2nd Doctor's Log || Drunk and Disorderly (pre-sickbay round two)

[shut_up_dammit]

Doctor's Log - Star Date... oh to hell with it, Leonard doesn't know. He doesn't care. He also doesn't care that he's plastered off his ass and stumbling far too much. There's only one thing he cares about - talking to Captain Picard.

He's learned all sorts of wonderful things since his arrival and he's going to tell the captain all about it. Okay, they only met once before, but he could talk to Jim just fine thank you very much so Picard could listen too. To hell with permission. This is going down before he gets sober.

He buzzes into the captain's quarters.

"Captain, it's Leonard McCoy."

He, surprisingly, sounds sober. Won't Picard be in for a surprise.



[ ooc: This is plot locked to Picard only. Sorry guys. ]

Deck Ten: Ten Forward

[writes_with_digital_ink]

There comes a time when even a person who has narrowly escaped being blown up with her ship by being flung into the future needs to stop moping about in bed. Even when moping is totally and completely understandable under the circumstances, no, really, Gaila, get up.

Which goes a way to explaining why the Enterprise's lounge is up one Orion techie. The replicator refuses to give her a uniform, so she's wearing a bronze tunic over khaki pants. Still, she's wearing the earrings she came in with, as well as her Starfleet boots, and there's a black armband around her left arm out of a sign for respect for all those who died.

Not that Gaila is trying to think about the Battle of Vulcan. Instead, she has a cup of hot chocolate that's been turned red by the amount of chilli pepper she's stirred into it, and she's found herself a seat by one of the windows.

Baby steps to socialization. At least she's out of the room she's grabbed.



[ooc: for how I'm handling Orion pheromones in-game, see here. Open until I say otherwise :-) ]

(no subject)

[beforebond]

There is no time for preamble.

One moment James Bond, sixteen, Secondary 4, is in Scotland, about to board a train ... and the next, he practically stumbles into the USS Enterprise, thinking he'd been about to climb down a step instead of nothing at all.

It's a strange feeling, having the breeze against your skin and then suddenly not. And it's stranger still to be surrounded by laughter and shouting, a group of ten raucous teenage boys excited to be out of Fettes and headed towards some place different, some place where freedom awaits - Paris - and then suddenly, as though he'd gone deaf, nothing but the low hum of whatever is generating the lights and air in this place and monotonous chatter.

So one can imagine the perplexed look on James' face when he finds that a) the air is still; b) it is impossibly quiet in comparison; and c) this is absolutely, definitely not Paris. Or Scotland. Or a train.

Still, there's no reason to panic. His heart may be beating a hundred miles per minute and he feels like shouting just to dispel the rising something-that-is-like-fear-but-isn't-fear, but he simply straightens, flicks off invisible lint from his blazer and observes his surroundings with the sort of concentration one might have when they're committing everything to memory.

And then he cheerfully takes the nearest empty seat he can find.

It might be at your table.

"Ah, hello."