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Sickenned Senses

Posted on 11 Nov 2023 @ 3:26pm by Ensign Orion Belmont
Edited on on 11 Nov 2023 @ 3:27pm

1,301 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Miranda
Location: Orion's Quarters

After his little fall – others had said collapse – Jester had been forced to head to the Sickbay to be assessed. He had vehemently disagreed with those who had taken him, but given that at the time his legs had been more dragging than pacing he had had been safely ignored. He didn’t really remember that journey, though he felt sure he had not been the nicest of company along the way. He was hoping not to get a comeuppance from that but with his track record he wasn’t overly optimistic. At least he hadn’t started a fight this time, at least he didn’t think he had. Not that it would’ve lasted long, a puff of air would have floored him.

“A Jester having his bell rung” he snorted to himself, lounging in his chair and sipping on what was fast becoming his best friend – a concoction of honey, lemon, ginger and some kind of whiskey he had managed to wrangle up from the replicator.

He had been sent back to his quarters after being dosed up with a variety of medications he couldn’t even begin to remember the names of. Apparently that, and some rest, would be enough to at least get him back upon his feet. He had found it was a much merrier sentence with a little helping hand. He wasn’t stupid enough to take it too far, but the warm glow from within called to him and made it a difficult song to resist. He hadn’t liked the looks in the doctor’s eyes, or their faces and appearance. They had been pale, dark eyed and drawn from overexertion. And as for beds and space – he had been sent back to his quarters because, despite how he felt, he was apparently one of the lesser effected.

He didn’t really want to run down that path of thought further than that. If he was one of the more capable of the crew he didn’t much fancy their chances if anything serious came along. He wasn’t known for his reliability and dutiful nature. He had tried this time and had been brought down by a damned bug…was that what they had called it? He shook his head, coughed a few wet retches and then pushed himself up and to his feet to replace his drink a few paces away. He didn’t return to the same seat afterwards, instead opting to sit at his desk. He had been trying to toy with a little pet project but his focus has shattered an hour or so ago. Before trying again he rested his forehead against the solid, headache easing surface of the desk before him.

“I must be the opposite of a damned rabbit’s foot...” he muttered to himself tiredly.

It took a while of blinking before his vision sharpened and the throbbing in his head abated enough for him to focus upon the project before him. It was something he had brought aboard, an old thing never finished – a toy more than anything. He had found it in some trade somewhere years ago, at some station he no longer remembered. He wasn’t even sure why he worked on it anymore, it had been an impulse purchase but he had been told once he had figured it out he would have great fortune. If he were honest with himself he would admit he had kept it as a mirror of his own life – if he fixed it then perhaps he would be fixed. Presently, however, it was something to take his mind off of the pains and mild mental imbalances. On cue a flash of memory hit him and he shook his head and blinked beck the project into focus, taking up one of his smaller tools and going to work on the circuitry and wheels.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been working on teasing the mechanisms into ticking over slowly – before they stopped again to his groan – but after a while another flash came on and took a few moments to receded. Shakily he sipped his drink and then set aside the tool breathing deeply. He recalled his conversation in the gym and wished he had little Klingons to deal with. He’d take that any day over reliving some of his less reputable moments in his past. It had started on the way to the med bay, and he had been assured that after the treatments had had time to fully take effect they would dissipate. Until then though that was small comfort and every so often he got to see just how poor his choices had been. He took a deep break, another sip of his drink, and pressed on with the project. He managed to get the wheels turning for a decent portion before his arm jerked and swept the whole thing off and to the floor and he slammed his palms onto the desk with a frustrated growl.

“I should…should just get some…sleep” he sighed after a while, downing his drink and stripping off before practically collapsing onto his bed, then rolling off the other side with momentum.

He groaned and dragged himself under the covers, before getting far too hot and pushing them off. He simply lay there, staring upwards and feeling the aches and pains between coughs and groans. He vaguely remembered that he had bene told he may feel wore before he felt better but that was a distant memory now, far outside of himself as his sweat covered lump of a body complained at him over, and over. Eventually his eyes closed and he drifted off, he knew not for how long, but vivid and vibrantly real dreams turned to nightmares and his eyes flared open, finding himself on the floor again, tangled up in his covers. He tried to push himself up but as soon as he found the strength to get himself halfway the mental flares began once more and he slumped back down.

This time they didn’t stop, even when he grabbed the extra hypo spray he had been given and gave to himself, letting it fall to the floor in his last lucid moments before he started to drown in the remembrances. He had heard that you saw your life flash past your eyes before you died but he hadn’t been told that it would happen as you were being ‘cured’. All he could do was curl into a ball and pull the covers over his head for a semblance of comfort as he rode it all out, shaking and shouting protestations at the internal visions, one after the other. Eventually the darkness took him, his mind overwhelmed into sinking into an inky black peace where only sounds reached him – words and phrases from years past were easier than the vivid memories.

“You’ll never amount to anything Jester”

“Jester’s about right boy! You can’t press a uniform much less impress a commanding officer”

“Why’d you do it Orion? Why?”

“Son…you disappoint us”

“Caught again, he keeps this up, the ripping around in borrowed craft, he’ll end up worse then dead. You’d wish he was”

“Failed at everything but flying. What are we going to do with you Jester? Hmm? You aren’t stupid, right up until you are. Why be here at all if you can’t be bothered?”

“You could be better Jes….you just don’t want to be. And I can’t stick with you knowing you’re half what you could be. You’ll get me dragged down with you”

Eventually there was nothing, exhaustion gripping hold of him and true sleep sticking properly.


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