RP Log: Regulations require me to inform you...
RP Log: Regulations require me to inform you...
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Location(s):
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Stardate:
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| 2025-04-02 17:51 | |
- Security Armory - Deck 10 <USS Phoenix NCC-170100-A>
- The bulkheads here are lined with cabinets protected by forcefields. Each cabinet is labelled with the type of equipment stored inside, and sports a small panel used to release the forcefield. Once a piece of equipment is removed, the name of the user is automatically logged and the equipment is marked as being in use until it is returned. The cabinets themselves hold a variety of weapons, including hand phasers and phaser rifles, as well as personal forcefield emitters, survival kits and standard issue tricorders.
Ramirez seems to be in the middle of some kind of physical inventory. He's checking off items on an LCARS interface with an open arms locker nearby. At the sound, he turns, brows lifting. "Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"
Atlanta comes to a stop just inside the door, arms folded under her breasts and a scowl on her face. "I'm not one of your uniforms," she growls contemptuously. "Save that Sir shit for someone else."
Ramirez nods in a solicitous manner, keeping any irritation at the response off his face. No, he simply manages to look interested in her response. "Very well. I'm afraid you've got me at a disadvantage, then." He reaches up and touches the center of his chest with his fingers. "/I/ am Ensign Cristobal Miguel Moreno Ramirez. Cris will do just fine. What may I call you?"
"My name is Dr. Atlanta Hawthorn. You can call me Doctor," says the tiny scientist. Her scowl doesn't leave her face. In fact, it seems quite content to stay right where it is. "I've been told to see someone about phaser qualifications. Is that you, or are you just on guard duty in this room?"
His smile is diplomatic, to say the least. Unruffled. "Well, Doctor, it's a pleasure to meet you." It's like he's not really hearing her tone, or something. "In answer to your query, I'm doing a physical inventory of the weapons stored in this locker, to confirm the electronic inventory, a task I perform once a month on all controlled items."
The weirdly sincere smile remains as he looks at the slight woman. "This is my duty post, and yes, I'm currently assigned to phaser qualification duty. I'd be happy to assist you."
Hawthorn's scowl deepens as she endures this uniform's explanation of what seems to her to be his entire freaking work history. By the time he finishes, her teeth are grinding. "Can we get started then?" she asks, hoping her question this time is formatted in such a way as to invoke a simple yes or no, so she can either get to it or get the hell out of here.
Like baiting a bear trap, her response seems to only embolden the ensign. "Of course, doctor. Though there are a few minor details we'll need to deal with, of course...." He pulls up regulation on the LCARS, and starts stepping through it, line by line, not skipping any portion. There are multiple pauses as he reviews the footnotes attached to each subsection.
"I just need to thoroughly review the regulation, doctor. It wouldn't do to miss a procedural step, would it?"
Then he turns, the same quite sincere smile on his face from before. "So. Though both weapons are fine for hand phaser qualification, do you prefer a type-1 or type-2 phaser, doctor?"
Coil arrives from Security Complex.
By the time the Ensign is finished with all of his bullshit, Hawthorn is in deep debate with herself. She spends her time with her eyes closed as she repeatedly counts to ten, never actually getting beyond four before opening them again and eyeing the door to consider just going instead to get a drink and telling this guy what he can go do with himself. So deep is she in her internal deliberations that she doesn't hear his question.
Ramirez looks over as Coil enters. For some reason, a supremely patient, sincere, diplomatic smile is on his face, and it only grows as Coil enters. "Ah. And Doctor Coil, excellent. Why, this day is only getting better!"
Cheerful. That's what he sounds like.
He brings a finger up to his lips, hand perpendicular to his face, and taps. That finger points to Coil. "Let me guess. You're here to conduct your phaser evaluation, so you, too, can be certified for away mission weapons carry?"
And then he looks back to Hawthorn. "Doctor? Perhaps I missed your answer; if that's the case, I do apologize. Inventory and regulation review can be so very distracting. Us guards. We're easily distracted." The smile is angelic. Beatific. It belongs on the dome of a cathedral, somewhere.
"So. Type-1 or type-2 phaser for you, Doctor Hawthorn?"
Kellen steps into the Armory, sees Hawthorn silent and Ramirez talking and decides he'd better intervene. "Ensign, Doctor Hawthorn and I need phaser certification before our away mission. Type-2, and this is authorized by the Captain."
Atlanta happens to be looking at the door when it opens and Kellen comes in. "You told me I wasn't going to have to talk to them," she growls, unnecessarily repeating what she said to him on the bridge the other day, and not really expecting a response. Her arms remain crossed and her brow remains furrowed in irritation.
Ramirez nods to Coil. "Of course, Doctor Coil. You're in luck, I just finished reviewing allllll of the appropriate regulations related to civilian weapons qualification with Doctor Hawthorn here. And yes, doctor, the XO informed me of the authorization." He favors the slight woman with a smile.
"So. Doctor Hawthorn. I'm more than happy to move forward with your qualification. I do, however, need you to verbally indicate which type of weapon you would prefer to qualify with."
"We're not civilians at this time, Mr. Ramirez," Coil says with the steel of leadership backing his voice. "We're on special assignment to the Phoenix and are effectively officers while under assignment. That means that we can read your reports including the one you filed on Stardate 133804 regarding the asteroid mining that you and Commander Worthington conducted without a proper geological survey or even utilizing the mining bee that I'm qualified to use."
Kellen looks at Hawthorn, "I'm sorry, Atlanta. I'm trying my best to liase for you, but I can only be in so many places at once."
"Notified by the XO," Hawthorn says to the air. "I wonder what the XO will say when he discovers that his orders were carried out in the most obnoxious way possible for no better reason than to piss me off. Or better yet, that his orders weren't carried out at all because of said pissing off." She turns and starts for the door.
Ramirez retains his smile as he looks to Coil. "Well, according to Starfleet regulation 34 dash 332 subsections a,c, and f, you are, in fact, not Starfleet officers." He shrugs. "Though you are, of course, members of the crew. Take it up with Starfleet, sir. I don't make the rules. I just follow them. And regulation 34 dash 332 specifically states it must be reviewed before any live weapons are issued to non-Starfleet personnel."
The smile disappears so quickly it couldn't have been real. He looks between the two, his face cold and unreadable, now. "That minutiae isn't really even relevant, as the necessary authorization is, in fact, on file. If you don't like it, sir, please feel free to take it up with the XO or Captain. I don't really care."
"In any case, all that's happened here is that a review of the appropriate regulations has taken place. Since you both have authorization, all I need to know is what type of weapon you wish to qualify with. We can move along, or we can continue talking about it. That's your choice. Doctor Coil, I'll draw a type-2 phaser for you. Doctor Hawthorn, I still need to know what kind of weapon you wish to qualify with. This is the third time I've asked."
"We're Starfleet Auxiliaries, authorized under regulations <fill in the various boilerplate>, Mr. Ramirez," Coil says with that steel getting even harder. "I'm a graduate of the Academy, and Doctor Hawthorn here has all of the same training, which allowed her to be assigned to Phoenix in the first place, even if she didn't go through the Academy, it was signed off on by Command as being Starfleet equivalent. So your citation is incorrect in our case." He looks over at Hawthorn, "Shall we go shoot some shit, Atlanta? Show them that we know which end of the phaser to hit people with?" He turns back to Ramirez, "I already told you what she needs to certify with. Type-2." He pauses and shakes his head, "Nevermind, Ensign. I'll just inform Chill that we had to deal with an over officious Ensign." He turns and joins Hawthorn on heading for the exit.
Atlanta shoots Kellen a look that clearly says, "I told you so," and leaves.