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Dinner in Sickbay

Posted on 24 May 2021 @ 4:04pm by Syrial J'naii & Senior Chief Petty Officer Alanna Morrison

Mission: Waving The Flag
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: July 20, 2280 || 1950 hours

It had been a long shift.

Syrial didn't let that get them down. Medicine was one of the few things they took seriously, but even then they weren't about to mope around about how busy, chaotic, hopeless this infirmary might seem. The thing was - everybody could've died in that last battle. They could've lost the ship. Relative to that, things were going well, and that was something to smile about. The J'naii worked tirelessly on the patients - both Andorians and a few of their human crewmates - without so much as a negative word.

But now, they finally a small breather. Syrial still had to eat, needed the energy to work. They knew that. This whole thing brought back memories of the past. Syrial used to work through their meals all the time, skipping them if there was something else, anything else, to do. Syrial told themselves they wouldn't be that person any more. But here they were, once again taking a rushed meal at their desk. This was medicine though. They made sure to leave one exception in their whole brand new self thing for medicine. Syrial didn't want anybody to get false expectations, to rely on them again. But there were some things that you couldn't avoid, you know? And some things you just had to buckle down and do. Helping the injured was one of those things.

Alanna was probably hungry as well. Syrial didn't much know the woman - or kid. But she had been doing her effort here, and Syrial thought that offering her some of the food was perhaps a good way to break the ice between the two. Some crew had brought food for the patients stuck here. Surely there'd be an extra plate for their corpsman.

"Alanna," the J'naii spoke, looking at her. They smiled, holding a plate in each hand.

"Doctor," she said, with a smile, realizing with the smell of the food how hungry she was indeed. "I'll sleep for a month when this is all done," she said, the lack of energy evident in her eyes.

"Me too, me too." Syrial handed one of the plates towards her. "When this over I'm going to sleep. Wake up. Take a hot shower. Get a drink. And go back to sleep. That's the plan." They chuckled. Any energy in their eyes looked more forced than not. They noticed a similar look in Alanna's. Was this her first time dealing with an emergency like this? Syrial wouldn't know. What they did know was that she shot two Klingons with a phaser. And actually hit them. Real life Klingon warriors. Syrial knew that she was a corpsman, not just a nurse, so of course she'd be better in combat than their former medical staff. But Syrial didn't realize just how much better the girl would be. At some point Syrial had started to wonder what the woman's true role was. Most people Syrial knew were good at saving folk or hurting folk. Not both. This made it hard for the J'naii to categorize the woman in the surprisingly tidy cubbies of Syrial's mind, but oh well. Syrial was never much one for exact job descriptions. "You want some food? I never like working with patients when I'm too hungry to focus." This was one of the more reasonable things out of the things Syrial might usually say.

"That's a good rule," Alanna said, with a smile. "Thank you," she said, happily accepting one of the plates. "I wonder," she said the tone as if she were spaced out, "where the honor in attacking a sickbay is?" It wasn't that she really wanted to talk about it and she wasn't making eye contact with her boss anymore... but clearly her mind was focused on the events of today as well.

"Who knows how their 'honor' works," Syrial shrugged, taking a bite of their food. "Maybe they, like, don't know what a sickbay is. Wouldn't surprise me if they just leave their injured to die. Or maybe they'd want to, like, have one last chance to fight if it were them. Or maybe - and this is my personal opinion here - maybe this whole honor thing is just a sham and they're using any excuse to attack us where we're weak." The J'naii spoke casually, as if they hadn't been giving such half as much thought as Alanna had been.

"Well clearly they define something much differently than we do," Alanna said. "Lets find a clean spot to sit... my legs are sore."

"Oh, yeah," Syrial said. They stepped over towards their desk - the rolling chair at it being one of the few chairs not currently occupied by patients. The J'naii pushed aside some equipment and a PADD, sitting on the desk itself so as to leave the chair free for Alanna. "I guess every species thinks a bit different. Normally it's fascinating. But there is a line. And Klingon philosophy is strictly on the 'wow that's awful' side of that line."

"Agreed," Alanna said, gratefully taking a seat in the chair. "Clearly the line is different for everyone as well."

"Quite fascinating, isn't it?" Syrial said. If Alanna had any deeper meaning to that, they genuinely didn't catch it. Acting only accounted for so much of their airheadedness; a difference in culture and vague grasp of English accounted for the other half. "That's why I like to read memoirs. You can tell a lot about people by where they draw the line. Hell, I bet somewhere there's even a human who'd look at this Klingon strategy here and think 'yep, that makes sense'."

"Likely," she agreed, "unfortunate as it is."

"Yeah," Syrial said with a chuckle. Then, a pause. They didn't know the corpsman well, and they didn't know if the woman even wanted to talk, but they didn't want to hear silence. Speaking kept their mind off darker thoughts. "Did you deal with a lot of emergencies like this before?" They asked Alanna.

"I only worked on M-11 before," she said, with a shrug. "So emergencies to be sure but not combat."

"Ah," Syrial said, nodding. Funny, wasn't it, that Syrial themselves had more fighting experience than this girl. In a way, they supposed it was a good thing. There wouldn't be much hope left for humanity if people any younger than Alanna were sent off to war. "Well," the J'naii said. "You did good back then. Or, you did well, or whatever the word is. Sorry, English isn't my strong suit."

"Thanks," Alanna said, with a smile before stuffing a bite of food into her mouth.

"We need to, like, have dinner together," the J'naii spoke as they ate. "Once this is all over. I'd like to get to know you, if we're going to be working together a lot." They smiled at the corpsman.

"Agreed," she said. "And I am your Chief Corpsman so I'm sure we will."

"Good," Syrial said, scraping the last bite of food off their plate and shoving it into their mouth. "Good." They smiled. They set the plate down on the desk beside them and slid off, back to standing on the floor. "I'm going to get back to work," they said to the corpsman. "Thanks for chatting."

“Thanks for the food,” Alanna said, having not eaten as quickly she had a few more bites before she went back to work herself.


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