damn face.

 

::Phrik rested a knee on the man’s stomach and firmly took hold of his chin, keeping it still. Then he quickly grabbed hold of one of the shards, pulling it from his cheek with a yelp and a soft spurt of blood. Almost immediately the Doctor flicked on the dermal regenerator in his third hand, the focused beam of energy closing the wound, knitting the skin back together.::

 

Vargas: I don't know nothin'  ::He shook his head and looked to the bar again::  Call security!

 

Phrik: I said keep still! ::This was punctuated by another soft squelch as a shard of glass was removed::

 

DeWhitt: ::Honestly:: Security's a little tied up right now.  Something important went down in the main command center.

 

::Something at the command centre? That could hardly be a co-incidence. It didn’t take an intelligence agent to deduce the drunk sack of meat in front of him had something to do with it.::

 

Phrik: Something you might ::shhlick. Another shard left his face:: know about?

 

Vargas: How should I know?  I've been sitting here!  ::It was a good alibi - he had been here the whole time...::

 

Aitas: Sitting here wondering why you were bribed to make those changes to scheduling, you mean. I'm sure security would be quite interested in those gaps you left that someone could theoretically have taken advantage of. ::She raised a questioning eyebrow, her tone that of a particular  sort of cold, Vulcan voice of logic.::

 

::Phrik wrapped his fingers around the final piece of glass, he’d left the largest one for last. He’d never really considered how cathartic extracting foreign objects by hand could be. This was what doctoring was all about. Highly focused transporters and scanners were all well and good, but there was nothing quite like feeling the flesh for yourself. You never truly understood biology until you’d dug around in someones guts with your hands. Felt the exact fleshy texture of the organs, watched how the fluids spurted and oozed, heard the satisfying sounds of an organic machine at work. These days it was all holograms, and display screens. Such a shame. He gave the piece a sharp tug, a jet of blood spurted outwards, staining his hands and cuffs before it was quelled by the regenerator. Now to move on to his hands::

 

Vargas: ?

 

::Phrik sat back up and began fishing around in his pockets for the right tools. He had to set and repair a broken wrist, with no anaesthetic on hand. The fixing he’d enjoy, the inevitable shouts and screams, not so much.::

 

Aitas: It might be best if intelligence spoke to him for now. They should be interested as well.

 

::He pushed the glass of extracted shards to one side and tore the tablecloth from the upended tabletop, beginning to scrunch it up into a ball.

 

DeWhitt/Vargas: ?

 

Aitas: Perhaps if you're cooperative they'll be more...forgiving.

 

Vargas/DeWhitt: ?

 

Phrik: Your hand please.

 

Vargas: ?

 

::He sighed and took hold of the officer by the forearm, ignoring the flinch of pain at his touch. The hand was a mess, hanging at an almost 90 degree angle from the wrist, a large bulge was present where the bone hadn’t quite pierced the skin.::

 

Phrik: Does it hurt when I hold it like this?

 

::As he made to answer Phrik shoved the ball of tablecloth into his mouth at speed. The Doctor followed this by grabbing the palm of his hand and wrenching it back into the correct position with a loud crunch of bone and a muffled scream of agony. He released the officer and flexed his hands a little.::

 

Phrik: There, that wasn’t so bad was it?

 

::He pulled the tablecloth out of the mans mouth.::

 

Vargas: ?

 

Phrik: Oh shut up and let me knit your bones back together ::He grabbed hold of the forearm again and begun slowly running another tool over it. Watching via tricorder screen as the bones slowly welded themselves into shape. He glanced up at Aitas.:: Sorry about that, you can continue with the questions now if you like.

 

Vargas/Aitas/DeWhitt: ?

 

tbc

 

Ensign Phrik, MD

Medical Officer

Starbase 118 Ops

O239308P10