PHD #362: Corpsman
Summary: McManus and Circe speak after the filing of the Raptor crew.
Date: 23 Feb 2042 AE
Related Logs: Blow Ups
Circe McManus 
Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate.
Post-Holocaust Day: #362

Getting the two moved off the stretchers and to appropriate cots, Circe stands back to allow the Doctors room to call the time for the two. Her fingers grasp a clipboard and she has pulled the two files for the fallen crew according to dogtags. What little could be removed of Mouse's trappings is done and the rest is still welded quite firmly to her body. She watches on, swallowing as she draws a long breath.

Death was part of the daily routine now, unlike nearly just over a year ago when she had joined the Cerberus as her first assignment. Back then she would have never suspected the attacks from the Cylons or the change in lifestyle that would follow.

McManus follows in a few minutes later, heading for the sink directly. "Are you chaps all good?" he queries of the duty team. Dead guys are one thing, but crispy guys are another, and there's more than one of the crew who'll not be eating dinner for a while yet while queasy stomachs settle. "Nice job. Quick, efficient, well done."

With the times being called, Circe writes them down in each of the folders and then hands them off. Her clipboard remains with her though as she watches McManus a moment. She moves over to roll her gloves off her hands and get rid of them in the waste bin. She may be one of the few not eating, but she remains subdued for now. "You seem to be handling this quite well." She intones faintly to him, as she waits for her own turn at the sink, setting the clipboard down at the edge of the counter.

McManus doesn't reply in any known language, simply grunting under his breath in response to that as he lathers up. It's not until he's rinsing off that he replies, "It's our job. That's the messy end of it right there. If it bothers you, talk to the psych." He turns to shake off his hands, letting them dry in the air. "And, Lagana? When we're on duty, you will address me as Petty Officer or PO."

Circe watches him a moment as he continues to clean off his hands. Her fingers dip to her duty board and she fingers through the pages and turns her attention there. She traces a finger down along it and then lifts her head as he speaks. "Right, of course." She says, giving a hand over her face and then a nod. She steps in once he has vacated the sink and turns on the water, wetting her arms after rolling up the sleeves. She begins the circular application of the soap. "I am not sure where my head went. Haven't seen a Raptor crew come back so badly before." She admits and stares at her hands, continuing to concentrate on the cleansing of them.

"You will," McManus warns, rubbing absently at the scar on his hairline. "It's a dangerous game, even in peacetime. At war, the stakes are just higher." He lowers his voice to note gently, "Get your supper in a bag meal if you can, and save it for later, when you've got the smell out of your nose."

Starting to rins the suds off, Circe's head tilts to look up at his advice. "I think I may skip it..not sure anything will sit right. I can handle all the cuts and lacerations that can be thrown at me. Burned though, that is another story." She says and then rubs her hands over her skin, she draws back, passing the hollow of her thumb and pointer finger down each opposite arm to try to wick off some of the excess water off. "Never ever gets better though, that smell. Just remains as foul as the first time you encounter it." Burning comrades that is. She steps back and rolls down her sleeves slowly.

"Where did you serve?" McManus asks, moving to pull out a clipboard listing his daily duty list. "Before the Cerberus, I mean."

A brow raises then as the Crewman turns to look at him. "I came fresh out of med school right to the Cerberus." Circe says. She grabs her own board and tucks it under her arm. "First posting was here..dry dock was when I first stepped aboard." she explains. She moves about then, folding back her own papers and checks off a few things that she had been doing before called to the deck. "Trial by fire if you will." she says.

McManus nods, running a finger down his clipboard, then reaching for a pen to make a few notes. Without looking up, he tells her, "I spent two years with the Marines at Fort Cetus. Lots of gunshot wounds. A whole lot of trauma. But then I went to the Marsyas and did my SAR time, and we got a whole lot of burns. Aircraft, mostly, like the Raptor today. The smell goes away, and when it does you'll be glad of your food. Get a bag meal, Crewman. Take it as the voice of experience."

A long sigh lets loose past her lips and she considers McManus a moment over her own board before she starts for the front desk area. "I will the.." Circe pauses, letting the papers go to settle back against the others below them. She smiles faintly and nods to him. "Thanks, PO." She says. "Perhaps we can have some time to talk. Perhaps over a meal when things have cleared up. And when I feel a little more ready to eat." She gives a tug to the chains at her neck a moment, situating them as she moves to file her work orders.

McManus looks immediately wary, looking her over. "What did you need? I'm not a counsellor, so it's not me you want to see if you're having problems with it."

That gives her pause again and she blinks a bit. Circe studies his expression. "Ummm…I wasn't really looking for much but to get to know everyone on board. Especially those I work with." She intones, raising a brow faintly. "I don't need help with problems, I turn to the Lords with those." She says and then shakes her head.

McManus nods slightly, tucking the clipboard under his arm. "If you're looking for a theological discussion, I'd be happy to oblige," he offers. "If you're looking for information relevant to our work, again, I'd be more than happy to help. If you're looking for physio tips, or want to know the best way to clear out a ruck? No problem." He leaves the last unsaid. Personal life is sacred and not up for discussion.

Big, bold, and a wall in every sense of the word. That's what he seems to be and she respects those wishes with just a mere nod. Circe considers and then says, "I am always up for a theological discussion, not enough of that to go around if you ask me." The crewman then takes another step back. "Even tips would be good. Can never be too prepared." She sets the clipboard down and files her papers.

"Top tips," McManus tells her solemnly. "Never give up the chance to eat, the chance to sleep, or the chance to shower. In that order." He flashes a slight smile. "If you don't look after yourself, how are you going to look after anyone else?"

Circe smirks a little at his list of tips and nods her head as she slides the paperwork into its file. "Noted." She says rather blandly. "Sleep is a bit overrated lately it seems." She clears her throat and closes the drawer with a soft thud and then stops before a spread of medical books. She begins to slide them into a stack, one atop the other. "Anything else that might be helpful, PO?" She asks of him. Her eyes are pausing on one of the books and she opens it to pull out her notepad and pen that were sandwiched between the pages.

McManus considers for a moment, then nods. "Clean socks. Always have clean, dry socks. You'll feel better for it." He sets the clipboard down, then gives a short nod. "Good evening," he offers, then turns to head off to his duties.

"Evening, PO." she states and arms her books up and holds them to her chest. Circe then turns, her duty hours done and makes for the chow hall, no matter how much her stomach is withdrawn from the idea.

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