Zombie Strippers From Mars [open to anyone that'd have an excuse to be in Medbay]

[on_your_nerves]

Faffing about on his omnicom had Sherlock mildly entertained for a bit, but it didn't last long. Five minutes into the movies John had brought, the consulting detective had slumped back on his Medbay bed insisting that movies were boring (because everything was boring at the moment) and demanding to be knocked unconscious until he was allowed to leave. When John pointed out that injuring him further was slightly counterproductive in regards to him getting out of Medbay, he went into a world-class sulk.

It wasn't so much that he was bored as the fact he was bored and there was an entire spaceship to go poking and prodding around in. The boredom was multiplied and magnified by the fact that there were things to do, advancements in forensic science (and biology and chemistry...) he could read about and so on.

There could be zombies somewhere! Actual living, breathing zombies! Never mind the part where zombies weren't alive and didn't breathe.

At first, the crime rate--or lack thereof--had had him worried this whole venture would be hopelessly tiresome, but apparently, there was more going on than met the eye. (Zombies!)

After his "your movies are boring" based tantrum, John had been in and out of the Medbay, taking advantage of Sherlock's little fit of petulant disinterest in anything but leaving to go prod around the ship himself.

Nothing to do. The whole ship was out there waiting for Sherlock. And where was that tea he asked for from that random stranger? He'd conveniently kept the biscuits given to him by that other random stranger.

"Zombie strippers. Honestly."

At this point, he was fairly certain John selected one-third of the movies they watched because of the explosions in them, one-third because they involved some sort of historical warfare, and the last one-third because of how much he thought Sherlock was going to yell at the screen. Of course, toss in the ones John watched because the actresses in them were attractive and it messed up all the proportions.

Comments

[thisclinchesit]

"I see you're recovering rather well," came a voice from a man Sherlock had seen before - though whether he would remember Shoutarou given the situation, he doesn't know just yet.

Shoutarou steps in, then takes a seat in one of the bedside chairs. He pulls his hat off, and toys with it in his hands for a moment. "Given all your talk about wanting interesting cases, Mister Holmes, I don't think you were planning on becoming one." From what he's done since they parted ways - taking care of Kerrigan, hunting down John - finding out that this was the same guy he had that discussion with on the comms had a bit of...well, he wouldn't say poetic justice, but it was certainly an interesting coincidence.

[on_your_nerves]

"It was hardly interesting. I said something she disagreed with, she intruded in my mind, I insulted her, she stabbed me, and then she confessed. She didn't even try to hide it or try to get away with it."

Boring. He would have turned down his own case.

[thisclinchesit]

There's a quiet chuckle, and he puts the hat back on his head. "Guess we've got different descriptions of interesting, then."

It helps that he has some information about the situation that Sherlock doesn't, buuut he's not sure how much he can share, if any. That, and the interview thread is still going, shhhhh.

"I'd say the fact that she didn't run was one of the intriguing parts. Certainly a relief. Last thing we need is someone willing to kill people on the run on a ship this big."

[on_your_nerves]

"I have a different description of 'interesting' than most."

As for what Shoutarou said about her not running being the intriguing part, Sherlock seemed to be giving that some thought, taking in a deep breath through his nose and letting it out through his mouth.

What he was trying to do was trying to banish the anger over what she'd done. Emotion was a corrupting influence, often obfuscating the truth, anger even more so than other emotions.

"She doesn't want to kill anyone."

An odd proclamation for someone to make when they'd had thirteen stab wounds to suggest otherwise.

[thisclinchesit]

"Obviously," Shoutarou answers, adjusting some in the chair. His strokes at his chin while Sherlock did his thinking, and once he speaks again, Shoutarou nods.

"Right. Because she claims to be so good at it, though by no choice of her own." A pause. "Something held her back, though."

[night_shift]

As promised, Elisa made her way to visit Sherlock shortly after her shift had finished. He'd been fairly acerbic during their previous conversations on the omnicom, but if he really was as good as he seemed to think he was then he'd be a useful addition to the security team. It was certainly worth investigating.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

She greeted him with a smile, holding out her hand when she got close enough to reach him.

"I'm Elisa Maza."

And she'd brought him a book from the libraries of Castle Wyvern, just in case.

[on_your_nerves]

He did shake her hand, even though he didn't move much to do it, simply extending his left hand out lazily, as if it was an afterthought. For someone with such large hands, he had an oddly delicate grip. Not weak, just delicate, as if even a handshake was a carefully precise, carefully measured gesture.

"I'd say it was a pleasure, but I've yet to determine if it is one yet."

At least he was direct about things? Well no, it was less direct and more outright rude, but for him, it was moderately polite. His expression at least wasn't the least bit austere, even if his words were.

[night_shift]

Elisa's handshake, on the other hand, was firm and forthright. A police officer's handshake.

"Well, you're definitely direct," she said, a little bemused. She didn't have a problem with that, but she was more accustomed to dealing with people who watched what they said in order to polite or, on occasion, to try and keep one truth or another concealed. "Does that get you into much trouble?"

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock looked somewhat amused and his eyes rolled upward, as if he was trying to recall every instance of his life where being direct had gotten him into trouble.

"Define 'trouble.'"

[monster_san]

So, Sherlock Holmes was now living on the ship.

This was a little hard to digest for someone whose primary exposure to him had been re-runs of Famous Detective Holmes, but maybe that was for the best. The personality of the man himself seemed very, very different from the canine version.

Nevertheless, she had offered to get him reading material and tea, so that was what she had done, carrying a PADD full of information on criminolgy and forensics scattered from 2012 to 2370, veering off into the methods of various Earths-to-be. She also had a small thermos of tea--one sugar, unfortunately. It didn't take long to find him, given the lack of other bedbound patients. "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes? My name is Fuu--we talked over the omnicomm."

[on_your_nerves]

He extended one hand lazily.

"Ah yes. The tea?"

Now, please.

He didn't seem the least bit grateful for her doing him a favor like this, which possibly came off exceedingly rude, but that could have just been a result of his having a rather stiff manner.

In fact, he did rather appreciate it, given that tea was probably so difficult to find in a place such as this, and intended on extending a favor in return if she wanted one. It was possibly difficult to tell, though, given he was giving her the gimme gimme gesture with his hand.

[monster_san]

Well, Sherlock Holmes might have been a brilliant detective, but it seemed that his grasp of manners was rather lacking. Though Fuu supposed that was only to be expected, given how he'd said he had ended up with thirteen stab wounds in the first place. "I'm afraid I was only able to use one sugar," she said, taking a moment to loosen the thermos lid slightly before handing it over so that he wouldn't have to spend ten minutes wrestling with it.

"I've found texts and some audio recordings dating from 2012 AD to 2370, and a few calendars that depart from the AD calendar system," she went on. "I hope you find it interesting enough."

[on_your_nerves]

Even short a sugar, the tea was very welcome, and he adjusted the back of his medbay bed so he could sit up and drink that first. Thermos in one hand, he picked up the PADD she brought, thumbing through the the readings there.

"Yes, this will do quite nicely," he said, and at least his tone sounded appreciative.

[atadiscoverer]

Carson is pottering around in the medbay, mostly taking inventory, and secondarily translating his notes from Ancient into English.

As he wanders past Sherlock's bed, he's doing the latter, completely engrossed in his workings.

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock would have normally ignored someone puttering around, deeply involved in their work--he didn't like to be distracted himself unless he felt like talking and showing off everything he'd deduced.

Right now, however, he was hopelessly bored and in search of any entertainment whatsoever.

"Tell me, doctor, is your bedside manner always this terrible? I'm a patient and you haven't even checked up on me. I could be lying here dying. Admittedly, I'd be dying of boredom..."

[atadiscoverer]

A pause and Carson looks up from what he's doing, giving Sherlock a smile. He's dealt with Military patients and other difficult geniuses before, so this is nothing.

"Trust me, Mr. Holmes, we would know if you were dying." Probably because you would never shut up about it.

[on_your_nerves]

"Unless the monitors were faulty."

It didn't sound as if it was an actual concern of his, more like he was arguing just to entertain himself.

[anwei]

Anwei wanted to get into the medical database right now. She wanted to see how it had been maintained, what new fields and indexes and cross-linkages might have been added, and when the last inventory had been done.

But as usual, she was trying to do five things at once. She'd diverted to the Library, grabbed a media reader and loaded it with every non-fiction documentary she could find that looked like it would be interesting to a very smart human - histories of spaceflight, bio-engineering, faster-than-light communication, and so on. But when she got into Med Bay, the patient she'd grabbed it for already had a reader.

"Oh, I guess you're all set then?" she asked, holding out the reader a little.

[on_your_nerves]

"I've already had multiple individuals vying to provide me reading material. Literacy seems to a very large concern for this crew for some reason," he said, a touch sarcastically.

[anwei]

She shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm. "Many people who arrive have powerful and dangerous talents - the faster they are given information on what is happening, the better.

"I suppose we could ask if one of the telepathic members of the crew could somehow project the information into people's minds as they awoke. But that could be rather alarming." Waking up knowing things that you had not known when you had been abducted would probably be even more shocking than reading people's reports and seeing recordings of the Ohm.

"Knowledge shared is knowledge multiplied, and the Media Library seems to be the distribution method most compatible with the crew - which is probably why it's here."

[on_your_nerves]

"I would suggest leaving off the unprovoked telepathic intrusion, thanks."

He seemed to have a very personal grudge against the very idea.

[doctorbatman]

"Zombies makes terrible strippers, too uncoordinated."

There's a guy with a sword on his back who's come to check on you Mr. Holmes. His reassuring smile is still fairly evident through the mask that covers his whole head except for his eyes. Most people that roam around armed aren't capable of pulling off a good bedside manner but clearly this guy is the exception to the rule.

"How're you feeling?"

[on_your_nerves]

"Bored."

Obviously.

"...And that's what I was saying to John. If they're dead, their nerve impulses aren't firing correctly, so technically speaking, they shouldn't be coordinated enough to pole dance. Never mind the impossibility of zombies even existing in the first place--I'm told the ship had some at some point. I'd love to get my hands on a sample; were any preserved?"

[doctorbatman]

"Zombies are terrible at everything but shuffling and moaning unless the bodies they're made from were enhanced by something before they died, in my experience." Doc replied. "My life would be so much easier if they weren't real, but at least where I'm from they totally were."

"I think we've got some small samples around somewhere. I've made all kinds of records, personally." He thought about it for a moment. "They're all full of medical jargon and me doodling things but you can have a look at them if your REALLY bored."

[on_your_nerves]

Sherlock held out his hand and made a grabby motion with it. The records. Please.

"I am that bored."

Bored enough to be talking to ninjas.

"What material is your mask made of, by the way? I'm curious. It would have to be able to breathe for you to wear it as often as you do."