| Unraveling |
| Summary: | Pallas and Sofia have a lovely chat in the Sickbay, where lots of psychiatric work gets undone. |
| Date: | 31 Mar 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post Holocaust Day: #33 |
| 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. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Pallas is a regular, believe it or not, in the sickbay. He's in at least twice a day, usually - once to visit his comatose wingman, Ensign "Burnout" Abilon and once for the physiotherapy for his healing shoulder. So it's not surprising to see him kicking about the premises. It's hard to tell whether he's coming or going, since he's sitting on the desk that the Petty Officer sits at near the front, chatting her up. She's purty. And so clearly not interested in Pallas.
And these days, Sofia seems to be a regular presence herself. She is here for her broken mind more often than not. She hums softly, helping set down some magazines. From the looks of things, she'd rather be out of here. "Where should I put that box ma'am?" She asks quietly the Petty Officer. She motions to a box. Then a pause. A Pallas chatting her up. "Oh. Sorry." She smiles. Sofia seems oddly calm and quiet, but at least there's some glimmer of energy.
"Do I look like a Gods-damned Ma'am to you?" Pallas snaps to Sofia, deliberately misconstruing her words as directed to him. He gives her the staredown for a few seconds, then waves away the joke without even so much as a smile. "Ahh. That's right. You're the crazy one." He doesn't smile, but there's something in his eyes that changes. Like the feral glint of a hunter on the prowl, a hunting-dog that's caught the scent of prey. "Crewman… Sofia… Fox, was it?"
Blink. Sofia shies back at the misconstruing her words. "S-sorry." She seems shier than before. Her eyes are wide. That's a hardly normal reaction. "Um." Hey. She frowns. "I'm not crazy." She pouts. "I'm just… I'm just …" She looks a bit perturbed. Then she looks up at him, trying to keep her hard earned and medicated sanity together. "Wolfe," She corrects with a sigh. "Crewman Sofia Wolfe. And I am fine." She seems a little drowsy. "Who're you?" She's not sure how to feel a t the moment. Slightly annoyed perhaps.
"Wolfe. That's the one." The old man sounds like he's ever so pleased to have met a person he's heard so much about. "Lieutenant Ellinon. You might've heard of me by my callsign, 'Spiral' - more likely by my nickname, 'That Old Miserable Bastard'." The little blonde thing wearing the rank of PO completely forgotten, he turns his body to face Wolfe entirely. He seems to be fascinated with her. "How are the placebos treating you?" he asks, his eyes deeply searching hers.
Nod. Sofia is a bit confused. "I see. Pleased to meet you." Her eyebrows lift at his next title. "Interesting. Are you miserable now? Do you go to psych too then?" Peeeeer. She's genuinely curious. She looks to him. "Placebos? No … they make me foggy is all, but I do alright." She shrugs. She doesn't seem happy to talk about it. "Can - we talk about something else?" She asks quietly, less than enthused about it. "It's really awkward."
Awkward. Awkward… like the silence that Pallas lets pass before he speaks again. "Now? No, I've been miserable since long before I came to the Cerberus," he answers. The smile that accompanies the sentence is strangely off-key. Who's the crazy one here, anyway? "I don't much care to get back into psychiatric care. 'Normal' is a lie, you see, and I quite enjoy being who I am." He glances back to the Petty Officer, who's clearly uncomfortable with this conversation happening right in front of her. "Something else? Sure, let's discuss… the weather." He raises his hands, palm-up. "Hasn't rained in a while, has it?"
"Oh? I see. that's very sad," Sofia shrugs and smiles. Then a laugh. "I guess that's true in a way. But - I think I'll be glad to be healthy again," She admits. A look to the Petty Officer. Get me out of heeeeeeere. She looks to Pallas and nods. then a pause. "Er. No, no it hasn't." She lifts her eyebrows at him. She's a poor poker player, with an expressive face. Bemused is written all over it. "I can find a chair if you'd like to sit I guess."
Pallas smiles that off-beat smile again. "That's quite all right. I like sitting on this desk. Angela's been annoyed about it the whole time." The PO frowns. "Aella? Anastasoula? Something like that." No, the woman's name doesn't even start with 'A'. Epic fail. "Healthy, though, that's a concept." He makes a show of adopting a pondering pose, rubbing his chin and all. "Healthy. You know, cut off as we are, there's only a limited amount of supplies. What happens when they run out of meds for you… Sofia?" he asks, looking up from his 'thinker' stance.
Uh oh. A look to the PO. She looks apologetic. Poor lady. Sofia glances to Pallas. "You really are something else… are you that mean to her normally?" Pout. "She's very kind to me here," A look to the PO. She sighs softly. "I don't think I'm going to be on it forever actually," Sofia nods. "So I look forward to being off them." A sad smile. "Do we have to keep asking about them?" One eyebrow lifts. "You sure are odd…"
"Mean?" Pallas is apparently theatrical, because he now mocks to be deeply offended. "Perish the thought, my dear. If I wanted to be mean, I'd comment liberally on the tattoo on her lower back." Whether she actually has one there or not is far beside the point. "Now, 'odd' is coming closer to the point." He shifts his left arm a bit - it's still in that infernal sling - and gets as comfortable as he can on the edge of that desk. "What's odd, to me, is that you don't want to talk about what happened to you, and the fact that you're on medication. Could it be that you're ashamed of that?"
Sofia's jaw drops a bit. Is he for real? She peers at him. "I guess." A shrug and a sigh. Guess there's no changing people really. "Yes, I am." Her tone is less friendly at that. "It's pathetic- all of it," She looks down. It's painful, clearly. He's found a good nerve to hit. "What are you hoping to learn asking about it though? I really want to just be out of here, working again… I miss my friends a lot." She seems determined at least.
There's something to be said for the professional restraint of this particular Petty Officer. Through her years, she's dealt with PTSD patients who tore the triage room apart, sleepwalkers who fondled other patients in their sleep, pilots who came back in two pieces after something went wrong on excercise… Pallas is but another entry in the list of difficult patients to grace the sickbay. Somewhat distinguished, perhaps, in that he does it purposely - but by no means her first stretch of patience. "Pathetic? Maybe." He shrugs. "Who says I want to learn anything? Let's just say that I'm intrigued." Or bored. Or nosy. Take your pick. "You're away from work, I'm away from work." He points at the sling. "And now, our work is all we have left to live for, isn't it? So what's that make us?"
… Twitch. "What? No." Sofia blinks. She is looking a bit unsure of how to deal with this. She looks to the Petty Officer hopefully. Then back to Pallas. "No. that's not- I have plenty to live for. I don't want to die…" And hear the therapy unraveling. It's a bit cruel really. Her eyes water. "No, no. She said I was wrong when I said that. You're wrong too. Why are you doing this? You're just cruel!" She lashes out. "Go away," Sofia whines softly. "I don't want to think about that." The probability of a very ugly truth. It's not fun.
"I never said you wanted to die," Pallas says quietly. It's not a comforting sort of quiet, more of a hiding-a-smirk kind of quiet. "Sounds like there's a lot more there than the meds are dealing with," he notes to the Petty Officer, who is now standing and outraged. She calls out a name, and one of the doctors starts coming over - that's his cue to leave before someone starts yelling at him. Again. "Think about it. All the planets are gone. All that's left is this Battlestar, our lives on it, and then…" He smiles and shrugs. And slips out the hatch to Gods-know-where, probably to torment some other poor soul.
Alas. Poor Sofia. She looks duly rattled. "…" He's done his work here. She stifles a wail. "Go away you monster!" She calls after him. "Just… go away!" She's going to cry. Too late. She puts her hands to the side of her head, perhaps not caring /what/ sort of quiet or expression he has. She's experiencing a rather nasty recurrence. Nonono, bad thoughts. Either way, Pallas is not high in her books of people to like.