“Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2AM?”
(Prompt from CallMeGallifreya on Tumblr)
"Um. It's not for anything terrible. I mean. Not really terrible. Um. Sort of?"
Captain Mellier groaned and sighed. "How can something be 'sort of' not really terrible, Jones?"
Jones was twiddling with her fingers. "Um. You know the Oshit problem on board? Um. Well. We were -uh- experimenting? A little? With ordinary shipboard chemicals?" She managed a nervous rictus. "On the Oshits, I promise! Um. And... Baker? Um. She... kind of... sort of... accidentally brewed up some chloroform?"
"What does chloroform do to Oshits, Jones?" Mellier dead-panned. She needed her beauty sleep and Jones did tend to go on a bit.
"It's really funny," she giggled. "They get drunk? And they start ignoring the really big breezes? And they start doing this little Oshit conga line? And Davies kinda lined them all up in a loop? And now we're trying to get most of them to march down to the incinerator? But we've run out of chloroform?"
"No," grated Mellier. "Absolutely no. Do not. This is all one hundred percent beyond wrong."
In retrospect, when her loyal and valliant crew marched a conga line of drunk Oshits through her quarters, Mellier really should have set a quota limit on Oshits sent down to the incinerator.
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