Soban
Convention Veteran
YSS Kaiyo II
Medbay
Sacre tossed the throwing knife into the target across the medbay. The Ittô Heisho was agitated by the possibility of Miles leaving for a diffrent ship and now they would be getting some new idiot she'd have to train. Much as she knew it was irrational, he deserved to acutally get some respect and be a damn fine medic somewhere else. The team of Care, Sacre, and Miles had worked together for a while now. They had a flow and with Miles leaving and someone new coming in, they would have to get into a new flow.
Having thrown all of her practice knifes, she paced forward and pulled them out of the target. She considered putting Miles' stupid face on the target, but decided against it. She returned to her starting place and started throwing the knives again.
Ragnar Halfdan had just finished clearing with the quartermaster after being brought aboard the ship, checked all his equipment and dropped them at the quarters. Rather than settle in he had opted to see the Medbay first. Time spent on the front and in crisis response left him used to and comfortable with having limited resources and even less time, he was prepared to be pleasantly surprised by how well stocked the space lads were kept. There was also the matter of acquanting himself with the serving medical staff.
Soft handed poster kids, Ragnar thought to himself as he admired the general cleanliness of the vessel. As he came ever closer to the Medbay he heard an almost rhythmic thumping, which had struck him as odd. It wasn't the kind of sound you'd expect from a Medbay, but it did let him know someone was definitely in there. He hoped it would have been someone of equal rank to him. While he made sure to pack a set of medical duty uniform, he wore his type 31 work uniform with the proud safety green off color that paramedic had earned him. He did not want to be chewed out in the first day on the ship.
Turning the corner briskly, he was unsurprised to see another crewmember in the medbay. Damnit, he thought snapping to a salute. Figured it was safer than a bow. "Santo Hei Ragnar Halfdan reporting to familiarize with the facility. Recent transfer from infantry regiment and crisis response." he let his gravelly voice ring out loud as he stood in the doorframe, desperately trying to sound as motivated as possible. Is that person throwing knives? he wondered as sized up the situation.
Sacre was freakishly tall, standing taller then Ragnar. She was thin, which hightened the appearance of height. She had a throwing knife in her hand, as she turned to look at him the knife just seemed to disappear. As she turned to face him, he could see that she was covered in scars. Many faded, but some quite apparent. There was one that was absolutely vicious one in a ring halfway down her tail. She gave him a hard look. "Ah, so it looks like the overeager newbie finally shows his face. Get on in here you overgrown ape and I'll give you the tour." Sacre said rather abrasively.
Gonna be this kind of welcome, Ragnar noticed the abrasiveness in her sneer long before the comments. Making sure to take a few lessons from the ground pounders he'd spent most of his career with, Ragnar made sure to set the tone right away. May have been a dumb move, it may have even dangerous for his career considering the woman outranked him, but he stepped right up to the imposing figure. He stood at attention as a hint at respect, but cleared his throat to make it obvious he had something to say.
"May not be the prettiest face in the void, but I didn't get dragged to dozens of hellholes and this ship because of my looks. I'm a damn good medic, maybe as good as you; ma'am. Point being whether you or I like me being here, I'm an asset so maybe a less confrontational approach would benefit us and the crew." He said calmly, but made sure to take a hard, flexed stance to let her know he wasn't your average Mink and wouldn't tolerate crap. There was a trickle of sweat down the back of his neck, he was bold but not stupid and had seen the serpent folk in a fight before. Being squeezed to death or stabbed in this particular case wasn't something he had wanted to start the day with.
Sacre didn't know if she liked him, but at least he seemed to have spine. That was good she supposed. She turned back into the medbay, expecting Ragnar to follow. "I'm Sacre Sanssinia. Sanssinia-Heisho for you, if your going to invade my medbay then you should probably know where the sharps are so you don't stab yourself. You'll probably meet the other Medic, TraumaCare Patcher Seven Six some string of numbers, later. We've got four times the number of beds then you'd find on a Plumaria and three times the number of reconstruction tubes despite having fewer crew. This makes mass casulty situations a lot easier. We also have a desk and a chair so you can actually sit your lazy rear down when your on watch. We have three containment cells for infectious or POW patiants. Next to them is the backup room. We try to get a backup for everyone that wants one uploaded before every mission and at least once a month. Some of the crew don't have backups, don't worry about it. Lastly, here is the operation center. It's pretty awesome, awesome enough that I want to see what you got." Sacre explained as they went through the medbay.
Sacre activated a hologram on the operating table. A holographic male Nepleslian lay there, he was still in his armor, but the chest and belly were exposed. Holographic blood covered him and there were seveal holes that had been stuffed to stop him from bleeding out completley, but they were already leaking. The hologram above showed an absolutely vicous wound paths that touched vital organs and clipped several important blood vessels. The spine was partially destoryed. "Go."
Let's go ahead and assume this is the only patient, triage is easier when there's more people than just a single trainwreck; Ragnar thought as he grabbed all the emergency supplies within arms reach that he needed. "Do I have staff, a partner, aids, maybe a dumb grunt I can boss around?" He spoke evenly as he pried open what he hoped was simulation equipment. Not waiting for an answer he strapped down the holopatient to secure the spine, verified breathing and lung integrity, began a ventilator and administered the maximum safe dose of sedative before whispering the go words. "This is gonna suck for you, bud."
Sacre stood back quietly, watching him work. "Your on your own for this one." She said neutrally, perhaps the first neutral thing she had said to him.
Not waiting for his new superior's response he continued with practiced hands. Clotting agents administered, integrity of vessels confirmed via scanner, healing injection administered liberally, minor injuries noted. Crisis response and paramedicine took over without a hitch; ABC and everything else is for the real doctor. If he hadn't been ready to fight before, then now would definitely not be the best time for her to get in the way. Hologram or not, this was his patient and the glowing bastard would be alive for transfer of care. He took a moment as initial treatment was doing its thing to observe a renewed set of vitals. Test me? I've seen worse on dozens of occasions, Ragnar gloatingly thought before hoping the heat of the moment didn't result in an unintentional telepathic burst. He didn't know which was worse, her knowing how much of a thrill his job gave him compared to the disinterested facade he carried or hearing him thinking epic proportions of smack.
Next step was organ repair. Ragnar hated having to handle damaged organs, even temporarily. The organs had been torn though, the intestines were a mess, risking the bacteria getting into the wrong places. There was a long but not deep furrow running through the lung before hitting bone and punctureing the stomough.
Not missing a beat, Ragnar checked the scanner to see the status of the healing injection. If even a portion of the damage started healing up the patient might be salvagable. Noticing the abdominal injuries, he decided that septic control and fluid replacement was the suckers best chance. Already on a monitor, breathing handled by a ventilator, and slapping a cardiac monitor on in case the poor holostiff decided to try and code; Ragnar dug for a antibiotic cocktail. Combining the meds with two full fluid bags, saline to be safe, he started a direct line through holostiff's jugular. Not exactly preferred but the fellow wasn't moving. Now the game had become a matter of observing vitals, checking on the clotting agents and internal repairs, and getting ready to jump into cpr if the guy coded. Ragnar even added splints to the broken bones in between the monitor updating. Occasionally he would double check the monitor by getting a set of manual vitals to make sure the two lined up.
Wonder how long this little test goes for, only thing left is transport and definitive care; Ragnar recalled. Adrenaline was slowly weening and things slowly became annoyingly by the book.
The simulation went on for a while longer, there were a few tense moments, but nothing Ragnar wasn't able to handle. Finally the hologram disappeared. Sacre nodded, "You didn't kill him. I guess that's something."
"Best we can do at times, ma'am." Ragnar replied dryly, the effort not to enjoy performing above what he assumed Sacre's expectations were was no small undertaking. Noticing the massive mess he made and the sweat he worked up told him the familiar story of how he ended up taking the patient, even the hologram, too seriously and personally. He began cleaning up the space and taking a note of the surroundings, now having more of a chance to glance about rather than dealing with an impromptu battle of wills.
Sacre helped him clean up the mess. Keeping the medbay clean was all of their jobs. As she did so she considered what she had seen. He was clearly competant, she wasn't completely sure how the Captain had pulled it off, but it looked like she had manged to get someone who was certainly under appreciated. Given how overeager he was, he was probably going to shoot up through the ranks under Hoshi. That was the rub, serious as Sacre took her job, she kept just wanting him to relax. She reluctantly decided that she liked the serious medic, not that she was going to let him know that.
"Have you kitted out your Mindy yet?" She asked.
A slight look of surprise and annoyance danced over Ragnar's face for a moment. "Negative, ma'am." Running a hand over his short mohawk he opted to look anywhere but at the medic. It was a nervous habit few people caught onto. "Power armor tends to fit me a bit tight around the shoulders and thighs so I like to take my time after duty and make sure the fit is right. Also barely qualified for EVA operations and was hoping we'd be doing more planet bound operations. That's not even considering the amount of firepower those things carry; a bit silly for a medic if you ask me." he said curtly. He didn't want to go into detail about how uncomfortable deep space made him or that he only fired a weapon twice outside of the qualifying ranges.
"I figure it might be more prudent to get familiar with the crew roster and files, seeing that theres only three of us and void knows how many of them are prone to stubbed toes, hangovers, and other petty nonsense that could be avoided with simple applications of common sense." Ragnar added, trying to deflect.
Sacre nodded sympatheically. As someone who also was fairly far outside the norm, adjusting the armor took time. She had to spend hours readusting after the last mission. "You have no idea, or you might having to deal with a legion of ground pounders. We don't spend a lot of time on the ground, or stay there long if we do. The mindy is pretty manuverable and can fly so we use that to our advantage. Don't give me the one about skeet, I've already heard it. Another perspective shift that you'll have to make is from seeing yourself as a medic only. If you are only a Medic, then you'll feel pretty useless. In general, something kills us and we get to spend time tasting hemosynth for the next week or it doesn't even make it through the armor. There tends to be little in between. Your a soldier, getting into the thick of the action first. Then occasionally you get to cart someone home and patch them up."
Ragnar didn't know how he felt about that revelation of how these starboys felt towards the field. Things were different down in the dirt. "Guess I'll have to take into account that you lot run a bit different out here. Worked differently where I got shipped from. I'll adjust and be where the team needs me." He finally responded. Wonder if she'd feel the same on the front? Eh, maybe we've seen the same amount of crap and are just different; Ragnar thought to himself. No matter the circumstances, he just hoped he wouldn't empty his stomach contents into the helmet the next time he had to zip around in one of those physics defying deathtraps.
"Hoshi runs a loose ship, loose even by my admittedly low standards. Don't screw up, and you'll be fine. When you kit out your armor, be sure to get the P4003, don't let them confuse you with the range stuff. You can cary more and jump more often. The W3902 can shoot while you are making pick up. NSB are really useful, not just for yourself, but also for the team, but watch the batteries they always run out quicker then you think they will." Sacre continued.
Rather than put up a fight, Ragnar nodded understanding before helping throw out the last of the trash made in the excersise. Without hesitation, as it had been farely well established that space hops will be in his future, Ragnar pushed out of the Medbay and back to the quartermaster; assuming that would be the man to handle equipment and requisitions. Time to piece together a decent rig, fit the suit, and put forward the paperwork for approval. Something sat in the back of his mind letting him know that these starboys and silverspoons may be far better people than he gave them credit for, even though they would inevitably lead to his life becoming much more interesting than he cared for.
Medbay
Sacre tossed the throwing knife into the target across the medbay. The Ittô Heisho was agitated by the possibility of Miles leaving for a diffrent ship and now they would be getting some new idiot she'd have to train. Much as she knew it was irrational, he deserved to acutally get some respect and be a damn fine medic somewhere else. The team of Care, Sacre, and Miles had worked together for a while now. They had a flow and with Miles leaving and someone new coming in, they would have to get into a new flow.
Having thrown all of her practice knifes, she paced forward and pulled them out of the target. She considered putting Miles' stupid face on the target, but decided against it. She returned to her starting place and started throwing the knives again.
Ragnar Halfdan had just finished clearing with the quartermaster after being brought aboard the ship, checked all his equipment and dropped them at the quarters. Rather than settle in he had opted to see the Medbay first. Time spent on the front and in crisis response left him used to and comfortable with having limited resources and even less time, he was prepared to be pleasantly surprised by how well stocked the space lads were kept. There was also the matter of acquanting himself with the serving medical staff.
Soft handed poster kids, Ragnar thought to himself as he admired the general cleanliness of the vessel. As he came ever closer to the Medbay he heard an almost rhythmic thumping, which had struck him as odd. It wasn't the kind of sound you'd expect from a Medbay, but it did let him know someone was definitely in there. He hoped it would have been someone of equal rank to him. While he made sure to pack a set of medical duty uniform, he wore his type 31 work uniform with the proud safety green off color that paramedic had earned him. He did not want to be chewed out in the first day on the ship.
Turning the corner briskly, he was unsurprised to see another crewmember in the medbay. Damnit, he thought snapping to a salute. Figured it was safer than a bow. "Santo Hei Ragnar Halfdan reporting to familiarize with the facility. Recent transfer from infantry regiment and crisis response." he let his gravelly voice ring out loud as he stood in the doorframe, desperately trying to sound as motivated as possible. Is that person throwing knives? he wondered as sized up the situation.
Sacre was freakishly tall, standing taller then Ragnar. She was thin, which hightened the appearance of height. She had a throwing knife in her hand, as she turned to look at him the knife just seemed to disappear. As she turned to face him, he could see that she was covered in scars. Many faded, but some quite apparent. There was one that was absolutely vicious one in a ring halfway down her tail. She gave him a hard look. "Ah, so it looks like the overeager newbie finally shows his face. Get on in here you overgrown ape and I'll give you the tour." Sacre said rather abrasively.
Gonna be this kind of welcome, Ragnar noticed the abrasiveness in her sneer long before the comments. Making sure to take a few lessons from the ground pounders he'd spent most of his career with, Ragnar made sure to set the tone right away. May have been a dumb move, it may have even dangerous for his career considering the woman outranked him, but he stepped right up to the imposing figure. He stood at attention as a hint at respect, but cleared his throat to make it obvious he had something to say.
"May not be the prettiest face in the void, but I didn't get dragged to dozens of hellholes and this ship because of my looks. I'm a damn good medic, maybe as good as you; ma'am. Point being whether you or I like me being here, I'm an asset so maybe a less confrontational approach would benefit us and the crew." He said calmly, but made sure to take a hard, flexed stance to let her know he wasn't your average Mink and wouldn't tolerate crap. There was a trickle of sweat down the back of his neck, he was bold but not stupid and had seen the serpent folk in a fight before. Being squeezed to death or stabbed in this particular case wasn't something he had wanted to start the day with.
Sacre didn't know if she liked him, but at least he seemed to have spine. That was good she supposed. She turned back into the medbay, expecting Ragnar to follow. "I'm Sacre Sanssinia. Sanssinia-Heisho for you, if your going to invade my medbay then you should probably know where the sharps are so you don't stab yourself. You'll probably meet the other Medic, TraumaCare Patcher Seven Six some string of numbers, later. We've got four times the number of beds then you'd find on a Plumaria and three times the number of reconstruction tubes despite having fewer crew. This makes mass casulty situations a lot easier. We also have a desk and a chair so you can actually sit your lazy rear down when your on watch. We have three containment cells for infectious or POW patiants. Next to them is the backup room. We try to get a backup for everyone that wants one uploaded before every mission and at least once a month. Some of the crew don't have backups, don't worry about it. Lastly, here is the operation center. It's pretty awesome, awesome enough that I want to see what you got." Sacre explained as they went through the medbay.
Sacre activated a hologram on the operating table. A holographic male Nepleslian lay there, he was still in his armor, but the chest and belly were exposed. Holographic blood covered him and there were seveal holes that had been stuffed to stop him from bleeding out completley, but they were already leaking. The hologram above showed an absolutely vicous wound paths that touched vital organs and clipped several important blood vessels. The spine was partially destoryed. "Go."
Let's go ahead and assume this is the only patient, triage is easier when there's more people than just a single trainwreck; Ragnar thought as he grabbed all the emergency supplies within arms reach that he needed. "Do I have staff, a partner, aids, maybe a dumb grunt I can boss around?" He spoke evenly as he pried open what he hoped was simulation equipment. Not waiting for an answer he strapped down the holopatient to secure the spine, verified breathing and lung integrity, began a ventilator and administered the maximum safe dose of sedative before whispering the go words. "This is gonna suck for you, bud."
Sacre stood back quietly, watching him work. "Your on your own for this one." She said neutrally, perhaps the first neutral thing she had said to him.
Not waiting for his new superior's response he continued with practiced hands. Clotting agents administered, integrity of vessels confirmed via scanner, healing injection administered liberally, minor injuries noted. Crisis response and paramedicine took over without a hitch; ABC and everything else is for the real doctor. If he hadn't been ready to fight before, then now would definitely not be the best time for her to get in the way. Hologram or not, this was his patient and the glowing bastard would be alive for transfer of care. He took a moment as initial treatment was doing its thing to observe a renewed set of vitals. Test me? I've seen worse on dozens of occasions, Ragnar gloatingly thought before hoping the heat of the moment didn't result in an unintentional telepathic burst. He didn't know which was worse, her knowing how much of a thrill his job gave him compared to the disinterested facade he carried or hearing him thinking epic proportions of smack.
Next step was organ repair. Ragnar hated having to handle damaged organs, even temporarily. The organs had been torn though, the intestines were a mess, risking the bacteria getting into the wrong places. There was a long but not deep furrow running through the lung before hitting bone and punctureing the stomough.
Not missing a beat, Ragnar checked the scanner to see the status of the healing injection. If even a portion of the damage started healing up the patient might be salvagable. Noticing the abdominal injuries, he decided that septic control and fluid replacement was the suckers best chance. Already on a monitor, breathing handled by a ventilator, and slapping a cardiac monitor on in case the poor holostiff decided to try and code; Ragnar dug for a antibiotic cocktail. Combining the meds with two full fluid bags, saline to be safe, he started a direct line through holostiff's jugular. Not exactly preferred but the fellow wasn't moving. Now the game had become a matter of observing vitals, checking on the clotting agents and internal repairs, and getting ready to jump into cpr if the guy coded. Ragnar even added splints to the broken bones in between the monitor updating. Occasionally he would double check the monitor by getting a set of manual vitals to make sure the two lined up.
Wonder how long this little test goes for, only thing left is transport and definitive care; Ragnar recalled. Adrenaline was slowly weening and things slowly became annoyingly by the book.
The simulation went on for a while longer, there were a few tense moments, but nothing Ragnar wasn't able to handle. Finally the hologram disappeared. Sacre nodded, "You didn't kill him. I guess that's something."
"Best we can do at times, ma'am." Ragnar replied dryly, the effort not to enjoy performing above what he assumed Sacre's expectations were was no small undertaking. Noticing the massive mess he made and the sweat he worked up told him the familiar story of how he ended up taking the patient, even the hologram, too seriously and personally. He began cleaning up the space and taking a note of the surroundings, now having more of a chance to glance about rather than dealing with an impromptu battle of wills.
Sacre helped him clean up the mess. Keeping the medbay clean was all of their jobs. As she did so she considered what she had seen. He was clearly competant, she wasn't completely sure how the Captain had pulled it off, but it looked like she had manged to get someone who was certainly under appreciated. Given how overeager he was, he was probably going to shoot up through the ranks under Hoshi. That was the rub, serious as Sacre took her job, she kept just wanting him to relax. She reluctantly decided that she liked the serious medic, not that she was going to let him know that.
"Have you kitted out your Mindy yet?" She asked.
A slight look of surprise and annoyance danced over Ragnar's face for a moment. "Negative, ma'am." Running a hand over his short mohawk he opted to look anywhere but at the medic. It was a nervous habit few people caught onto. "Power armor tends to fit me a bit tight around the shoulders and thighs so I like to take my time after duty and make sure the fit is right. Also barely qualified for EVA operations and was hoping we'd be doing more planet bound operations. That's not even considering the amount of firepower those things carry; a bit silly for a medic if you ask me." he said curtly. He didn't want to go into detail about how uncomfortable deep space made him or that he only fired a weapon twice outside of the qualifying ranges.
"I figure it might be more prudent to get familiar with the crew roster and files, seeing that theres only three of us and void knows how many of them are prone to stubbed toes, hangovers, and other petty nonsense that could be avoided with simple applications of common sense." Ragnar added, trying to deflect.
Sacre nodded sympatheically. As someone who also was fairly far outside the norm, adjusting the armor took time. She had to spend hours readusting after the last mission. "You have no idea, or you might having to deal with a legion of ground pounders. We don't spend a lot of time on the ground, or stay there long if we do. The mindy is pretty manuverable and can fly so we use that to our advantage. Don't give me the one about skeet, I've already heard it. Another perspective shift that you'll have to make is from seeing yourself as a medic only. If you are only a Medic, then you'll feel pretty useless. In general, something kills us and we get to spend time tasting hemosynth for the next week or it doesn't even make it through the armor. There tends to be little in between. Your a soldier, getting into the thick of the action first. Then occasionally you get to cart someone home and patch them up."
Ragnar didn't know how he felt about that revelation of how these starboys felt towards the field. Things were different down in the dirt. "Guess I'll have to take into account that you lot run a bit different out here. Worked differently where I got shipped from. I'll adjust and be where the team needs me." He finally responded. Wonder if she'd feel the same on the front? Eh, maybe we've seen the same amount of crap and are just different; Ragnar thought to himself. No matter the circumstances, he just hoped he wouldn't empty his stomach contents into the helmet the next time he had to zip around in one of those physics defying deathtraps.
"Hoshi runs a loose ship, loose even by my admittedly low standards. Don't screw up, and you'll be fine. When you kit out your armor, be sure to get the P4003, don't let them confuse you with the range stuff. You can cary more and jump more often. The W3902 can shoot while you are making pick up. NSB are really useful, not just for yourself, but also for the team, but watch the batteries they always run out quicker then you think they will." Sacre continued.
Rather than put up a fight, Ragnar nodded understanding before helping throw out the last of the trash made in the excersise. Without hesitation, as it had been farely well established that space hops will be in his future, Ragnar pushed out of the Medbay and back to the quartermaster; assuming that would be the man to handle equipment and requisitions. Time to piece together a decent rig, fit the suit, and put forward the paperwork for approval. Something sat in the back of his mind letting him know that these starboys and silverspoons may be far better people than he gave them credit for, even though they would inevitably lead to his life becoming much more interesting than he cared for.
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