Different Strokes

Posted on Sun Jan 24th, 2021 @ 1:48am by Lieutenant JG Ryan Kade III

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: USS Elysium, Deck 19, Brig
Timeline: MD4 - 0600
650 words - 1.3 OF Standard Post Measure

It was all Ryan could do not to laugh. He managed to walk all the way to the cell without doing so before crossing his arms.

“Well, well, well…” He said dryly, “if it isn’t Crewman Bigsby.”

The man on the other side of the forcefield looked like he was in rough shape. Not the cuts and bruises, of course- those were mostly healed after the doc did his magic- but the uniform? It was a mess. The engineer-yellow shoulders were faded and torn in several places. He wasn’t wearing his badge, of course, since that would have been confiscated before he went inside the cell, but Ryan could imagine it wasn’t looking so good, either. The uniform belt had what looked like little notches cut into it along the edge. Even the black parts of the uniform managed to get so dirty as to make it obvious they weren’t being maintained on a daily basis. The knees in particular, were peeling off in certain spots, revealing the skin underneath. The shoes were so scuffed and faded, one would imagine that they would never shine, again.

Bigsby turned his head, looking up at Ryan. His short blonde hair was a mess, an assortment of unplanned bangs shadowing his light skin and covering his brow. He worked his jaw a bit before finally saying something, “Hey.”

Ryan’s arms were still crossed. “This must be the third time since I was brought aboard that I’ve seen you in here.”

Bigsby shrugged.

“You got it from here?” called a voice.

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, I’ve got it. Did you keep the desk in order, at least?”

“Of course!” the voice said sarcastically before fading behind a closed door.

Ryan shook his head slightly before turning around and walking to the replicator. After a few button presses, the sound of materialization brought to life his usual request. Ryan turned towards the desk in the center and made his way over to it.

Bigsby could see a small plastic-looking bucket full of cleaning solution and a rag. It was his turn to shake his head. “You do that,” He said as he watched the security officer remove the fixtures from the desktop and begin wiping it, “every time. Why do you even bother?”

Ryan didn’t even look over at the cell, he just kept wiping in circular motions. “Because the desk needs to be clean.”

“Yeah,” the inmate protested, “but why use water and rags? That makes no sense and takes way longer.”

Ryan kept working at it, beginning a singular long wipe that extended all the way around the edges. “You’re saying I should just use modern technology and get it done… yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that approach, I suppose.” Ryan admitted before ducking down under the desk, getting on his back as he began wiping the underside, “But if I do that, it’ll lose that personal touch.”

“And get done faster.”

Ryan shook his head, again. “Forest for the trees.” He said under his breath.

Bigsby didn’t seem to hear him, or just didn’t care, anymore, as he stopped pushing the issue.

Ryan slid out from under the desk, retrieving the cleaning materials and taking them back to the replicator. A voice command sent them back into dematerialization to be recycled. “So… you wanna talk about it?” He said, clearly asking after what had landed the engineer in detention.

“No.”

“Okay,” Ryan said calmly, “I understand.”

“You’ve got a report right there. Why don’t you just look it up?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

Bigsby nodded to himself before laying down. The grim expression turned around a little as he relaxed, closing his eyes. “Wake me when it’s time to get back to the grind. Aight?”

“Sure thing.”