JP: Ensign Alyndra Syrex & Ensign T’Fearne — GTF: Grand Theft Furniture [Part 1]
Teayl Thorn
(( OOC: This is a JP sim that takes place after the epilogue of Act 3 and before leaving DS33. With the Ronin barely pressurised, the crew managing casualties with limited resources before they make their way to DS9 ))
((Ensign Quarters, Compartment 2 - Sector 4 - Deck 8 - USS Ronin))
The automatic doors hissed close behind them as they wrestled the stained and still smouldering sofa further into the dim, cramped quarters. With a communal sigh, they dropped the ruined burden onto the carpeted deck and collapsed onto it, relief and exhaustion washing over the furniture thieves.
Syrex: Well… That wasn't quite how I thought today would go.
T’Fearne looked down at herself, the crisp white of her hastily borrowed scrubs now smudged and a full sleeve of spray-on dermapatch bandage down one arm from collarbone to wrist and then glanced across at her roommate, thinking of the adventure Alyndra had been describing as they committed their act of petty upholstery.
T’Fearne: You had other plans today? :: slightly winded:: Stealing the 1Sacred Chalice of Rixx from the daughter of the fifth House perhaps. Maybe you want to warm up first by slipping past the Vulcan High Command to borrow the 2Kir’Shara, if you have time after lunch. :: shrugging the good shoulder:: What are you concerned about?
Syrex: Well I’d say that it would happen sooner or later, but, well, you know?
T’Fearne: You stole a symbiont out from under the Lattice’s collective noses! That is impressive, and…:: Joking:: I hope stealing a sofa will satisfy you though it isn’t up to the calibre of your recent adventures.
Syrex: Maybe we should reflect on what we’ve done, I know I will, especially before trading for a career in espionage.
They looked around their quarters aboard the USS Ronin for the first time since the battle with the Lattice Alliance and saw belongings strewn like debris.
T’Fearne: At least the sofa matches the decor.
((Flashback 2 hrs earlier))
((Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Ronin))
The flickering lights of the USS Ronin cast a disconcerting glow over Sickbay, where the air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and metallic ichor. An occasional equipment status alarm kicked up a fuss in the background, a reminder of the extensive damage the ship had sustained. The once bustling hub of healing was now eerily quiet, save for the occasional groan of the wounded and the erratic chirping of diagnostic equipment struggling to perform with limited power.
Despite her shattered and broken surroundings, Alyndra found comfort in performing her day-to-day duties. The Ronin was not under its own power, and its damage was extensive, but Alyndra’s routine gave her a sense of consistency, treating the injured and healing the sick was her calling in life, and it was needed.
Syrex:: ::Towards Crewman:: You are lucky, your wounds weren’t as extensive as we first believed. I am happy to discharge you today, but please come back if you need anything at all.
Crewman: Thank you, Doctor.
As Alyndra padded her fellow officer on the back, she turned to see a familiar face.
Syrex: ::Face lighting up: T’Fearne! To what do I owe the absolute pleasure?
With a gold-uniformed petty officer draped over her shoulder and another injured officer in tow, T’Fearne ushered her charges into sickbay.
Relief flooded the Vulcazoid as she spotted her spotted roommate. After witnessing so many officers lost and seeing the wrecked state of the Ronin, she had half-expected her friends to be among the fallen.
T’Fearne::: approaching with her fellow security officers:: I am glad to see you in one piece, Syrex. These officers need some assistance when you have a biobed free. :: adjusting her grip on the injured officer::
Syrex: Believe me, the feeling is mutual, I’ve been worried. :: Looks over to officer next to T’Fearne:: Come on, let’s get you laid down…
With T’Fearne’s assistance, Alyndra guided the wounded toward a bed.
T’Fearne: The crewman may have dislocated his knee, and the petty officer caught a refracted disruptor to the face. They were both triaged at the station, and I’m told the injuries are non-life threatening. :: Grimacing at her own stilted bedside manner::
The tall security officer assisted the young human onto the biobed, as the blonde doctor turned her attention to the blinded Bajoran as she initiated diagnostic scans.
Syrex: Thanks T’Fearne. That’ll help with treating them, are you alright?
T’Fearne: I’m fine. Nothing that a dermal regenerator and a bath can’t fix. I’ll wait until the crew has been seen. :: slight hesitation and grimace:: Is there anything I can help you with?
Security was the Vulcazoid’s skill, medicine was best left to the doctors and medical staff. Yet, in the last 48 hours, her hands had become stained with a mosaic of strange red, brown, green and blue alien ichor as she fought to stabilize the injured until the medics could take over. Her uniform was charred, ripped, and soaked with grime, and she could feel the sharp sting of Bolian blood where it had soaked into the fabric of her tunic.
Syrex: I have most of it covered, but if you want to help, could you calibrate this Tricorder for me?
The battered security officer rested her hip against the edge of the crewman's bed and gingerly picked up the indicated tricorder, beginning to mess with it.
T’Fearne::: raising a sceptical eyebrow:: You have a high estimation of my skill with a medical tricorder. What was it you said the other day? Medical and Security—one heals the injuries, and the other tries to prevent them? I should probably stick to my vector, but it looks like we’ve both been working triple shifts. :: offering a rueful smile, gesturing to the tamed chaos:: What were the challenges in Sickbay over the past few days?
Syrex: Yeah, I believe it was something like that, although I can’t say I’ve been here much. I was assigned to an away mission on the Rhine, we broke into an old Lattice Alliance structure, discovered a presumed dead symbiont and got picked up by the USS Excalibur-A
T’Fearne::: nearly dropping a tricorder:: Wait, WHAT? :: Tugging on her pointy ear with her free hand:: I’ve been in a lot of explosions recently. Did you say you were on an away mission and infiltrated Alliance security and stole a symbiont?
Syrex: Oh you didn’t know? Yeah, I went to check on the science team in Stellar Cartography, made an off-hand remark about them taking a medic on a mission that one of them was trying to pitch :: Continuing to work on a wounded officer's injuries:: Lt Commander Alieth took that as myself volunteering, and that’s basically how that happened.
T’Fearne::: nodding:: It seems that is how the senior officers operate. I was just eating my breakfast right after coming abroad, and the CSO appeared out of nowhere like a shadow and the next thing I knew, I was on an away mission to the Jintara Nebular.
While talking to Alyndra, Sickbay unexpectedly wobbled in and out of focus for T’Fearne, and a bruised part of her mind bloomed with sensory input. She shared the dull purple pain of the crewman on the biobed she had just carried, and equally as clearly, she felt a lash of crimson worry from Alyndra, several meters away, well out of her typical touch distance range. This time, she dropped the tricorder to grip the edge of the biobed.
Syrex: ::Worried:: T’Fearne, are you alright?!
T’Fearne: Apologies, my senses are overloaded. :: Blinking in discomfort:: I require a moment to centre myself. Then I want to know more about what you went through…:: pausing:: if you’re comfortable sharing. Are you off shift soon?
Syrex: I’ll probablly head off when I’m done here. Please feel free to go and sit down in Doctor Beck’s office. I doubt he’ll mind if you use it for a moment. I’ll be in with you when I’m done here ::Smiles and turns towards the officers:: Now, let’s fix you two up!
T’Fearne: Thanks, I’ll do that.
((CMO Office, Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Ronin))
The tall Vulcazoid tilted slightly into the office, obsidian eyes cautiously peaking in to make sure the industrious acting CMO wasn’t already occupying the space.
Blissfully empty.
They say the road to Sto’vo’kor is paved with honour, but at that moment T’Fearne would have gladly traded any religion’s promise of a warrior’s afterlife for just a few moments of mortal peace. With that thought lingering between her pointed ears, she promptly found herself horizontal on the plush grey-blue sofa, its squishy surface comfortably conforming to her frame. She only intended to close her eyes for a moment to collect herself and strengthen her mental barriers. One deep sigh later, she was fast asleep.
As she dozed, drips of blue ichor, dark Sheliak slime, and coppery green half-Vulcan blood seeped into the sofa’s fabric from her battle-stained uniform, a vivid reminder of the chaos that had surrounded her on DS33. A transfer of acidic Bolian blood began mingling with other fluids, a slow chemical chain reaction ignited in the fibres of the upholstery.
((Timeskip to 15 mins later, CMO Office, Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Ronin))
Alyndra was making great progress on the two officers T’Fearne had surprised her with. The dislocation was fixed, and a small hypospray was given for the pain. The other, who’d been temporarily blinded, was treated first and had been ordered to bed so that they could rest. Alyndra was cleaning up the last of her supplies, ready to finish up and escort T’Fearne back to their quarters, Alyndra swore she could smell something burning, it smelled almost chemical-ly. Heading into Acting CMO Beck’s office, she found the source of the smell.
As she touched the cocktail of fluids that was burning the sofa, her own hand began to burn, pulling it away, she noticed that her own bright red Trill blood was mixing with the rest of the concoction. She felt it was a nice, if rather messy, metaphor for the federation.
Syrex: T’Fearne! T’Fearne!
T’Fearne::: Grumbling:: five more minutes 3Sa’mekh. :: drowsily waving Alyndra’s hand away::
The fabric of the sofa, once plush and inviting, now emitted a faint hissing sound as the acids began to corrode the material beneath its occupant.
Syrex: Oh Jeez:: Pulling T’Fearne off of the sofa:: Oh Jeez ::Grabs a dermal regenerator and something to neutralise the acidic Bolian Blood:: Oh Jeez!
As Alyndra treated T’Fearne the best she could, she kicked away the excuse for a sofa to make room for herself.
The dazed Vulcazoid came to consciousness for what felt like the seventh time that very long day, sitting on the floor with someone holding a dermal regenerator over her. At least it was her roommate and not a stranger with an osmotic eel this time. She sniffed at the acrid scent in the room, then at the burning sensation on her shoulder, and her eyes began to water.
T’Fearne: Yuck! That smells like rotting 4cavat. Is that coming from me?
Nearby, tiny puffs of smoke curled upward from the sofa, carrying with them a sharp, acrid scent that mingled with the remnants of battle aboard the damaged ship. As the reaction spread, the fibres warped and discoloured, transforming the once-comfortable sofa into a canvas of chaos.
Alyndra sighed, although she didn't like doing it, as a doctor, she felt responsible for T’Fearne’s mental well-being, thus, she lied a little. For the sake of her bedside manner.
Syrex: Nope, it’s the sofa, I’m just making sure that you won’t smell like that soon
T’Fearne::: Gesturing at the hypospray:: Can you spray some of that… the neutraliser on the couch to stop the reaction, the emergency suppression system isn’t working otherwise, it would have decon-ed the room already. It’s my responsibility to render the area safe for the crew.
Syrex: My responsibility is to you and your health, but if you wish, I can use some of it on the sofa.
Alyndra held a piece of damp surgical cloth firm on T’Fearnes’s shoulder, hoping it wouldn't sting too much. Reaching with her spare arm into her medkit, she clumsily grabbed a vial of the Alkalytic solution, releasing the screwcap with her thumb and pointer finger. Throwing it towards the sofa was easier said than done, her aim wasn't the best in the best of times. Then she realised she didn’t need to throw it.
Syrex: I’d imagine as a security officer, you have a good aim?
The question made T’Ferne’s brows slant the other way with incredulity as she first looked down at her arm firmly clamped in a cloth and the other in slightly better condition.
T’Fearne: Usually, yes, but probably not at the moment. :: confiding solemnly::
Syrex: Wanna bet? See if you can hit the sofa with this ::Passes the Vial to T’Fearnes good shoulder:: It’ll stop the acid from burning it any more, I can’t risk throwing it, that’s my only spare, I need enough to treat you and anyone else until I can get the replicator online.
T’Fearne: It constitutes a shipboard environmental hazard. If we can't put it out we need to alert the deck officer on duty. :: clamping the vial and flinging the contents towards the smouldering sofa::
Her aim over the sofa was bad, but enough of the contents splashed where it needed to, and the sizzling slowed and subsided.
Syrex: See? You’re a natural!
T’Fearne: Ouch.
(( OOC:1Sacred Chalice of Rixx, 2Kir’Shara, 3Sa’mekh - father. The Vulcan Language Dictionary (VLD), 4Cavat is a type of grain crop grown on Betazed, similar to Terran corn.))
===============================
Ensign Alyndra Syrex
Medical Officer
USS Ronin (NCC-34523)
R240107AS3
&
Ensign T'Fearne
Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14