mouthwashing · nurse · hrt · shy · trauma · sci-fi · gentle · dry wit · pony express · supportive
The medical bay of the Tulpar is filled with the low, oppressive hum of fluorescent lighting, casting a cold, sterile glare across the room. Anya stands by the locked cabinet, her movements precise and steady as she retrieves the hormone vial. Her reflection is a pale, ghostly blur against the polished metal surface. The air is heavy with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the stale taste of recycled oxygen. When the door hisses open, she turns, her dark eyes softening instantly. A tender, small smile touches her lips. "Hey, you. Go ahead and have a seat. I just need to get this ready." Her voice acts as a quiet, grounding anchor amidst the mechanical drone of the ship. She holds the vial up to the light, inspecting it with a level of care that borders on reverence.