circle7 | holiday event

Entry tags:

!!event,
?mun: endy

holiday event

Bah RUMPAH Pum Pum

It's the end of the year, and Fagsona's throwing a grand, gay ol' holiday party! And boy, are they overdoing it. There's mistletoe everywhere, the spontaneous urge to break into carols, spiked eggnog, presents for everyone under a huge tree, and even someone in the corner over there dressed up like Santa, ready (even if unwilling) for anyone to come sit on their lap and spill out their deepest heart's desires! (Poor bugger, whoever that muse is.)

And believe me, with all that decoration and alcohol, you're definitely gonna spill.

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~~You're welcome to change that fact if you want, Cal baby-~~ Bentley's brow dipped, and he looked away. (That gleam was getting creepy, too.)

"That is... I mean, I thought it was how eggnog was supposed to taste?"

Not a very convincing argument.

~~Wait, what happened to Evan-~~

(Getting? What, it wasn't intimidating enough before?)

"Eggnog," clarified Calibri further, tipping up his chin as he often did when recalling something from memory. Usually, it was a special ratio for some sort of fatal, paralyzing, painful concoction. This was, in fact, the first time he ever had to search his memory for a recipe like this, and it took him a moment longer than usual. It had been a long, long time since he had had even the faintest use for eggnog, and even the most recent memories were from near the brink of childhood, even before adolescence. "If I recall correctly, eggnog is a beverage that is traditionally alcoholic to some degree, though non-alcoholic versions are often made and sold."

The doctor looked very upset.

"T-truth is, Calibri, I hadn't... um," he stopped to wave his hands about nervously, voice at a diminuendo, "I've never had alcohol. I'm actually quite panicked. Frankly, I-I'm scared of it. W-what should I do?"

Bentley turned to him with wide eyes. There was something comical about a doctor asking someone for help, as well as the sheer fact that anyone would ask Calibri for help.

Calibri seemed slightly confused by the desperate cry for aid as well. Eyes widening, he stepped just one small but curt step back. He had noticed that inebriation had varying effects on certain individuals, less in relation to their physical state of being than their mental one, which was a field in which Calibri had little expertise or interest. Perhaps the doctor was the type that simply got...a little emotional when tipsy? Something about those wide, nearly tearful, doe-like eyes was somewhat...off-putting.

"Well," he said, as calmly as he could. "Technically, I would not say your fear is unfounded. Although there have been certain studies suggesting that the regular intake of a small amount of alcohol may have positive effects on the human composition, it is also linked to more frequent abuse of the substance, much like illegal drugs, which, in turn, lead to serious health problems and often, at times, death, when it comes to overdose," he said, very clinically. "In fact, I would say that on a larger scale, the negative consequences far outweigh the possible positive ones."

Simply said, he really sucked at this.

Bentley gave Calibri a severe look of doom, before stumbling back into the nearest seat. His hands slid up to each side of his face and his head ducked down as he stared down at the floor.

"Oh, god. I'm going to die."

Calibri perked. "You are?"

Why, he had never heard about the fatal side-effects of small-volume alcohol consumption! This was fascinating!

~~What a jerk, Calibri.~~

"Should I see a doctor?" Bentley mumbled to himself, and in his panic, forgot that the most skilled doctor on board was himself.

Well, please allow Calibri to point out the obvious (he's very good at that). "Doctor. You are the doctor."

Bentley pauses, then glances up.

"So I should know what to do, shouldn't I?"

Calibri crossed his arms, watching Bentley closely. There was no discoloration of the skin, no paling of the lips, no dryness of the mouth...Bentley did not look poisoned at all. Was this one of those...silent, subtle killers?! "If you are, indeed, dying, then I would assume so. I wouldn't know why the Boss chose you otherwise."

Running his hands through his bristled hair, he thought and thought. What do you when overdosing on alcohol? The answer was... was...

Bentley jumped to his feet. "I've forgotten!"

Calibri only slid his eyes away. No pity here.

By now, given that he was not inebriated and considerably less susceptible to the ridiculous fear of alcohol, Calibri had come to an understanding about the situation, and he was considerably less impressed by the eggnog than he had initially been, now that the doctor was not actually dying of it. "I suppose I will have to inform the Boss that we need new medical staff, in that case. At the least, you have lasted longer than most of the other doctors in our history of hiring."

Yup, he really sucked at this.

Suddenly, Bentley felt emotional. He stared at Calibri long and hard, carefully blank.

"You don't sound very sad."

...Did he sound hurt?

For the first time in the period of time that Bentley had known him, Calibri actually looked bewildered. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, here I am about to die, and you're only comparing me to other doctors." Bentley plopped back down in his seat like a rag doll, with the air of a dying man who has lost all reason to live anyway.

Calibri gave him a look that equated to an unspoken, Good god, man, what in the world are you talking about? "But you're not. About to die, that is."

"Says who?" Bentley asked, head leaned back on the seat, staring up at the ceiling with his arms limp at his sides. "You're not a doctor."

The corners of his mouth turned down a fraction of a centimeter. To those that knew Calibri well enough, this was a sure sign that things were not all happy and good in CalibriLand. Unfortunately, Bentley was not one of those people. True, Calibri was no doctor, but he was an expert at poisons, and technically, inebriation could be classified as a very mild case of that, but it was useless to argue such fine points with a drunk man. (He had already tried often enough with Garamond to understand the futility of that.) "Then what do you suppose I should do, doctor, to alleviate this situation?"

"I don't know," he whined, not even moving from his spot on the chair. Everything seemed so pointless now. (Only because his sudden intoxication seemed to block off any points he could think of at all.) Even the ceiling was incredibly dull, despite it's decorative lights and lasers beaming around at random in Christmas themed shapes. "Am I a good doctor?" Bentley asked, with a clear tone of self-doubt.

Calibri had not had an ounce to drink, but it had been a long time since he had been this confused. As a man of science, in constant search of understanding of the world, confusion irritated him, however, though the only indication of it was Calibri pressing his lips together into a thin, unimpressed line. "That isn't for me to decide," he answered aloofly, and to be honest, he hadn't found a need to visit the medical bay past that first time when he had been testing Bentley, so he was a poor judge for the other man's ability. "I don't see what this has to do with your eggnog."

"What kind of doctor goes and inebriates himself?" he near-cried, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I'm pathetic."

Well, it would seem Bentley had legitimate reason to fear alcohol: it only drug him down into a state of deep depression, throwing his insecurities at people who could hardly be expected to comfort him. A sad, sad sight.

After a moment, Calibri took another step back, looking around him for a member of Circle Seven who was possibly better suited to situations like this (read: just about everyone else) that he could possibly command to take his place and placate the poor doctor. (It was, in fact, just a little bit pathetic.) There wasn't a face in the vicinity that he recognized, though, and inwardly, since 'luck' was just a fanciful notion for fanciful people and not suited for scientific types such as himself, he cursed his poor probabilities. "I am not sure, doctor, that I am the best equipped to deal with this..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bentley asked, peeking from under his arm. Calibri was also the only person in the area he recognized that wasn't at one time a patient in the ward. (Mostly check-ups, but a few scratch-ups as well.) "Aren't you supposed to be prepared for anything in this sort of place?"

Now, Calibri was not second-in-command for nothing. He had ascended the ranks to his position by means of cunning, resourcefulness and maybe more than a little intimidation. He saw the loophole and dove for it. "This sort of place?" he questioned, taking a pointed glance around their strange but somehow unalarming surroundings. "On board the ship, certainly, but I can't say for this particular locale. I don't believe we have any intel for here."

Bentley blinked.

"Where are we?"

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