The fire is coming but we'll outrun it

Posted on Mon Nov 29th, 2021 @ 2:11am by Lieutenant Myne Redal
Edited on on Thu Dec 23rd, 2021 @ 10:32pm

Mission: Season 5: Episode 3: CAPETOWN
Location: Ship's Galley
Timeline: MD05 1100
2046 words - 4.1 OF Standard Post Measure

//ON//

The mess hall was bustling with the typical flourish of lunchtime freneticism as the Elysium's newest crewmember made his way through the sliding doors with a signature hiss from angry servos. It was, at the very least, an ordinary impression of an ordinary individual: a tall man wearing a pressed uniform-but detracting slightly that he carried a tray of replicated firepot-style wing-slugs and choiri, an orange fizzing beverage that looked menacing in proximity to a Vulcan. Spying the only empty seat in the galley as he made his way beyond the throng of clumped-together colleagues shuffling to and fro, Rael approached Myne's table and tilted his head. "May I sit with you?" he asked, his expression open and curious, another oddity.

Myne herself had a delicious plate of flaked blood flea, puree of beetle, and of course slug-o-cola. She was reading something on her PaDD as always, barely paying attention to the world around her. The device in her hand had the shape of a Starfleet issued PaDD, however, it looked like it was heavily tweaked, improvised, and altered in numerous ways.

Taking a sip from her beverage she looked up at the Vulcan and nodded, smiling widely at him. "Oh, yeah, sure! Sure sit down mister Vulcan! Always fun being around you guys. Vulcans are such delightful jokesters!!"

Rael's lips pursed very minutely, an expression that one could only describe as amusement warming his features for a split-second. "Why don’t oysters donate to charity?" he deadpanned as he sat, straight-backed opposite of her and began methodically spearing his firepot. He waited a beat and then delivered the punchline dryly: "because they're shellfish."

Myne's lips turned into a thin line as she tensed up, said lips starting to quiver and then break into a hearty chuckle. "I have no idea what an oyster is, but that was funny!! A shell fish, I could have never imagined an aquatic animal made out of composite materials such as a shelf! Shelfish!!" The Trill continued to laugh, needing a minute to calm down, smiling widely. "I knew it! Vulcans are funny! Nice to meet you rare funny Vulcan!"

Her reaction plucked another smile from him, pleased to experience her joy as it pelted him from across the table; a psionic as well as sensory experience that he found pleasant. "I believe it is an Earth creature," he says after consulting his PADD for a second and then flipping it over to display an image of an ugly looking blob on top of a cracked-open white mass. "It is very good to meet you. May I ask your name?" he inquires.

"Ouch, that looks truly horrendous! Earth has some of the ugliest creatures living on it ever. Like dogs, how do Humans like having those abominations around them? Or deer? Those creatures look truly demonic!" Myne shuddered as she looked at the oyster and felt getting queasy. Another bite of beetle puree made her stomach calm down. Yes, the Trill eating insect Ferengi food was disgusted by an oyster, deal with it!

"A pleasure as well, the name's Myne Redal! Lieutenant Junior Grade! Nice to meet ya!" Myne offered her hand to shake the Vulcan. As always, going for a Roman style handshake and not a normal Human handshake. She hadn't gotten the hang of that one. "Call me Myne! What is your name mister Delightful Vulcan?"

"I am Dr. Rael," he answered, undaunted by her infectious enthusiasm. He took a few moments to determine how to interact with her gripping his forearm, before figuring to do the opposite to her. His returning 'handshake' was very light, and applied almost no force whatsoever before he removed his hand and returned it to his side of the table.

"Doctor? Oooh, let me guess, neurologist! You like poking into people's heads with a scalpel?! Vulcans are all obsessed with emotions and stuff, makes logical sense that a Vulcan doctor would want to poke around a brain!" Myne guessed enthusiastically while munching on some flaked blood flea.

"Very close," he commended with a nod. "I am a forensic psychologist. I deal with emotions, certainly, but it is on an interpersonal level." He gestured between the both of them. "What is your occupation aboard this vessel?"

"Ha! I was close! Wait, erm, forensic? You mean you deal with the emotions of dead folk? How does that work exactly? Can you talk to dead people? Can dead people even talk that is? Does it have to do with atom manipulation?" After the flurry of questions, Myne chuckled and presented herself more properly as well. "Ah right, I am the Assistant to the Chief of Operations. I am the one most looking after the systems of the ship to make sure everything works at peak efficiency!"

"Indeed," Rael realized what she was referring to with a small crinkle to the corners of his eyes. "A forensic pathologist is someone who handles the remains of a deceased individual, as a psychologist I work with living individuals-typically those who have committed violent offenses or who are victims of violence." He paused to crunch into his wing-slug. "So it would appear we have you to thank for the optimal functioning of our ship's systems. That is an impressive task."

Shrugging, Myne shook her head. "Well no, Chief Whavi is running a tight shift and a good department. I just help out and do my part, you know? Though I am pretty nifty at my job if I do say so myself." Assuming any kind of merit was not something she enjoyed doing. "Oh, crap, you're that kind of head doctor? Yikes, do we... have so many people in need of your services aboard the ship?" There was a subtle change in Myne's demeanor, being both someone who experienced a great deal of violence and has dealt violence herself, the Vulcan suddenly didn't seem so harmless and fun anymore.

"Starfleet is a paramilitary organization," Rael murmured quietly. "Regrettably we are employed in an institution that presents a high likelihood of trauma proportionate to the axis of continued exposure-and it is not merely the crew. We encounter many people, from many walks of life, in pursuit of exploration and discovery."

"Ah right, that whole having phasers, torpedoes, rifles and other weapons part. Totally slipped my mind. Oh well, guess you are in high need then? Though somehow, Vulcans do not strike me as good head doctors. Like the whole not liking emotions and all that? Wouldn't your advice always be: meditate, no emotions, meditate some more, do the hand sign?" Myne eagerly, excitedly still, took to topic slight shift.

"My advice to a Vulcan would be far different than my advice to a Trill," he gestures to her with an open palm and a slight nod of his head. "Every species has a distinct psychological baseline that is partially rooted in biology," he explains. "And each person aside from this, is unique. Total emotional denial is not advice that I would offer any patient, Vulcan or otherwise. I can, however, provide techniques in distress tolerance. This reduces the likelihood of a crisis."

Narrowing her eyes for a moment Myne lets out a soft laugh. "Total emotional denial is not advisable? You are talking to a Trill here, a Joined one at that. Total emotional denial is literally one of the recommended methods of dealing with past host trauma. Completely pretending as if that host never existed. What do you say to that doctor?" She asked with genuine curiosity, wanting to see the differences in philosophy.

"I'm familiar with the process," was what Rael responded with thoughtfully. "I am also aware that in many cases, memory blocks designed to partition host memories in that way are fallible. It would seem to function much the same way as any suppressed memory. Without recollection, distress is reduced, but one cannot guarantee a consistent state. However, you are also correct-if such a memory block did exist, my priority would not be to dissolve it without significant foundational shoring."

"Well, yes, I mean everything is fallible, right? Except maybe the heat death of the universe, that thing is perfect. Other than that though, no method is perfect. But our method of suppressing memory is a bit more effective though. Sure it is fallible but works most of the time and not all hosts can be reasoned with through normal counseling. Have you treated Trills before?" Myne continued trying to satisfy her curiosity.

"I have," Rael nodded. "Directed memory suppression remains controversial in my field. It's not something that I would advocate for in most circumstances, but given the nature that is synaptic pattern displacement-a phenomenon which also occurs in my own species-" he added, touching his chest, "I can understand its use. There are effective treatments on my world that involve memory suppression as well, but those are not techniques I prefer to utilize."

"Controversial? Well, it is actually common practice in my society. Personally, I don't like it either, it just represents a loss of potential. But then again, when I talk about suppressed memories, I refer to entire lifetimes of experiences, instincts and knowledge. Not just a bad night out in town and a horrible date, you know?" She maintained a soft smile. "Did you request to be transferred to this ship? Or were you exchanged, moved or other such synonyms by someone up the chain of command?"

"I do know," Rael said in a tone that suggested in fact, he did, as unlikely as that was. He could never hope to comprehend the scope of Joining, but he did have some prior experience with telepathic transference and katric engram storage. It was a rite that all Vulcan children went through, though his ritual came far later and presented a great deal more instability. Telepathy wasn't just about communication, it was entirely affective and experiential as well. "I was assigned here," he explained. "Our assistant chief counselor is quite prominent in my field, so I am pleased for the posting."

"Well, welcome aboard then! I think Humans have this thing where they bump glasses together then smash them on the floor when wishing to cheer someone. Wanna do it?" Myne asked holding her slug-o-cola glass up between them ready to do a Viking-style glass smashing.

He lifts his glass of choiri, a substance that resembles orange juice, and nods-raising it to hers and 'clinking' it softly before tossing back the remaining liquid-better to avoid a total mess, but evidently he had no issues following her lead when it came to throwing things around. Or, more likely, he plain old wasn't fazed. He unobtrusively activated a force-field, though, to prevent wayward glass from injuring the folks around them. He was still a Vulcan after-all.

Downing her own drink she bumped her glass against his and smashed it against the floor, saying out loud: "Skull!!" Chuckling and leaning down to collect the pieces, placing them neatly on her tray she exhaled softly. "Humans have the strangest of rituals and habits. They are all crazy and insane!"

Following suit, Rael allows his glass to drop with a satisfying splinter before kneeling to help her pick up the pieces. "In my experience," he murmurs dryly, "insanity is relative."

"Relative, you say? I would think insanity is rather clear cut, right? Either you are or not insane. Anyways, you are really fun brain doc! I hope you have success with your patients and all that." Myne offered and looked at her nearly empty plates, feeling rather full.

"I shall endeavor to maximize my application of fun," he replied, wry. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant Redal. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day."

"A pleasure as well head doc! Hahaha, and yes, keep maximizing your application of fun! Fun makes for wonderful Vulcans! Good luck with your patients!" Myne said and took her plate nodding politely before heading out still chuckling.

//OFF//

Lieutenant JG Myne Redal
Assistant Chief Operations Officer
USS Elysium

Lieutenant JG Rael
Counselor
USS Elysium