[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.]

Do you people need hobbies or something? I can promise you, reading or knitting or whatever's way more productive than stabbing each other in the hallways. Good God. [Heavy, heavy sigh. Fuck all of you and your stab happy bullshit. :\]

For any new arrivals, I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy. I'm the Chief Medical Officer on board the Starship Enterprise back home and I'm the head of the infirmary here.

Some ground rules: you are not allowed to leave the infirmary until you've checked in with a doctor so if you fall on your ass in the hallway during your escape attempt, we've at least got an idea of where the hell you wandered off to and can come looking. The infirmary is always staffed by a medical professional, who are all here to help you when you need it. Don't be a moron and hide something that's just gonna do more damage when it heals incorrectly. We're not gonna bite you.

Anyone who hasn't come in for a quick exam yet should get in here as soon as possible. The procedure's done without physical contact and the results are confidential. They're just used as a baseline so we know what's normal for you in case you're ever brought in here too injured to give proper medical information. [You don't want to die on the operating table because you forgot to mention you're allergic to some antibiotics or painkillers. :|]

Anyone who's medically trained who wants to lend a hand, or anyone who'd like to brush up on some first aid should contact me. Any inmates who volunteer will need their warden's permission before they're approved.

[ooc: If anyone currently in the infirmary/visiting the infirmary/what have you wants to spam him, I am totally down for it! He basically lives in there.]

[McCoy sounds slightly out of breath, and is trying to get this out of the way as fast as possible, because the crew members are eying those sharp things, and Bones doesn't want to be distracted when they start coming at him again. He's stunned two of them with his phaser by now. His accent is much more pronounced, and he's talking much faster than usual.]

Caesares was right, these things are trying to kick us out of the infirmary. If anyone can come help grab supplies before they - goddammit -

[There's a blast of phaser fire before the feed cuts.]

[Private to Jim]

You had better not be dead.

[Private to Sloth]

Where are you?

[Friends Filter - if you think you're on it, you are.]

Sound off,

[ooc: And feel free to spam in the infirmary as the horrible monsters decide to start kicking us all out.]

[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. :|]