[Sickbay]: Round One scans and vaccines

[ten_fwd_npcs]

[ Captain's Log: a Meeting with the Senior Staff. Wherein Picard discusses what to do with their new, er. "Guests." ]







As you enter sickbay tonight, escorted there by Lieutenant Worf and his security detail, you may notice it isn't all that unusual. There are no terrifying devices or humming machines you could see in a sci-fi thriller. The biobeds along the walls are equipped with biofunction monitors, but look fairly standard. Instead of silver trays filled with metal tools and sawblades, there are an array of small devices that look as harmless as cell phones. As for Chief Medical Officer Crusher herself, she's well-groomed and kindly, wearing her teal uniform and a blue coat. No masks, no rubber gloves. The most dangerous thing about her is that maternal look in her eyes; the one that scolds you for not doing your homework, or leaving your dirty dishes in your room.

The crew makes no promises for Dr. McCoy, on the other hand. He isn't one of ours. You should probably watch your neck.

"All right, don't be shy," Dr. Crusher calls out as you enter. "Come in and sit down. It's just a scan and maybe a hypospray, nothing to worry about."

Probably.


[ooc: This is an open log for everybody. Tagging isn't mandatory, but going to sickbay is. So if you'd prefer to skip threading with one of our doctors, you can handwave that your character got a clean bill of health and a shot and were sent on their merry way. For those who are tagging, we have Bones McCoy and Beverly Crusher (NPC) on deck, so if you'd prefer one over the other just specify it in your tag. If you would like more details about sickbay, here's the wiki page. If you haven't made your OP yet, you can assume the doctors will want to see your character shortly after they arrive.]

Comments

[ten_fwd_npcs]

"Don't be so nervous," she says. "It's only a check-in scan, to make sure you don't have anything contagious that we've stopped protecting against. It won't hurt a bit."

She pats a biobed for him, as she turns the scanners on, ready. "And what's your name?"

[jack_f_twist]

"Jack Twist."

He works the hat around in his hands, fingers walking along the brim, glancing from her to the bed and back again before slouching over to the bed and sliding up onto it. The hat goes down beside him, and after a second of not knowing what to do with them, he puts his palms on his thighs. "Don't exactly see the doctor, much."

Or, you know. Ever.

[ten_fwd_npcs]

"Oh, that's not unusual," she says, shaking her head a moment. "Now, these aren't going to touch you, but they'll hum a bit. Don't be alarmed," Beverly continues, in her best calming voice.

The man seems nervous enough without her or the unknown instruments adding to it and affecting his blood pressure.

[jack_f_twist]

They don't touch him, and that's fucking weird as shit, but Jack does his best to hold still until it's over, muscles stiff and jaw tight.

He's not in terrible health: he's got the start of a chronic cough from continually smoking unfiltered cigarettes, and his lungs show the wear and tear of years of tar- and poison-laden smoke being breathed in near every hour of the day. A heavy drinker, his liver is showing some signs of damage, and, of course, there's his leg (broken and healed in three places).

Along with a slew of other healed injuries, all blunt force and trauma: broken bones long since healed, torn cartilage in one knee, vitamin deficiency from a diet which almost solely consists of protein and processed foods.

He's been put through the wringer, has Jack, but it ain't so bad. At least he can still walk. Can't say that for every cowboy who's tried to stick those eight seconds in the ring.

[ten_fwd_npcs]

"Good lord," Beverly mutters at the readout, glancing back at Jack.

"You've had quite the rough life, haven't you?" she asks. "What happened to your leg, if you don't mind my asking?"