05-08-2025, 02:15 AM
A person was beamed in - no - a body was beamed in. The same body she had just carried out, the same body she had just dragged through smoke and flame. The body was identified, and Art’s posture noticeably changed. Campbell. She thought, feeling dejected. I liked him…
Usually-bright-faced Papaver arrived in Sickbay; she looked like she had been through the wringer, too. She stopped short after the doors had closed behind her, just looking at all of them. The Chief of Security followed her gaze: first to them, and then to the dead body. She could have sworn she saw the woman’s nose twitch, and then realized with a start how Sickbay must smell.
Humans already tended to complain about the smell of Klingons, in much the same way that Vulcans not-so-secretly did not enjoy the scent of Humans. Burnt skin was enough of a strong, acrid smell – a lightly-charred Klingon, alongside a completely-crisp Human, was at the very least mostly likely to make one want to gag.
Maybe that’s why Peter stepped back? Art looked to him for a fraction of a moment before shooing the thought away. They had drunk poison tea together, the man wasn’t about to make a face at her odor.
“Hey, Scarlett.” Art said, letting her voice carry. “You at least win your fight?” It was a bit of gallows humor, something both her Klingon heritage and Security-minded self was apt to do. As a nurse scurried over to help the Science Officer to a bed -away from the deceased- their First Officer turned his attention back to her.
“Anything more you can tell me?” His voice was softer now, kinder, as he had dropped the official-like tone of ‘Commander Peter Jensen, First Officer of the USS Yeager, sir!’ Again, Artie wanted to at least touch his hand, let him know that though she looked bad, she would be fine. “I would rather not have this happen again at all, of course, but… certainly not in the middle of a first contact.”
That entire sentence had multiple meanings, to Art. Of course a First Officer wouldn’t want an explosion to happen on his ship; no one wanted to have officers die under their command; and any missteps during a First Contact could easily turn into very scary situations. But also, there was a man, telling his parmaqqay that he was worried about her. Art smiled.
“Fire bad.” Art replied. She showed him the one hand that was worse than the other. “Ouch.”
==Tags! And if no one wants to play nurse to Papaver, I can have something up.==
Usually-bright-faced Papaver arrived in Sickbay; she looked like she had been through the wringer, too. She stopped short after the doors had closed behind her, just looking at all of them. The Chief of Security followed her gaze: first to them, and then to the dead body. She could have sworn she saw the woman’s nose twitch, and then realized with a start how Sickbay must smell.
Humans already tended to complain about the smell of Klingons, in much the same way that Vulcans not-so-secretly did not enjoy the scent of Humans. Burnt skin was enough of a strong, acrid smell – a lightly-charred Klingon, alongside a completely-crisp Human, was at the very least mostly likely to make one want to gag.
Maybe that’s why Peter stepped back? Art looked to him for a fraction of a moment before shooing the thought away. They had drunk poison tea together, the man wasn’t about to make a face at her odor.
“Hey, Scarlett.” Art said, letting her voice carry. “You at least win your fight?” It was a bit of gallows humor, something both her Klingon heritage and Security-minded self was apt to do. As a nurse scurried over to help the Science Officer to a bed -away from the deceased- their First Officer turned his attention back to her.
“Anything more you can tell me?” His voice was softer now, kinder, as he had dropped the official-like tone of ‘Commander Peter Jensen, First Officer of the USS Yeager, sir!’ Again, Artie wanted to at least touch his hand, let him know that though she looked bad, she would be fine. “I would rather not have this happen again at all, of course, but… certainly not in the middle of a first contact.”
That entire sentence had multiple meanings, to Art. Of course a First Officer wouldn’t want an explosion to happen on his ship; no one wanted to have officers die under their command; and any missteps during a First Contact could easily turn into very scary situations. But also, there was a man, telling his parmaqqay that he was worried about her. Art smiled.
“Fire bad.” Art replied. She showed him the one hand that was worse than the other. “Ouch.”
==Tags! And if no one wants to play nurse to Papaver, I can have something up.==