| Teeth |
| Summary: | Teeth are bared over Hosedown, gnashed over PT, and present in darndest places. |
| Date: | 17 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Recovery Room - Deck 10 - Sickbay - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| 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: #356 |
McManus nudges the door to sickbay open with his shoulder, still in his gym gear, flipping through a few pieces of paper in his hands. A quick glance as he enters to see who's on duty, before he heads over to the desk to deposit his paperwork for the way. "Anything new?" he asks, moving to the basin at the wall to wash his hands. "Did you find your lost pilot, Lagana?"
Looking up from where she sits on the empty bed towards McManus, Circe gives a faint nod and frown. "Yeah, seems Drips decided to up and run from his bed mid-medication while still wearing his hospital gown." SHe clears her throat and tucks the list of medical texts along the spine of the book she is reading over at the moment. "Are you on duty next?" She asks, staying seated where she is as she creases another corner of a page to mark something important.
Beep… beep… beep… beep. The steady report of the heart monitor is Psyche's sole contribution to the conversation. She's out like a light after an exhausting evening. Having received several units of blood to replace those she left puddled in her cockpit, she's now on a saline drip and light morpha. Her sleep is less that of the poppy, more that of the righteously worn out.
"I did say he should be easy to find," McManus notes, lathering up his arms and scrubbing down. "No, no, not me. I've done my evil poking and bending for the day, and I'm out of here in half an hour. Didn't you hear the screams? I can't be doing my job right." He shakes off his hands, letting them air dry as he makes his way along the beds, casting an eye over the clipboards hanging at the end of each. "Marked improvement on Bubbles, then?" he notes, an eyebrow raised.
She smirks at his comment about the screams, "I think I had a little Elpis attached to my side and didn't notice." Says the corpsman. Circe looks up from her books with the mention of bubbles and she closes her medical text. "Rounds showed that she was holding steady with slow improvement. She had some extensive wounds." She says softly. The medic narrows her gaze a moment, pushing up from the empty bed and gathering the files and text to her chest, folding her arms over them as she takes a few steps towards Paul. "But she definitely isn't worse. Just out most of the time, I didn't see much movement."
Devlin was in Sickbay most of the night after he landed, waiting for Psyche to come out of surgery and then just hanging about in a chair by her bed for as long as he was able. Alert shifts happen, though, and he's been gone for some hours, wandering back in now, tying the arms of his flight suit around his waist as he raises brows at McManus and Circe. "How's Psyche doing?"
McManus nods thoughtfully, taking up the notes at the end of her bed. "So we'll fix her up, then they'll send her back out to get shot again. Rinse and repeat," he murmurs morosely, then looks up at the voice. "Sir," he offers with a nod, tilting the clipboard to show him. "She's improving, sir. The doctor's got her on painkillers but she should be awake, at least briefly, either today or tomorrow. Wingman?" he guesses.
SHe shifts on her feet, boots tapping the ground as she lets McManus look over the clipboard. "It's the way of things, if I had a say, they would all get a weeks rest after fully recovering. But then again, the usual choices are no longer ours." She turns to look at Devlin as he enters and she smiles warmly to him. As Paul takes over, she has a few things to file and square away before the change in shift. "Excuse me." Circe says softly and turns, heading back out of the recovery room for the main desk.
Devlin listens to McManus, frowning a little, "She'll be out that long? Wow." He looks concerned, leaning against the end of the bed and watching the machines beep away for a minute or two before belatedly seeming to register that he was asked a question. "Huh?" He blinks, and then says, "Oh, umm, Sunspot was her wingman. Usually Spiral."
Psyche's heart rate picks up a little — still at a good resting rate, nothing to be alarmed about, but enough so that the restless shifting of her body is no surprise. Her movements are stiff, her groan painful as the learns the present limits of her range of motion. She makes a rasping noise, her lips moving a around a word that looks like it might be 'frak'.
"Almost on cue," McManus notes with a faint smirk of amusement. "She's taken a lot of metal to her right hand side," he explains, "and that's going to take some time to settle. It's going to hurt, and we need to keep her in to make sure it doesn't get infected. If you're a friend, I'd bring her music, that sort of thing, to help pass the time when she's awake."
Devlin turns quickly as the beeping picks up, momentarily alarmed. When Psyche starts to move he steps over closer, heading to the side of the bed to find her left hand. "How long?" he asks McManus, "I mean, she'll be okay soon, right?" He nods at the suggestion of music and then blinks and doubles back to explain, "Oh. I'm her husband. I thought you knew that, I dunno why. Sorry. Alex Devlin," he introduces himself, offering his free hand over.
Psyche's hand grips Devlin's, her eyes — a bit sticky with crusty sleep goo — squint open. She manages a faint, wry quirk of a smile, sucking in a hissing breath as another attempt at movement lances her with pain. Slowly, she tests all her fingers and toes, taking inventory. "I think I'm all here…" she whispers.
"McManus, sir," the big corpsman responds, before switching his attention to Psyche. "You're going to ache a bit, sir," he apologises, "but if you need anything, there's a button to your left to call us. Should I leave you and your other half in peace for a bit?"
"Hey," Devlin says to Psyche, squeezing her hand and nodding, "Yeah, you're all here. Minus some blood and plus some bits of Viper, I guess, but all here. Probably shouldn't try to move much. Right?" He looks to McManus for confirmation. He smiles a little at the corpsman and offers, "Thanks for your help. You don't have, like, an estimate of how long she's in for, do you? At least whether it's more or less than a week?"
"They got my flying arm, this time, mother frakkers," Psyche grits her teeth and strangles a little whimper as trying to flex her right hand shoots pain up her arm. She takes a breath and focuses on McManus, her morpha haze light but still obviously addling her attention span a bit. "I remember you. You… uhm… from the deck, or something. Not last night. A couple of nights ago." She blinks and licks her dry lips. "What was the question?" She turns her head and looks to Alex. "Can I have some water?"
McManus clears his throat quietly. "I'd give it at least four or five days in here, sir, then we'll get her working on physio, maybe back in the cockpit in a couple of weeks, depending on what the doctor says. Assuming the brass don't just overrule us and put her back out there anyway." He gives Psyche a slight smile. "You were supporting your husband here last time, sir. Fair's fair, so it's his turn now. Water's fine, but no coffee," he adds to Alex.
"Oh yeah," Devlin remembers, "When I had a concussion. I knew you were familiar, sorry. What question?" He replies to Psyche and then nods, "Sure, water. And no coffee," he confirms to McManus with a nod. He turns to the side table to pour a cup of water and stick a straw in it, holding it over to the blonde's lips before nodding some more. "You never know," he shrugs, "With the way things are going they probably won't give her a ton of time. But hopefully a while. Not like rushing you back out last time worked out very well."
"No sex," gripes Psyche (which was kind of a given), "and now no coffee?" She shoots McManus a baleful look. "You're a PT aren't you? You're all frakking sadists, frakking PTs." Grump grump grump. Wah. She pouts as she elbows herself up with her good arm, taking a sip from the proffered straw. "That," she notes of her last time out, "was just some fantastically shitty luck. There was not avoiding that, full-recovery or no."
McManus colours to a light pink at that gripe, clearing his throat quietly. "We'll work on getting you fit for… um… any sort of physical activity again, sir, but my sadism knows no bounds."
"Hey, be nice," Devlin chides lightly, holding the straw closer to her lips, and smiling a little crookedly at McManus. He shrugs a bit at the blush and half-explains, "She's been injured a ton lately. The burns were finally healed and then it was the shrapnel in the hand and foot the other night, and now all this…" He shakes his head, and shrugs a bit, offering to Psyche, "At least they didn't have to shave your head?"
Psyche takes another sip from the straw before falling back against the pillows, looking grumpy. "How'm I supposed to kick Hosebeast in the pudenda if I can't manage to stay out of bed for more than a day between week-long stints of recovery?" she grumps. "Maybe I will have to settle for the depilatory in her shampoo. That's so much less satisfying, though." She rolls her head to the side to peer at McManus. "This all falls under doctor patient confidentiality, right?"
"I'm not a doctor," McManus points out, winking. "But in this case, I'll accept that and won't say a word. That woman terrifies me. Sir, may I?" he asks, moving in and gesturing to Psyche's hand. "If you can handle it, we'll start you on physio later today and hopefully get you out sooner."
Devlin snorts and shakes his head at Psyche, grinning just a little. "You have to let her grow some hair first, before you do that," he points out, "And you can't kick her til she's out of Sickbay too, so… maybe the timing will work out just right, who knows. Not that I'm in favor of you doing either of those things," he adds carefully. He draws the water glass back and then chuckles at McManus, "Why does she terrify you?" as he watches the man work.
Psyche reports flatly, "She's a boozy slam hound. And I have it on good authority that she's sporting vagina dentata." Like the poor guy needed to be more scared. She lifts her hand for McManus, sucking in a breath as her arm complains bitterly. Despite being pale and a little glassy-eyed, the bears the pain pretty well.
McManus watches her face carefully as he begins to manipulate the fingers, then the wrist. "I couldn't tell you about the dentata," he admits. "Obs/gyn isn't my specialty, although I get the feeling that I might be one of the few chaps around here who's turned down the opportunity to find out for myself. I think the word is… gregarious," he considers solemnly.
Devlin chokes on a snort of laughter that sneaks out at the end and just shakes his head, grinning crookedly at Psyche for a second, "I'm allowed to be happy you said that because it means you're at least totally coherent, right?" he says, reaching back for her left hand again. He watches what McManus is doing and snickers at his contribution, asking, "That's that myth with the teeth, right?" He shudders a little and then points out, "I think you'd've had a lot more patients in here if both of those things were true."
"No," Psyche monotones. "I really don't think that's the word." She growls and shuts her eyes tight as McManus manipulates a finger attached to a particularly shredded tendon. Breathing through the pain, she grits out, "Good for you, McManus. Someone on this ship's gotta have standards. Every time someone like Hosedown gets laid, the Lords kill a kitten." She flashes a grim, tight smile at Devlin. "Yeah. That's with the teeth."
"I'd hate to be responsible for kitten death, despite my otherwise flawless record for sadism," McManus replies, deadpan, pausing for just a moment despite his claim to let her adjust to the pain before moving on to the next finger "Standards have nothing to do with it. I'm just a keen proponent of animal rights."
Devlin snorts. "How many kittens are there left to kill, anyway?" He keeps a tight hold on Psyche's other hand as he watches, wincing a little at the worst of the pained noises. When she confirms it's the thing with the teeth he makes a face again, shaking his head, "There was a horror movie about that. It was so bad. Oh man." He shudders a little just remembering, shifting uncomfortably.
Psyche takes that moment to adjust gratefully, closing her eyes and composing herself, giving the faintest of nods indicating it's okay to go on. His pro-kitten platform makes her choke a strained laugh. "Hah. You're okay, McManus," she endorses. "For a sadist." Another sharp breath and a wince, but she nods immediately. She's got this. "Pro-kitten sadists are definitely the best kind. Well, second best. I'm sort of a dog person, myself." She snorts mirthfully at her husband's sympathetic pain for emasculated movie characters. "I saw something like that, too. I wouldn't've called it a horror movie, per se. More like a — frak!" she hisses and swallows, gritting her teeth a moment as another probe at her hand turns unpleasant. "Sorry," she apologizes, in general. "More like a dark comedy. Or a parable. Morality play. Something. Most of the penises that bit it — hah! I'm punny — belonged to rapists. So it was okay. And then one time, a dog ate it." She nods. "Definitely more a dog person."
McManus can't help himself. The word 'penis' and he's blushing like a ten year old again. It's a wonder he ever made it through A-school anatomy classes, really. "The dog ate a… ahem… penis? Or the… with the teeth?" he clarifies, despite himself, adding a quiet, "Sorry," as he bends and pokes painfully.
"How could that ever not be a horror movie?" Devlin marvels, shaking his head, "I swear, my entire package retreated into my stomach for a week." He shakes his head some more and then laughs at Psyche's bad pun and then groans, "A dog ate it? That movie sounds awful, too. Even if they were rapists, I mean… still don't wanna see that. Ungh."
More laughter, still pained, but manageable. Psyche breathes deep and steady as McManus works. "The dog ate the penis," she elaborates for the PT. "After the lady parts spat it out. It was awesome, because the frakker who lost the bits in question was abusing and starving the dog, taunting it with food and stuff. A real sadist. So, y'know — the dog eating it was poetic justice." She flashes a narrow grin at Devlin, reassuring him, "Baby, as long as you stick with the vagina you signed on for, you've got nothing to worry about. Right?"
"LA LA la la la," McManus interrupts loudly, slight grin tugging at his lips. "Sorry, sir, off limits for at least a week. You just get my scintillating company instead, and I'll be working on your arms and legs, not your… lady pieces."
"Stop, stop, gods, ahg. I am not listening," Devlin makes a face as Psyche elaborates, lifting his free arm to try in vain to cover both ears at once. He snorts at her reassurance, replying, "Course, but I still don't want to hear about it! Let's talk about something else. And good," he adds to McManus, "If you did I'd have to fight you and I would really like to not have to fight you. I almost die enough times a day as it is."
Psyche snrrks. "Uhhh… yeah." She grins at McManus, patting the man with her good hand. "Considering as how I didn't take any shrapnel to the twat, I think that's more appropriate." She giggles as Devlin quails, too. "You're both such girls!" she chides. She snorts, rolls her eyes, and selects a more delicate topic of conversation. "So, nice weather we're not having."
"We are," McManus agrees solemnly with Psyche's assessment of the two men. "In fact, when I get off duty today, I fully intend to sit in my pyjamas, giggling, watching 'Grease' and painting my nails. You're uncanny."
"Yep, totally," Devlin plays along, "I mean, you know whenever you're not around I borrow all your girly music and have a sing-along in the bunk while eating ice cream and curling my hair."
"Augh," Psyche makes a terrible face. "That's that insipid movie where the girl has to take up smoking and slut herself up to keep the dirtbag she loves, isn't it?" She wrinkles her nose. "I hate that one. If we have a daughter," she says to Devlin, "she's not watching that film until she's old enough to know how much it sucks. Which is old. Like, our age now old." She smirks at her husband. "Pretty soon, I'll be able to braid pretty bows into your beard, too, scruffy." And frowning a little, she cranes her head to get a look at what McManus is prodding — or not — now. "Either the morpha kicked in again, or the part of me you're currently poking is relatively intact. There's a definite absence of screaming agony."
"That's good news," McManus approves, nodding firmly as he grips the whole arm now, raising it slowly to check her shoulder movement. "Push down against me, if you can manage it, sir? You know what was a great film, if you ever saw it? A film, I forget the name, but one with a middle aged woman whose husband died and left her in an untenable financial position, so she ended up growing illegal drugs, which her Women's Institute thought were tea. I laughed so hard at these two little old ladies who ran the shop. Some chap went in to buy something, and all there was was giggling, then a hand pokes up above the counter with a box of cornflakes, then these two old ladies pop up with… you know those glasses with the googly eyes? I almost wet myself."
Psyche takes a deep breath in through her nose and, shutting her eyes tight, does as she's told. It causes her considerable pain, it's clear, but she tries to power through it. "Nnnnggggh FRAK me!" she all but shouts, sheet white, then flushing red from the exertion as she flops back against the pillows. "Not," she grits out, panting, "literally. Of course." She description of the scene in the movie makes her laugh weakly, a grin surfacing. "That sounds kind of awesome. If you remember the name of the movie, let me know. That totally sounds like something I'd watch."
McManus gives a sympathetic nod, patting her good shoulder. "All right, we'll call it at that, today. In good news, you've got more movement than I'd feared. With any luck, we'll have you back on your feet sooner than expected, sir. And if I ever find that vid again, I'll drop it by for you, sir."
Devlin watches with a sympathetic little wince for the duration of that shoulder-testing-stuff, though he smiles at the movie McManus describes, nodding, "That sounds funny. Thanks, if you find it, that'd be great. Want me to bring you movies or something while you're here?" he asks Psyche, and then to McManus, "Are you going to have to keep her knocked out most of the time this time, or no?"
"Thanks, man," Psyche flashes McManus a weak but sincere smile. Her good hand reaches for Alex's again. "Movies and books. If you wouldn't mind," she says to the other pilot. "Doesn't matter how much of the day I'm knocked out, whatever time I'm awake in this joint is soul-killingly boring."
McManus considers, looking Psyche over appraisingly. "I'd rather not, but that depends on the doctor. I'll recommend that we don't, but I can't make any promises, sir. If the pain gets too bad, sir," he adds to Psyche, "you've got a call button on your left there. But the more you use it, the more likely that they'll just want to knock you out and save morpha, you see? I'd lend you my collection of vids, but I get the feeling you might not be too interested."
Devlin nods to Psyche, "Course, babe. Whatever you want. I'll go get a pile in a bit," he promises before turning to nod at McManus, listening. Brows rise, curious and maybe faintly suspicious at the assumption that she will not like his film collection, "How come? What are they?"
"If I can possibly go without the morpha, I will," Psyche assures both men. "Like, as soon as they can get me off the drip, I want to try working it with plain old acetaminophen. This shit hurts, but not nearly like the burns did." She raises her eyebrows as McManus declares his vids uninteresting to her. "What is it, like… the comprehensive collection of musicals celebrating the self-subjugation of anti-feminist archetypes?" she asks with a droll smirk. "Otherwise, I might dig it. You never know."
"Rumbled," McManus agrees, deadpan. "My secret collection of misogynistic showtunes." He gives an almost apologetic smile, explaining, "Mostly rugby, sir. Old matches, old championships. Some of last year's 12 colonies games we were using for reference to find weak spots."
"Glad it's not as bad as the burns, at least," Devlin says to Psyche, giving her hand a squeeze before snorting at her guess as to the contents of McManus's dvd cases. "Get all those words off your calendar?" he teases before nodding at the corpsman, "Ahhh, you played? Guess that's not surprising," he smiles, "Cool. I was always more into pyramid, but I had some friends who played on the team at school. Fun to watch."
Psyche snorts and shoots a defensive look at Devlin. "Not all of them," she notes, primly. "'The' and 'of' I knew before. Don't knock my calendar!" She sticks out her tongue. "I've increased my vocabulary by more than a thousand words." She tilts her head at McManus, curiously. "Rugby?" she says. "That's… like… pyramid on a rectangle, right?" That's right, folks — she's blonde, however extensive her vocabulary. Of course, there's a faint hint of tongue in cheek. "I used to be really into pyramid. Never missed a game — back when I was in college."
"Just earned my ninth cap for Virgon, and an invitation for the Barbarians," McManus agrees with quiet pride, then notes, "It's like pyramid, only played by men, not diving pretty boys who call foul if you mess up their hair. And if pyramid was eighty minutes long, and had scrummaging and lineouts. And a different ball. And different rules." A pause, then he shakes his head. "Really nothing like pyramid. I believe pyramid's described as a game played by gentlemen and watched by thugs, whereas rugby is a game watched by gentlemen and played by thugs."
Devlin grins at Psyche and her calendar and then snorts when she compares rugby to pyramid, supplying helpfully for McManus, "She was a cheerleader. Whoa, hey now," he laughs at that description of the differences between the sports, "Pyramid is a serious game! And I didn't have any hair when I played, so there. But that's pretty cool," he offers, "Barbarians were a big deal. And Virgon's always got a good team, I hear. Libran was always kinda second-tier, it seemed like."
Psyche grins as McManus defends his sport, tilting her head and looking rather interested, even though her sleepy haze. "I'm a thug?" is what she takes from the whole explanation. She perks up, looking well-pleased. "Awesome. I always thought thug-ness had a height restriction. Like, 'You must be at least this tall to ride this ride'." She nods slightly, reflecting on her new butchness.
"The Libran guys weren't all bad. They had an amazing number 8 last year, but if you kept him contained, their half backs never really got it together," McManus enthuses, chomping quite happily on any rugby conversation. "So… you're a cheerleader, too, sir? Does that explain the rivalry with a certain… um… gregarious pilot who may or may not have an unfortunate dental disfigurement to her genitalia?"
Devlin grins at Psyche decides she's a thug and he nods, "See? I keep tell you you're badass. And you did put that guy in the hospital once. Total thug." His smile is amused and fond and then he looks back to McManus, nodding, "Yeah, offense just fell apart at the drop of the hat, was what I was always hearing." As for the rivalry, he looks confused, "Was she a cheerleader?"
"Rivalry?" Psyche raises an eyebrow, one dimple flashing on her left cheek. "That implies that she actually has a prayer of competing with me — on any level." She shakes her head, lifting her good shoulder in a faint shrug. "I had no problem with Hosebeast until she got on a power trip and threw my husband in the brig for giving a shit if I was alive or dead. Prior to that, I found her kind of uncomfortable, inappropriate, and icky — but I didn't hate her."
McManus explains to Devlin in a stage whisper, "And this is why I try not to get involved with women. They're very competitive."
Devlin grins at McManus, snickering a little and then explaining, "I mean, I think she threw me in the brig more because when she gave me an order I called her a cunt loud enough for the whole deck to hear. More than once. But… yeah, they don't get along. Not a cheerleader thing. Not that she could compete," he adds with a grin, "Even if I wasn't biased."
Psyche looks blank. "Did I stutter?" she asks, a little testily. "I think I made it pretty clear it's not a competition." She wrinkles her nose at Devlin's explanation of his brig-offense. "She gave you a completely heartless, unnecessary order, and wouldn't back down even once it was abundantly clear she was wrong to have done so, because she wants to be zoh-mai-gods IN CHARGE." She shoots a venomous look across the ward. "Frak her and all petty tyrants."
McManus clears his throat quietly. "Well… on that note, sir, I'm done here and I won't be in your way any further. I have a hot date with a cup of coffee, but I'll be back tomorrow to cause you more agony. Do you need anything, sir?"
"Hey," Devlin chides softly, tapping Psyche's fingers, "It was a joke. Don't be snippy. And yeah, she did. But I already told her off pretty thoroughly, I think, so. Better to just not bring it up. I'm hoping if we can just let it get forgotten Poppy will never get around to screaming at me about it. I think—" He cuts off as McManus speaks and nods a little, smiling crookedly at the PO, "Thanks, man. Glad she's in good hands with the PT and everything, that stuff can really suck hardcore." He thumps the bigger man on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, adding, "See you around."
"He's a big boy," Psyche snips, snippy at being called out for being snippy. "What's more, he's a PT. He's used to people trying to physically assault him while calling his mother viler things that I have the creativity to conceive of." That's barely been said, however, before she gives McManus a guilty glance. "Still. Sorry, dude. I'm tired. Sore. Probably getting ready for a visit from Aunt Flo." She scratches her knee, absently. "You're cool. So… Thank you — and see you soon."
"It's true," McManus admits. "You'd be shocked to hear some of the things my mother's been called when I'm working, sir. I assure you they're mostly untrue." He nods to Psyche, granting her a quiet smile, and offers Alex his hand. "And you too, sir, let one of the orderlies know if you need anything while you're visiting the wife."
Devlin gives Psyche's hand a squeeze as she comes around and apologizes and then nods at McManus, "Yeah, I think I called my PT some pretty nasty things," he confesses, "But then we got to be friends. Good guy," he remembers, and then looks up to smile back at McManus and take his hand for a firm shake nodding, "Thanks, man, I'll do that. I'll probably see you here tomorrow again, too."
~Fin