Who: McCoy and Meta Ten
Where: the infirmary, where else
When: tonight!
What: Everyone's flipping over Darvos and Meta Ten needs something. McCoy is summarily concerned, gruffly of course.
Warnings: none at the moment
(
It hadn't even been a calm enough week to say this shit storm had obviously been waiting for them around the corner. )
Comments 5
Arriving at the infirmary, one could easily have mistaken him for Ten. Tension limned his frame as closely as the tailored lines of his suit, the latter of which he generally never wore as a whole anymore. It was armour to him, every pinstripe of it. The smile he affected was just that, an obvious affect he was straining to keep in check and one that fell when he followed after McCoy in silence.
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"Alright kid, what's the problem here?" He asked. Nothing obviously seemed wrong with him, no gaping wounds or burning fever at least.
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"Death toll," he began, then frowned and started over. "The headaches I had from the death toll, after reviving -which to be honest is probably on par with the worst regeneration I've ever had-" The Doctor was rambling, skirting the issue entirely while he crossed his arms and directed most of his brooding attention to the floor.
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"Hold it there kid." He raised a hand in a gesture to cease the talking. "-and sit down." He gestured to the bed. "You've been getting headaches since the death toll? How long has it been and how frequent?" He said as he set up his scanner.
[ooc; what will McCoy's scanner pick up/what's wrong with him?]
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