Lt Commander Foster - Attention to Detail

[Alora DeVeau]

OOC: I just love the way Jamie infuses Wyn's personality in the posts she writes with him.


((Ballroom C-10, Starbase 118))

Wyn Foster might be a little paranoid.

At one point an antagonistic friend by the name of Sinda Essen had called him out, saying that he was packing drugs to stave off his own personal demons and he had hotly tossed back to her that no, in fact he did not self-medicate because he had already seen what sort of horrible destruction that could wreak.  And in a quip of sarcasm she had called him paranoid.

He had returned that yes, damn right it was paranoia such hard, fast and scathingly raw tone that it had stunned her to silence.

No matter where, something could happen, someone would get hurt.  His preparation never hurt anyone.

His paranoia… well, jury was out on that.  But he stuck to his preparation.

Foster: In my boot.  ::He pulled a perfectly fitted wallet-fold custom medkit from his polished boot.:: I always have at least one medkit on my person at all times.

Though speaking of self-medicating, this was the … third… time he had seen ill effects connected to alcohol consumption and Ashley Yael.

Once is a fluke.  Twice is a coincidence.

Three times?  That outlined the horrifying possibility of a habit.

Blackwell:::She gave a soft smile:: It’s one of the many reasons why I love having Wyn around.

Yael:  ::more to Wyn, sheepishly::  Sorry to make you work at a party.

Foster Hey, it’s what I live to do.

He tried to make it sound lighthearted.  Tried.

He was fighting the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat.  His father had been an alcoholic.  Was an alcoholic.  Is an alcoholic, despite being sober for nearly thirty years.  It was terrifying, dark, destructive and hard to break.

A tiny voice was starting to plead in the back of Wyn’s head to ignore this.  To wedge himself into a state of comfortable denial.  A much louder voice was ringing warning bells.

Wyn, remember the last few times you had warning bells?  What happened?

Terrible things happened.  With every iteration he acted faster and with more vehemence.  And every time he somehow failed harder, watching people die in body and spirit.

Blackwell::With a quick wink to the Andorian, her gaze turned towards the crowd:: Quite the guest list ::with a sip of her water::

He offered a smile to Rue, trying to tamp down the rising wave of fear that rose in his chest.  What if the warning bells were right?

What if he messed it up again?

What if he lost his new crush… and his longest, dearest friend?

Did he have to be at this party?  Could he run away and hide, railing at imagined fears by sobbing in a dark cold room?

No?

Curse those heavy, horrible pips.

Yael:  It doesn’t seem there’s any cultural specifics or theme to the party, which makes me think the items may be a collaboration of very different items.

He offered a pinched smile and a nod.

Foster I think ‘eclectic’ is the word you are looking for.  ::he filled the hypospray and sidled over towards Ashley.:: Anything in particular you’re interested in spectating?

And as soon as Rue started talking he used the change in attention to administer his special hangover cure – a patented blend of vitamins, minerals, nutrients and analgesics, guaranteed to make the day instantly brighter.  And he was quick, too.  Even Mr. ‘I hate being touched’ barely had enough time to react before it was over and done.

Wyn indulged in a tiny smirk.  He liked being good at his job, up to and including his ninja skills.

Blackwell: Oh I am looking forward to the displays. I have all intentions to get a look as many things as I can while we diplomatically mingle.

Foster Oh diplomatic mingling, that sounds great.

He said in a tone that clearly said it sounded about as great as dumping a metric ton of tribbles into a Klingon mosh pit.

Blackwell: Give good impressions, come off as personable, or at least interesting, and don’t make a scene - I think it should be manageable ::She grinned faintly:: I’ll even hold off on waxing poetic about any strange things I find.

Yael:  What if we prefer that you wax poetic?  You might impress the scientists with your knowledge.

Foster It is definitely preferable to diplomatic mingling.

And he meant that.  He would take nerding out on an obscure topic over meaningless mingling while trying to smile, bow and scrape in all the right ways any day.

Leave the diplomacy to the diplomats and empaths who got a kick out of it.

Blackwell::She shrugged faintly:: I heard a few rumors of what could be here. Treasures and curiosities from all over. ::She looked at the two and gave a brightened smile.:: What about you two? Anything you want to see?

Yael:  I’m hoping they have something from Iconia.  Might be a long shot though.

Foster: Dinner?

He offered with dead honesty and a little shrug.  Antiques were never his thing.

When he was a kid he was on a starship and interested in every new thing they found out in space.  And then in Pepperell, he had to admit he wasn’t very interested in stories about old stuff because it was always stories about old Human stuff.  And he could never really get invested in it.

He was, at one point curious about old Andorian stuff, but quickly found that he didn’t have enough cultural foundation in his genetic culture to understand most of it.  Add in the fact that his father explained to him that he had hybrid biology just before he entered Starfleet Academy – as to ensure that his Academy entrance physical would not be his first time learning this – made him even less interested in his home cultures.  He simply didn’t want to know in large part for fear of rejection.

So, no… antiquities never really captured his imagination like they did for others.

Yael:  If they don’t have anything interesting, I’m sure we could sneak away to a relevant convention somewhere.  They wouldn’t be as spectacular as all *this*... ::he glanced around them:: … but the Station is always hosting something new and interesting.

Foster: Like Klingon mud wrestling.

Was that a joke or an honest suggestion?  Hard to tell with Wyn.

Blackwell:  ?

Yael:  We should keep our eyes on the arrival manifests as well.  You never know when someone fascinating is going to show up.

Foster: you expecting anyone?

Paranoia welled up in him again.  Should he be aware of something?  Did he miss something?

Blackwell:  ?

For a moment Ashley Yael’s eyes floated towards an overdressed Bolian dripping in ‘notice me!’ accents.  Who seems exactly like the type of person Wyn would like to avoid, without knowing anything about him.

Yael:  Careful with that one.  ::he nodded his head at the Bolian man, then looked at Rue::  Hard to forget him.

Blackwell:  ?

Foster:  Who is he?

Yael:  A journalist… if you can call him that.  Jafarr Symote.  He’s got a team of minions and a gossip show that airs all over the Station.  And if he doesn’t have any juicy material, he’ll make it up and edit it in.

That made the little doctor bristle, visible.  He liked nothing about that.  Nothing at all.

Foster: So noted.  I will summarily avoid him like the plague.

Blackwell:  ?

Yael:  I suppose he’s *relatively* harmless… just don’t let him corner you in a corridor.

Yeah, cornering Wyn Foster in a corridor would probably end badly for the both of them.  The little doctor didn’t take well to threats and had enough untreated PTSD from past trauma on Starfleet duty that he would likely take any attempt at cornering as an attempt at violence.

And with a less than scrupulous reporter?

That would be a nightmare.

Blackwell:  ?

Galven: Usually things that are considered relatively harmless are pretty irrelevant, but I'm not going to keep anyone's "time." ::He raised both hands, moving his index and middle fingers in air quotes::

He jerked his head to one side and raised both antennae and snowy brows in unison.

Foster: How the hell did you sneak up here?

But at least German Galven was a known quantity.  Not a skeevy reporter.  Still, he got the drop on them and that bugged Wyn.  He really needed to get his antennae checked.

Yael/Blackwell: ?

Galven: I actually cornered a few reporters a few weeks ago as a matter of fact.

Foster: Cornered?  ::he watched with muted shock.:: I hope you didn’t hit any.

Actually he kinda hoped Galven did.  Reporters deserved it.

Yael/Blackwell: ?

Galven: ::smirks:: Apparently they didn't want to hear about anything and everything. ::shrugs:: So have any of you been to a gala like this before?

Yael/Blackwell: ?

Foster: Nope.  Medical conferences tend to be more dry and boring.  Less merchants and pageantry.

You just knew that if this convention was only scientists and archaeologists that this gala would be a lot more quickly and a lot less fancy.

Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ?

Foster: Really I’m just here to smile, not cause a scene and eat.  And because I was told to be here.

And that, in a nutshell, was how the little surgeon approached fancy dinners.

But hey, he’d take fancy food.  That was a nice perk.

Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ?

A chime rang and the lights shifted, indicating they should move to a table.

Foster: Oh, looks like things are getting started.  ::He pointed to the stage:: A six course dinner with entertainment?  White the shindig.

Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ?

Foster: I expect it’s entertainment of the archaeological variety. 

He started strolling around the tables, reading the nameplates.

Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ?

Foster: Aww, that’s cute, they have little department color stripes to identify our names.  Handy.

Whoever planned this party had an attention to detail – and that he could appreciate.

Yael/Blackwell/Galven: ?

~*~
tags/tbc
~*~

Lt Commander Shar’Wyn Foster
Chief Surgeon
StarBase 118 Ops