Dr. Leonard McCoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imaythrowuponyou) wrote2012-06-13 03:42 pm
imaythrowuponyou) wrote2012-06-13 03:42 pm
TWENTY FIVE | VIDEO
[McCoy looks pretty much the same as he usually does. Same Starfleet uniform, same rank stripes, same kind of pissed off at all of you attitude and kind of sneers at the camera. He is in utterly no mood to be here and is not going to be shy at all about letting you people know about it.]
Is this the part where I'm supposed to just repeat my name, rank and serial over and over again until you assholes get bored of this 'let's kidnap Starfleet personnel' game? [... Okay, He's maybe a little more grouchy and mean than usual.
This is what happens when you have basically nothing but your very demanding, stressful job going for you.] Because I've got better things to do with my life then talk myself hoarse, and I don't have any interesting information to add to whatever the hell point you're trying to make. I'm just a doctor, I don't have codes or whatever, and you'd be better off just letting me go.
What the hell do you people even want with an outpost on M-113, anyway? We're about as backwater as you can get.
[Spam for Jim]
[Entirely unsatisfied and really, madder than ever about the whole being here thing, McCoy had left his room (not that it was actually his, it was just the room he'd wound up in, he didn't work on a starship and he wasn't best friends with Captain James T. Kirk) to go explore the rest of the ship. It seemed to make sense, anyway, he'd been told he should just go and find the pub.
Of course, he had no idea where that actually was, so he'd just wandered. And was finally walking up to what looked like the last level of stairs, wondering what was on the "deck". And, you know, assuming like a sane human being that it was a contained environment, he really wasn't expecting what was coming next.
As soon as he opened the door and realized he was standing, exposed, on deck, and there was nothing but black, starry space surrounding him, them, everything, he felt all the color drain from his face. His stomach lurched, and hHis hand was gripping the doorknob so hard, it hurt.
That was it. Total brain shutdown, torn somewhere between passing out, throwing up and hyperventilating, or maybe doing all three at once, because there was just no way this was happening and he couldn't process it.]
Is this the part where I'm supposed to just repeat my name, rank and serial over and over again until you assholes get bored of this 'let's kidnap Starfleet personnel' game? [... Okay, He's maybe a little more grouchy and mean than usual.
This is what happens when you have basically nothing but your very demanding, stressful job going for you.] Because I've got better things to do with my life then talk myself hoarse, and I don't have any interesting information to add to whatever the hell point you're trying to make. I'm just a doctor, I don't have codes or whatever, and you'd be better off just letting me go.
What the hell do you people even want with an outpost on M-113, anyway? We're about as backwater as you can get.
[Spam for Jim]
[Entirely unsatisfied and really, madder than ever about the whole being here thing, McCoy had left his room (not that it was actually his, it was just the room he'd wound up in, he didn't work on a starship and he wasn't best friends with Captain James T. Kirk) to go explore the rest of the ship. It seemed to make sense, anyway, he'd been told he should just go and find the pub.
Of course, he had no idea where that actually was, so he'd just wandered. And was finally walking up to what looked like the last level of stairs, wondering what was on the "deck". And, you know, assuming like a sane human being that it was a contained environment, he really wasn't expecting what was coming next.
As soon as he opened the door and realized he was standing, exposed, on deck, and there was nothing but black, starry space surrounding him, them, everything, he felt all the color drain from his face. His stomach lurched, and hHis hand was gripping the doorknob so hard, it hurt.
That was it. Total brain shutdown, torn somewhere between passing out, throwing up and hyperventilating, or maybe doing all three at once, because there was just no way this was happening and he couldn't process it.]
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