Mreh K'hal

New Blood, Same Color Hearing the Captain's announcement didn't lift Mreh's mood any; in fact, it had worsened it. Sickbay had become bad enough for him recently, but to know they were heading to a battle where there would certainly be major casualties was another arrow to his heart. He couldn't stand to be there, seeing the pain and suffering of the patients. As he made his way back to his quarters, he pondered how this had come about. Healing had always been his calling, and he had executed it well as a roving medic for months before he had requested and finally received the permanent posting aboard the Excalibur. Perhaps even then he had started to feel that despondency; since taking up post in Excalibur's sickbay, it'd only become worse. The quirky, informal and rather naive attitude of his CMO had grated on him from the first, and then seeing Maria and Alex attach themselves to each other at the hip had pushed him further. He couldn't blame anyone for any of it, but it was added stimulus to his troubles. There he was, the Caitian with the golden hued bushy tail and red mane, alone and dissatisfied with his profession and the policies that were driving him. It was a miracle, really, that it'd taken as long to blow as it did, and even that roar was feeble. Sighing again, he regretted that barb at Maria and he hoped she would understand; if she didn't, Alex would hopefully understand and explain. Why Mreh wouldn't talk to Alex himself was a mystery even to himself; he had always been much more outgoing and personable than he seemed since coming here, and in fact past acquaintances had difficulty shutting him up. So this sudden reticence with someone trained (and apparently competent) at handling people's crises of the psyche was baffling. So much did this professional and personal meltdown bother him, he had applied upon their return to Camelot for the helm slot that was open on the Excalibur. He hadn't trained as a pilot, at considerable difficulty to himself with the medical schooling alongside, for nothing. In fact, while he roved from system to system, ship to ship, he had been assigned a runabout and had flown it and medical supplies from temporary station to station. Knowing that being cut off from the Alpha Quadrant and the battles and other tragedies that have occurred made supplying crew difficult, there would be a limited amount of personnel available with the proper training; however, he also knew the same applied to sickbay, and he doubted that an experienced and licensed doctor would be allowed to slip away either. Plus, he imagined that someone with more experience (and prior intent to be a pilot) would be reassigned to the Excalibur anyway. Nonetheless, he had applied, and then went about his suffering in sickbay. Arriving at his quarters, he slipped out of his smock and uniform jacket and then threw himself upon the bed. Looking at the PADDs on the nearby desk that contained the letters he had been writing since the Alpha Quadrant had closed to him, he wondered how his family would feel. He didn't actually care, though, as just being near them would be a lift. He missed them so much; their family had always been a tight knit one, so for him to be cut off from them, even from subspace messages, was torture. He imagined his mother was fraught with worry herself, not knowing whether he lived or died out here. Thinking of his Caitian family, his thoughts traveled as well to the nearest Caitian available. M'Vess JoNs was her name, he had discovered. That oh-so-short moment where he had seen her was graven on his memory; the tawny fur, the scars and cropped left ear, all of it was as clear as if she stood in front of him. There was attraction there, of course; he was a male, though he always prided himself on not being a rutting one, at least. Just as much, if not more though, was the fact that she was Caitian, and that amongst all the smooth-skinned people around them, they could understand each other and their racial history. She could probably sympathize with the difficulty he had with his bushy tail and regulation Starfleet uniforms; after she laughed about it, no doubt. He knew his sanity could rest on finally getting to spend some time with her; he absolutely had to talk with someone about everything that had transpired, and being able to listen to someone else without the clinical detachment of a doctor would be useful as well. He was a moment away from querying the computer on her whereabouts and duty status when the comm panel in his room beeped twice and lit up. Rising from the bed, he went over and sat before it; logging in with his voice and access code, he saw that he had a message from the de facto personnel office for this quadrant. With his paws rather unsteady, he pulled up the message and read it through, his ears rising from their previous droop to the state that his old roommate termed "baroo." He had been reassigned to the helm, with the added conditions that he assist the science department when the helm was static and begin learning operations protocol when feasible also. If they had added that he must also chase balls of yarn around once a day on the bridge he wouldn't have minded, despite the insult, so much was his determination to leave sickbay and the blood, gore and personality conflicts behind him. The stunned relief of the reassignment was too overwhelming for him to jump for joy, and the prior depressed state that struggled mightily not to fade kept him from shouting for joy, as well. Slumping back into the chair, his heart thudding in his chest and breath short, almost as if he had been chased back to his quarters by a Scorpiad, he looked back at the smock that announced as much that he had been a doctor as a Caduceus pin would have done, Mreh imagined tossing it into a roaring bonfire. He was free. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was freedom from his own expectations and driving ambition as much from the circumstances, but it was freedom, nonetheless. He sipped from the room-temperature glass of water that had sat there since he awoke that morning while he settled himself. Moments later, he left his quarters in a flash, and headed for the holodeck to refresh himself on Sovereign class navigation procedures. It absolutely would not do to be seen contemplating while he sat in the pilot's seat. At that mental image, however, his ever practical mind piped up with a question. When he reported for duty tomorrow, should he wear the red so standard to navigation officers, the blue of science and medical, or the yellow of operations? Immediately he tossed red out of the window; that was for officers that had taken the command track at the Academy, something he had never done nore desired to do in the future. The yellow would make him stand out less on the bridge, certainly, though he wasn't an operations officer and would only be training in it when the time permitted; with the upcoming battle, that certainly wouldn't provide much of that time, so that would probably wait until after. He decided he wouldn't wear the yellow until his training was complete. That left the blue, of course, and would also mean that Mreh wouldn't have to replicate new uniforms. It would certainly make the science staff more comfortable when he worked with them, and also remind everyone that his initial degrees were in Biology and Chemistry. He only hoped that the sight of a blue-shirt driving wouldn't strike fear into the hearts of the bridge staff.

Updated: Post Change and Specialization changed to reflect new assignment

The Edge Mreh agreed with Pippen completely; waiting on the edge of battle was much worse. It seemed as if the Excalibur had hurried up, and now was forced to wait, and in the meantime, the Caitian doctor could only watch over sickbay while his colleagues were down on Avalon on some type of excursion. He was hardly eager to move out and face the Scorpiads, but if it had to be done, which it did, he would assume that they ride out to meet their fate before fate rode in to meet them. He had checked up on that monstrosity of Larrell's, as he had agreed to do; though trading an instrument of suicide for caretaking responsibility on a large arachnid seemed strange at best. After ensuring that the creature was well and would survive a while longer with proper edibles at hand, he fervently hoped that it its owner would indeed return alive and well. Mreh had no desire to take care of such a thing himself, and finding a suitable new caretaker would be a difficult proposition, as he noted that the others weren't fond of it either. Not to mention that anyone that was eager for it probably had it in mind as a snack rather than a pet; he doubted the Orion would appreciate that. As for sickbay, it was quiet. A few patients that had suffered injuries during the last battle would still require another follow-up visit or two, and were in the process of rehabilitating their injuries using the holodeck programs designed for that. Every once and a while, someone would come in with a minor "boo-boo" sustained while working or recreationalizing on board, though he noted that quite a few people were either planetside or on Camelot Station. He supposed he would be himself if he hadn't been gallavanting around the quadrant before coming on board Excalibur. Ready to settle down, he was going to take advantage of having a "home" while it lasted. The potential longevity of that home did not impress him. His portable medical unit was performing well in tests, thanks to Marius' assistance with the power assembly. After extensively calibrating it, he had finally managed to get it to perform reliably; though it would always be slower than the more sophisticated equipment within sickbay, at least there was an option for a carry-on field kit for some of the more extensive tests that normally couldn't be done on an AT. For now, it sat ready to go along with his standard med-kit; he would further tinker with the design as time passed, hoping to miniaturize it, and if the Engineer was willing, the Caitian would pass it along to him for review and suggestions. So, while he sat on the edge of battle, hating it, he tried to keep himself occupied until the blood started flowing once again.

Ladies and Gentlemen... Ens Mreh K'hal M.D. After the Orion left, Mreh stood there a moment, contemplating. There was a woman, he thought, that was used to being confident, and had seemed more upset by the lack of confidence than the thoughts of dying on whatever mission she was going on. He determined that it would be a great loss if she did; there was one he'd feel comfortable with in command; more comfortable, in fact, than with their current Dameon CO. Of course, that probably had more to do with the fact that the Captain was a Dameon than on his command ability. His mind, thankfully, was strong enough to override that primitive reaction, and didn't let it surface outwardly, yet. Pushing it away, he exited the lab and finished up his work at his console before leaving sickbay, his shift over. He entered his quarters and quickly changed into more casual, and comfortable, attire. Though he knew that most viewed the uniform as a symbol of their accomplishments and entry into Starfleet, including both his parents, he himself couldn't stand the thing. It was uncomfortable, and hampered his movements. Being flexible came with being Caitian, and through exercise and hard work he was confident that there were few of his species that could twist, turn, or maneuver as freely as he could. No one would ever know it while he wore the uniform, though. The situation with the cyanide capsules had unnerved him, so he decided to work off some of that energy in the holodeck; a rare decision for him. Mreh made his way down to the holodeck, and loaded one of the few holographic simulations that he liked, though he never told anyone about it, and most certainly wouldn't invite anyone to view him in it. While he wasn't shy, by any stretch of the imagination, but of all the "hobbies" that he could have, this seemed a trifle embarrassing to share with his co-workers. After starting the program, he heard the murmuring and applause from one of the other attractions. The noise of it bothered him the first time, so he had modified the volume level after that, but the energy, colors and motions were fun just to watch. Today, though, he was going to take a more active role. He quickly took his place, and awaited the start of the show. He was announced, and waved with both paws and his tail, turning in circles a few times to acknowledge the whole audience that was packed inside the big tent. The lights dimmed, the spotlight caught him, and he grabbed a hold of the bar, and soon, was swinging and whirling around in the air. He had watched a circus act with his parents when he was still a kitten, and had been enamored with it ever since. Trapeze was his specialty, and he knew, if the whole Starfleet thing didn't work out, he could do this and entertain crowds all over the Federation. Since it was working out, however, he did it for fun. He flew around for a while, finishing the performance with his holographic partner, and then upon completion soaked up the adoring, simulated cheers. Feeling much better, he ended the program, and then made his way to the mess hall to grab something to eat.

Galactic Feline Ruling Council Hours of Operation: 10:00-11:00; 12:30-13:45; 14:45-16:00; (times flexible if the president needs a longer catnap)

Self-Guided Tour Ens Mreh K'hal M.D. Dr. K'hal, after performing a few more follow up examinations, was quite glad when his shift was over and he was able to exit sickbay. He could never stay in one spot very long without getting antsy, and the tedium of standard test after standard test exacerbated his built-in wanderlust. Since his arrival, he had been very busy and worked a few double shifts, and used the rest of the time resting or sleeping, so he was itchy to explore his new environs. Dr. Kassem, he had discovered after his talk with her earlier, had been in the process of touring the ship when she dropped by. He was forced to conclude that Maria had the better fortune in arrival times. Now, though, he would try to catch up. So, he took the nearby turbolift from Deck 16 to Deck 4 so that he could stop off at his quarters and change into something more comfortable. His frame was quite slight, especially by Caitian standards; most males of his species tended to a stockiness of build. The regulation Starfleet uniforms never quite fitted him properly; he tried and failed a number of times to alter the specifications himself, and the computer was never any help either. He supposed he would need a live tailor to measure him up and make the necessary alterations, but when he had the time, there wasn't a tailor to see, and when there was, he didn't have the time. Over the years, though, he had managed to find some casual attire that not only fitted him well, but suited his taste, and he made sure that the replicator systems where he was at could reproduce them. He slipped out of his uniform, which was always easier than getting into it. His tail was ridiculously fluffy, something his brothers had teased him about in their collective youth, and trying to fit it into the narrow slot provided in the uniform was a challenge, especially in the morning when he wasn't quite awake yet. He had the knack down for the exercise with the loose fitting shorts that he slipped into now, though, and he was able to get through that without swearing. He slipped his favorite button-down shirt onto his torso; a nearly neon green silk-alternative with faux-gold swirls, it was bright enough to be used as extra emergency lighting, or at least that's what his Academy roommate always joked. He exited his quarters, and then walked down the corridor to the lift. He knew, from going over the deck layout on his way to the Excalibur, that there were some recreation courts on Deck 3, but that type of sport wasn't his forte; above that was the command stuff, and nothing to interest him. So, he took the lift down to Deck 5 and marked the location of the forward lounge, and some of the science labs. The holodecks didn't interest him; he preferred to read, and avoided holo-novels and other such things, as he knew that no matter how well they programmed things, they weren't real. If he was going to engage in fantasy, he preferred to keep it inside his head and allow his body to recline comfortably. Walking briskly, enjoying the movement and exercise, he marked the locations of points of interest and greeted a few passing crewman. Stopping outside of the counseling offices on Deck 7, he pondered heading in to see if Alex were around, but decided that prolonged social visits would only delay his tour, so he kept going. When he arrived at Deck 10, he headed into the Arboretum and spent a good twenty minutes wandering amongst the flora. He enjoyed it, and imagined it would be a good place to go when he needed peace and some air without the odors of various species' perspiration and pheromones. After poking into hyrdroponics for a few, he eventually made his way to Deck 13 and explored the recreation areas. A few of the activities seemed interesting, and he would perhaps try them later on, especially when he needed to vent some energy. He then stopped into the Life Support control, and introduced himself to the crew there, as their efforts often go unnoticed, but without them living on a starship would require heavy suits and oxygen tanks, which wouldn't work very well for long-term missions. After leaving, he curled into a chair on the observation deck and watched the stars go by for a while, contemplating his new assignment and the men and women he'd be working with. Maria seemed quite nice, and handled the arterial scan with ease and grace, something he could certainly appreciate. His experiences growing up on Earth amongst humans had cetainly shown that they varied considerably person-to-person, but that on average they were somewhat clumsy and akward in their movements and activities, at least compared to his own people's ease of movement. Dr. Kassem, he thought, was one of the ones that managed to move about without making a clamor. Her bedside manner was exemplary as well, and Dr. K'hal was pleased about that, as too many doctors he had worked with in Starfleet had been quite brusque when a more tender approach would have suited the patient better. Not that there aren't patients who prefer that brusqueness, of course. He had always tried to guage a patient and present the attitude that seemed appropraite, and he always thought it a considerable deficiency in those who could not, or would not do that. Medicine wasn't just the long-winded terminology, fancy equipment, and a steady paw, after all. For a patient to be healthier, they had to be in a good state of mind. Why else would there be counselors on starships? He had yet to run into the Caitian female he had briefly spotted on the bridge when he had responded there to tend to the Captain. He had thought about checking the files to see who she was, but the fact that it had even crossed his mind annoyed him, and he wouldn't use his medical access to get information for his personal life. He had never in the past been so eager for the company of his own kind, a byproduct of being raised in San Fransisco and having a limited number of Caitians about. He was missing his family, though, and he figured that's probably why his mind kept mentally pinging in that direction. She may not be family, but meeting her would perhaps help him to ease that longing. Well, he would meet her eventually; even with the sprawling Sovereign class and the large crew, it would be only a matter of time. Uncurling himself from the chair, he decided to answer the grumbling in his belly and head to the main lounge on deck thirteen and order up some dinner. As a matter of course, he loved pork products above all other meats, but worked diligently to keep his diet varied so that he'd enjoy the pig meat all the more when he had it. He tended to avoid beef though, as it never seemed to digest properly, even though it tasted good. To celebrate his first evening off, he was going to order sweet and sour pork. It wouldn't be as good as his favorite Chinese restaurant in San Fransisco, but it would certainly do. He'd been craving it all day, but ordered the chicken parmesan for lunch, deciding to wait for the evening to indulge himself. The lunch hadn't been satisfying though, since he was still thinking about the coming dinner. With his tail wrapped around his leg as he walked, he entered the turbolift, well satisfied with his exploration and eager to set into a full plate.

Taking a Break, and Remembering a Break Ens Mreh K'hal With Alex's help, sickbay was once again in order and ready the next time the fecal matter hit the air accelerator. Mreh liked the Counselor, who seemed at ease with himself. Which, the Caitian thought, was always a good quality for that occupation, as its harder to trust someone to help you put your life in order who can't do it himself. So far, he liked everyone he'd met on the medical staff. Pilot seemed kind enough, even if he was a bit preoccupied with something or other, though he hadn't seen much of the man since the crisis point passed. Holed up in the office doing paperwork, from the looks of things. A duty that Mreh was more than happy to avoid when possible, and luckily the majority of what needed done was kittensplay for a junior officer. With nothing else pressing at the moment, he headed down to the junior officer's mess and ordered himself a tuna salad and enthusiastically started devouring it. It wasn't nearly as good as his mother made, but he'd yet to meet a replicated meal that could. He missed his family a good deal; they had always been quite close, and shared much more than meals at the table. While he ate, he tapped out another message for his parents on a PADD. That was a practice he had started at the Academy, even though both of them had been close at paw. Though now, far off in the depths of space, he compiled them and sent them in large chunks rather than firing them off at the end of day. He also jotted down a few for his siblings while he was at it. Mren and Rhan were easy to track down, still on Earth. Hakran was off studying nebulae or some such on the Copernicus, and they'd not talked in a while. His time aboard the Excalibur, short though it was, had been quite busy, just as he liked it; he preferred having to deal with bumps and scrapes instead of life-threatening injuries though, specialty or not, but life rarely obliged such fantasies. He had chosen medicine because he could never stand to watch people suffer, and having been the older brother of three raucous Caitian siblings had certainly given him ample opportunity to practice first aid. In fact, it had been their vacation when they were gallavanting around Rocky Mountain Park in Colorado that he had truly found his calling. He still remembered as clearly as if it were in front of his eyes now the way Rhan had screamed when his foreleg broke after falling down a steep hill as they were hiking. The rest of the family was kilometers away, and the communicator had been on Rhan and broke as badly as the leg during the fall. After scrambling down to his youngest brother, Mreh had little choice but to care for the injury right away as the bone was stuck right through the skin and bleeding profusely. To this day he could not figure out how he handled it without panicking, and his paws had been rock steady throughout. After splinting the leg and settling his brother in, he had marked the spot and raced to find his family. The Park Rangers had eventually locked onto Rhan's biosign and transported him to the hospital in Estes Park a few hours later, and while they travelled there in more conventional air transport, Mreh knew that he could not only handle being a doctor, he would be good at it, and that he wanted to do it. Though Rhan still feels some pain in the leg after much exertion, he was as good as new in a few weeks, and never gave Mreh the usual little brother to big brother bother thereafter. With his meal finished, and his personal memos to his family finished, Mreh recycled his bowl after washing down the meal with a large glass of water. He stopped off at his quarters and put the PADD in its rightful place on his dresser. Popping into the bathroom for a quick shower, he made sure to get any loose hairs off now so that he didn't shed. He was always obsessive about it, which was not uncommon for a Caitian, but being a physician made him doubly so. The last thing he wanted was to apologize to a patient for shedding in their wounds. Also, before stepping out, he made sure the tuna on his breath disappeared and was made minty fresh.

Taking Stock Ens Mreh K'hal After installing a specially grown arterial shunt to get the severly injured security officer's blood flowing properly again, Ensign Mreh K'hal did a quick walkthrough of sickbay, checking on any of his patients that were still under care. A quick study of the charts and a few notations, plus a few words for the conscious, he finally found himself in a position to take a break. Heading into the small office that he shared with the other assistant medical officers, he ordered himself a nutritious, energy laden drink and then sat down behind the desk. He sipped the concoction, one of his own that would not appeal to most of the species on this ship, while he rested. He was glad, looking back on it, that the Captain had experienced only a slight bump on the head and a mild concussion. As such, he had been able to pretty much leave him be while he treated those in dire need. It allowed him to do his job without the hassles of rank and the expectations and politics that may have resulted otherwise, not to mention that he had never been fond of Dameons. He found them too agressive, in general, and a bit arrogant. Also, while he can't say that he was overly fond of how a lot of other species smelled, the whiff of Dameon always made him edgy. Since he hadn't yet had the opportunity to judge the Captain as an individual, he tried to keep his opinion from being prejudiced, but there was enough general disquiet for him that he took the easy road. Since the situation was viable, he had one of the nurses give him the necessary hypos and gave clearance for the Captain to be released with instructions to take it easy for 24 hours; though he would have felt better actually keeping him off duty for that time frame, having the ship practically disabled from a Scorpiad attack and the possibility of more to come, he knew the CO had to at least be in command. If the Captain overtaxed himself, he would gladly let Pilot take care of it. As he finished off his drink, he pondered his brief sensory encounter with another Caitian on the bridge. Certainly Caitians in Starfleet weren't rare, but at this point there seemed to be a bit fewer of them in the system than in years past. His parents had spoke of this, and his own brief experience had confirmed it. It was the first time in his duty that he'd been posted with one, certainly. Considering he had been on the bridge to treat the downed Captain, he hadn't been able to pay much attention at the time, and only got a brief glance. He knew she was female, that certainly didn't escape his nostrils at the time. He remembered also that she was in gold, so he wondered if she was in security, even though she had been at the helm. He had never lived on Cait, and growing up in and around San Fransisco he was well used to the company of Terrans and other species, but as one would expect, the company of one's own kind is compelling. He hoped he would encounter her again, and hopefully in a more social circumstance. He was looking forward to making some friends, as his duty assignments since graduating had all been short, and he hadn't really been able to socialize as much as he'd like. Rising, he placed his glass in the slot and recycled it back into the replicator stores. Curling his tail about his leg, his preferred way of keeping it out of other people's way or from getting into trouble on its own account, he exited the office and went about his duties.