Shot In The Face
Shot In The Face
Summary: Dr. Beckett goes tracks down Sgt Volker to discuss his teeth. And mess with his head.
Date: PH127 (24 Aug 2009)
Related Logs: Artificial Implantation.
Players:
Barnabas..Aggie..

CEC Kharon, Deck 2, Marine Berthings
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #127
OOC Time: Mon Aug 24 14:51:50 2009


Only maintaining a small security force, the Marines on board the Kharon have a similar bunk layout to the pilots. The single squad stationed aboard maintains the cleanest environment seen anyplace else on the ship and it shows. The three lines of bunks are clean of debris and trash almost without fail. A single metal table in the center of the room is that of standard Navy issue. However, the bunks hold one distinct difference from every other aboard: The curtains on each bunk are light tan and appear to be made of a thicker material. Hanging from the ceiling above are numerous firearms in various states of disrepair, some of which look flat-out blown apart. Painted on each firearms' buttstocks or receivers is a name and rank accompanied by a date.


It's all quiet in the marine berthings. Seriously, there's not a hint of dickwaving or overt machismo to be found. It's almost as though most of the group realised that it might be good to… be somewhere else for the next few hours. Apparently Barnabas didn't get the message considering he's in his bunk, one leg dangling over the edge and intruding on the space below. That and reading another trashy novel (well, the same one he was reading back in the medbay) while sucking in water, from a bottle, through a straw.

All was quiet in the marine berthings, and all remains quiet for but a moment. The hatch opens, and in steps a dark haired woman, slight of build, wearing a white lab coat. Yes. A white. lab. coat. If this were not enough to strike terror into the hearts of men, she carries with her a cigarette. The cigarette is raised, and put to her lips. She takes a single drag. The filter burns down just a hair. Dr. Agatha Beckett tucks the cigarette into the corner of her mouth, and moves further into the berthing, giving little attention to any closed curtains in the berth, other than to scan her eyes over them. Dark, large green eyes find the open ones, move on, and settle, at last, on a dangling leg.

The leg sways, shifting back and forth along the metal side of the bunk as the Sergeant reads. His curtain is wide open, so considering how into his book he is (We're talking tongue-licking-finger to turn pages, here) it's a miracle he even recognises the sound of the hatch. Looking purely from the right side of his face, the newest arrival gets… a look. One of those up-and-down scans with some extra eyeballing before there's a soft "Oh. This is gonna be bad." Except… well, y'know. He still can't do hard consonants, so it's more of a 'Oh, hiss is gonna be fad.' The guy really needs to remember how to get his mouth moving properly again. Although it's somewhat exacerbated by the sudden stress of a lab coat in the room.

The five foot one lieutenant draws closer to the reading Sergeant, her approach quiet, but not silent, not like a marine could be. Her hands drop to her hips, and she gives him A Look<tm>. Not The Look<tm>*. Just A Look<tm>. "I realize, Sergeant, that you have been Shot In the Face<tm>, but it went nowhere near your arguably tiny brain." She speaks around her cigarette, the sick bobbing a little with the words, but only a little. A puff of smoke escapes as she takes a short drag, letting the smoke swirl around her mouth rather than drawing it into her lungs. When she speaks again, it puffs out with the words. "You had a date to bite my tray." Pause. "You should take your dental health more seriously." She says this, of course, then takes a much deeper drag of her smoke. This one definitely hits the lungs. The cherry on the cig flares fiercely orange.

*It should be noted for posterity, and as a public service to others that The Look<tm> has been known to effect deadly consequences. So startling is it that more than one man has accidentally back off of a cliff in an inadvertent and misguided attempt to avoid it. A Look<tm> is marginally less deadly, with an option on freaky.

"I waited for as long as I felt was needed before having to get out of that room for fear of slowly going insane." Barnabas Volker, combining being a bitch while still staying within the correct etiquette for such a situation since… whenever he was born. Of course, it all sounds hilarious thanks to the little impediment he has going. His other leg of his slips out of the bunk, joining it's free and dangling brethren and allowing him to sit, facing the new arrival to his little moment of zen. With just a little bit of leaning forward. The book drapes over the raised edge, hands gripping over the same piece of metal to keep his balance.

Aggie sucks in another drag, then exhales through her nose, twin streams of smoke shooting out like an angry little dragon. Straight, dark brown hair sways slightly as she turns her head a little. It gleams. Funny how small details might stand out when a small woman stands and focuses all of her attention on one man. Focused. Locked. "I realize the…" She pauses, to glance around the berthing, as if to refresh herself to her current location that she might insert the proper branch of the military, "Colonial Marine Corps has very important functions to perform on this vessel, particularly in a time of war," she pauses for a drag, tone almost flat, with just the curl of sarcasm 'round the edges. Her eyes drop to the cover of the bodice ripper the marine was reading, and she scans the title. Hunt Her Down. "I don't think brushing up on your caveman-like female acquisition tactics is an approved application of company time." She moves closer, standing right beside the bunks, so she can more adequately look up and stare. "My concern is not your mental health, it is your dental health."

Barnabas slides down the side of the bunk, feet touching down on the floor softly as he flicks the back of the book, sending it tumbling backwards into the depths of his bunk. Hide the evidence. Hide it hide it. Hide it now. Seeing a Marine caught out is kind of a sad sight. It's somewhat like watching a rabbit chew off it's own paw to escape a trap. Pathetic and painful to look at. His hand scratches at the back of his neck before a finger rubs where his cheek was. Nervous ticks ahoy! "I've been out of action for a while. I thought it would be prudent to catch up on the dating rituals around here. Apparently that includes bodice-tearing." Dude. Focus on the teeth. Seriously. He's on the back foot, that's pretty obvious. "And the teeth I have are fine. It's the ones that have ceased to be that need a little help."

Aggie's eyes focus on his cheek with the movement of his hand over it. And she promptly shifts her focus to that scar tissue there. The stare is direct and solid. She barely blinks. "You've been on this vessel how long?" She doesn't wait for the answer before continuing on. "The dating rituals on this esteemed military vessel," she may have choked a bit on those words. "Require little more than a free hand and a bottle of liquor." She glances around briefly. "If there are no women in this hovel," she swings her fingers around a little, indicating the berthing. "You might try the Mess."

"I'm… not trying for anything." Barnabas lowers the hand from his cheek. Slowly. Like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar. Both hands dissapear behind his back as he stands in something approaching attention. Ok, so he's grabbing his wrists with each hand to stop from scratching at his cheek. IT'S THE SAME THING. Kinda. "I think I've had enough excitement that resulted in mutilation already. I don't need another." Tell him he's wrong. You can't. A little shake of the head gets him attempting to divert the conversation back on track. "Now, teeth."

The little woman steps in closer. Though the marine is short for a man, he's still over half a foot taller than her. For you Brits out there, that's about 17.8cm. Yes, I had to look it the fuck up. "Open your mouth." She slides a pen light out of her pocket, and clicks it on. A small mirror is slid out with the other hand, cigarette still dangling from the corner of her mouth. "Bend over." That's disconcerting. Of course she means bend down closer, not present bum. We hope.

Barnabas leans forward, opening his mouth to give the dentist a good look. She's so tiny, but hey. This isn't the best time to mention it. His teeth are fine. Sparkling, even. Apparently the nurses really do care when someone is unconcious. Well, that's about the teeth he still has. The ones missing are… Y'know. Missing. About eight of them, all on the left side of his mouth, from front-left to aaaall the way at the back. His tongue rolls over to the right side of his mouth as a rather odd way of making the viewing a little easier.

Aggie peers forward, holding his tongue town with firm pressure to keep it out of the way. She surveys the gum tissue remaining with the light and mirror, getting all up in his grille. "The most effective long term solution is titanium dental implants directly into your jaw, followed by crown implantation. The process leaves you without teeth for four months. There is a slight risk of stress fracture on the bottom jaw from the procedure. How do you feel about drills?"

"Ahgfaaha ahhfeaha faffafa." Barnabas tries to reply, but there's a godsdamned tongue depressor in his mouth and it's hard enough to talk anyway. After he hears how he just spoke, eyes roll up to the top of his head and there's a sigh. "Fffafk."

Dr. Beckett has the good grace not to mock him in his attempts to respond to her rather ill timed question. She finishes up her survey of the interior of his mouth. "The sooner we schedule your surgery, the sooner your gums can skin over, the sooner the screws can fuse with bone, the sooner your porcelain crowns can be applied." Her small hands retreat, but not before the marine gets a face full of exhaled smoke. She drops the mirror into her pocket, clicks the penlight, and that follows.

Leaning back, the Sergeant doesn't escape the smoke. On the upside, he does take it in a pretty impressive stride. Only a little eye watering and minimal coughing. Closing up his mouth, his head is given a little rotation to release a few long-stored cracking noises. It hurts stretching it forward for that long, after all. "Alright. How long am I going to be out of action for?"

The doctor regards the patient for a long, silent moment. More time in sickbay. Just what every Sergeant wants. "You'll be fine the same day, just sore. You should avoid hard foods for a period of several days after surgery. But on this ship that is hardly a concern." It's not like they serve nachos on the Mess. Now that she's had at least one cold instrument in the marine's mouth, the dentist seems appeased, like a vicious jungle cat who's just ripped out the throat of something tasty, and probably, probably won't do so for another few days. Maybe. "You will be given mild painkillers. Some discomfort and bleeding is normal." Her pain scale is probably different from the pain scale of other people, rendering her answers a bit cloudier than they might otherwise be. "I'll expect to see you within the week, Sergeant."

"I'll be down within the next couple of days. It's not like I have time to spare considering I'm not yet back on active duty." Barnabas gets a little more… coherent. He's a little calmer knowing it's not going to take long. Ok, to the whole 'Pain of it' is probably not helping, but at least he -knows- now. He actually seems a little relieved, too. There's some relaxing of his shoulders, and his general stance slouches. Just a little. I'd mention the smirk, but that's always there. not like he can help it.

Aggie's eyes roam the scar tissue again, the weight of her scrutiny almost uncomfortable for some. Is the man self conscious enough to be shaken by the stare? Dr. Beckett slides her hands into the pocket of her lab coat after tucking the cigarette securely into the corner of her mouth. "Floss before you show up. Do not eat anything for eight hours prior." With that, she turns on her heel and stalks toward the hatch.

Barnabas seems… suprisingly un-put-off by the stares. Having a ten-year-old stare at it for even longer has probably somewhat numbed him to the looks. He's been judged by a child, so there's nothing else anyone on this ship can do that's not already been dealt with. "Of course." Yeah, he's talking to the back of the stalking Dentist. "If you want to stare at it some more, feel free to take pictures while you're tearing out the rest of my teeth." Is added, but only when his own back is turned. What? He's got a bunk to re-assgroove and a book to finish.

Agatha pauses at the door, her hand on the hatch. She remains there for a beat, fingernails drumming once on the frame of the hatch. "A side benefit of repairing the structure of your teeth is that your pronunciation will improve, making linguistic rehabilitation easier, so that it's unlikely your mash mouth mutterings will be mistaken for insubordinate sass." All is relayed with a dry, flat sort of tone, that suggests she might be thinking about searching out someone to abuse, but is pointed away, thusly more likely to walk out as turn around. The hatch opens. She steps out.

Barnabas settles back into his bunk, pulling the book out from it's discarded position and re-finding the page he was on. His tongue sticks out of the busted corner of his mouth, which kind of summarises how much concentration he's taking to keep quite. It's not insubordination. It's being Shot In The Face <tm>.

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