Feeding the Inmates
Feeding the Inmates
Summary: Melia goes to deliver Reed his meal.
Date: 41 ACH
Related Logs: None
Players:
Reed..Melia..

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Naval Officer Berthings Genesis - Deck 12
40 ACH 6285 Souls


Naval Officer berthings are setup with bunks on either side of the area. Each bunk holds two Officers and lockers are between the bunks for their personal items. A table sits in the center of the room with six chairs around it for use in recreation or studying. There is also a shower and changing room off this area.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Reed Navy Bunks Wireless 1426
Exits: [O] Corridor
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Melia comes in from Corridor 12C.
Melia has arrived.

Reed is in the bunk he occupies, reading some more paperwork. From time to time he rubs his brow, as he tries to keep his concentration on the papers in front of him.

Melia knocks on the exterior door at something near the usual time and is admitted by one of the officers who's on his way out. The poor man gives her a bit of an odd look, probably not QUITE sure what, exactly, seems off about her - but his officer's instincts tell him that -something- isn't right. In she steps, her step, well, light. In one hand she's carrying a tray with the everpresent drink on it - though, oddly, it's wrapped with a pretty bow around the neck. There's also a bit of what appears to be fresh fruit. It's meager - there really isn't a lot, and it's clearly not the best quality, but it's been sliced and carefully arranged with a bit of cheese. Even if it's not the best of food, some care has been taken with it. Under the fruit and cheese plate are a few pamphlets - more reading material, perhaps? The oddest thing about her, though, is the fact she jingles just a bit when she moves. Though the source isn't immediately visible.

Reed looks up to Melia as she approaches, carefully setting the paperwork aside and looking at what she's carrying, and blinks, "Um, hello, PO. Is.. what's all this?"

"Solstice," she says with a bright smile. "It's That Time of Year again," she announces, carefully setting the tray where he can reach it. "It's the time of the year for celebrating the longest night - or, at least, it used to be. Sometimes the old traditions are the good ones, don't you think?" The bottle is presented with a flourish, straw bent at a very precise angle. The plate is moved to where he can reach it when he'd like. "Well, except for the syphillis pamphlet. However, you've gone through everything the sickbay has to offer, my personal stash and my bunkmate's personal stash. Desperate times call for desperate measures. So, at the bottom of the pile is the piece of paper that ties them all together. It's a homemade wordsearch puzzle." Made out of STD and hangnail pamphlets. "How are you this evening? How are the wounds? Any pain?"

Reed nods, listening, "Only have pain when I move. So it's the winter solstace on your home colony where you're from?" He tilts his head, nodding, "Makes sense. Where are you from, by the way?" He takes the bottle and takes a hard pull from it, grimacing and takes a piece of fruit, carefully chewing it, "I assume this means I can try some solids then?" He asks.

"Very carefully," she tells him quietly. "From my research into your recovery, a little fruit won't hurt you and will actually…" She trails off, lips pursing. "Well, you know. I'm Gemenese," she says with a small smile, bending to straighten his shoes before darting to the foot of the bed to tuck in the corners. Still jingling.

Reed nods, "So, it's the winter solstice on Gemenon?" He asks, tilting his head in thought, "Gemenon… Ramiro didn't mention any formal celebration. though we were interrupted last time we talked." He looks to Melia, "PO, you alright? You're.. well, jingling." He takes another deep pull off the shake.

"Oh, I'm fine," she says with a grin. "Thank you. And Ramiro's family might not have celebrated it. I'm not certain who they're dedicated to." A shoulder lifts delicate. "Though, with the way his high school played, I think their gods abandoned them." At least she's in a good mood - and still in constant motion. With each step she takes, there's a quiet jingle. Her noisemaking isn't overly loud, but it's somewhat noticible. "It turns out he and I are from rival schools and I used to watch him play. He actually broke one of my brother's ribs in a game."

Reed smirks, as he listens, "Oh really? That's impressive. You and he shared stomping grounds when younger. That's nice. important connection to home." He thinks, "Apollo. They're dedicated to Apollo. At least he is. Deeply. Well, good. So what's going on around the ship since I'm stuck in here, unable to get good gossip for myself?"

"Mmm," she murmurs, planting her hands on her hips in one of her rare moments of stillness as she studies the room, looking for more tidying to do. "Well, Ramiro was carrying a duffle with the name "Lex" stitched into the side. Chase Alderman has a thing for nylon hose - he thinks they chafe too much if legs aren't properly shaved. The third washing mashine needs a little tinkering." Lips squinch slightly to one side as she considers. "And there's a sergeant who's damned deadly. I saw them take out two opponents, one of them a pilot. Poor Whitebread. He didn't know what hit him." She gives Reed a solemn look, one ruined by the twinkle in her eyes, and is off jingling again as she attacks the next tidying project.

Reed listens, with the strange quality of someone who is examining the information and storing it away for later. The idea comes across that very little leaves his brain once it's put in there. "Who was the sergeant? Sounds like the Boxing tournament I hosted on the PAS about a month before the attacks."

"Sergeant Browne," she replies, focused on her work and making sure his berth is just so. "Where do you keep your bootblack, Sir? If you'd like, I'll take care of these while I'm here, rather than haring off to my berth with them and doing them overnight. If I'm not mistaken, it was Sergeant Browne." Apparently, there is very careful non-use of pronoun there.

Reed nods, "The Sheriff. Yes, Browne was lethal in the boxing tournament, made the CAG vomit violently with one punch to the stomach." He puts his hand on his own belly, "Oh, that hurts just thinking about it, for a few reasons. Nono, PO, you don't have to do up my boots, please. I rarely use them these days and it'll be good for me to do them myself when I can." Oh dear lords of Kobol, Eli is in charge of the MPs.

The little woman turns toward him, hands on her hips again, and quirks a brow. "With all due respect, Sir, they look like shit. You can't do them now, but you're able to walk around. If you get called on something official, your boots are going to look like you've been sleeping on them. It'll take me ten minutes to do it right." She's not QUITE sassing him, but it's easy to see she grew up the only girl in a family of older boys. "The Sheriff is poetry in motion during a battle. My mental note is to watch, learn, and never, ever, ever engage."

Reed smirks, "PO," He says kindly, "If I get called on something official, the eyes are going to go first to the cane I'm using to walk, well before they even get to my boots. Not to mention I know that the whole of the Medical department would raise a stink if I took a step out of my orders anyway." He smirks, "Sheriff's good with a gun too, showed me a few things on the range, helped suppliment Ramiros teachings while he was on Leonis. I think your mental notes will serve you well, though, I believe the Sergeant's pretty overworked and overstressed." No, he hasn't used a gender specific pronoun. why isn't clear, though assumptions can be made.

It's probably for the same reason SHE hasn't - perhaps. In her case, it's because she simply doesn't know. Her nose crinkles just a little at Reed, but she doesn't push, even though it's clear she has an argument for it. "I may have to talk with the Sheriff about further weapons training," she muses. "Hand to hand? No. My tactic is simply - get the hell out of the way. I'm not a fighter, I patch people up. I can scrape by, if I have to." She pauses. "Five older brothers. But a little more proficiency with weapons training…" There's another pause as she glances around. "Sir, do we have anyone trained in hostage negotiation?"

Reed tilts his head, "Hostage-" He stops, apparently connecting why she might be asking, "Oh. Not to my knowledge. Granted I don't know the entire compliment of the Genesis crew skills as well as I knew those of the PAS. And no, no negotiators there."

Her lips purse slightly at that and she nods, consideringly. "Good," she says finally. "I'll sit down with the counselor and see about getting some more grounding in psychology. I have a little, from my school days, but I need to brush up."

Reed tilts his head, "Alright. Would it have helped in that situation, do you think?"

Mel dips her head, once. "I do," she says quietly, eyes darkening just a little. "For once simple reason. If you had someone who knew how to talk to him and could have even bought five or six seconds, there might have been a chance one of the snipers could take him WITHOUT him pulling the trigger. Am I sure it would have helped? No. But it was a chance we didn't have and a man who may not have needed to die needlessly."

Reed nods, thinking. "Well, perhaps LT Sloan can help you with that, so you'll feel more prepared in the future." He takes another hard pull off his bottle, and another piece of fruit, "Thank you for this, by the way."

"You're welcome," Mellie says with a small smile. "When recovering, sometimes even the smallest changes can make the difference and speed recovery. You're getting proper rest and your bandages are being checked and changed at the proper times?" Her head tilts a bit. "Actually, I don't think there was a signoff this morning on your bandage check."

Reed shrugs, "Well, I don't understand why not, do you need to do another one?"

"Let me take a quick look at the bandage to make sure no seeping was done. Then I'll kick someone's ass when I get back to Sickbay for not signing off." Her back turns toward him, apparently for privacy purposes. "I'm also a little obsessive about wound cleanliness. If infection sets in, with your injuries, it will be difficult to rout. The best way to prevent it is vigilance bordering on paranoia."

Reed finishes the bottle off and sets it aside, pulling up his shirt and undoing his pants as he exposes his bandages, "Okay, no problem." He says, relaxing back, showing the bandages covering the scar running the entire width of his belly. Severe abdominal surgical scar, that's going to be quite perminant.

Once he's given the all clear, the little medic pads back to his bed - still jingling quietly - and crouches to take a look at the bandages. Her head tilts to the side, and there's an intensity about her work that's been missing any time he's seen her before. Fingers very gently touch the edges of the bandages, skimming around the perimeter. "Are you having any tenderness," she asks, eyes on his bandages for a time before she glances up at his face. "Not pain from the wound healing, but something that feels like a new soreness or heat?"

Reed shakes his head, "New soreness, no, not at all, really. I've been sore as hell for a while now, and imagine I have more soreness in my future." He settles back, relaxing as his wound is checked, or tries to do so.

"Deep breaths," she coaches quietly, voice low. "Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. You're in for quite a time of it, yes, but it's nothing you won't be able to overcome. Give yourself permission to be in pain, Sir. Don't be fighting it. The harder you fight, the more you tense and the worse it gets. I know it will sound…touchy feely, but if you accept the pain and give yourself permission to feel it, you'll be able to deal with it much better."

Reed looks to Melia, and smiles, "I'm good with pain, PO, don't worry about that from me. I don't have problems with it, I just haven't found anything new like what you describe." He looks to the bandages. "Frakking awful scar though. Even the Marines seemed impressed."

Melia laughs quietly and stands again, shaking her head. "Testosterone poisoning," she pronounces. "Why do I get the distinct impression that, in a few months, you and some of the Marine higher-ups will be pulling out all the stops as you compare battle scars? I don't know the story behind yours," she says, quirking a brow. "Though I'm damned sure it wasn't pretty. However, I urge you to remember this: That battle scar you earned? That badge of honor? All it means is that your ass didn't get out of the way fast enough." And that, apparently, is that. It's not delivered in a sassy manner or a disrespectful manner, more in the manner of someone who's heard it all her life. "Is there anything else I can do for you before you go? When was the last time your linens were changed? Any chance I could talk someone into stripping and remaking the bed while you're getting cleaned up tomorrow?" Yep, definitely a girl raised in a traditional, religious home.

Reed looks at Melia. He's silent till that silence becomes noticeable and she looks to him. Then he's simply looking at her. When he speaks, it's clear, flat, and straightforward. "You don't know me, PO. Not a single bit. My linens are fine, changed daily. Thank you. I don't need anything else."

And there's the oh-shit expression that everyone knew would be coming. She looks immediately abashed and dips her head, eyes lowered. "Have a good evening, Sir," she says quietly, gathering up the empty bottle and slipping out.

Reed readjusts his clothes, covering himself, and settles back in his bunk, taking the fleet manifests and continuing to read them over without another word.

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