Interstitial Contact - Part 1
Changing of the Guard
Location: Conference Lounge
Timeline: Mission Day 1
Raymond was waiting in the conference lounge when he heard the doors slide open behind him. He adjusted his focus to make an effort to see the reflection in the transparent duranium viewport, but realized that he still could not make out who it was that had entered. “Are you always this prompt,” he asked, still staring out at the stagnant starscape.
The doctor stepped in to better be illuminated. “I strive to be my Chocolate Bunny.” They were alone for now, so s/he felt s/he could be a little less formal. “Besides, I couldn’t resist the first opportunity to be alone in a decade.”
Varik's head cocked to one side as he breathed in the fetid scent of cognitive dissonance sounding like numbers to his eyes. "But," the Captain said, pivoting partially toward the Caninoid, "you're not alone. I'm here as well." Punching his Vulcanaeity up a notch, he additionally intoned, "Though being this well, I can't imagine I'll be needing a Doctor," just as an errant spritz of clearly full human testosterone twisting his arm into adding, "unless you can think of some way," he fully faced hir now, teasing, coyly spreading his arms wide to indicate the conference table, "I might sprain something on this table."
Ensign Drake entered the room to see the Captain and Doctor conversing. He made his way quietly to the other side of the table and took a chair.
Raymond, watching the man deftly striding to the far side of the table, straightened, his throat suddenly needed clearing, likely of the remainder of last few words that had fallen from his craw, and he gave his uniform tunic a standard "business in the front, pleats in the rear" tug. It was sometime about three quarters of the way through the tug, right about when cuticles brushed waistband that he realized that he had not been watching Drake at all. He was frozen in place, mesmerized by the sight of a single, lonely pip hanging on to the Chief's collar for dear life, wishing, perhaps, it had a mate with which to endure the struggle. The Vulcan blinked. The human shook his head, muttering to himself, "I oughta kun-ut-kalifee the entire chain of--" The door to the lounge slid shut then, distracting him from his errant superego rambling.
The doors to the conference lounge started to open once more and Ensign LaGrange slid through then before the drs had opened all the way. He made a bee line for the nearest empty chair and sat down.
Varik found himself face to face with yet another lonely pip, and vowed silently to take care of the issue with unrequited entitlement for clearly superstandard efforts 'round these parts. A wide, earnest smile spread across his face. "No wait," he asked the Doctor in a hushed tone, "are they 'co' department heads? First one's the Chief, right," he nodded.
As Vanth noticed the new new flight control officer and Propulsion Specialist enter, s/he couldn’t recall if he’d been to sickbay recently for his physical yet however. Nothing seemed to stick out in hir memory about him if his files had come across hir desk already. S/he couldn’t even recall if he’d been a recent transfer, or just been one of those individuals who somehow managed to uncannily remain unnoticed until ‘poof’ it suddenly seems like they’re involved in everything. It was almost as if he were some ‘extra’ out of one of those episodic adventures someone had told hir about one time. What was it called? ‘Television?’
Yet magically his name was coming to hir now… LaGrange was it? He seemed to somewhat just remind hir of someone… McNeil maybe?
Doctor Vanth looked around the room and spoke loud enough to get the attention of all. “Looks like we're all here.”