reverse! // n ever have i sent a meme so fas t
let me pretend to be u. | accepting. ↳ @astroaide.
A list of things to do the length of their body, scrolling across the surface of their datapad as they walked; other officers know, by now, to get out of their way when they’re absorbed like this, lest a collision occur – and it has happened before. There is just always more to do than they have hands to do it – more patients than they have time to see. Troopers quarantined with some planetside bug they’d picked up, a petty officer with the flu, a lieutenant swearing he has what he calls ‘space plague,’ but is shaping up to be the common cold. There’s a headache building somewhere behind their eyes as the pings keep coming in, and they feel like they haven’t slept in three days. Really, though, it’s only been two and a half.
But, the work stops for no one; least of all for them. The datapad is tucked securely under their arm, and they move over to the sink, washing their hands again – it’s a habit, one they know they’ll have to repeat because, well, now that datapad is under their arm, not properly put away, they’ll have to touch it again, and re-wash their hands and…they feel scattered, too much happening, and they wind up simply leaning against the sink, eyes closing briefly.
They jump, and their datapad clatters to the hard floor; the water is still running, and there’s a flash of guilt through them for that. Real water is a commodity, not something to be wasted because they’re dozing on the job. They turn to see who has attempted to grab their attention, and see another medical officer – someone under them, the name escapes them at the moment, and they dry off their hands, snagging their datapad from the floor after shutting the water off.
The officer looks – jumpy. They glance over their shoulder, as if afraid someone will be there, and suddenly, Dylan has a very good idea of who might have arrived to see them. ( Is it strange that they’re almost relieved at the thought of seeing him? Anyone sane would be running for the hills. )
“It’s, ah – it’s Lord Ren – ” They don’t let the officer finish, just murmur their thanks, and an assurance that they will take care of it. The damp towel goes into the hamper for the wash, and they glance at their datapad, and the overwhelming number of messages demanding their attention.
He’s there, waiting for them, medical technicians skittering nervously around him, skirting the edge of his presence in order to continue their own work, and Dylan – gestures slightly, towards a private examination room.
“What is it today, Lord Ren?”
They want to sound exasperated; they hate that they sound relieved, instead.
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