Ok, so I promised wackiness, and I intend to deliver. Hope this is wacky enough. Despite the title, I, myself, wasn't actually tanked... though perhaps I should have been.
Anyway, I originally planned to do a bit more with this chapter, but it turned out too long as it was. (Grumble) Pain when that happens, but whatcha gonna do?
Oh yeah... half the game's NPCs don't actually have surnames... that always bugged me... so I came up with some... not to be taken as "canon", of course.
IV: Severe Alcohol Poisoning…
Medical Bay, TCS Gallante
Commenor System, en route to Toprawa System jump point
2 Alturiak, FY (Faerunian Year) 2258
2146 Hours, Local Standard
The medical bay of the Confederation Navy heavy cruiser Gallante was a marvel of modern engineering. Better equipped than many planetside hospitals, the state of the art facility could house up to thirty patients at any given time. Currently, however, only one of the beds was occupied, and that by Omega Squad’s resident heavy weapons specialist.
“Hold still, Minsc! I can’t treat your injury if you won’t stop squirming…”
Even lying flat on his back atop an infirmary bed, Lance Corporal Minsc Vaonnor, Omega 4, was a large man, well over six feet tall and built like the side of a concrete skyscraper. His sheer size tended to intimidate people; the bald pate and oddly-shaped tattoo that ran down over his right eye and a good quarter of his face often drew nervous stares; the multitude of scars he bore daunted them even further – and yet, oddly enough, if ever a human being fit the stereotype of “gentle giant”, it was Minsc. The gregarious behemoth was well known within the unit as possessing an overwhelming sense of compassion – outside of combat, anyway. The various enemies that found themselves staring down the colossal barrel of Minsc’s customary M-249 SAW (Squad Assault Weapon) would beg to differ.
“Blast it, Minsc! Listen to me… these stitches will not stay in place if you keep fidgeting. Now hold still!”
Hovering over her patient like a doting mother hen, 1st Lieutenant Jaheira Marael, Omega 3, was being forced to split her attentions. She struggled to keep Minsc from tearing the intravenous line from his arm, while at the same time, doing her best to sew up the ugly gash cut into his left shoulder.
“Boo doesn’t like needles…” the big man said, by way of protest.
The last of Jaheira’s patience fled with her resigned exhalation, though luckily (For Minsc, at least), an idea chose that exact moment to flood the recently vacated space. She reached out with her right hand, finding a wicked looking syringe amongst the other instruments sitting on the table’s surface. “Then I imagine Boo would not appreciate me using this, hmm?” She pushed the injector with her thumb, checking the flow of liquid from the needle. “Make no mistake; if you refuse to cooperate, I will be forced to sedate you. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
Omega 4 deflated completely. “Minsc will behave.”
Jaheira fought to keep an expression of smug self-satisfaction off her face as she laid the syringe back down and went back to her previous task. While the needle and thread she was using seemed positively archaic in comparison to the high technology of the Gallante’s Med Bay, Jaheira had always favored the simplistic approach. Besides, the side effects caused by modern dermal regeneration units hadn’t yet been fully cataloged.
“Almost done…” She cut the thread, then tied off the ends, then leaned in to examine her work. The stitches were precise, and should hold together even under moderate stress. Content, she swabbed the area with disinfectant one more time before applying a pressure bandage that completely covered the wound. “There. Finished. Now, was that so bad?”
“No. Perhaps not… but it does not really matter. Minsc and Boo are whole again, and for that you have our thanks.” He got to his feet and donned his uniform shirt, gingerly working his shoulder around to test its motility. He grinned appreciatively before making for the door, Jaheira calling out a “You’re welcome…” just before the big galoot made his exit.
With Minsc gone and the rest of Med Bay empty, relative silence set in. The soft hum of the ship’s ventilation system provided the only background noise, and that was something anyone on a starship learned to tune out very early in a cruise. Finally sensing the opportunity for some badly needed quiet time, Jaheira casually strolled back to her desk and picked up the uniform blouse slung across the back of her chair. The article of clothing was well worn, almost starting to fray around the seams, but she’d never been able to part with it.
An all too rare smile crossed her features as she ran a finger across the unit patch attached to the shoulder – Confederation SpaceForces, 1st Pararescue. That smile widened, as her fingertip traced the motto stenciled in yellow lettering around the border of the circular fixture: “That Others May Live…” The patch itself was a simple piece of cloth, but the symbolism had never been lost on her. As mundane as it might appear, the lump of fabric was a resume longer than the genealogies of some major Torillian religious figures – Airborne School, Combat Divers School, Parachutist training, advanced rescue/recovery training, and, serving as the foundation of it all, several years of genuine, honest-to-goodness formal medical school on her homeworld of Tethyr. “Book-learning” and field experience both made for a remarkably effective combination.
…
“Oh… who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”
An almost child-like voice, words partially slurred, suddenly rang out, echoing down the corridors leading to the medical bay. Seconds later, two figures stumbled in, the shorter one leaning heavily upon the other.
“Absorbent and yellow and porous is he!” 2nd Lieutenant Imoen Llyr, Omega 2, looked up, spitting her taller sister with an intense glare, looking as if she expected a response to the lyrics of the song she was enthusiastically belting out.
Major Falynn Llyr, Omega 1, refused to be baited. “Oh, for the love of Bhaal… you’re drunk,” she deadpanned, half carrying, half dragging Imoen the handful of steps to the nearest bed.
“I’m not drunk…” the younger Llyr protested adamantly, shaking her head violently. That action sent the room spinning wildly; her knees nearly gave out, and only Falynn’s efforts kept her from toppling face-first to the floor. Imoen began giggling uncontrollably.
“You’re drunk!”
Finally, Imoen acquiesced, nodding her head vigorously. That touched off another fit of giddy laughter. “I’m SOOOO drunk!”
Omega 1 turned to face the only other occupant of the Gallante’s med bay, her expression desperate and pleading. “Jaheira? Help?”
To get technical about it, Jaheira wasn’t even on duty at the moment. She’d only been in Med Bay to tend to the wound Minsc had taken during Omega group’s last operation on Caliban. The ship’s Chief Medical Officer (A position Jaheira was extremely glad she did not hold) was, in theory, still on call, and should have been summoned to deal with the situation that had just arisen. The wise thing to do would have been to look Falynn in the eye, apologize, “I’m sorry, but I’m not on duty…” and leave… quickly.
Lieutenant Marael was a wise soul… she was also a generous one. Sometimes generosity preempted wisdom; this was one of those times… but that didn’t mean she had to be particularly pleasant about it. “Sit down, Imoen. Now.”
Normally, the girl in question would never have complied so readily. Having known Jaheira for quite some time prior to all this, she had developed a hearty respect for the person… as well as a palpable disregard for the person’s authority. But slightly off-kilter as Imoen was at the moment, she found it difficult to resist both the elder woman’s words, and, incidentally, her sibling’s elbow prodding her, none too gently, in the ribs. Summoning long buried, strategic reserves of coordination and dexterity, she hauled herself up onto the bed with no problems, then set about happily kicking her feet and drumming her heels against the bed’s light metal foundation. She either didn’t notice the clanging, or, more likely, was simply blatantly ignoring it.
The other two were attempting to ignore it as well. “She’s clearly flushed… forehead feels a little warm… stick your tongue out, child.”
“Ahhhh…”
“Hmmmm. Pink. Not good. Very likely a symptom of severe alcohol poisoning.”
“That… sounds serious…” Falynn interjected, her voice falling into its “very worried older sister” tone. “Damn it, Im… I told you to go easy on the strawberry margaritas…”
“But… strawberry… so… yummy… mmmmmm… strawberry…”
Jaheira nodded grimly. “Serious? It could very well be. We may need to give her charcoal, pump her stomach… perhaps something even more drastic.”
Falynn struggled to keep up with what she was being told. “Wh… whatever you think,” she managed to stammer out.
It seemed as if Llyr #2 had been, up to this point, ignoring the conversation happening right in front of her, then suddenly realized what was being said. “Hey, you know… now that I think about it, I am feeling kinda dizzy…” she remarked. There was already a slight slurring of her words, but now a faint tremble was beginning to creep in at the edges of her voice.
The Tethyrian reached for a length of rubber tubing, then made a grab for some medical tape. Next, she began rummaging in a nearby cabinet for some other pieces of equipment. Stacks of gear not necessary for the current endeavor began piling up as Jaheira kept digging. “Hold her head, Falynn,” she called over her shoulder, pulling out a tray of sharpened scalpels and setting it off to the side.
Still a bit disconcerted by what seemed to be a too-rapidly progressing chain of events, Imoen felt a pair of soft hands grip the sides of her head, just above the ears. The hold on her temples was gentle, but firm – just enough applied pressure to keep movement to an absolute minimum. “Um… hang on… is this really necessary?” she asked, “Because I think that dizzy spell just passed… really, I’m feeling a lot better, and… hey… wait a second! My tongue’s -always- pink!”
She could hear Falynn snickering behind her, and the sudden quirk at the corner of Jaheira’s mouth was thoroughly smug. “I was wondering how long it would take for her to figure that out…” the latter said in her moderately accented Basic.
Irritated, Imoen reached up and flicked the hands away from the sides of her head. “All right… no fair… you two have got to stop ganging up on me when I’m drunk…” Her eyes glazed over, then closed. “…besotted… blitzed… bombed…hosed… inebriated… intoxicated… loaded… pickled… plastered… sloshed… smashed… soused… tanked… trashed… wasted…”
The major shook her head in disbelief. “Amazing… she’s drunk off her cute little butt, but her vocabulary? Still impressive.”
Jaheira put a hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. “And did you notice that list was alphabetized, as well? That’s talent.”
A pair of blue-gray eyes flashed open, suddenly lucid and alert… seemingly… “Yeah! And don’t you… um… um…” Imoen was gnawing on her lower lip by this point, “Oh, what’s the word I’m looking for? Uh… er… for- for-get… forget… it!”
Falynn let out an exasperated sigh. “So, anyway, I was wondering if you had any oxy pills or something… y’know, anything we could cram down her throat to sober her up… at least enough that I can stuff her in her bunk and be sure she’ll stay there.”
Jaheira nodded, then jammed her hand back into the medicine cabinet. She pulled out a small paper pouch, tore it open, and emptied the contents into her palm. “Here. Take these.”
Imoen didn’t respond. After her previous outburst, she’d gone quiet, sitting unflinchingly, with her eyes closed and her hands folded in her lap. Even the agitated kicking had stopped.
That didn’t seem to phase Falynn in the least. “Um… let’s just put the pills in her mouth and rub her throat until she swallows them…”
“I’m not that far gone, thank you,” came the abrupt response as the inebriated young woman seized the proffered medication. She tossed one of the white tablets into the air, tilted her head back, and maneuvered her mouth under it. She caught it cleanly, swallowed, then repeated the process. While this catch was also successful, she came precariously close to throwing her entire frame off the bed. Falynn surreptitiously snaked an arm around the other girl’s waist to keep her from “taking the plunge.”
“Can we go now?”
There was no lack of condescension in Falynn’s tone. “Yes, little sister, we can go now. C’mon. I’ll walk you back to your quarters. Thanks for the help, Jaheira.”
“Meh…” the reply was accompanied by an easygoing shrug. “Just keep her out of trouble for the next few hours. A little sleep and she’ll be fine.”
“Right. I know the drill…” the older Llyr said over her shoulder as she led her charge out of the room, and the door closed behind the two of them.
-----
Crew Quarters, Deck 6, TCS Gallante
2203 Hours, Local Standard
The keypad beeped once, then twice, then began to emit a low, steady tone. The lightweight but sturdy durasteel door slid open, accompanied by the soft whisper of hydraulics.
“Lushes first…” quipped Falynn as she motioned towards the newly-opened door with an overly exaggerated gesture of her hand.
“Hey, when did I give you my access code?”
Lynn smirked. “You didn’t. I outrank you; I get swanky overrides. Get in.” She put a guiding hand on the small of Imoen’s back as she tried to coax the girl through the egress.
“Give me a sec… I’m a little dizzy again…” the other replied, stopping short and leaning heavily against the wall next to the door for support. “Get the lights for me, please?”
A small sound of protest died in the back of the major’s throat. “Fine.” She stepped through the doorway and flipped the manual switch on the wall. Sometimes the old ways -were- the best, after all.
This wasn’t one of those times.
*SHOOK*
Approximately four gallons of confetti chose this exact moment to announce their presence, falling from the ceiling directly onto Falynn’s head. Much of the colored paper and foil drifted gently and harmlessly to the ground, but a good portion of the stuff had clumped together, shattering apart only after impact with the top of major’s head.
Lynn slapped a hand across her face. Her palm came away covered in red, silver, and green foil. Some of the heavy colored paper ended up on her tongue. It took her a few seconds to clear the stuff away. “I don’t believe this…” she muttered once she’d gotten her mouth back into working order.
Still outside, the younger Llyr was giggling like a woman possessed. When the laughter finally subsided, she did her best to put on an innocent grin. Her level best… was fairly awful. “I figured that the next time I got a little tipsy, you’d be the one to drag me home, so I set up that teensy surprise for you the last time I was sober. Surprise!”
Falynn rolled her eyes and nodded her head slowly. “You’re good…” she held up an admonishing finger and waggled it, “not good like me, but still good…”
Clearly hamming it up, Imoen broke into exaggerated sniffles. “Why, Lynn… that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me…” Her eyes suddenly took on a roguish gleam. “Well, that, and ‘Geez, Im, that black miniskirt I got for my last birthday looks so adorable on you… I think you should have it…’”
“Pfft. Are you kidding me? I look incredible in that thing. No way I’m giving it to you.” She tapped her fingertips against her sternum. “I keep that for me.”
“Oh well. Can’t blame a girl for trying…” With a distinct lack of grace, she dived headfirst into the room’s single bunk, grabbed the pillow and jammed it under her chin.
“Are you going to sleep in your uniform?”
“I can’t summon the strength to get out of it.”
“Oh, but you can summon the strength to mouth off… no problems, there…”
“You betcha. I’ve always got energy for that.”
Lynn growled, the sound building up slowly but surely in the back of her throat. “Just get changed, ok?” She pulled a plain white T-shirt and a pair of light gray shorts from the nearby dresser and threw them in the general direction of the bed. Imoen turned onto her side, caught the hurled clothing and finished bringing herself to a sitting position. She looked up, took note of Falynn’s growing impatience, and cheerfully ignored it.
“What?”
”Turn around…”
“Turn – oh… fine… whatever, just hurry up… and don’t even think about throwing something at the back of my head.”
She thought she heard a muttered “Drat,” behind her, but decided not to press the issue, instead waiting with as much patience as she could scrape together as the rustles of clothing continued behind her back. Shortly after that, she heard the bedcovers pulled back and the soft whisper of skin against cloth.
“All set?”
“Mmmm hmmmm…” came the response. Falynn turned back around and saw, to her complete surprise, Imoen’s day uniform neatly folded and hanging on the chair next to the bunk. The belt hung alongside the other articles of clothing, the pair of socks had been rolled up and expertly tossed into the clothes hamper in the corner of the room, and the polished black boots had been precisely placed at the foot of the bed. Im herself was already firmly entrenched under the sheets. A stuffed bear, a sandy-brown in color, was snuggled in the crook of her left arm.
“Good. Now go to sleep…”
“Um, Lynn, can I have a glass of water?”
“A glass of water?”
“Please?”
“Ugh. Fine.” A quick trip to the kitchenette’s sink took care of that request…
… but there was another.
There was always another.
“Um, Lynn, can you get me another pillow? That one over there’ll work…”
“This… is exploitation…” Falynn remarked, though she didn’t out and out refuse to “play fetch”.
Imoen’s grin was completely unabashed. “Boy howdy, yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Actually… Lynn, can you tell me a story?”
”What?!”
“Awww, c’mon… back home, ol’ Puffguts would always tell me a bedtime story…” The accompanying childish pout was endearing and infuriating at the same time – an odd but undeniably effective combination she’d perfected ages ago.
Thankfully, Falynn had developed a near-immunity to the thing a while back, as well. “Yeah, he would tell you a story… on the oh-so-rare occasions when you weren’t being nauseatingly obnoxious… most of the time, though, just to keep you in line, he had to threaten to beat you like a redheaded stepchi- … hey, wait a second…” Falynn broke into a wide grin.
“Oh, you’re hi-laaar-ious, Lynn.”
A shrug, a smile, and a chuckle. “Good -night-, Sis.”
Mumbling. “Mutton mongering riff-raff…”
Falynn clicked her tongue, then smirked. “Just -had- to get in that last word, didn’t ya?”
