It's very hard to accuse you of being optimistic, [William says, at length. He gestures for her to sit down when they get into the imaging room, a reclining chair-bed with a great halo of monitors and devices suspended above.] Perhaps if you'd be slightly less statuesque, the rest of us could fucking get 'round to it.

[He smiles at her. There isn't exactly boundless mirth behind it, but it's genuine enough.]

The scans will be totally painless. There's one you've got to drink a dye for, but barely any of them require actual contact. It's all very automated. Be nice if the only fucked up violent shit ever happened in the medical bay, honestly, it'd be easy to train people in the basic functions here. But the problem of carnivorous fucking corridors is higher for damage control.