Running Water
Running Water
Summary: The morning after the shooting in Sickbay, there's a brief interlude in the Head.
Date: PHD101 (29 July 2009)
Related Logs: Flatline
Players:
Praxis..Roubani..Legacy..Camille..

Kharon - Deck 1 Head

Late. The quiet in the head is subdued, a shower running idly down at the end of the stalls. Someone's brushing their teeth in silence. Standing at a sink is Roubani, wearing his fatigue trousers and a T-shirt, a towel thrown over a bench nearby. The pilot-tuned-snipe has a pair of scissors in hand, making soft snipping sounds as thick curls of his dark hair fall into the sink.

Praxis marches into the head at a sort of parade rest, featureless features panning the head while he gazes at the occupants of the room before he unfolds his hands from behind his back. He happens to be carrying a black bag undoubtedly full of toiletries. Spotting Roubani, the Lieutenant decides to move up to the sink adjacent to him, placing the bag on the surface before opening it. "Ensign." he states his rank in greeting, removing some shaving cream and a razor. Praxis begins to wash his face, before squeezing some of the foaming material on his face, it's as if Frosty the Snowman had melted right over his chin. "May I bounce several ideas off of you?"

Thea slips in not too far behind Praxis, but she's not really paying a whole lot of attention to where she's going. The Captain seems lost in thought. Her eyes are puffy and a little bloodshot and her nose looks a little like Rudolph had fun with it. She nods absently to Praxis as she passes and settles in at a sink next to Roubani - just in time to see him chopping off curls. There's a quiet gasp, a choked sound, and she simply stares for a second. "Poet…" she asks slowly, clearly missing Praxis' question to Roubani.

Roubani's dark, reserved eyes shift, looking at Praxis in the mirror. "Yes, sir." His voice is low, even. Snip go the scissors, sending another haphazard hack of dark curls into the sink, his fingers brushing the side of the porcelain. If he notices Legacy's gasping, it doesn't show. She gets the same even look in the mirror that Praxis did, albeit on the other side. "Yes, sir?"

Praxis guides his eyes to Thea, his eyelids slowly narrowing for a moment in deep pondering and empathy, before the jades shift to look at himself in the mirror. Something is wrong. He says nothing as of yet, when Legacy refers to Roubani by his callsign he believes it is time to lose interest and appear as if he is not listening. Razor blades slide down his skin, chipping off the slight stubby hair that had grown overnight. As of this moment, Demitros forces his interest at the iron features reflected back at him.

Thea simply watches Poet for a moment then takes a step toward him - though not in personal space. "Why don't I take care of the back, Poet," she asks gently. "I can make sure it's even." Yep, it's an offer. She still seems a bit shell-shocked.

Camille steps silently into the room, probably -just- out of the final surgery from last night and having been ordered back to bed. She's in her scrubs which, while they were covered in a gown for most of it, there's still splatters of blood all along the edges, not to mention the stuff in her hair, which is mainly her own, and the bandage tighly across her cheek just an inch below her eye, covering stitches from the sight of the room. She needs to shower. She's headed in that direction when she stops, seeing who is present… Blue eyes momentarily pausing on Roubani..and then Praxis… she doesn't even nod or speak, she just watches.

Roubani regards Legacy in the mirror still. "No, thank you sir." Making sure it's even doesn't appear to be on his mind at all. It's not quite shaved but 'shorn' is a good word for it, except for bits he's missed that he doesn't really seem to care about at all. In the sink is a small washcloth that's collecting the pieces, at least the ones that aren't stuck to the back of his neck and snowed all over his T-shirt back. He looks back at the mirror, lowering his head and taking another chunk of hair off the back of his head. "I am sorry for your loss, sir."

Praxis continues with the whole facade of minding his own business. However the reality is he's listening to every word that is said. That is, until he catches the sight of a rather familiar head of red hair, Camille Locke passing within sight of the tactical officer. Her appearance at this moment elicits no reaction except for a rather erroneous move when it came to his so-far perfect shaving. A chunk of skin is now parted from its previous perch, a new wound opened up right on the chin. Blood forms at that particular opening, enough after a while of staring to drip into the porcelain sink. Demitros doesn't seem to notice.

Thea reaches up to rub at her shoulder as she nods to Roubani. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I'm sorry for yours, as well." That seems to be the extent of her conversation. Blindly, she turns back to her sink and nudges the cold water on with her good hand. SHe's missed Camille's entrance in the surprise of a shorn Poet.

Camille looks up to Roubani, no shock on her face actually, just a quiet sort of understanding. She nods gently to him. "I am… thinking of holding traditional… services in the Chapel, Ensign, if you would like to come tomorrow." She offers simply to the other Sagittarian, studying his shorn face and head quietly, possibly seeing a momentary reflection of a far younger face. But she shakes it off and then looks towards Praxis, frowning deeper as she catches sight of the cut down his cheek. The doctor in her mind takes over, far easier to act in such a way than the woman right now, and she heads over to the TACCO…"Prax… you're bleeding…" She grabs at a cloth, covering it with soap and water to attend to his cheek. Just another injury. Fortunately not a life threatening one.

Roubani goes back to what he was doing, combing his fingers through the back of his hand and pulling up on it so the dull scissor blades can cut, oepning and shutting several times before the mass of hair comes up in an uneven zigzag. It's dropped with the rest into the washcloth in the sink, and he moves on. Praxis is again glanced at in the mirror when a voice addresses the CIC man, then his dark eyes note Camille. "Noted, sir."

Praxis glances at Camille's reflection in the mirror and then his own when she mentions his blood is leaking out through his chin. "A rather small infliction compared to the grand scheme of things." Demitros downplays it, allowing the doctor to do what she wants to tend to it. "I believe, unfortunately, that the three of you are far, far worse; my sympathy is extended." The officer continues to shave after Camille finishes. Casting a sidelong glance at the doctor's -real- visage, he states, "Do not let your worries linger on me, Camille. I'd much rather you tend to yourself at this current point in time."

Thea goes about rinsing her face with the cold water, bend over the sink so that her hair hides her expression. Handful after handful of water sluices over her features before she finally stands and takes the towel from her shoulder, patting her skin dry. "Good evening, everyone," she says quietly, then turns for the hatch, keeping the sling close to her body and her left hand dry.

Camille nods slowly to Praxis, gently cleaning at his chin and holding the cloth there until she thinks the bleeding has mostly stopped from pressure. It's habit, especially for someone whom she cares about which, despite numbness, might at least be evident in the gentleness of her motions. Her hand finally falls away, not quite certain what to say about sympathy, or last evening. Shock is still busy setting it, probably. "Alright. Yes. Shower." She finally echoes, that the next step in 'caring' for herself. Her eyes flicker back to Legacy and she nods slowly.."We… tried…sir…" It's all she can say, the best apology she can muster, before she abruptly turns away, grabbing a towel and shakily heading for one of the shower stalls.

Roubani is not particularly red-eyed or sniffly-nosed. Man's just cutting his hair. While Camille and Praxis have their exchange he gets back around to the front of his head, cutting the last bits of curls from his front hairline. The whole thing looks like a haircut with a hacksaw, which is mostly what it was. It brings out sharp angles in his face, melting away the appeal of youthful gentleness that thick curls tend to give someone. The washcloth in the sink is folded up, one brow slightly arched at his own hands as he turns the water on, running it around the sink. There's hair all over his hands and the towel across his back, but he seems to want to give Camille and Praxis their space. "I will be on shift in two hours, sir," he informs Praxis. "Or the mess hall directly before, if you wish to speak." That said he starts off for the hatch himself, with a formally long stride.

"Ensign." Praxis says, turning slightly towards the retreating form of Roubani. When he's got his attention, or rather -if-, Demitros raises his chin a little bit. "I understand that was has gone on is rather staggering, for you who doesn't seem to show it, and obviously Captain Legacy. But our troubles are far from over and if we're going to prevent this from happening again, we need to do our part." A sigh is expelled from his lips. "When two hours comes around, Roubani, I'll need your head in the present. We eradicate this infection and we get to the bottom of this. For Major Vendas and Lieutenant Leodus. That understood?"

Camille can be heard turning on the shower a few moments later, letting the technical people speak and really, well, rather desperately needing to get all the blood off. The water runs pink beneath her shower stall as she just stands beneath the hot steam.

"All due respect, Lieutenant, I do not require such an intensely patronising lecture on the importance of doing one's duty," Roubani looks back at Praxis, his tone chilly after the CIC man's speech. It's almost as though Praxis had directly insulted him. "My shift begins in two hours. I trust I will see you there, sir." He turns away without waiting for a response.

Demitros wipes off the excess shaving cream still on his face after the shave. "Good." he mentions at the retreating pilotsnipe, even if he doesn't hear him.

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