Of Broken Bones and Snickerdoodles-7522.7
From Star Trek: Gamma One
Of Broken Bones and Snickerdoodles-7522.7
Summary: Cadet Violet Blueberry reports to Sickbay for her physical
"... the ticket." Doctor Edward St. John gives the nurse his most charming smile. He all but tweaks her cheek. "Now calibrate the other twenty-four the same way." Suddenly she doesn't seem so charmed.
And the sickbay doors open to admit someone, though through no fault of the door it doesn't seem to work so well. The person coming in ends up banging her left shoulder on the very edge of the doorway--not so much out of clumsiness, but more the fact that she seems to be taking in everything on the ship with a sense of awe and wonder, well, everything but where the door ends. The female cadet (the telltale red and the skirt uniform variant would give it away) grimaces a little as she does her running into the doorway bit, looking around hoping that no one caught her mistake.
St. John caught it. He's trying really hard not to smile, but he's not succeeding very well. "Cadet! Ten hut!"
Another sort of grimace, and a slight reddening of the blonde's face as she comes to attention just inside the door.
St. John looks down at the clunky PADD in his hands, apparently taking notes for a good minute or more. Then and only then does he inquire mildly, "Well?"
"Reporting for my pre-duty physical sir," the cadet responds, still not moving given the ten hut command.
"Really? What is it with you young'uns, all boiling over with the urge to get to work?" St. John shakes his head with mock sadness, then he finally lets the smile out. "At ease, Cadet. Come grab a biobed. What's your name?"
The cadet doesn't answer the question, but now that she can relax a little she moves over to one of the biobeds and hops up, sitting on the very edge with her legs hanging over. Of course much like one would expect of a child the cadet is slightly swinging her legs. "Cadet Blueberry, sir."
St. John pauses and peers at her. "Blueberry? Seriously?"
The cadet grimaces just a little--after all she's probably heard it from all her classmates, but from a senior officer it's a little different. "It gets worse," she says just a little more meeker. "Cadet Violet Blueberry."
St. John flips on the diagnostics. "Actually, that's not too bad. Violet's a pretty name. I always liked flower names in a girl. Rose, Violet, Iris. They all work."
She at least smiles a little more in response to that, "Thank you sir. But when you take it into regards of the color, and my last name..."
St. John uh huhs, eyeing the bed's readout. "Even better with your nickname, from what I hear. Anyhow, anything I should know beyond what's in your record, mister?"
"I'm not quite sure what my record states to be honest sir," she says. Her voice is a little more hesitant when she resumes. "I've broken a few bones in my lifetime."
St. John snorts. "A few? Are you trying to be modest, Cadet?"
"No sir. I've truly only broken a few bones," she says trying to be serious and filled with confidence. However after a moment her face goes a little red as she adds just a bit more quietly, "multiple times each."
St. John grunts at that. "That's better. Pilots shouldn't try to be modest. It doesn't fool anybody." He turns his head to peer at her. "Well, I'll make you a deal, Cadet. For every bone of yours you break on this ship, I'll break two more. Think that'll solve the problem?"
"You're gonna be breaking a lot of bones then sir, genetically I'm at risk for more broken bones than the average person, but it wasn't to the point where they'd allow genetic modifcation," the cadet says matter-of-factly. A beat and then, "However, how about for every bone I break I'll bake you two-dozen cookies?"
"Yeah, I figured as much." He pauses. "Cookies? Cookies." Another pause. "Blueberry cookies?"
"No sir, chocolate chip, or peanut butter, or no bake," she frowns at that one, "well, that wouldn't really be baking because it's in the name that it's no bake, but I could still make those. Oatmeal, oatmeal rasin,..." this might go on for a bit.
St. John looks plaintive. "Snickerdoodles?" he inquires wistfully.
"If that's what you want sir," the cadet says with a rather large smile.
St. John beams and sticks out a hand. "Deal!"
She extends a hand to shake it. "And don't feel you need to stick with one cookie type, I'm sure you'll get tired of them if my luck holds," she says with that same large smile.
St. John firmly pumps said hand. "Good! Feel free to vary the variety. Now, that being said, you seem pretty healthy for being so breakable."
"Thank you sir. My mother used to always say I was as fit as a fiddle. I didn't understand it until I learned that if you drop a fiddle it breaks, then it made sense to me," the cadet says likely blissfully unware of the irony of her own story.
St. John can't resist scoffing, "Fiddlesticks!" With a chuckle, he gestures her upward. "Well, much as I love love cookies, I'm rather hoping you won't need our services too often, Cadet."
The cadet clearly doesn't get the fiddlestick's comment. "Me too sir, me too."
"Excellent. Alright then." St. John makes shooing motions. "Go fly something. Try not to break the shuttles either."
Blueberry hops down off the bed, but she doesn't hop down well, she almost hobbles for a moment before managing to balance out instead of falling. "I'm okay," she says probably a little louder than intentioned. She turns back to look at the doctor with a slightly embarassed grimace again and puts her hands by her sides as she quickly makes her way out of sickbay.
