| Eenie Meenie Miney Moe |
| Summary: | What happens when Bunny and Bootstrap are confined in quarantine? Card tricks and pedicures, evidently. |
| Date: | 30 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Logs with the _sickness tag |
| Players: |
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| Quarantine Ward - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #397 |
| A hastily erected ward created by sealing off a fifth of the recovery room with a temporary bulkhead, the battlestar's new quarantine zone has enough space for about fifty patients, though fifty more beds can be crammed inside at the expense of patient comfort and privacy. A long faux-wood folding table at the front of the compartment is stocked periodically with tea, coffee, and three square physician-approved meals. Four portable toilets stand at the other end, their blue plastic sides and polished steel bowls cleaned altogether too many times a day for the ship's janitors' liking. Access to the room is restricted to doctors, nurses, and orderlies, though visitors are permitted to enter the premises provided they wear HAZMAT suits. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Evandreus has been in quarantine for two whole days now, and the confinement is now officially worse than the disease. Despite having all the symptoms, he hasn't been hit particularly hard by this thing, or else he simply wears the illness very well. He feels generally crappy, but aside from the occasional vomiting there's nothing too severe about his condition. And so he's sitting on his allotted cot, lips twisted together in thought as he peruses a triad deck, evidently trying to get the hang of either a game or some sort of magic trick. One leg bent as though to sit cross-legged, but the other one stretched out over the cot, bare toes sporting a set of nicely filed, light-pink painted toenails.
For his part, Trask has been here a few days longer. The chills and fever subsided some time ago, and his exhaustion has long since given way to ennui punctuated with the restlessness likewise born of boredom and confinement. "Look at you, with your pedicure," he good-naturedly smirks, continuing with mock protest, "Clearly, I've been screwed over on my medical benefits package. Can't even get a decent shave." Although, really, /that/ had largely been due to the location of his rash, now mostly faded beneath the overgrowth of 5-days old beard.
"Dude, I did those nails my -own- self," Evan tosses back, a mockery of sass in his voice as he gives a little head-waggle to punctuate the point, eyes closing a moment before they squint open to shoot a playful eyebeam over toward Boots. "I'll do yours after we get out of here," he promises. "Here," he adds, shuffling, "Pick a card."
For someone so rough-and-tumble, Bootstrap practices good hygiene. Not in some frou-frou or metrosexual way, but he does clean up very nicely when he makes the effort. At the moment, his nails are neatly trimmed and the nailbeds sans dirt, but his cuticles are destined to always be a bit ragged. "Only if you have something lavender and sparkly," he banters back. Then, with an extended forefinger, his left hand horizontally bobs back and forth. "Eenie meenie miney moe." A card is decisively plucked. "Okay, now what? It's the Ace of Spades, innit? I totally bet it's the Ace of Spades."
"Wrong deck, Boots," Evan tells him warm-heartedly, seeming charmed by the joking about, no less. "Okay, now, memorize it, and then put it back." He fans out the triad deck and holds it outstretched with his eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side. "And beggars can't be choosers when it comes to nail polish. If you can find the color, I will gladly put it on your toes. I have blue, though. I could use blue, if you wanted."
The card is scanned and easy enough to memorize, seeing how it's quite punny: Two of Blue, i.e., too blue. Amused, the SL's lips purse with humor, and then he replaces the card. "Lavender, Buns. With sparkles." Bootstrap has spoken.
Evandreus waits 'til he can feel the card being slid back into the deck, then opens his eyes, shuffling the cards together a few times before he turns back around, working the cards easily. "I'll make it happen. Good to see you feeling better, Bootsies. You had me worried, yanno?" he looks into Boots' eyes with a tender glance, radiating affection. "Add together the day and the month of your birthday."
When Evan expresses his concern, there is a small snort. Kal? Not be okay? Please. He's strong like bull. Even so, he's touched at the Bunny's concerned, evinced by the tiny, pleased smile that follows the itty-bitty eye roll. "I'd've killed myself, last year, if I were unable to withstand even the most severe of tedium." Because being a squadron leader has no shortage of tedious administrative work. "Oh, and if I were some lame-ass quitter." Which he most certainly isn't. As for mental math after all these days of being stuck doing nothing? Bring it. "You want that I add my CIN, too?" That being his Colonial ID Number.
"Nope, just the day and the month," Evan assures Boots. "And if it's over ten, add the digits together, and so forth until you come down to a one-digit number," he goes on. "I didn't mean the boredom. I know your brain has ways of keeping you occupied," he grins. "But I mean… the sick. Some people have it pretty bad." Which is to say that someone died of it.
Only the most out-of-it, which Trask most certainly is not, would've missed the news about CN Krista "Clamps" Laramy. "I guess they've yet to rule out whether or not the cause of death was some fatal STD." Because nothing is sacred for someone who seeks refuge in facetiousness. To carry the bad taste even further, the ECO assuages the pilot, "My hands have a clean bill of health, so worry not about me." Because he is fully capable of poking fun at himself and his reputation for self-fulfillment, so to speak. On a more serious note, he actually looks as though he's on the finishing stretch of what's been ailing him. "You still pukin'?" is asked with a nonchalance that cannot fully conceal the care and concern evident in his oh so expressive eyes.
"Not since yesterday. And yesterday only once," Evan reports, almost sounding proud of himself, like a toddler who used the potty. Bunny kept the galley food down. Someone throw a parade. "At this rate, they might let me out before you," he adds with a cheeky little grin, slinking away from uncomfortable topics and hiding in his own preferred escapist paradise, Gigglesville.
Playing along with no lack of cheek, Kal declares, "Sounds like someone deserves some lollipops, especially since that someone isn't gettin' outta here before I do."
Fade for RL sleep…