Separated and Nearly Dead

=i grab my nose, some blood coming out, and smack her on the forehead with the butt of my revolver, and then pt my mask back down=
Good.

=i get off of her and grab her by the arm to pull her up to a standing position=
I'll get a doctor to take a look at you.

She looked grudgingly at his hand then decided after a moment to humour him so she took it and let him help her to stand. She gripped at her stomach where she could tell she'd pulled a few stitches. When he mentioned getting a doctor she adamantly shook her head. "Please don't. Just gimme a bandage to slap on and I'll be five-by-five."

She sat back down on the hospital bed, careful of her bandaged injuries. "What happens... When I tell you what you wanna know, what will you do with me?" There was a hint of trepidation and yes even fear in that question.

My ship, my rules. You get a doctor. Deal with it. As for what to do with you afterwards, I may send you on you on your way, I may throw you in the cells with my sister for hitting me, or I may do none of that and just drop you off on the planet with only one bullet and a pistol.

"I fucking hate doctors..." She whispered under her breath. Out of all three of those scenarios none of them sounded hopeless. Her brain then cuaght onto something he'd said and a single ginger eyebrow raised in question. "You threw your own sister in the brig?"

Yup. Psychotic bitch, like the rest of my family.

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about that." She crossed her arms when a woman in a lab coat came in. She had "doctor" written all over her and immediately Betty despised her. They cleaned and bandaged the bullet wound on Betty's calf but when they inquired about her stitches Betty crossed her arms over her stomach. "I'm fine, they're fine." The doctor looked at her as if she knew something Betty didn't, like she knew Betty was lying, but the ginger head was nothing if not stubborn and she didn't back down. "I'm fine." They's all jus' gonna add to the plethora o' scars I already got. What's a few more, anyhow? She thought to herself.

The doctor moved to her iv tube where she began to inject something into it. "What the hell's that?" Betty shouted anxiously.

"Just some morphine to help with the pain." The doc said matter-of-factly

"Aw, fuck that, not drugs?" Betty whined, but it was too late; the woman had already injected the serum into the tube and it was already working it's magic through Betty's veins, making her head feel light. "Fuckin' Christ..." She laid her head back and glanced up at the ceiling, feeling a warm sensation spread through her limbs. "An' Pretteh Boy ain' even here ta try an' hit on me... He gon' be mad..." Her southern drawl seemed to grow thicker the more the drugs took effect.

You aren't my type, miss. I prefer my women to not try and kill me.

=i eject the shells from my revolvers and slot new ones in, putting the spent ones in an armor pocket to be recycled into new shells. Once that was done I slipped them into their holsters=

She giggled, a very girly sounding thing and as such might have been slightly unexpected to one not expecting it. She couldn't help it, he thought she was talking about him. "I reckon then ya must 'ave a lot o' trouble findin' women, Sparky."

You'd never believe the difficulty. Then again, I'm not looking.

"Good." She patted his arm before letting it rest across her stomach. She leaned her head back on the pillow. "I think 'at's good. Entanglements ain't nuttin' but trouble anyhow."

=i didn't say anything but left the room to go back up to the bridge. I whispered to the guard to not hesitate next time she did something like that, and then continued on my way=

Betty maintained her delirious and seemingly intoxicated demeanor for some time. Even after Bullet left the room she continued to act high on the morphine until she drifted off to sleep. Once her guard bought the act, he stepped outside. After a scant moment she peeked open one eye, then the other. Finding herself alone, she knew it was only a matter of time before a nurse or Bullet or her warden came sniffing around, so she had to act fast. When one has sustained as many battle wounds as her, one tends to build up a slight immunity to morphine's more debilitating affects. She'd be fighting grogginess and deliriousness for a few hours, but at least she'd be on her toes. Her main concern was stressing herself too much and not realizing it. If she injured herself too bad while on the morphine, once it wore off she could go into shock... But she'd cross that bridge only if she came to it.

The first thing she did after throwing off her sheets was to open the panel below her medical monitor where after some slight rewiring she was able to make it continue to read normal even after she pulled out her IV and removed the scanners from her chest. This way she had freedom of mobility without raising the alarms by making the monitor flatline.

Betty quietly searched the cabinets, finding most of them locked to her dissatisfaction. Her first find was a second hospital gown which she wrapped around herself backwards to preserve what little modesty she might have left with these people. An escape attempt wouldn't be very dignified if her goods were left flapping in the breeze. She pocketed a few gauze pads, just in case, and was only able to find an Allen wrench as her only tool/weapon.

So with nothing else useful to be had, it was time to move onto the second phase of her plan.

After moving her hospital bed under the vent in the ceiling, locked its breaks and gingerly climbed on top of it. Using the allen wrench, she began prying the grate from the ceiling. When she lifted the grate free it made a rusty squelching noise which made her freeze, out of fear of being given away; only to begin moving faster lest her escape be foiled before it's even begun. Unfortunately for her, the vent extended straight down from the ceiling for a foot or so, so there was no flat ledge she could reach that she could pull herself up onto... She had seen and anticipated this however, and knew of another way she could get up there, only it might pull more of her stitches loose, wherein enters the concern about the morphine and not knowing how much pain she was causing. Still, if she could pull it off it'd be worth the risk. Fortunately for her she was quite the acrobat. She never thought she'd ever have reason to thank her mother for all those ballet and gymnastics lessons as a teenager.

Betty took as firm a hold as she could on the outer lip of the vent. She then lifted her weight onto her hands as she swung back slightly and the forward momentum made it easier to swing her legs up through the vent and onto the vertical ledge beyond it's opening. She took a moment to catch her breath and marvel at her success before she gave the room a mocking farewell salute. She then turned around and began crawling her way through the ventilation duct. She might not have a blueprint or a map in her head, but if Betty knew her ships right, which she was fairly confidant she did after all most of these carriers were all built the same, the way she was heading should be taking her towards the engine or navigation room. Either one would be suitable.

=the guard had come back into the room after he heard the metal squelch, but only in time to see the prisoner, Betty, make her escape into the ventilation system. He commed Dylon=

Yes?

"The prisoner escaped."

How?

"Ventilation shafts."

And how did she get into those?

"It looks like she used her bed to climb up."

And you let her?

"No, sir. I left the room for a minute, and that's probably when she made her escape."

=i sigh and rub my eyes under my mask=
Okay. You lose all combat privileges for three days. Once this is over, lock your weapon up in the armory. Understand?

"Yes sir."

=i heard some disappointment in his voice. I cut the comm and went to the holoprojector. I typed in some commands and brought up a schematic of the ship. I needed to figure out where she could be, and where she could be going=