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Ensign Quentin Beck - Reporting for Duty


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great first sim @Quentin Beck! keep the bar high!

((Deck 10 - Sickbay - USS Ronin))
There was no need to be nervous. According to Starfleet Command, as of three days ago, Ensign Quentin Beck was absolutely, one-hundred percent qualified to be standing in the Sickbay on the USS Ronin, NCC-34523. They wouldn't have let him board the ship on Deep Space Thirty-Three in the first place if that wasn't true, right?
Clenching his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath, he held it for a moment and clutched the PADD with his orders between both hands, his knuckles whitening. It was a helluva time for Imposter Syndrome to kick in. He let out that breath after a moment and opened his eyes only to see a fresh-faced young crewman waiting impatiently for him to get out of the doorway so he could leave.
Quentin offered a lop-sided, apologetic smile before stepping to the side of the main entrance and out of their way. Raising his hand, he brushed his thumb over the round pip on his collar. He didn't feel like an Ensign yet. Maybe that would come with time.
There was quite a lot of hubbub going on, that was for sure. Although he'd been on the ship a few days, his official orders had been put on hold as the entire Command crew was a bit too busy with whatever insanity had been happening to follow the usual protocol. So he'd holed himself up with some of the other new lower deckers and had spent time studying what he could about the ship, its mission and crew, and what he would be expected to do while on board.
He hadn't really thought about being assigned to Medical at the Academy, but considering his specialty, it made sense over a general Science posting. Neurochemistry was a highly regarded field, even if he'd kind of stumbled into it accidentally. His intention hadn't really been to become a doctor of any kind, but... the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
Beck: oO Okay, bud. How long have you been standing here now? Long enough to have at least one crewman give you the stinkeye. Go report in, you doofus. Oo
Sighing and running his tongue over his lower lip, he took a step forward. Then another. Then a few more, his eyes scanning Sickbay until he spotted someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. Approaching Lieutenant Kel, he cleared his throat and stood at attention. He was a bit taller than the Trilldorian, at six foot one, with short brown hair and a well-trimmed mustache that ended at either corner of his mouth.
Beck: Lieutenant Kel. Ensign Quentin Beck, reporting for duty.
Quentin offered him the PADD. Then he just kind of... stared, for a moment.
Kel: Response
Beck: Err... sorry. I've just never seen a hybrid like you before. No disrespect intended.
Kel: Response
Ensign Quentin Beck
Medical Officer
USS Ronin NCC-34523
Writer ID Pending
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