PHD #127: Pickles and Bratwurst
Pickles and Bratwurst
Summary: Trask comes to visit Niobe in the Recovery Room.
Date: July 3 2041
Related Logs: Everything to do with Leonis.
Niobe Trask 
Recovery Room - Sickbay
A much more quiet area of Medical, this elongated room is also lined with beds. Each is similarly outfitted with privacy curtains as necessary and even the paint on the walls has been lightened in an attempt to help lift spirits. Chairs are readily available all over the place so that visitors can pull one up to talk to the patients during their recovery. Near the entrance, visiting hours are posted with a very conspicuous 'No Smoking' sign.
Post-Holocaust Day: #127

Most of the people who made it back from their trek on Leonis have been discharged already from Medical. One of those people is not Niobe. After having been shot on the surface, the normally chipper - if unlucky - ECO has kept herself on bed rest. Imagining all her fellows as food and wanting to eat them, she's been a little ill at ease. Curled up on the bed, she's reading what looks like a very old gossip magazine. It's what she's got.

Unlike the other squadrons, the Harriers have been fortunate enough that their only Operation: Cobra Talon fatalities were those lost on the very first day. Casualties, however, they've had their fair share. Visiting friends and colleagues confined to sick bay is a long-standing tradition of Trask's, and he's made certain to come by daily to check on those he knows. "I really hope you're not reading that because you ate all the culinary magazines." Dry as beef jerky and, to those who even passingly know him, the kind of comment he'd make even in light of — or perhaps because of — the circumstances.

As fortunate as that is for the Harriers, Niobe has felt both disgusted at herself for not wanting to get out of bed and grateful for not having to deal with the aftermath of their trip to Leonis. Her nice, quiet bed in the Medical Bay has been a nice island of contentment. Plus, she's gotten regular meals. As Trask enters, the ECO glances up from her gossip rag and then back down, as if his comment really didn't bother her. It didn't. She knows Trask and is something along the lines of grateful to him for staying behind to watch over her in her fevered state. Not that she'd show it, of course. "Those went fast. Doc said I needed my fiber." With a shrug, she flips a page. "These don't taste as good, so they're safe."

"You'd think that would be higher in fiber," the mag indicated with a mild tilt of his head, "if the amount of steaming crap on those pages were any indicator — but, being crap, they probably taste like shit." Nonchalantly, he drags over a nearby chair, turns it so the back faces the bed, and then Bootstrap straddles it in the way men are wont to do. "How're you feeling? Yanno, apart from the whole shot in the stomach, near-death experience bit."

"But, their pictures aren't quite as appetizing." Niobe flips another page and shrugs. "Anyway, everyone in this magazine's dead." As if that puts off her appetite, she tosses it to the side of the bed and rests her head against the pillow behind her. "Makes it taste burnt." As far as she's concerned, that's not quite as good as fake food. "I'm feeling hungry. So, apparently, that's good news. You don't look like a bratwurst any more, if you're wondering. It's actually kind of a turn off. I'd say you looked better before."

Without missing a beat, Kal quips, "So's the mystery meat in the galley." Dead, that is. "And c'mon," is added, picking up the magazine and flipping to a page that is mostly a photo of some fake blonde with huge fake boobs, "she likely doesn't contain more additives than the standard convenience store snack cake." Canting his head while regarding the image, he tacks on, "Apart from STDs. Pretty sure even Ho-Hos won't give you the clap." Looking back to the actual woman in front of him, Trask unceremoniously thunks the gossip rag back unto the bed and says, "You're only saying that because I'm wearing pants. If I weren't, you'd be seeing bratwurst."

"That's a relief at least." If it were still alive when she were eating it, she thinks that could be a problem. There's a soft laugh that she lets escape as she looks at the fake implants of the celebrity in her magazine, she adds, "I'm pretty sure there are a bunch of Ho-Ho's that could give you the clap, Bootstrap. You just weren't looking hard enough. Or you were just were smart and using protection." Of all the snack-cakes he mentioned, it had to be Ho-Ho's. It's almost too easy. "I always wondered why men always refer to their penises as food. We'd just eat it and then it'd be—-you know what? I just answered my own question. Nevermind."

"Oh, those snack cakes never left their sheath of plastic." What happened while they were still packaged is something he does not disclose. As for penises, Trask is kind enough to explain, "Because if you heard the other things we refer to them as, you might lose your appetite."

"I don't know if that's possible." Niobe losing her appetite. She still had quite a bit of one on Leonis while filled to the gills with anti-rad medicine. Which had quite the opposite on poor Bunny. "But, don't take that as an opportunity to start." The woman doesn't doubt that he would. "It's good that they didn't leave it. Outside, I'm pretty sure they'll kill you." With a small stretch, she manages to kick the gossip magazine onto the floor. But, she doesn't really seem to bother about that. "How's it outside here? Everyone…hanging in there?"

Start? Trask? "Now, now, my voracious vixen," is the light protestation, "There's something sexy about a hearty appetite." It's flirty in a scampish way, which is to say it isn't at all salacious, even if it's possible that he means what he said. "I'm rather flattered you think of me as a big, fat sausage." The humor doesn't abate, even if it takes a wry turn upon relaying, "Carnage. Chaos. Yanno, the same ol' same ol'. Lasher's dead," in case she hadn't heard, "Bled out in the bird while RTB. Bunny's missed you, it seems. Poor boy's in the ICU." Facetious as that is, it also is true. The ICU part, anyway. No amount of wisecracking can fully conceal the emotion in his expressive eyes. "Just hope he doesn't treat the ward like a Raptor." Meaning that the pilot will be the last one to leave.

Start perhaps was the wrong word to use. Continue might have been the proper one, because Trask has probably started with crude jokes from the moment he could speak. "Now, I've been trying to convince everyone else of that, too. They just don't have your vision." With a roll of her eyes and perhaps a tinge of embarrassment, the ECO shrugs her shoulders. "I was delirious on anti-rads and a gut wound. I'm surprised you haven't brought up my attempts to eat you." While Trask is good at tossing things off the cuff, Niobe has a bit of a tougher time of it. She heard about Lasher, and knew that Bunny was about somewhere, but hadn't seen him yet. The pain in her stomach flares up for a moment with all the thinking about Leonis and Bunny, but she attempts to keep that concealed. Instead, she just says, with only a tinge of humor, "Tell him if he's betting who can stay in bed longest, it's a bet. But, I want a big steak dinner as my winnings."

"A gentleman doesn't discuss such things." Beat. "Unless it's along the lines of 'Remember that time you sucked me dry like a milkshake? We should totally do that again.' Then it's not so much telling as it is offering a suggestion. Anyway, it's moot. Fine piece of meat-eating meat that you may be, I have this thing called ethics, so I'd sooner be cannibalized than eaten by one of my squaddies." True to form, Trask is downright blithe saying such a thing. The bet prompts, "Frak that. I'll start breaking legs, loanshark style, if the both of you don't get your assess outta here, pronto."

With a raised eyebrow, Niobe pointedly suggests just how much of a gentleman she thinks Trask is. That would be, not a lot. "It was a very near thing down there and then you'd be able to put your ethics to the test. If I'd've had any sauerkraut on hand, you were done for, Boots. Also, if I could have managed to drag myself up to grill you." How he handles the bet makes her snort as her answer. "That defeats the whole purpose. Unless you're gonna break other people's legs. In which case I'm gonna bring Bunny in here and we'll get the popcorn ready."

If the Taurian is offended by the intimation that he is no gentleman, he gives no such indication. "Maybe I should instruct the galley that you are not allowed to have sauerkraut or sausages due to medical reasons." The snort also seems to have no affect. "Maybe when I get tired of breaking their balls." Beneath the surface, though, something troubles him, despite his flippant facade.

Niobe shifts just slightly as they talk. These days she doesn't often get conversation that involves witty banter. Mostly, it's talk about stitches and scars and how she's feeling. Not so much about bratwursts and breaking legs. That is to say, it's a welcome change for the ECO. "That would be a cruel thing to do a poor starving woman," she retorts. "I barely get good food here as it is. All this 'healthy' stuff. Tell me they still have some good food outside." His flippant facade may be enough to fool the injured woman at the moment, extended conversation may lead her to get to the bottom of Trask's ill-at-ease.

Incredulous Kal is incredulous. "I hear that Lieutenant Bia makes some to die for cookies. Even so, I will bust your ass if I find out you're in here to bask in baked goods. Speaking of which, when are you due out?" It's all very conversational.

"If you let everyone know that, they're all gonna get themselves hurt so they can eat them, too." And as far as she's concerned, the more for her, the better. As for when she's due out, Niobe shrugs her shoulders. "Gotta get my head looked into, I guess. Apparently seeing people as food and then attempting to eat them isn't normal. Also, my fear of right triangles may be irrational." Her own flippant attempt to keep the subject light is flimsy.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License