PNPC Lieutenant Jay "Deacon" Frost - No Appointment
Martin Tucker
Lieutenant Deacon Frost, as no one really ever called him by his first name of Jay. And usually, he only lets his grandmother get away with it. She and his grandfather had, after all, raised him from a young age; his parents were lost somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant. They had been a part of an expeditionary force that was sent deep into the Quadrant. That was when he was six; the USS Midway was lost with all hands after failing to check in for over 60 days.
Deacon wasn’t told much as a child, and as an adult, he didn’t have time chasing ghosts; even if they were out there somewhere, they’d been very old or most likely dead. He’d learn to live with the pain of not knowing one way or another, or the fact that over his years in the fleet, he didn’t think about it all that often. He did a lot at a young age, especially after joining the Academy.
He brought the treadmill he’d been jogging on to a halt and grabbed the towel draped over the right side of the machine. Deacon used both hands to keep balance as he hung his head. He wasn’t sure how much he'd run today and didn’t care to look, but he could feel the mileage in his burning thighs and calves. He wiped his face with the towel and looked into the mirror; a tired man looked back at him.
Jay shook his head again and wiped his face once more.
He hopped off the treadmill and decided he’d just take a shower in his compartment, it was just down the hall from the Gym, pop in there, shower with actual water this time, and get ready for duty. As he exited the Gym and hung a right, his mind drifted to not only their last mission, which had been a cause for lack of sleep, but his parents' mission as well. He hadn’t been very old, and he only had flashes of memories of that time. After they were declared lost in action, things went by in a blur. But the one thing it did was spur him on to join Starfleet.
He stopped at the turbolift just six meters from his door stop. It swished open when he stopped; two enlisted members stepped out, saluting the lieutenant. He was wearing a RONIN t-shirt and black performance shorts that had “Property of Starfleet Search & Rescue” stitched on the hem, so the salute was a bit unexpected. He nodded and felt compelled to step in.
The doors shut; he was alone, and the lift awaited instructions. He just stood there in the silence for a second or two.
Deacon: Computer, deck ten, counseling suite.
It may be time to talk about it, or talk about something. Deacon wasn’t sure why he decided to come see the counselor. But something in the back of his brain told him to do it.
((Deck 10, Counseling Suite, USS Ronin))
Deacon stepped of the turbolift and stepped right into the Counseling Suite. There was a nice waiting area, which was empty at this time of day. He found a nurse.
Nurse: May I help you?
Looking a little sheepish, this the first time he’d done anything like this, or even felt the need to. He really did need to start a dialogue at least.
Deacon: Lieutenant Frost, I don’t have an appointment.
Nurse: No worries, Lieutenant Frost, please have a seat.
The nurse retreated behind a desk, and Deacon took a seat. On the table in front of him were several padds on various topics, from quantum mechanics to reprogramming your tricorder in an emergency. He picked up the one on this year's latest fashion, from Bolia, it looked like. Deacon was a simple man, who wasn’t dressed like a gym rat; he was in a black performance t-shirt with a Starfleet Security patch on the left sleeve. The nurse looked up from her desk.
Nurse: They’ll see you now.
Deacon nodded, wrapped his towel around his neck, and headed to the door the nurse pointed to. The door didn’t automatically swish open, which was probably a good thing, since I didn't want to get interrupted. He reached out and pressed the doorbell.
He took a deep breath and stepped through, the door opening before him.
((Deck 10, Assistant Counciler’s Office, USS Ronin))
He let the deep breath out once he crossed the threshold. He’d never been to a counselor's office, or talked to one for that matter. But he guessed, anytime was as good as any. However, he hadn’t had many good impressions of Klingons, both in and out of the fleet. He respected them, sure, but he’d been on the receiving end of a few ass kickings in his day.
Forst shook his head to clear the cobwebs,
Deacon: Assistan Counselor, I’m Lieutenant Frost, but you can call me Deacon.
He smiled, putting out a hand.
Shortrith: Response
Deacon: ::looking down at his attire:: Sorry, I’m not quite dressed for this, but I was in the neighborhood and figured now was a good time as any to see you. I hope I’m not bothering you.
Shortrith: Response
Deacon: Oh, good, I figured I might be interrupting coming here without an appointment.
Shortrith: Response
TAGS/TBC
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