MD #030: Of Age and Moderation
MD #030: Of Age and Moderation
Summary: Medical personnel chat during a slow day in Sick Bay.
Date: 08/05/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Ambrose Miri 
Sick Bay
The usual
Thu Nov 23 2028 MD #30

When things aren't actively going boom, sickbay is a quiet place. Aside from the hangover rush that morning, there have been few patients outside of scheduled physicals and other appointment. That means medics on shift get to do paperwork and Sterilize All The Things! Miri is currently in the process of filling up autoinjectors for field use. Some twangy, folky pop is playing through her jury-rigged speaker, which basically consists of piping her tablet into a disposable cup.

Doctor Galen has finished his rounds, such as they are, and ambles over toward where Miri is working. "Good morning, Ensign. Did the Air Wing had some sort of ritual alcohol poisoning last night?" Ambrose's manner is understated, with only a small smile to indicate that is a joke. He's been aboard the Orion for a few weeks now, but tends to be quiet and stick to himself. Perhaps it's because the man is a Two? Or perhaps he's just not very sociable.

"You know that thing where they give each other permanently demeaning nicknames and take over the whole bar? They did that again." Miri speaks while carefully filling a combination adrenaline and morpha injector, tapping it delicately to get rid of any air bubbles. "I passed out packets of aspirin and dirty looks, sir."

"Oh?" Ambrose quirks a brow. "I assume that was not terribly well received?" Then he gives a nod for the party Miri describes. "I've never seen it myself but I understand what you're talking about. I suppose everyone needs to blow off steam, but not to the point where they need a morning in Sick Bay to recover."

"It's a hell of a show, Doc. I always make sure to hang out on the periphery when the pilots decide to unilaterally make bad decisions. Partly because it's hilarious. Partly because they actually end up needing a medic sometimes." Miri looks up from her work with a knowing grin. "I don't care how they receive their aspirin, as long as they put it in their faces."

"I can understand the entertainment value," Ambrose concedes, "though it sounds a little excessive for my taste. Being on hand does sound like a wise precaution." There's another small smile to mirror her grin. "Very professional of you, Ensign. And it's good to know they don't do this on a regular basis. I understand we're going to need them flying again in a few days."

"They're pilots, sir. When we were kids, we rode our bikes no-hands. They did that, too, but on the roof of their house." Miri feels pleased with her own joke, before she realizes that the doctor never /was/ a kid. Her eyes widen a bit and she closes her mouth self-consciously. "Or something like that, I guess."

"It's true that I have never experienced the human condition," Ambrose replies, not sounding bothered in the least by the topic. "But yes of course. Youthful indiscretions. I've seen a fair few examples during my undergraduate studies, not to mention medical school. But with time and experience, most seem to see the value in moderation."

"Most do," Miri agrees, looking visibly relieved that Ambrose was not actually offended. "But the rest become pilots."

"A certain pre-disposition toward recklessness is required," Doctor Galen sounds vaguely amused. "Yes. Otherwise they might think twice before getting into a cockpit surrounded by fuel and explosives. Let alone being shot at."

"Well, given how many times I've been shot, you could say that about me as well," Miri points out. Her scrubs reveal some of the scarring on her arms and hands, as well as a small line of tattooed letters on her left forearm. She has a thought and chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before voicing it. "Did you pick your name?" she asks, seemingly out of the blue.

Ambrose's gaze strays to the visible scars on the medic, and he gives Miri a respectful nod. "You were in the last war?" he guesses. Then there's another good natured smile, and the Two nods. "I did. Oh, terribly sorry. I'm Doctor Ambrose Galen. Infectious Disease." Yes, a medical specialty joke as old as the hills, and he doesn't shy away from it. Ambrose extends a hand, offering to shake.

"I was. Arpay mods are a helluva drug. I look like I'm twenty-five or whatever, but I'm forty-five. Sneaky." Miri returns the smile and stands up to shake his hand. "I know who you are. I make a point to know who the doctors are. I was just curious if you picked that name or if someone saddled you with it. Tells me a lot about you." A beat. "Ambrose. Can I call you Rosie, sir? Doc Rosie?"

"Whereas I look like I'm in my thirties but chronologically I'm not quite fifteen," Ambrose notes. His handshake is firm but brief. Then he chuckles quietly at Miri's question. "I'd prefer that you didn't? But if you absolutely feel that you must…"

"Wow, really?" Miri leans back against the table, fascinated. "I didn't know new Lines were… made? Born? Came into existence? That. Anymore. I'm sorry for my ignorance on the subject. It never really came up in emerg." The PA has spent the past two decades as a sort of nomadic ER medic, finding a new job on a new colony when she got bored with the old one.

"Oh, yes. The population of the Lines is kept at seventy-five thousand," Ambrose says with a quick nod, happy to explain. "So there have been a fair few. But no need to apologize — most people have more important things to worry about than our population controls." He considers a moment. "And I suppose 'made' is a more accurate description. A prepared body and a downloaded consciousness isn't what most people think of as 'birth.'"

Miri shrugs a little. "I'm willing to expand my definition of birth. My friend and her wife have three biological children. The definition of people has expanded significantly since the last war, so I'm more than comfortable with modifying all sorts of terms."

"As you wish," Ambrose doesn't argue the point. "Our very existence does blur lines. As it were." He thinks for a second before adding, "And it's always a comfort to meet a veteran of the last war who is willing to accept the Lines as 'people.' Thank you."

"Doctor, I spent that war fighting side by side with Clara Mercier and Cooper Knox. If they're not people, I'm not people." Miri says this simply, but with firm conviction. "And now I've got pointy ears and freak eyes, so I'm in a whole different category of people, myself. People are people."

Ambrose hesitates, his eyes widening a little at Miri's pronouncement. "You knew them both?" There's the sense that Miri being able to name-drop Clara and Knox is a /huge/ deal for the Two. "Yes, I can see how that might help change your mind. I've heard their both serving aboard the Orion. Hopefully our paths will cross at some point."

Miri nods enthusiastically. "Clara's my bunkmate, actually, and Coop's always there on ground missions. I can introduce you, if you want. Come on down to Charlie's some time! Clara will probably get weird and scamper off, but that's not personal. That's just her."

"I haven't been back to Piraeus since shortly after I was born," Ambrose admits, "And I only know Charlie's by reputation. But I do appreciate the invite." Miri's description of Clara is answered with an understanding smile. "Most Threes are a little reticent. But then, they're all her daughters, in a sense."

"I mean, technically you're not old enough to drink, but that's a formality," Miri teases. "Come on down with me some time when we both have the night off. I'll introduce you around."

"I've been known to have a drink from time to time," Ambrose replies with a brief chuckle. "But I believe in moderation." Then he nods agreeably. "Thank you. I'd like that. Hopefully schedules will coincide before we ship out to … wherever we're going next."

"I can't remember the name of this new planet. All of these places have names that sound like they should be high-end vacuum cleaners or something." Miri wrinkles her nose a bit. "The thing about moderation is that sometimes moderation should be taken in moderation. Gotta cut loose sometimes, sir, whether it's a buffet or… you know. Stuff."

Ambrose's brows raise quizzically. "The middle way is a broad path, with room for quite a bit of 'stuff.' But I still believe one shouldn't overindulge. As a rule." His glances at his wristwatch, then hmms to himself. "And I should probably make more of an effort to be productive while on duty. Thanks for your time, Ensign. And I look forward to visiting Charlie's at some point."

"Yup. Those invisible patients won't check their own blood pressure, will they?" Miri quips, heading back around to her chair to finish filling the autoinjectors. She looks up for a moment. "Gonna hold you to that, Rosie. Sir." There's a faint glimmer in her eye.

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