[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.]

[Hello again, Barge. This time, McCoy sounds a little less clipped and frazzled and more just grouchy, because he’s had time to settle in, but he’s still very :| about the whole idea of being able to just walk around on deck in the open air with space just… hanging out there. It’s a strange thing to adjust to.

... He has definitely been keeping as far away from the deck railing as possible, if he's even wandered out there since Jim dragged him out there.]

I already got the talk about the ship not always bein' like this, and lookin' like it's about ready to get hauled off to some scrapyard, but is anyone else bothered by the fact that we’re wanderin’ around on a ship whose hull’s apparently got the strength of goddamn rice paper? What’re we even crashin’ into out here? It’s not like we’re tryin’ to navigate around some asteroid field.

I’m not sure what’s worse, havin’ your eyeballs pop in a real hull breach or come back psychologically damaged from some goddamned left turn that sends us crashin’ into whatever the hell there is to bump into out here.

And that's just how it is? And no one else's all that worried about it? What the hell happens if you fall over the side?

[Private to Jim]

So, what'd you do that got Martha askin' about phaser burns? [Because lolz it was definitely not Spock. :|]

[The microphone clicks on before the video feed does, but after some relatively hard to hear grumbling about technology and how he doesn’t have time for this and he’s a doctor not an engineer, the video clicks on to reveal what might be a familiar face. Or, is, if you’ve ever seen Cooper around. Regardless, he’s wearing a blue Starfleet uniform, and looks a little tense as he adjusts the video and actually starts talking.

He speaks with a relatively pronounced accent - Georgian, if you’re particularly skilled at picking out American accents – which makes everything sound like a drawl, although again, there’s a certain tenseness.

He’s not exactly thrilled to be here. :|]

I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, and I’m a warden here.

I’ve been told assignments don’t happen until the 15th and 30th of every month, so until then, where’s the Sickbay in this place? I’d like to talk to whoever’s in charge as soon as possible.

[SPAM FOR JIM after talking to Rhade :|]

[Rhade had told him where Jim's cabin was, and even though he could have just been lying or something? McCoy was too distracted to really consider it or care too much. He tossed aside the journal and was in front of the door only a few minutes later, hammering on it a few times.]

Jim! It's McCoy.