| Petri Dish |
| Summary: | Yet another day in quarantine and the stuff that transpires. |
| Date: | 31 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Logs tagged with _sickness |
| Players: |
      |
| Quarantine Ward - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| Post-Holocaust Day: #398 |
| 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 |
Up to Cidra and/or Evandreus to post the beginning of this log.
"They're good at that," Evan agrees, sleepy-voiced but not managing to sound quite serious even as he's murmuring close to Cid's face. "All we can really do is do as we do, and hope for the best, eh? Mourn for Adonis, the Loves are Lamenting," he resumes, conversationally, even as the words take the rise and fall pattern of a well-loved prayer, "Deep, deep in the thigh is Adonis's wound. But a deeper, is Cypris' bosom presenting: the youth lieth dead while his hounds howl around."
These hazmat suits are annoying, not to mention cumbersome and more alarming than reassuring when working with patients. Still, better safe than sorry, till they know what this influenza like illness is all about. Wouldn't do for all the doctors to become sick, let alone potential carriers of the stuff to the recovery room where the injured are far more susceptible and at risk. Still, Cameron hates it. He at least has managed to get a white one, rather than the alarming yellow or orange ones. He's waiting for some test results at the moment and taking the time to chat with each patient personally about their symptoms and how they're feeling. But he hesitates as he draws closer to the bunks where Evandreus and Cidra are talking, apparently deep in a serious conversation. So, for the moment, he skirts past them.
For his part, Trask is finally rousing from another bout of boredom-induced slumber. At this point, even copious amounts of squadron administrative paperwork would be better than being stuck in quarantine, especially since he seemingly is no longer sick. The rash has finally faded entirely, and the flu-like symptoms are likewise gone. "So, who do I have to let blow me in order to get outta here already?" is directed at the mystery figure in the white HAZMAT suit, whose identity yet remains unknown.
Cidra is half on the edge of slumber herself, more induced by fever and drowsiness than boredom in her case. Trask's carping takes her attention up from Evandreus' more pleasant words, and she directs a somewhat blurry narrow gaze across to his cot. "You have lived I do see, Bootstrap." It's observed a touch wryly.
The white head turns, Cameron's face faintly visible behind the plastic shield as he lifts a hand and waves at Trask, bending over to pick up the chart dangling at the end of his bed and scanning the notations there. "Rash faded, symptoms all cleared up…" His head lifts as he narrows his eyes almost suspiciously but then shrugs and replaces the clipboard. "Captain Bia has to give the final okay on everyone before they can be discharged, but if you're as clean and recovered as your chart indicates, I don't foresee any hold up." Still, there's a crease to his brow and his mouth is not curled up in its usual smile at releasing apparently 'good' news.
"Goodness gracious, someone get me Gracious Bia, then," he wryly declares, although he also is serious. With a practiced motion, he's soon out of his bed and on his feet. Padding over towards Cidra and the now sleeping Evan, Trask says with cheek, "Oh, come on, now, Toast. You're not so ill that you can't rejoice more. Or are you just hatin' 'cuz I'm bustin' outta here and you're not." Eyes flick towards Bunny a moment, then back to the CAG. "For what it's worth, you look less crap than Poppy." That said, of Cameron he asks, "Any new check-ins while I was out?"
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain," Cidra snorts to Trask at his 'less crap than Poppy' remark. "Do make certain Matise is keeping a bead on things when you are out of here. There are matters we should remain on top of. The return reconnaissance to Gemenon will go off soon. I will want to be briefed on that. And if there are any messages from the Areion…" A long pause. And then a shuddering near-sigh. "…relay them to me, please."
Chuckling softly, Cameron glances back toward where Captain Bia's office is and then shakes his head. "Put my hand in the lioness' mouth? I think not. She'll be by soon enough, I'm sure, to spring you free." He eyes Evandreus and Cidra quietly but says nothing about the bunk sharing. Who is he to deny someone a little comfort of physical touch? He certainly can't offer that aspect wrapped up as he is in a less than cheerful hazmat suit. "How you doing there Major? If the Lieutenant is a bit too warm or heavy for you, we can always move him back into his own bunk." Glancing up at Trask's question, Cameron sighs, the inside of his mask fogging briefly as he replies, "Five more cases today so far that we know of."
Bootstrap says with that rascally smile of his, "Which is why I don't bother, Major." With flattery, that is. What passes for a faint nod is the response in regard to Broadside. As for Gemenon, much the same. Now is not the time nor place to discuss such matters. Mention of the Areion, though, prompts a smirk. "What're they butthurt about, this time?" And just so Cameron isn't left out of all the nod bestowing, the doc gets one, too. "Any idea if any of 'em are mine?"
Cidra glares at Trask. Albeit lacking any sort of force. "Nothing, Boots." She sighs, rolling over some in her cot and wrapping herself tighter in her blanket. "It was a personal inquiry. Just keep me apprised." That is all she has to say about that. With some effort (focusing does not appear to be her strength right now), she looks up toward Cameron. "Have there been any other… has anyone else passed on, since that poor girl from the Deck?"
Near the center of the room, mass underneath a series of sheets and blankets moves and groans. One sweaty hand reaches out above the blankets and pulls them down, exposing its owner to much cooler, refreshing air. Wiping the sleep from his sweaty eyes, Keenan opens and closes his mouth in a display of what could only be described as tasting his own nasty mouth. Scowling, he weakly rolls over on his side and opens his eyes to watch the conversation taking place.
Frowning in concentration, Cameron turns and asks one of the nurses for the admittance sheet, studying it for a moment before passing it to Trask. "Two from air wing, three from deck. Oh and two more, Marines, were just admitted. Not sure which of the air, if any, are 'yours' though…" Turning to Cidra, Cameron coaxes a reassuring smile to his lips and assures her, "No one else has died and, in truth, the impression that I have is that the coma and subsequent death has nothing to do with the virus we're currently struggling with." In truth, Cameron is still waiting to read the autopsy report, just to ensure for himself that there is, in fact, no correlation. But no point in worrying anyone unnecessarily. His gaze flickers to Keenan and turning he gets a cup of water and brings it over to the feverish man, offering it to him with a soft, "Here, you look like you could use this…"
It's not as if Kal ever wilts when glared at, even in those instances there's unmistakable force, because he is an insufferably facetious frakker. Perhaps it's a semblance of kindness towards the ailing CAG (or maybe it's just because there's no sport in it with Cidra in her current state), but the SL spares her a cheeky, insinuating comment about 'personal' matters involving Spook Central.
Taking the offered admittance sheet with a small smile of thanks, Bootstrap checks the names. "Nope." The clipboard is offered back. "Looks like Bunny, Pens, and Poms over there are the only ones, so far." Eyes flit to the decidedly sick ensign. "Rah, rah, rah, rook," is mildly stated. "Other than feelin' like crap, how're ya holdin' up, Raios?"
"Thanks." Keenan murmurs with an air of utter exhaustion in Cameron's direction. Taking the cup into one hand, he uses the other to push himself into a sitting position. Bare chested and wearing a patch on his right shoulderblade, no doubt covering the spreading rash, he looks equally as sick as every other patient in the quarantine zone. Clearing his throat a few times before bringing the cup to his lips, he watches everyone in the room over the rim of the cup. "I keep waking up with these little nasty things in the corner of my eyes." He replies to Bootstrap after swallowing down some cool water. "So I guess you could say I'm being productive. Boom. Boom. Crash."
"Yer welcome," the doctor returns amiably. "Crusty eyes is pretty much the norm around here," Cameron notes with a glance around the room. "Conjunctivitus. Pretty common symptom with this sort of virus." Taking the sheet back from Trask, he nods and notes, "Well, that's something at least. We still haven't narrowed down how this is transmitted, but I'm guessing the usual - touch and airborne most likely. But, if it runs its course in a week or so, then it's really not much worse than the usual bad cold."
Cidra takes Cameron's answer with a soft "Ah" and does not pursue it. She's not in a fit state to prod too much for information, anyhow. "Poms. I would ask how goes the day but…" A shrug. Goes badly for them all. "Well, I am certain Medical shall sort this matter out shortly." She does manage to say that with conviction, whether she fully believes it our not. She huddles deeper into her blanket, however.
Technically, Trask is still a patient until the CMO signs-off on his being discharged. From the looks of him, though, he's as hale and hearty as he ever was. Granted, he's also been cooped up in here longer than anyone else, save for Laramy and Timon. Well, Timon, anyway, seeing how Laramy recently kicked the bucket. Speaking of which, he offers his two cubits, "Somethin' that snuck by her compromised immune system would be my bet," not that he's a physician, nor was his opinion solicited. At least he has enough decency to refrain from pointing out that "Clamps" was a veritable petri dish of venereal diseases.
Switching tracks, the SL tells Keenan, "Well, good thing you already have a callsign, then." Being called Eye Boogers would suck. "Either of you want me to nab somethin' of yours?" That being to Toast and Pom-Poms regarding personal items to help stave off the boredom.
The small person within the hazmat suit that enters seems to be drowning in the outrageous costume. A soft sneeze comes from her and she pauses, muttering and then moving towards Poms' bed. Solstice has in her arm a cylinder and she pauses near the edge of his curtain before she untucks from her arm. "How are you doing today? Better?" She asks softly. The ECO looks back around to see the numbers have grown in the quarantine area. Her honey eyes settle on Trask for a moment.
"Nah I don't have anything, so don't take my eye boogers either." Keenan replies with a dry snort. "Let me know if you find some kind of movie that we can watch down here. It gets quiet." His attention draws to Cidra. "It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't ache, you know? I don't so much sleep as I do pass out." With that, he takes another sip of the water and turns to say something to the CMO, but that's when he spies Shakes entering the ward. Raising his eyebrows as she nears, and as she asks her question he gives a disappointed shake of his head. "No, but more people are awake so there's more company. You getting sick too?"
Nodding to the assembled group, Cameron waves and notes, "Well, I've got patients to check up on and tests to run. Rest up, take it easy, hopefully everyone will get well soon and this will just be an annoying bug. Probably the release of stress from all the Swarm attacks coming back to bite us. Happens all the time. Your body holds out for as long as it can, but once the alert status drops off, exhaustion sets in and the immune system is depleted. More susceptible to catching something after a long stressful period of time." And with that the doctor moves on with another wave, stopping briefly as a nurse catches his arm and asks him something before heading toward a bed on the far side of the room, a chart clasped in his gloved hand.
Cidra groans softly and just rolls deeper into a burrow of sorts in her cot, her eyes closing again. She doesn't sleep precisely right away, but she lapses into a less-conscious zone that is near to it.
The sneeze from Solstice? It draws her SL's attention. "Hey, Doc," he starts to the departing Cameron, "remember what I said about how none of the newly admitted were mine?" Looks like that's about to change. If that's the case, someone in Medical will see to it that poor Shakes does not leave.
Without taking his eyes off of Solstice, Trask then tells Keenan, "Not my call, but if Medical doesn't mind, I'll see what I can scrounge." Because pretty much all of the videos that he owns are part of the EPIC pr0n collection that Lieutenant Marvin "Prince" Albert bequeathed to him, which means they really aren't suitable for watching in Sickbay.
"I am sorry to hear that…" Solstice says genuinely when she looks back at Keenan for a moment. She smiles behind the shield of her mask and then sets down the roll of scrolls on his bed before Trask speaks. Her gaze wanders back to him and she offers a nod to Trask before she clears her throat and lifts a hand up to fix the headpiece. "A little bulky and inconvenient…" She murmurs and then motions to the tube. "These are for you." She intones to the tube she had set upon his legs. "Getting out then, sir?" She asks of Trask before looking back up to him.
A detail Keenan, unknowingly, is sure to find out sooner than later. Swimming in the absolute boredom and pain of the quarantine ward, Keenan will take anything that he can get his hands on. "I'd owe you one. I don't know if it's smart saying that, but there's only so many hours of rolling over and moaning I can take." Keenan replies to Bootstrap, taking another sip of his water. He winces as the Squadron Leader makes a request for Shakes to not be allowed to leave, and a quiet curse is muttered under his breath. "Sir, she hasn't told me about a rash or anything, it might just be a cold." He says, making a polite protest. He sets the scrolls aside and looks up to the standing form of Shakes next to he bed. "Thanks." He frowns, taking another sip of the water. "How'd you sleep?"
Getting out? "Just as soon as Gracious Bia is gracious enough to discharge me," is the idle, mildly sassy remark of someone oh so restless to get outta here and get back to work. "Again, Poms, not my call." This time in reference to whether or not Solstice is not warranting to be quarantined. Then, with mock indignation, he demands of the junior ECO with a scoff, "What? No presents for me?"
"Sir, I am fine and if I am detained here, I certainly cannot get you presents." Solstice states with a furrowed brow. "It's just a sneeze, sir. I do not feel at all weak or the like and have been performing just fine." She shifts and then looks back at Poms. She doesn't say anything, but those dark circles under her eyes speak volumes for the truth. Sleep is very distant for her and she is wearing the badge well. "Besides, I would much rather be wearing a suit and visiting with the likes of you sick puppies." Says the Sagittaron. "I see little improvement…" She says in faint disdain. "I hope you are both praying."
Keenan points to Solstice and gives Trask an encouraging look when the lady mentions that she's not feeling sick. At least the man appears to hope that it'll work. His attention is drawn towards her tired eyes, and the hopeful look turns into a frown. A little, private, wordless conversation happens between him and Solstice for just a few seconds. The pilot's made the attempt for her, but the ball is in Bootstrap's court. "I have been a little, when I'm not unconscious. Been hearing more of it the last few hours." Keenan admits, reaching out with a grunt to set the cup of water down on the small table next to his bed. It's more than just a reference to the death of one of the quarantined. "Either way, Bootstrap, I'm looking forward to getting some flight time out there or maybe some cards in at the RR. Guess we've been two ships passing in the hallways since I got my wings."
Whatever the duo is trying to peddle, Trask isn't buying it. Even so, it is as he said: it really isn't his call as to who Medical deems needs to be admitted and who doesn't. "Yeah, well, at the very least, you're not listening and you need your eyes checked." Because (1) he's not going to repeat himself to either of them, and (2) if Solstice sees little improvement in his condition, she really isn't seeing properly. Sure, the man is still stuck wearing Sickbay couture, but that's because bureaucracy is a bitch and he's stuck waiting on the CMO to dot all her 'i's and cross all her 't's before he's actually discharged. As far as praying goes, the blithe reply is, "Yeah, sure." Which is to say 'no'.
To Keenan, the SL remarks, "We'll get'cha out in the black as soon as we get'cha outta here, Raios. Why, I'm even gonna formally assign Shakes here as your designated Ee-Cee-Oh since she seems to have a knack with newbs." As for ships passing in the night, all that comes is a somewhat sardonic (and self-recriminating), "You're already ahead of the last guy. He died before earning a callsign."
Before Bootstrap has a chance to begin brooding about /that/, however, a HAZMAT clad orderly arrives and informs him, "Captain Trask? Captain Bia is ready to see you. This way, please."
Solstice falls to silence at the remarks and a brow finally raises to that of her new assignment. She had been Priest's ECO for as long as she could remember and now Keenan was to take driver's seat for her. Her eyes slide back to her new driver and she considers him. "I think that will be a challenge but I will see what I can do." She says and lifts a hand to rub a hand to her head, but in turn is stopped by the suit. As the orderly arrives to escort Trask away, the Sagittaron nods to the SL and then says, "Good luck, sir."
That being said, she watches him being led off and rests a hand at the side of Pom's bed.
At first, Keenan's features soften, almost happy about the idea of being assigned as Solstice's pilot, but then the sneaky right hook mention of the dead pilot knocks a little sense into him. Flattening his lips, he gives Bootstraps a furrowed brow that is sure to tell the man that he's gotten the point. Nodding, he raises a hand. "Looks like that's your call, Sir. I'll see you on the other side." Taking a few moments to watch the man leave, he turns his attention to Solstice. "Well, at the very least you're stuck down here until you can get cleared that you don't have the plague. You need to get some sleep, you look like you're about to fall over onto your ass. Pull up a chair, Shakes."
Bootstrap had been backseating for Jugs since the beginning of his career, give or take the occasional assignment when he flew with someone else. Then she went and got knocked-up last Beltane, forcing him to not only play musical chairs with pilots, but to also take over command of the VAQ-141. All of which is to say that shit happens and things change. Oh, and that things could always be worse.
At this exact moment, however, as far as Kal Trask is concerned, things are about to get much better because he's about to get the frak out of here. "See ya, kiddies," is his chipper farewell to Poms and Shakes. "I'll be sure to send a postcard." And off he goes.
Up to Keenan and/or Solstice to post the conclusion of this log.