A Day in the Bay
A Day in the Bay
Summary: Sickbay. From the day's beginning visitors to the quiet ending.
Date: 32 ACH
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)
Players:
Novella..Micah..D'Artanion..Craven..Zaharis..Ramiro..Rue..Quill..

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Recovery Ward Genesis - Deck 13
32 ACH 6285 Souls


This is a large room holding over twenty bed stations for patients to recover after having treatment severe enough that they cannot immediately return to duty. Each station has various connections for medical equipment, a bed with collapsible railings, fold out table, adjustable positions and a privacy curtain.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-

Novella is screaming her head off..

Kidding.

Novella is actually hanging out in bed, as expected. Though she looks pretty uncomfortable. A pensive grimace on her face is resigned into a permanent fixture. She's grabbed one of Micah's comics and is trying to distract herself with it… and it seems to be working to an extent. Her right leg is pulled up but she's otherwise not moving but for her left hand holding the book against her thigh.

[Intercom] Major Savannah Rue, Report to the Marine Offices. That is all.

Shockingly enough, Micah isn't screaming either. Nor is he stapled to his bed any longer, and nor is he reading. He's sitting still and being rather uncharacteristically quiet, which may be more worrying than the alternative. Now and then Novella receives a sidelong look from him before his eyes slink closed again.

The entryway to the Recovery Ward slips open, allowing Craven to make his way into view. Seems like he's going to make a couple of rounds, for he's glad in his duty uniform and there's a clipboard craddled carefully beneath his left arm. Shutting the door behind him, he begins to walk along the rows of the beds, stopping at each one to take a look at the charts and then make a notation on his own board.

Novella looks up at Craven's entrance. She doing her best to hold back until he gets to her bed. But when he does, the Ensign puts on her most pathetic face. "El-Tee.. No more drugs? Nurse wouldn't give me anymore." That's what we're going with until Zaharis talks to the player, anyway. There's a glance to Micah and then back to Craven.

It's a wonder Micah hasn't put any holes in the wall by now, restless as he looks at the moment. It's got to be any physician's worst nightmare, dealing with him. At least he holds his tongue when Craven slips into the room and is addressed off the bat by Novella; instead, he studies the man silently as he makes his rounds.

The door to the outer room opens and D'Artanion moves in. She moves to the marines first, as they are her primary concern. Pausing by each, she takes a moment to speak to them one by one. Still, it is not long before she, too, is in range of the pilot and doctor.

Reaching Novella's bed before Micah, Craven lifts his gaze when she speaks and he's giving a slight shake of his head, "'fraid not, Ensign. We have to seriously ration our supply, with the loss of the Flattop and PAS. As a result, Morpa is only being given to those who really need it." He's looking over towards Micah, only to give a slight nod of his head and a smile, before he's turning to look towards the new arrival. That same smile and a nod are given towards D'Art, before he finally looks back to Novella.

Novella is laying in her bed with her right leg bent at the knee. She's resting a magazine against it with her left hand and doing her best not to move otherwise. Micah is laying in the bed further down and kind-of awake and looking feisty. But the blond Ensign speaks up: "Yeah, I kind of figured it was coming." Her breathes come in controlled bits when she speaks. It hurts, duh! "So.. Nothing you can give me? Can I drink whiskey or something? Help dull the pain?"

Micah is situated not far at all from Novella, so he can't really help but be privy to the conversation that takes place. When Craven glances over, his acknowledgement is actually returned by a quick smile from the pilot. It's lopsided, it's a little uncertain, but it's more than most people get out of him. "Lieutenant." It's pronounced 'left tenant', of course.

Zaharis comes in from another wing of the recovery ward, heading down the overcrowded rows of beds. His right arm and shoulder are still out of commission, leaving him to work left handed. Which is more irritating than it sounds when a good portion your work involves writing on clipboards without a flat surface handy.

The mention of whiskey has Craven giving a soft chuckle and he's giving a firm shake of his head, "That's certainly not my call, since Major Zaharis is your attending Doctor. But if you were my patient, I'd be saying no to that request." His gaze turns back over towards Micah to give another nod, "Ensign, how you feeling over there, anyways?" For the moment, Zaharis isn't noticed. Probably a good thing.

"Ah'm alive," is Micah's succinct reply, eyes lifting without a motion of his head when Craven addresses him. Fortunately or unfortunately for Zaharis, he does spot the man doing his rounds, and his attention briefly alights upon that sling. Huh. Then with a breath, it's back to Craven again. "Tell you what. I have a half-full pack of cigarettes over there, under the comics.." He may, or may not be serious. One can never tell with him.

D'Artanion glances up at the voices, her gaze flickering from the pilot to Craven, then back again. Sympathy for the wounded is clear in her gaze, though she won't go against the doctor's orders. There is a reason why docs get rank that has less to do with medicine and more to do with the stubbornness of those in their care. Though knowledge does not hurt. Looking back at her patient, she shakes her head, "Sorry, Fredricks. That's above my paygrade. It wouldn't help, anyway. You can't scratch inside the cast. Anyway, the itch means it's healing." Either that or that the skin has contracted some horrifying viral infestation that is eating the skin.

"Aw c'mon El-Tee. Even a little? Shit hurts!" She motions to her left leg with her glance. She doesn't move the head. That interfere's with muscles near another gunshot wound. Grr. Novella then looks up to see Zaharis' approach and she does the same thing over again; She makes the most pathetic face she can and just watches. Doe-eyes.. do your worst!

Zaharis has a few people along the line before he gets close to the pilots' beds, and he isn't rushing. It's a while before he draws up beside Novella's bed, pulling her chart from the metal holder at the foot of her bed. He sets it down on her rolly tray so he can flip up a page and glance over the most recent notation, doe eyes ignored. "Ensign. How are you feeling?"

There's a soft chuckle towards Micah and Craven is giving his head a slight shake at the mention of the cigarette's. Any response is cut off when he hears Zaharis speaking and he turns slightly to regard the man, giving a slight nod, "Major." A flicker of movement catches his attention and he's watching as D'Artanions scurries out of the room before he's looking back to Zaharis and then to the two pilots, "If you'll excuse me, I've got some paperwork to attend to."

Damnit. Well sometimes they work. "I'd be lyin' if I was 100 percent, sir." She slept until last night from the last time he spoke to her when they got back from Leonis. "Hear the drugs are runnin' low." Novella clears her throat and tries to resituate herself. "I was hoping you could tell me when I'll be back on active duty? Or at least out of my bed, sir?" As Craven leaves she does her best to smile at him and pulls it off for a few gritted moments.

Micah grins a little, teeth flashing ever so briefly. "Wanted to thank you, Lieutenant," he offers, low-voiced like he half doesn't want to be heard. There's a firm nod then when the man mentions he has other things to attend to, but he doesn't endeavour to explain what he means by that. Instead, it's the conversation between Novella and Zaharis that he eavesdrops on; he's not been told any more than she.

"Lieutenant." It's not a summons, just Zaharis acknowledging Craven's presence. Walking around is a far sight better than the CMO was last night. His voice is still hoarse, and without much sound it lacks a bit of intonation. He lets go of Novella's chart papers, looking at both Ensigns. "You've both been recovering well, all considered. If you continue to do so I will probably release you to bedrest in berthings in two days. We'll have to assess again for light duty next week. Assuming you behave yourselves on bedrest and don't pull out your stitches. Considering our surgical thread is in short supply, I'll have to trust you to keep that in mind."

"Thank you, sir." Novella isn't going to ask about her concussion. "I won't be running anyplace. Promise, sir." She might have the reputation of being feisty and up for a fight, but there's something not quite so eager to that end anymore. But when he describes what might happen, she shakes her head. "Yeah, no thanks." A glance to his not-so-healthy arm. "You doing alright, sir?"

"Aye, sir." It sounds a little tired coming from Micah, but surely he can't be blamed for that. Again, his eyes flicker toward the arm in a sling and then away again. "That's good to hear." A pause. "You frakked up your arm." Hey, great minds think alike, and the two pilots practically have telepathy going on some days.

"I'm doing just fine, Ensign, thanks." Zaharis slides Novella's chart back where it's supposed to be, and comments to Micah with a slight smirk. "Metal just doesn't like me. Anyway, Ensigns. Be good and rest up. We'll keep up what pain medication schedule that we can, but won't lie to you. We're short supplies and there won't be much to go around. Just try to hang in there."

The blonde does her best. "Thank you, sir. Any chance I can steal some whiskey in lieu of some Morpha? Cut back on my requirement and save you guys some down the road for people whole need it?" A pause. "Please? I'll be good, sir. Promise." She doesn't try the doe eyes again. Just the normal request. Kinda.

"If you don't mind, doc," Micah murmurs, still considering the sling for a few moments more, "Save mine for Cav. I can manage without." He doesn't so much as glance toward the blonde. She might try to refuse, or talk him out of it.

"Alcohol dehydrates, Ensign," Zaharis tells Novella. "Not what you need." His brown eyes give Micah a mild look. "Valiant, but save it for the air. We will make the decisions on meds."

"Yes, sir," Novella sighs. "Thanks." She won't keep him. He looks busy. She'll assume Craven can get her on some crutches and out of here in a few days. The woma nglances to Micah at his request and looks like a disgruntled sister aiming daggers at a misbehaving brother.

Micah grits his teeth together slightly, but refrains from arguing. Do not argue with the doctor who has his arm in a sling. Stapled to the bed, he does not want. "Aye, sir," is muttered a bit discontentedly instead; Novella's daggers are parried and riposted with death rays.

Srsly, you don't want to get beaten with the sling arm. And Zaharis will do it. "Chin up, we'll throw you out soon." He smirks at the look going between then. "Your enjoy each other's company, now." He steps back from the bed, giving the metal a rap with his knuckles before he starts away for the next patient.

SOME TIME LATER…

The pair of Viper pilots and everyone else in here are on rationed meds. Which means.. well.. almost none. Novella is laying awake on her pillows, staring at the ceiling with a clenched jaw. Her left hand is run halfway through her hair and stopped as if too tired to finish. At least she's gotten some of her original color back - which isn't much. She's not moving much otherwise. Nearby is a discarded comic book and water packet.

Rue steps in quietly, pausing in the doorway to look over at the Viper pilots. When she's had a good eyeful, she steps into the room proper and starts to move over to Novella's bedside.

Micah is sprawled half onto his right side, cheek against the pillow and comic book in hand. 'Time Trekkers' according to the glossy cover, and it's at least somewhat engrossing by the looks of it. Then again, he's probably on his third or fourth read; there isn't much else to do in here.

Seeing a figure moving closer out of the corner of her eye, the pilot tilts her head a touch. Rue. She uses that left hand to try and sit up straighter in the bed. The other tries to lift for a salute but the shoulder is still too tore-up for that. "Major," she says quietly. "Guess you got word."

"At ease…" Rue says, moving over to Novella's bedside and taking a seat on the edge. "Yes, I got your message. What can I do for you, Baylee?" She folds her hands in her lap and scans the young pilot's face.

Micah lifts his eyes briefly when Rue enters, then lowers them again to continue reading. It's easy enough to listen in on their conversation from where he is, which he undoubtedly does.

That does get a smile from Novella. An honest one she can't hide despite the pain they are all in. But its more thankful than happy. The Major knows her name. "Uhm.. Few things, sir." She swallows. "Shit.. wanted to do this while I was on painkillers.." The woman wets her lips. "Sorry we crashed your bird, sir. Hope you won't think less of us for it."

Rue cants her head sideways slightly at Novella, one eyebrow arching. "You got ambushed by a bunch of Raiders. I'm sure you did the best that any of us could have done in that situation." Then she notes, glancing conspiratorily back towards the doorway, "Between you and me. I hated that damned thing anyway."

"I crashed the frakking bird, sir," mutters the other pilot, keeping his head lowered and his eyes on the comic book. "Cav did a damned fine job with the guns. I was the one who ditched it, so don't let her blame herself."

Novella glances to Micah and rolls her eyes, stil ltrying to hold her smile. But she settles back on Rue. "Think I got one or two, sir. Don't rightly remember. But then.. yeah. Glad we could help…?" She seems unsure about it. Though she grows ackward and uncomfortable after a moment. "And sir.. I'm. Ah.. I'm sorry I've been such a pain in your ass." The smile fails at this point despite her attempts to keep up the sails. "For saying things I did. In the hall. Destroying my locker. Acting.. like a Rook." Its shameful and embarassing. "I'll be a better officer sir.. or try. Just trying to figure out how."

"Let me get this straight, you're… apologizing to me for being an aggressive ambitious young pilot?" Rue looks bemused and lays a hand on one of Novella's as she glances over towards Micah. "You two give me hope for the rest of the Squadron, honestly. You both did the best you could and I refuse to fault you for that. Either of you. In fact, I'm more inclined to praise you. It's because you acted like a team that you're still alive."

Wait, is Rue using the word ambitious to refer to- no, that's Novella. Micah doesn't need to have a heart attack, then. He flips the page in his comic book and pretends to be reading still; maybe he's not sure how to respond to the rest of that. They give her hope for the rest of the squadron? "Ta, sir." He chews on a corner of his lower lip. "Did you receive my report? I passed it off to a nurse an' hoped for the best."

Novella's eyes close as her hand is touched. She waits for Micah to finish before looking back to Rue. "I know, I just figured I was pissing you off. Refusing to fly.. being a little bitch. Just.. I'm going to try harder, sir. You don't need the additional headache of me. Sorry." She just looks hopeful that Rue will take it how its meant.

"You weren't pissing me off. You were giving me a challenge," Rue says with another smile as she meets Novella's gaze. "I understand what you're trying to say." She's silent a moment before she asks, "So when can I expect you and your Wingman up and about? We've got a Tyllium shortage to help solve."

Rue adds, "And yes, Micah. I got your report. Thank you… Things were a mess down there. I haven't gotten my own report in yet. Though, given yesterday's attack, that's unsurprising."

"Doc says two days until we're back in berthings," Micah offers helpfully, and finally sneaks a glance up at Rue while she's occupied with his fellow pilot. "Light duty in a week, if we're 'well behaved'." He makes quotation marks in the air with his non-comic-book-holding hand.

[Intercom] "This is the XO. Sergeant Browne, report to the High Security Brig. Master-at-Arms to the High Security Brig."

There's another smile. Appreciation. Maaaaybe a little admiration. "My dad would've been glad I've got a CAG like you." Honesty like that with her family doesn't come cheap. She lets Micah's answer move around the room before looking back to Rue. "I guess my concussion won't keep me off flight status either. Which I'm thanking the Gods for. Can't wait to get back in the pit, sir."

"Your grandfather would have been proud of the fighter you've become," the CAG says, squeezing Novella's hand before pushing to a standing position. "I hate to worry you both while you're still laid up, but fuel is rapidly going to become a problem. As is, I've reduced CAPs to two pilots only to help conserve. We're going to have to start looking and that means everybody's favorite side duty. Raptor Scouting Missions."

It's probably a shared sentiment, that last one of Novella's. There's certainly a soft grunt of assent from Micah, and he lays down his comic book for a moment when Rue talks about the fuel shortage. "Do we have some ideas for where to look, sir?" It isn't so much idle worry, but concern that touches his voice; of course, he's more of a doer than a thinker. It's arguably the trait that gets him into trouble the most.

Damn you, Rue! That gets a tear from Novella which is quickly wiped away. Well, as fast as someone in her condition can move. She swallows and does her best to fall back into bearing. It takes some effort, but the blond's jaw clenches as Rue speaks. But her hand finally lifts, volunteering. "Standing by, sir." Err.. laying down. But the hand drops and she waits a bit for her next question. "Did we lose anyone in the attack? The Wing?"

"Aya and a handful of others. We almost lost more. It was rough out there. Your comrades held their own, though," Rue reports, hands drifting behind her back where they clasp together. "I'm sure CIC is putting together a list of the best chances… but it'll be up to us to check them all out."

Another nod from Micah, collusion offered silently after Novella speaks. Obviously, if she's in, so is he. The younger pilot's silent though after she asks her questions, listening rather than interjecting for the time being. He's almost polite, perish the thought; though news of the losses doesn't seem to sit terribly well with him, by the slight furrow of his brow.

"Thank you, sir. We don't get much information in here. Just bits and pieces. I heard about the station, though." That's tough news to hear. All those people. All those supplies. "Thanks for coming to see me, Major. I won't bother you anymore. Hopefully." She tries for the joke, the edges of her lips turns up a touch.

"Please don't. Captain Nikos will take up the slack and, well, she's Captain Nikos," Rue jokes in turn, bobbing her head. "Focus on getting healthy, then I'll slip you into the flight rotations as soon as medical clears you, alright? 'til then, I'll try and keep y'all updated on what's going on out in the real world."

"Ta, sir," echoes Micah, smile flitting oh so briefly across his mouth, should the Major chance to look his way. "Drivin' me loopy, just lying here all day." Flip flip. He starts pretending to page through the comic book again.

"Thank you again, sir," Novella nods. The joke doesn't fall short, though. She probably wouldnt mind seeing her either but yeah.. "Give my apologies to Captain Nikos as well, sir?" She looks hopefully to the CAG.

"Don't worry. I'm sure she'll 'thank you' when you return to duty," Rue offers with a smirk. "Speaking of, I should head back out. No rest for the wicked. Ah, but if you would pass the word. We're going to begin joint training with the Marines. Firstly with dry runs on the Hangar Deck of deployments. Secondly, by me encouraging you all to join the Marines for their PT. It's voluntary. But I'm going to highly encourage it."

"Be glad to, sir. Ah'll grunt and sweat with the best of 'em." Micah grins at that, and shoots Novella a sidelong look. "Think you can keep up, Cav?" Hopefully she doesn't have anything to throw at him.

"Yeah, the day she thanks me for something.." Heh. Novella is aware she isn't popular. Its a bitter thought, but she's trying. The last part gets a surprised look. "Sir? Uhh.. well.. sure. I'm up for it. But.. Might be a few weeks." She glances to her knee and shoulder. But Micah beats her to it. She does have something to throw, and she does. A small water packet. Eat it, Crow.

"Good. Just hope you're as enthusiastic come PT time," Rue says, starting to head for the door. "They… let Corporal Gars out of the brig."

MUCH LATER IN THE NIGHT…

Novella has had a long day. And judging by the looks on everyone else's face in here, nobody is getting any pain medications. The blond's jaw is set. Most everyone else is asleep but not her. No, she's got the light on over her bed and she's reading a comic book that was probably gangked from the pile by Micah's bed beside her. She is not amused and clearly in need of interruption.

Quill is off duty, and not in training or working overtime to help the Deck crews! Hurrah! Time for celebration, time for rejoicing, time for /sleep/. But instead of heading to the bunk where Quill no doubt enjoys dreams of paisley guitars that go faster than light (hey, do YOUR dreams make sense?), the recruit has headed for the Recovery Ward. After having chased down where she is, he's looking for… "Novella?" Tentative steps are taken towards her bed, as though preparing to flee if the pilot tells him to gtfo.

The door isn't even given attention. Its a rotating door of doctors and nurses. Usually going to that private room. Boo Private Room Sexfest Minus Novella. But as the figure approaches in the dark she looks up to the man and blinks. "Holy shit, Jonah.." Her voice is kinda loud at first but quickly quiets. She glances around nervously and looks back to him. "Ho- Wha- How did you know I was in here?" She has no idea whats going on outside this room as far as gossip goes or who is talking about other people.

Quill looks like someone who's been doing condensed basic training at the same time as overtime hours for which he is only partially trained, at the same time as another humanity-wide disaster. He looks like shit. (But probably not as bad as Novella looks, of course.) Still, the recruit manages a grin as he pulls up an unoccupied chair. "Hi, sir," he greets. "I would have stopped by sooner, but things have been, um… busy, and it took a while to figure out where to find you. I found that if you ask around enough, someone eventually will tell you where Ensign Novella is. Thought you might like some company."

She manages her own smile, watching him sit. "Sorry if I'm not terribly animated. Painkillers are being rationed." Craven said it was 5 out of 10 on he pain scale. So.. OW! "But seriously, don't call me 'sir.' I'll have to salute you next week or something. It'll be ackward 'n shit." She can't really shake her head but she tries, tossing the comic book over onto Micah's head. He doesn't even move. Just keeps snoring. "Yeah, word gets around where the mouthy Ensign is. How have you been? Heard there's been some excitement." Lucky he didnt come by in the last day or two. The pain seems to be keeping her from being so out of it and sleepy.

"It won't be awkward, it will be delightfully nostalgic," Quill grins, about the protocol. "And anyway, I don't work for you and you don't work for me, so I predict a light forecast of saluting anyway." The smile's a bit more bittersweet at the mention of Novella lacking pain meds, and at the mention of recent events. "Excitement… yeah. I imagine you've seen your share of said excitement turning up here in sickbay. I'm doing alright, the other engineers are looking after me. I found out I'm unbelievably shit at shooting. Unbelievably. I mean, we didn't even have to change the paper target for the next shooter, because in 12 shots I was completely unable to hit it."

"Delightfulyl nostalgic." The woman gives a little laugh. One that won't rip out her stitches. Zaharis has told them that replacement stitches will not be given due to rationing. Ow! "Yeah, well. Regardless. I'm.. yeah. I'm not even going to be eligable for flight status for a minimum of a week. But I should be out of here in two days. Hopefully we'll be able to cross paths then.. you know. When I'm not tied to a bed." I mean. Shit. Quick, say something else. "Shooting! Yes.. shooting." Way to go. Dumbass. "Heh, I'm awful at it, myself. I barely passed quals in basic. It was nasty. I can hit the target a few times. Almost every time. A sniper, I am not. I leave that to the Marines. But who took you shooting?"

Quill gets the 'tied to a bed' thing a few seconds after Novella does — what he's thinking is almost always displayed clearly on his face, and on this occasion it's a fun little progression of 'huh? wait, what? Oh. OH! hahaha yeahwe'removingon.' He quirks a smile in response to her admission and her question. "A PO named Mopsus Doe," he answers. "She goes by, um, Snatch. I'm sure if you'd met her you'd know, she'd be the one you can't understand. Really, though, can't say I blame her… if I was the sole surviving speaker of a rare dialect, I'd avoid talking like everyone else, too."

Yeah, heh.. funny ha ha. Lets just laugh at awkward Novella. RAWR! Ahem. "Her?!" The Ensign blinks. "I ran into her in the Mess once. Ran her away from my table, actually. I couldn't understand a godsdamned word she said." The last gets a bit of a surprised look. "Maybe, maybe not. But when it comes down to issuing orders when things are bad, I'd hope to the Gods that the would speak proper Colonial." Because its not English. Its Colonial. Got it? Right. "So what else have you been keeping up with? How is the Navy working out for you?"

"You kinda get used to it after a while," Quill muses, on the subject of Snatch and her way of talking. "At least, I did — had to, everyone else has been busy enough that the PO is one of my more frequent trainers. I have wondered about that, though, how no one else in the military has complained about the lack of standardization there. Bigger fish to fry these days, I suppose." To the question about the Navy, Quill laughs softly, running a hand over his newly-shortened hair. "Do you want the official answer, or the candid one?"

"Yeah. But our worlds get nuked, some things start to slip. More important problems. Like getting Ensign Viper pilots painkillers. That's important." Insert weak smile. Novella settles her head back into the pillow to watch him as he speaks. "But hopefuly she knows when to pack in her pride and take care of business." There's a sigh that's puncuated by a smile. "Well Mister Quill, tell me which ever answer you want to. But I want to hear your official opinion for sure."

Quill's brow furrows in concern as she mentions the painkillers, but he's stuck. There's just nothin' he can do about it, any more that she can. He concentrates instead on the question she asked him, leaning forward slightly with his elbows propped on the arms of the chair and his chin resting on his folded hands. "My official opinion is that I'm grateful for the opportunity the Navy's given me, that I want to be of service wherever the powers that be want me to serve, and that I'm lucky not to be a civilian anymore." A light pause lingers, then he looks to Novella. "All of that is true, the candid part is more… things omitted than things opposed. The candid part is that I've gotten a taste of how much I /don't/ know about the military, the responsibility involved, the rules, the regulations, the fact that 'one of these things is not like the others' and I'm the odd one." Another pause, before he carefully concludes, "I'm considering asking Major Zimmerman or whoever decides these things to give me pins at something less than Lieutenant, when training ends."

She turns a bit in the bed, moving to lay a bit on her left side to face him. If you thought he was on the right, he's now on the left. Because I said so. But she tries the movement and its a little obviously the first time since the wounds happened. She hurts in certain movements but settles in, grabbing an extra pillow to hug around her stomach. His words, though, bring some comfort. "Mmm. Well-said, Jonah. But its okay. You learn as you go, right?" To his last, she shakes her head. "I think that you can ask that question means that you can wear the pins. You've gotta have that faith in yourself. I bet when you started teaching Engineering, you questioned yourself.. but when you got into the swing of it, you were glad you did and were more confident in it. Right?"

"Well, yeah. I never thought of it that way," Quill admits, to the teaching thing. Aww she remembers he was a teacher. "There are parallels. And, I suppose… you get better at it as you go. The first semester I taught, the student reviews were, um, interesting. Leveled out somewhat after that, but there's always the interesting ones. People actually write some pretty weird shit on reviews." Back on track. "I've just never taught people who just got done teaching /me/ a week ago, if we stick with that analogy." He grins, "And of course, I have other candid opinions, less serious. I miss sleep. I miss not wearing the same thing as everyone else I know. I miss having time to play the guitar. Brought it with me though. It even fits in the locker, with some persuasion."

She watches him still, her jaw not so clenched. Either the pain is going away or she's distracted enough to keep from thinking about it. Hard to ignore the IV's your arm, though. "My Paps used t otell me that being an effective officer is more about being a teacher than issuing orders. The goal is to produce officers and enlisted under you who are smarter than you. If you can do that, you succeed. It rarely works out, but its a goal you aren't supposed to attain. Constantly strive for, you know?" Those lips turn once more in a smile. Novella has faith in this guy. "Bah, I know how it goes. I don't even remember what my hobbies were before I left for the Academy. I think I used to like to date guys with motorcycles. But I'm not sure. Though if you are looking for sleep? This wasn't the best route for you. But it will get better after you finish this junk. Swears." She smirks. "Did you ever write my song?"

"Guys with motorcycles? Feh," Quill grins. "I wrote a song years ago about that, the fact that no one goes for bookworms." He sings a few lines, quietly so as not to disturb the other patients.
"You've seen her type before
With the sandals, and the hair
They fall in love with big dumb boys
While we sit and stare…"
Quill doesn't finish the rest, grinning. "My sad youth in a nutshell, there." He raises a brow at Novella's latter question, seeming surprised and pleased she remembered that he promised her a song. "I started it," he replies. "In my notebook there are actually several pages of chords and lyrics in varying degrees of awfulness, devoted to one Ensign Novella."

"I'm a Viper pilot, Jonah. What did you expect? I couldn't get one of my own. Next best thing." Manipulative, too. Novella is made of fun things like 'treachery' and 'win.' But the softly sung song brings another lightness to her face. The pain is momentarily forgotten. "Your youth couldn't have been sad. I bet you had lots of fun. I was bred to fly Vipers, despite my mothers chagrins. She wanted me to go to college and do something with Colonial Law." A small roll of her eyes with requisite smile. "What do you want to do when you grow up, Jonah?" But his last gets a happy grin. She's recovering.

"Nah, it wasn't sad," Quill grins, confirming what Novella said. "It was alright. It was good. Virgon's chief exports are beer and boredom, so that makes for some fun times when you're old enough to know better but you don't." He stretches his legs out and leans back in the chair somewhat, pondering her question. "What do I want to do when I grow up? I don't know, lots of things. I want to use FTL technology in weapons applications, I want to figure out how the frack Cylons work. If both of those haven't already been figured out. I want to survive my military tenure without fracking up too badly. If and when the military has no use for me, I want to be a cranky-ass old teacher helping the next generation of humanity learn what six times three is. I want to play my guitar, write my songs, draw bad drawings, and remind people why we're bothering to survive. I want to remember, and be remembered." A quirk of a smile, "Your turn."

"Mmm. Beer and boredom. Sounds like an excellent vacation. But you're missing a beach." She tucks her head a bit more into the pillow. Though Novella listens with an appreciative expression. She knows what he means. "Very nice, Jonah. Modest. Impressive. Especially about FTL's and weapons systems.." the player is getting ideas. "But the military is built full of redundancies. We back each other up. Otherwise we fall apart." She takes a long breath as she considers. "Oh Hell.. I have no idea. I want to be remembered, too. But not by nobody. I guess.. I want to make my family proud. I mean- I know they're dead. But you know, right? Maybe even try and make something of myself. i thought about teaching but I don't know what to teach. And I'm not sure I'll live long enough for it, so that kinda complicates matters." Two weeks ago, she would have had a more somber expression about what she just said.. but now she wears a rather pragmatic face. Things happen. People die. Especially now. Especially when you've been inches from it, youself.

"None of us are sure we'll live long enough for anything, Novella," Quill replies, with a quiet, bittersweet smile that suggests he's made his peace with this as well. "Still gotta dream. Live with the rain, but hope for the sun, you know?" He's an optimist. "In my opinion — I mean, for what it's worth — you've already done your family proud and made something of yourself. But go on, uncomplicate… what if you do live long enough? What if you die of old age, surrounded by friends and loved ones who will hold a wake instead of a funeral? What would you do between now and then?"

The blond seems okay with it all, though. No sad faces. "Aye, you have some good points." She's thinking while he speaks, but the whole.. end of it. Wow. It moves her and completely takes her aback. Its something that had never even crossed her mind. Not old-age. But a wake rather than a funeral. She looks past him, trying to blink an image into her mind. Grasp the concept. "Lords I have no idea. I guess be able to pass of what I know? What my family told me? I don't, ya know.. mean have kids necessarily. But I guess help others learn? But I'm awful at speaking in front of groups. Get all nervous at the idea of it. But I have no idea. Be a CAG one day. Like I was going to be. Maybe go someplace where nobody gets shot at? I… honestly had never given it much thought. Wow."

"Think about it," Quill suggests, with a touch of a smile. "And think about this — you already /have/ passed on what you know, at least some of it, to me." .25 XP, baby. Quill grins. "I gave you my miniature freakout, and you could have easily said, 'yep, you're not officer material,' but instead you took the time to give me a 'step back from the ledge, Jonah!' talk that I didn't realize I needed." And now it's time to stop being wise, back to noob mode. "…What does a CAG do?"

At his first words, her eyes find his gaze again. Her brow rises. "Yeah, I guess you're right." She looks up at him from her place on the pillow, letting it all sink in. "Oh. Well really Jonah, anyone is isn't nervous with their first command probably doesn't know enough to be a good officer. Asking questions and venting it to the right people helps. Major Zimmermann is good folk, I'm told. She won't steer you wrong." To his last, there's a very light laugh. "Commander, Air Group. Its the acronym. But the CAG runs everything for the pilots. Issues orders. Plans missions. Its a bit like herding a bunch of cats on acid, I'm told."

Quill nods his understanding of what a CAG is, filing it away in the section of his brain that's been recently allotted entirely to remembering military acronyms. "Sounds interesting. Or, well — sounds terrifying, actually. But it sounds like something that /would/ be interesting, if one was a pilot." One brow arches curiously as he asks, "What are you going to do when you get out of here? Days between leaving the ward and returning to your ship… sounds dangerously like free time. Not, um, /ideal/ time," the lack of painkillers being in effect still, "But a change of scenery, at least."

"Aye. Leading a bunch of pilots? Probably the worst job out there. We're a bunch of aggressive solo artists with delusions of godliness who secretly thank the Gods we have each other when the shit flies. By definition, I don't think a single one of us is sane." But the nthat may say more about whats required. Novella can't help her impish smile. "When I get out? Hell if I know. The Major wants us on bedrest and light duty. Figure I'll probably lay in my quarters or go sit on the grass on the Carina or something. If al lelse fails, the CAG will give me something, I'm sure. Why? Got any plans?"

Quill grins. "I'm a Recruit, of course I've got plans," he replies. "I don't know what they are yet, but I'm sure that when I need to know them, I'll be very aware of my plans." He drums his fingers lightly along the armrest of the chair he's occupying. "It's coming to an end though, the hours go by slow but the weeks go by fast. I'm three or four days away from the light at the end of the tunnel here, unless they extend training for some reason. Say hello to the Carina and its possibly-fake grass for me if you go, alright?"

Novella can't help another small laugh. "Been there, done that Jonah. But don't be shy about hunting me down. I could use the distraction." She blinks slowly. Approaching pass-out for her. The pain is effectively numbed by good conversation with the man. "Best of luck with your last few days, Mister Quill. I'll pass on the hello's to the grass and any ducks that may have escaped capture thus far."

The slow blink isn't missed; since this is technically Quill's time to sleep as well, the hint to take off serves for both of them. He smiles as he listens to her, rising from the chair and putting it back where he found it. Well-trained! A few steps bring him back to Novella's bedside, where he quirks a smile at her words. "They will have missed me, you know," he notes, wryly. "The ducks. You'll have to make up songs to assuage their loneliness. I'll ask you about it, next time I hunt you down and distract you." A pause lingers for a moment, like a blanket settling over sun-warmed grass, then Quill smiles and takes a half-step back. "Be good to yourself, Novella. Heal up quick, and don't forget to think about things you haven't considered before." And then he's gone, leaving the pilot alone again in the quiet company of her ward-mates.

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