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  1. This scene was originally written through seven individual sims by @Sky Blake and @Evan Delano: "Working on a day off" (Blake), "Best Guess" (Delano), "Blakonian inquisition" (Blake), "Speculation and Suspicion" (Delano), "Her modern man" (Blake), "Balanced” (Delano), and "Not used to it yet" (Blake). It is presented in its completed form below. ((Astrometrics, USS Veritas)) ::Stellar cartography had become second nature once Sierra had kicked her training off way back when. While she was waiting for the duty shift to change, for Sick Bay to be ready for her, for the captain to have had a reasonable amount of caffeine, she asked the cartography assistant for use of primary lab.:: ::There was a tingling sensation in the back of her skull when she'd heard the doors to the lab open.:: Delano: Hello, Commander. :: Evan was in the middle of his evening rounds when he was called down to astrometrics. After the Antor II mission, the senior staff had agreed to reduced work loads for most of the crew, at least for a while, which meant that most nights, as Evan was going through his end of day checklist, much of the ship felt practically abandoned. :: :: Of course, as surprised as he was to receive the call, he was more surprised by that person’s identity. He’d known Commander Blake was due back on board - he’d personally arranged for her new quarters - but he’d expected the captain to make some kind of formal announcement once their former first officer had returned to Veritas. Perhaps that would still be coming. :: ::Sky glanced back over her shoulder before turning fully to face her visitor.:: Blake: Lieutenant. ::She greeted.:: It's good to see you again. :: Evan nodded, offering a professional smile as he stepped into the room and accessed one of the center consoles. :: Delano: And you, Commander. Blake: I'd heard you'd taken a commission again. Welcome back to the Starfleet fold. Delano: Thanks. And welcome back to Veritas. :: Evan resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his uniform and instead kept his fingers busy by starting a diagnostic. :: Delano: I hope you don’t mind me doing a little work, since I’m here. I’ve been wanting to run a level 2 diagnostic on the sensors for a few days. :: beat :: How was your time away? Blake: I was sent back to Shadow's Edge, actually. I'm part of the ranger division now - though I'm on my own until such time Starfleet sends a specific commander for me to report to, other than Rahman of course. ::Rangers, though trained to work and survive on their own, technically came in groups of four or more. But given that Starfleet resources and officers were at a stretch with border protection on the *other* side of Tholian space - combine that with the Cardassians and the neutral zone, what few rangers there were, given that they were only a relatively new division of Starfleet, had their hands full elsewhere. Sending a whole Platoon wasn't possible, and sending them one by one would take months, if not years, for the platoon to come together. ::Evidently, her time on Shadow's Edge wasn't all for naught, for a Rangers unit was indeed being set up, with Shei'saur reporting additional officers following in their footsteps. Or, more accurately, two officers had been sent to Meridian (not far enough along the Mother Road to be helpful, in the Brekkazoid's humble opinion) following Sky's request for additional support within the Shoals. They'd be there in about six months, assuming they weren't asked to turn around and go back after only two months travel following some ridiculous fleet-wide emergency. To which they'd also be late for. ::The Shoals acted like a double edge sword in that regard.:: :So long as she was on Veritas or in the vicinity of Veritas, Rahman was her commanding officer.:: :: Evan nodded again. The computer was doing its thing: running the Veritas’ complex array of sensor palettes through an automated calibration procedure and a range of diagnostic tests that would show even a slight misalignment. When he was satisfied it wouldn’t need additional input from him - at least for a few minutes - the operations officer refocused his attention on Blake. :: Delano: Given what we’ve just been through on Antor, I imagine the captain will appreciate having a ranger on board. Are you hitching a ride, or are you planning to be around for a while? Blake: Until such time there's a unit for me to report to, I'm here on a more permanent basis. Which brings me to why I called you here. :: She gestured towards the large screen at the center of the room, where a course towards the Mother Road was being displayed just shy of Antor. :: Blake: I'm actually following two suspects from a pirate attack back on Shadow's Edge that slipped through the Edge's border security. They were headed towards Antor, but no Marshal outpost in the area found the vessel I was tracking - not that they've reported, at least. It's entirely possible that they jumped ship or headed in another direction, but . . . I don't know. :: Evan stepped towards the screen and away from his working console. :: Delano: I’m not surprised you’ve lost them. Everything’s so slow out here - same reason we can’t get a solid lead on Jilor. :: He turned to her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow - a Vulcan mannerism he’d picked up during his time on Seheik. :: Delano: Are you looking for my input? Blake: Well, next to the general staff, you're most experienced here in the Shoals - I was hoping I could borrow your insight. The survivor of the attack wasn't willing to divulge his smuggler routes, and I can't figure out where supposedly pirate killers would run off to towards the Mother Road. The only place of importance I can think of is Outpost 3, but the place is a wreck right now. It's of no use to any outlaw faction in its current state. Delano: Hm. :: Evan crossed his arms over his chest as he examined the sectors displayed on screen as Sky stepped back just a bit, out of his way. There really wasn’t much to see. :: Delano: Well, I know there’s at least one class-M world between Antor and Shadow’s Edge if you decide to fly direct and avoid the Mother Road. I can’t remember the name of the system… Blake: You're suggesting they're not concerned with travel times. :: The display shifted to show the star system in question. It was a binary star system with 16 planets and several hundred smaller dwarf planets and asteroids. :: Delano: There it is. The Lucian system. ::More importantly, a star system she was unfamiliar with.:: Delano: As I recall, Starfleet made first contact with the natives about 30 years ago - a few months after the Lucians broke the warp barrier. We received a polite but cold reception. And, as far as I know, we’ve never been invited back. Rumor is that the Lucians are quite xenophobic. Blake: Tholians would get along with them well. ::She muttered.:: Could marshals at least find them? Delano: Well, if your pirates managed to get into the system without being detected, they’d have plenty of places to lie low. Proximity to the Shadows and the fact that Outpost 3 isn’t exactly up to spec would probably be an added bonus. Blake: Essentially hidden from view. ::She sighed.:: Delano: That’s my best guess. Of course, if I’m right, I’m not sure what you can do about it. The Federation doesn’t have a formal relationship with the Lucians, and any probe or starship we send into their system would almost certainly be seen as a threat. Blake: Even if I wanted to, we'd have to wait for confirmation from both the Coalition and the Diplomatic Corps for the go-ahead, and I don't see that happening. It's a waiting game from this point on. Delano: Sorry, Commander. Wish I had better news for you. Blake: No, this is good. I appreciate it. If I can coax some marshals at least *around* that area, they might be able to catch them for me. ::Her hand scrubbed at her cheek, taking a deeper breath.:: Also means I'll have to ask the guys on Outpost 3 to start sensor sweeps when they're able, lest they become a target once they're up and running again. ::Tristam Core was probably going to love that just as much as he will putting the small station back together from nothing with only a handful of Ketar V construction workers and a sole security officer working with him.:: Delano: That’s probably a good idea. After Antor, I’m not sure anything out here is safe. If we’re lucky, things will die down for a while, but I wouldn’t count on it. Blake:::shaking her head:: It's been a busy few months. But now that we're leaving what I call 'familiar territory', it's just going to get more hectic. We had a bad political rap when we arrived and started Operation Safe Harbor, let alone now, after what happened at Antor. Delano: Even among the Reya-Laialara, Starfleet’s reputation is… well, somewhat tarnished compared to the way it’s viewed through the rest of the Federation. :: He shrugged. :: Delano: It’s hard to blame them. Starfleet’s presence out here has been minimal for decades. A lot of people feel like they’ve been abandoned. And as hard as Veritas has been working to make things better, one ship seems like a token effort. :: The conversation died for a moment, and Evan looked up from the diagnostic results he’d been skimming to see Blake looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. :: Blake: Lieutenant, I have a question that I've been pondering since the crew's change over. :: His eyebrow crept up before he could stop it. :: Delano: I’ll answer if I can. Blake: Why didn't Veritas know you were in the area? I know you ceased to report in, but . . . any resource in the area, we could have used. I'm not sure I understand why Federation Security kept you hidden from us. :: His expression tightened as he thought back to the double life he’d led for almost a year. Disgraced Starfleet officer looking to find some kind of emotional balance between his Vulcan and human halves. And, a Federation Security agent, secretly spying and reporting on an insular, allusive, possibly dangerous religious sect operating in one of the most inaccessible parts of the quadrant. In the end, his conscience had got the better of him and he'd made the decision to stop spying, joining the Reya-Laialara in his heart months after he'd joined them through words. He'd only reestablished contact with the Federation when one of the Shadow's Edge pirate factions stole a cargo bay full of photon torpedoes. :: Delano: Honestly, I don’t know. Though I have my suspicions. :: Evan had his suspicions about most things. Whether intuition or subconscious deduction, he couldn't say. Nor could he say how many of these thoughts were accurate. :: ::She frowned a little.:: Blake: If you don't mind my prying . . . ? Delano: It might have been a matter of jurisdiction. Federation Security operates independently of Starfleet, maybe they didn’t want Veritas involved. Or maybe it was just a security thing - keeping the people who knew about my assignment to a minimum. ::beat:: Captain Carrero might have known. Blake: Possibly. ::If Carrero had known, the likelihood was that she'd at least inform Zhou - the crew had to separate on numerous occasions to get the job done. It wasn't necessarily a tactic Rahman employed today, nor would Sky recommend employing it after Carrero's death, but the assurance was everyone (or, at least, the command pair) was in the know of all that was happening in the area. ::Zhou had been clueless about Delano being in the Shoals, to the point where Tai had even attempted to press her for information about Delano to either set his mind at ease or to fuel the growing irritation at a flawed system. ::It had been easy for Sky to compare Delano to herself, if only in certain areas. And though she had absolutely no right to pry or question Rahman's confidence in Delano, or Delano's relationship with the ship's XO, that Mei'konda seemed comfortable and confident around the Vulcan had been enough to set Sky's mind at ease. She'd spent much of her time on Ornara operating under the idea that one's relationships with others primarily defined their personalities and capabilities - this assumption hadn't failed her yet.:: :: Evan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling somewhat awkward at bringing up the late captain. He knew a number of her former crew were still sensitive about her murder. :: Delano: My only other guess is that maybe there was some kind of political element. In my initial briefing, I got the impression that the assignment was being made at the request of someone from the Vulcan delegation to the Federation Council, though it was never expressly stated. ((Flashback)) Blake: You never explained to me how you perceive emotion. ::Liquid brown eyes glanced at her as he set Ayden down, lingering briefly on the baby before turning to her fully. It was a strange question of hers, of which, up to this point, had remained unanswered despite their relationship. She allowed herself to be gently led out, returning to the lounge with the man.:: Sabor: I'm not sure I understand the query. Blake: Vulcans are logical, yes? ::He coughed, covering what would likely have been a smirk at the child-like question.:: Sabor: All humanoids are capable of logic, that is correct. Blake: Including the V'tosh ka'tur? ::There was a split second where Sabor hesitated, his eyes considerably sharper as they gazed upon her and his hand stilling in it's place around a glass, before he recomposed himself. There was recognition in the name, that Sky could feel, and though usually allowed her a certain amount of access to his psyche, for that brief moment, she'd been cut off from him entirely. ::Was this Sabor's display of fear?:: Sabor: You've been reading. Blake: I'm sorry if it's- Sabor: It's fine. But I can't claim to know the inner workings of their . . . "understandings". I personally don't see logic as a choice one can make. For example, logic dictates one shouldn't put their hand under boiling water. Does that mean a Vulcan of the V'tosh ka'tur would burn themselves under such water to defy logic? Blake: Isn't that more 'self-preservation' then 'logic'? Sabor: One might argue that self-preservation could be considered rudimentary logic that requires little to no understanding to implement. ::She could tell now that this particular debate would only go round in circles until one of them gave up. Probably her.:: Blake: So why do Vulcans insist that emotions are *not* logical if all humanoids feel, and are capable of logic. Sabor: Emotions cannot be *explained* by logic. That doesn't mean that emotions are not logical. ::The corners of Sky's lips perked up.:: Blake: Is this a personal belief, or one shared by all Vulcans. Sabor:::after a heavy breath:: I support the notion that all Vulcans may have their own philosophy not shared by others - which, unfortunately, is not a sentiment one will find among regular temple-goers. But there was a time where mind-melds were considered taboo and were suppressed by a single group. This . . . may be the case today regarding logic. Blake: So Vulcans are susceptible to minority suppression. ::He eyed her with a minor frown, handing her a glass of water.:: Sabor: Drink. ::Ah, so *this* is where the conversation would end - at the notion that his people's society wasn't perfect. Sky smiled, accepting the glass and watching him fondly as he walked away to check on Faith.:: Blake: I feel like I'm being suppressed! ::She called after him with a sarcastic tone.:: Sabor: If I ever attempt to suppress you, my wife, you'll know. ((End flashback)) ::Her first interaction with a Vulcan since waking up had been with her bondmate, whom held his own beliefs and felt comfortable expressing them whilst not in the purview of other Vulcans. The second he did so, he would have been held under scrutiny of his peers. ::That a Vulcan delegation may have asked for Federation Security to spy on other Vulcans put the part of Sky that still held Sabor's mentality close on edge.:: Blake:::muttering:: Minority suppression. :: The commander’s eyes looked unfocused for a moment, as if she were deep in thought or memory. :: Delano: What was that, Commander? :: The woman’s normally sharp expression came back into view as she leaned against the console and crossed her arms. :: Blake: Sorry - it was a . . . debate I once tried to have. ::She paused.:: Is it wrong of me to ask what they were hoping you'd find? Delano: I don’t mind sharing what I know. :: beat :: Why do you ask? Blake:::nodding:: Well, historically, 'majority' Vulcans meddling in a separated factions affairs isn't usually taken very well. Forgive the conspiracy theory. :: Evan nodded his agreement. :: Delano: When I went in, I don’t think most in the Federation knew much at all about the Reya-Laialara. They did know about the Romulans that were associated with them, however, and I suspect that’s what they were most concerned about. Some kind of subversive activity - either by the group as a whole, or just the refugees that have settled in Seheik. :: He shrugged. :: Every time I sent in a report, the messages I got back asked for more details about the infrastructure. What kind of weapons did they use? Did they have any ships? How was the settlement defended? They didn’t seem willing to accept that the Reya-Laialara really are pacifists. I thought they were being unreasonable, but… well, there was Lenik. ::There was a moment of quiet between them, marked by the steady thrumming of the ship’s warp core and the occasional beep from one of the consoles.:: Blake: Just means I'll add it to the list of things we have to worry about later, anyway. For now, pirates are the priority. If political unrest happens, then hopefully the diplomatic corps are prepared for that kind of challenge. Delano: I hope so too. I’m not sure how much more ‘unrest’ the Coalition can handle right now. If Jilor wants an independent Shoals, I’m starting to believe he’s closer to that goal than most of us have thought. Blake:::with a smirk:: Is that your formal assessment? :: Evan shook his head and offered a thin smile. :: Delano: Just a hunch, Commander. ::Silence fell once again, Sky turning back to the display.:: ::He had planned to leave it there, but as another nearly awkward quiet passed between them, Evan felt the impulse to press on and explain.:: Delano: A few kilometers from my father’s house on Vulcan, there is a large field of narrow standing rock formations. On top of many of these columns are boulders that have remained perfectly balanced for thousands, perhaps millions of years. And yet, each year blowing winds or shifting sands manage to cause just enough change to disrupt the balance, causing a few of these rocks to fall. When we’d go walking through that area, I used to get this horrible anxiety if I spent too long staring up at one of those pillars - convinced that the massive stones on top could fall at any moment and crush me. Lately, the feeling I get about the Shoals is almost the same. ::A shot of adrenaline flew through her system, just from his imagery. But when she met his eyes again, his smile returned, still weak but with a hint of genuine humor behind it. :: Delano: I didn’t mean to get all doom-and-gloom on you, Commander. Blake: You wouldn't be the first one to try it around here. But paranoia won't keep us warm at night, Delano. Delano: The only point is that I think we’re standing on dangerous ground. I’d say that we need to be careful, but in this case, that would be stating the obvious. Of course, there's also a chance that being too careful is just as dangerous as being reckless. Blake:::she sighed.:: Starfleet can't add more officers into the area without hurting their resources and their political stance with the Marshals, but they can't pull us out because the Coalition will throw the argument that they're being ignored around. It's bad enough we're being pulled in five different political directions - first by Shadow's Edge, now by Antor. ::And Antor had been far more damaging than the young governor of Shadow's Edge. When they'd entered the Shoals, the reception had been icy because until they'd started shouting at the top of their lungs, Starfleet hadn't ever lingered around the area before - and some of the locals were getting concerned that, despite having asked for Starfleet to be there, they were stepping on toes. They weren't wanted because the locals had wanted to do this for themselves. ::Now, they weren't wanted because they were causing threats. From pirates, of all players.:: Delano: I'm starting to wonder if this is just what living in the Shoals is like once you've been here long enough. Blake: We've been here long enough. I'm not getting used to it yet. === Lieutenant Evan Delano Operations Officer USS Veritas & Lt. Commander Sky Blake Ranger USS Veritas
    3 points
  2. You know, at first I thought "She's a Sassy One, Isn't She?" was referring to this particular moment by Rahman; But then I kept reading and found this gem;
    2 points
  3. (( Corridor, Deck Nine, USS Gorkon )) :: A set of dark eyes peered down the length of the corridor from a corner between the door that had magically brought him up to the current hiding spot. Bipeds walked from one end of the carpeted hallway to another, and back again. Or was that a different primate? He couldn’t tell these days, he’d seen so many. They all tended to look the same. Limited variation of coat, finite colour styles of hair. Boring beasts with big hands and sickly sensibilities.:: :: The door to his left shunted open and a set of legs walked out in front of him, passing without a glance in his direction. Bart barely lifted his carefully manicured brow. It was typical of these creatures not to notice him, after all, he was stealthy, he was quick, faster than lightening, than a cornered mouse even, and in a flash he was gone. Best of all, he knew how to plan, to ambush, to loiter and hide, waiting for that perfect moment to strike a blow to the heart of the upright snotty two-footed anthropoids.:: :: He was, after all, an incredible being, so obnoxiously full of his own self-importance, and many tended to agree. He was exceedingly intelligent, compulsively obsessed with preening himself, coupled with a phenomenal desire for murder. The very compulsion that had brought him from the station onto the ship in the first place.:: Bart: oO Soon.... Soon, she will be mine. Oo :: His stalking was nearly complete. He was nearly through the doors into the home of the avian-biped. All he needed was one of the primates to walk inside. That was all. It wasn’t too much to ask for. What did one need to bait a biped? Food? Pictures of immature offspring? A little green fruit he had seen squished onto toast on the station?:: Bart: oO Damnit, soldier, think! Oo :: The stomping feet of a larger than usual biped echoed through the corridor. Bart hid, cleverly, behind a well positioned plant storage device, and waited while the primate walked through the doors. Success! Bart sprang from his position and sprinted into the open doorway. At once, his eyes glazed over and he darted to another hiding place.:: :: It was simply magical.:: :: The lights were dark but tasteful, allowing shadow areas for many hiding spots. He saw the avian prey ahead, behind a long island type surface structure and he froze. She was taller and bigger than when he had seen her on the station. Fair enough, he had been higher up, stalking her from the upper levels of the Entertainment Deck, however he was sure she was in proportion to him.:: Bart: oO Everything I knew… Everything I planned… Dashed! Dashed! Oo :: He couldn’t take her, she was huge! What was he to do now? He had to play the long game. This wasn’t going to be a quick game of Cat and Bird, not at all, his predatory instincts were alive! This was going to be Stalked and Murdered. He narrowed his eyes. She would be his. He would delight in the glory of it. His brethren would tell tales of his victories for eons to come. He needed this, for his enslaved people on the station.:: :: He slicked his hair back. Time to be charming.:: ::Keenly aware of the occupants of the room, he sauntered over the freshly lain flooring, and leapt onto the bar in a majestic pounce that impressed absolutely no-one, his enslavement tag bouncing against his fur. He sat, and stared at the avian-biped with extermination and butchery lurking behind his cold dark eyes.:: Keska: Response? :: With deliberate slowness, he reached out his foot to the glass sitting happily on the bar, without a care in the world. He levelled a look at the bird and narrowed his eyes.:: Bart: oO Prepare for my WRATH! Oo ::of course, it sounded more like:: Mrrrreeoooowwwww… Keska: Response? :: Then, pushed it off the side of the bar. It dinked onto the floor.:: Bart: oO Your move, you feathery divine creature. Oo Keska: Response? TBC Bartholemeow, the Cat Escape Convict, Enslavement Camp 1.20 Coffee & Cat Emporium Iana Station simmed by Lieutenant (JG) Jocelyn Marshall Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0
    2 points
  4. ((Caraadian colony, Devron, civilian sector)) ::What happens behind the inner city walls of Devron was a question nobody knew the answer on. Only the nobles and the servants knew that but everyone was afraid to ask. The locals had to live with rumors, yet they way they have to live is decided behind those walls. Kali grew up in the city of Devron. He wasn't a noble, nor did he live in extreme poverty. All he knew was that this little land piece was keeping his family alive for ages. He pulls out a few Tasoul (vegetable) and places them in a full crate and looks around if he can see his younger brother:: Kali: Marw where are you? ::Marw is the youngest of the bunch:: Marw: ::sighs:: comming... ::walking slowly, not ever in a hurry:: one done already Kali: ::he hands him the crate with vegetables:: If you take these inside than Verta can try to sell them again. ::Verta was their older sister which was running their family shop and every other day Kali and Marw would sell their fruits and vegetables on the local market. Selling their goods to the Caradiaan nobles and never getting paid enough. This was the way they had to live, yet life here had been peaceful, until now.:: Kali: did you hear the rumors? ::Kali walked toward his sister Verta:: Verta: ::grins:: which of the many? Kali: ::he whispers in a nasty tone:: about the Valcarians? Marw: ::slow and annoyed:: why even bother yourself with stuff like that? It has nothing to do with us.... ::He couldn't care less about what would happen with the city.:: Verta: ::she frowns:: of course it does. The Caradiaan and Valcarian nobles seem to be on the verge of a war. Their decisions will affect our lives too Marw. Kali: and we don't get to hear anything except for rumors, probably spread by the Caradiaan or Valcarian nobles themselves. ::Kali sat down:: ::Marw rolls with his eyes and walks away towards the other room:: Kali ::to Marw:: We'll head out to the market tomorrow morning. Perhaps the old marketman knows a bit more. ::He hears Marw growl a little bit. Kali sighs and and closes his eyes for a moment:: oO I wonder how mother is doing Oo ::Their mother, Merhil, was the only one from their family that got to work as a servant for the noble family of Caradiaan. A few days after their father's death, their mother went to work as a servant and they haven't seen her ever since. Kali would do anything to get inside those walls, inside that building just to see this mom again. He had tried sneaking in many times before, but all in vain. His big sister was "playing" mother for a long time and now that they all grew up she was trying her best to run the small shop. Marw, on the other hand, grew sad after their mother left. Everything was meaningless in his eyes and Kali didn't know how to open his brother's eyes. They had to work together but they've never been so separated before. A few moments later he drifts off in a dream about a better place without nobles and where mothers could be mothers again instead of servants:: ============================= MSNPC's Kali (Marw & Verta) Caradiaan Civilians, farmers and shop owners. as simmed by: Lieutenant JG. Femi Cattan Chief Nursing Officer, USS Atlantis Z239308FC0 https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php?title=Femi_Cattan
    1 point
  5. ((Wilmer’s Quarters, Deck 7, Cabin J9, USS Blackwell)) ::Nate and Charlie sat at the dining room table. Each of them had their fair share of dramatic turns and bad delays. The mission had gone on slightly longer than expected. Nate had been injured, and dramatically and permanently scarred over his right eye. He had later been assigned to a very intimate fact-finding mission with his ex-girlfriend, much to Charlie’s chagrin. And as far Charlotte herself...well...she had only managed to vomit in front of most of the engineering team.:: ::Quite a week, indeed.:: ::Charlotte fidgeted with Nate’s scar, making a sad and somewhat concerned face, as she traced the J-hooked line with an outstretched index finger.:: Farnsworth: Does it hurt bad? ::Nate grimaced, hating to be the center of such negative attention.:: Wilmer: No, it only hurts when Voldemort is near…. ::Charlotte’s face was a puzzle.:: Farnsworth: Who? ::Nate dismissed his comment with a passive attempt at comedy.:: Wilmer: Sorry, obscure joke. ::He tenderly grabbed Charlotte’s hand and kissed her fingers.:: I told you Charlie. There’s nothing to worry about. It looks worse than it feels. ::Charlotte was a smart cookie. Nate knew her concern about his face had nothing to do with aesthetic reasons, and more to do with a subconscious guilt about her not having been there to protect him. However, space was a dangerous and infinite expanse. And though they were getting married soon, neither would be fully capable of suspending that danger, even for a nanosecond.:: ::Nate smiled, and rested both his hands, atop hers, and placed them on the cool glass surface of their dining room table.:: Wilmer: Shayne will be here soon. Let’s not focus on the negative… ::Charlotte slumped in as if deflated by concern and possible letdown. Her body was always so expressive, so easy to read. Her emotions were always worn on her sleeve, and her face always told the tale before her mouth could speak it.:: Farnsworth: Do you think he’ll say yes? I was so hoping your friend Sarjak would say yes...but now… ::Nate shrugged. Starfleet was an ever-revolving door of comings and goings. It came with the trade.:: Wilmer: Jak’s got his hands full with diplomatic nonsense. But it was nice to see him again. And as far as Shayne, I’m sure he… ::It was at that moment, the door chime rang. Shayne was early. Nate should have expected as much. Nate’s reading of the man had given hints of a person who excelled at punctuality. Nate liked that. He hoped that behaviour would translate into the same efficiency at his upcoming nuptials.:: Wilmer and Farnsworth: ::simultaneously:: Come in! ::Nate and Charlie shot each other a sidewise glance of serendipitous glee. They were not even married yet, and already their brains were linking up like a pair of old married elderly people.:: ::The doors to their cabin parted to reveal the visage of Lt. Cmdr. Randal Shayne.:: ::It was the one complaint he had with the Starfleet uniform that he almost never took off. It was a smart looking thing, dignified and functional. But it was abysmal at allowing people to breath. Under the best of circumstances, it was irritating. But for someone as uncomfortable as he was regarding social interaction, it was downright miserable. He clawed at his throat, aching for relief. He stepped inside, immediately concerned by the fact that both Charlie and Wilmer were present. He could relate to Wilmer as a good friend, and a fellow pilot. He could relate to Charlie...somehow. Their relationship was still a bit of a mystery to him. But them both together? It was a dynamic he was unaccustomed to, and the image of them seated next to each other sent another painful pang of loneliness through him.:: Wilmer: oO Speak of the devil. Oo ::Nate thought with a smile.:: Shayne: Um...hi. Shayne: oO Shakespearian, that was. Oo ::Charlotte being the consummate gracious hostess, stood and motioned for Shayne to enter their abode. Setting some of her garments and Nate’s discarded old dirty uniforms aside, she made a place for him to sit next to them.:: Farnsworth: Randal, please sit down. Shayne: Hm? Oh, thank you. ::Rather sheepishly, he entered. He’d noticed early on that, to make an error, one had to actually do something. If Shayne refused to do anything without being invited to do so, no trespass could inadvertently be committed. A siege mentality, but it had worked for nearly 20 years of social interaction.:: ::Nate smiled, following Charlie’s lead on hospitality.:: Wilmer: Shayne, can I get you something to drink? Shayne: Uh, no thank you- that’s fine. ::Still unsure of what to expect.:: ::Nate and Charlie sat next to one another, almost like a pair of conjoined siamese twins who were attached at the hip. Nate felt a sudden moment of giddiness, that somehow jumped into his fiancee with a joining of hands and they smiled.:: Farnsworth: I don’t know why I’m so nervous…. Shayne: oO Whoa, hang on. I’m the only person allowed to be nervous here… Oo ::Was was going on? Curiosity blended with mild terror, and a fair bit of joy- a result of the couple’s infectious mood- swamped together, creating a confusion quite unlike anything he was accustomed to. Their giggling excitement was obvious, and it took no genius to deduce that their upcoming event had something to do with the mood. But what? And what could Shayne possibly have been called for? He was more than willing to come, despite the discomfort it caused. Now it had gone from, “why me?!” to “why...me?”:: Wilmer: I know, it's like I’m asking my dad for permission to borrow the hopper… Shayne: ::An inadvertently delighted beginning to grow on his face.:: What is going on here? ::Confound their happy mood! His stony visage was failing!:: ::Nate sometimes had a predilection for not being able to get to the point. He decided to spare Shayne’s frayed nerves by getting right to the point.:: Wilmer: Shayne, I just want to say with our wedding fast approaching, and with my sense of family growing aboard the Blackwell…. ::Nate stopped, realizing he was still not getting to the point.:: ::The joy was beginning to fall away. If Nate was stalling this insistently, he could make a few well-educated, equally disturbing assumptions about the nature of this conversation. Assumption one- it was a big deal. To the couple, at least, though perhaps whatever this was about would have ramifications for others. Assumption two- it was awkward. Shayne hated awkward- but, seeing as this was one of the few times awkwardness had been in play without him being the sole cause, maybe he could appreciate it, in a demented sort of way. Assumption three- Shayne wouldn’t want to be a part of whatever information was about to be revealed. Any way he looked at it, this was beginning to feel a little...frightening.:: ::Naturally, Charlie then spoke, putting the neurotic helmsman slightly more at ease.:: Farnsworth: What he means to say Randal, is that his best man was intending to stand with him...but with Starfleet being Starfleet and all Sarjak was suddenly called away… Shayne: oO Sorry, Charlie- you’re no better at this. Oo ::Nate completed Charlie’s thought, he wanted the request to come from him directly.:: Wilmer: ...well, I just heard about how you handled the situation with Charlie and her embarrassment in space, and...I was just wondering, from one helmsman to another… Shayne: oO I’m going to kill someone if I don’t get an explanation, from one helmsman to another...Oo ::Charlotte grinned as if someone had engaged a gaggle of transporter beams full of happiness inside her brain.:: Wilmer: ...I was just wondering if you’d be willing to stand in as my best man. ::Shayne’s world stopped for a full two seconds. It was as if his mind simply shut down. “Sorry, we’re closed.”:: ::Did that just happen? Had he been asked to be someone’s best man? His eyes widened slowly, in a daze. All the irritation, the uncomfortable sensations...they melted away. In their place, a single, sparkling surge of energy and happiness. The smile that quickly enveloped his face must have made him appear as a madman would.:: Shayne: Fan-tastic! Oh! I would be honored! ::Now it was Shayne’s turn to be giddy- a rarity for someone as restrained as him. His hands clasped together and he gave an odd little cackle. This was astonishing! He couldn’t get his mind quite round what had just occurred.:: Farnsworth: ::slightly giggling:: Wonderful! Wilmer: Absolutely! Top man! Shayne: This is...I mean, I can’t- I’ve never… Best man! Whew! ::Electric excitement enlivened his veins, and in the back of his mind, the slightest shadows of doubts slipped betwixt his hemispheres. It was almost like they were acknowledging his right to be unfettered in this moment. Later...later, they would return with a vengeance. But for now, maybe even the devil’s musings had some scrap of mercy in them after all.:: ::With an accepting praise and warm smile, Nate clapped Shayne on the shoulder, and shook his hand.:: Wilmer: It’ll be great! You won’t regret it. And after all, I’m sure you’ve already got some great ideas for planning the bachelor party! Shayne: Hmm? Yes, of course! I’ve- Shayne: oO -never actually been to...a bachelor party. Oo ::That was his job? Why didn’t he know things like this? Single people probably understood the nature of this role- why did it elude him so? A curious feeling of dread was whisked into the already churned mix of joy and surprise.:: Shayne: oO Add some onions and I’ll be an omlette. Oo Shayne: Bachelor party. ::He repeated it, trying not to display the doubts cropping up.:: ::Charlotte’s smile was infectious.:: Farnsworth: Well yes, as the best man, naturally it will be your job to plan something truly astonishing for Nate’s last day as a single man…. ::Charlotte wasn’t joking and neither was Nate. The commitment to stand had suddenly developed into a social event extraordinaire with Randal Shayne as its newly appointed ringmaster. There was no backing out now. It was do or die time, and Nate had firm confidence that the cracking young helmsman had the chops for the job.:: ::No pressure for him, then. Just the hopes, and the marriage ceremony, of two close friends hanging in the balance.:: Wilmer: Oh, and did I mention you have about 17 hours to make this happen??? ::He felt his head beginning to spin.:: Shayne: oO Don’t tell me! You also want this to take place on an active Borg cube, right? Oo ::He felt utterly inadequate, but he had rarely looked forward to putting on a good show more.:: Shayne: Well, then, I’d best get cracking- Shayne: oO Under the pressure. Oo Shayne: oO Shut up! Oo Shayne: oO You don’t have to shout! Oo ::He stepped out, smiling all the way, and as soon as the doors closed, proceeded to sprint to the nearest computer console. He had some work to do!:: An awkwardly exciting JP as crafted by... Lt. Cmdr. Nate Wilmer Helm Officer USS Blackwell (NCC-58999) E239107NW0 And Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne Helmsman/Ops Officer/Second Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 G239202RS0
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  6. @Randal Shayne I do love a Ferentis sim! Especially one as well crafted as this! ---------------------- ((Corridor on Deck 6, USS Blackwell)) ::The shimmering colors played against his eyes. Robust bronze, golden ochre, electric blues and every shade in between rebounded within the cramped confines of his working area. His eyesight was not quite up to par with most of the other members of the ship, but in such a feast for the cones as this, his visual inadequacy was hardly relevant. It was merely the reflective nature of the metals and their interaction with the light emitted by the transparent plasma conduit above him, but the rustic beauty it provided was undeniable. The tight EPS access, already a squeeze for most humanoids, proved positively stifling to his considerable bulk. Yet he toiled away regardless.:: ::He loved Gamma Shift.:: ::Ferentis knew how the majority of his fellow Gamma Shifters saw their assignment; as punishment. To any sane, social creature, what else could being relegated to the graveyard shift represent? For many, there was a certain, restrained resentment. Ferentis did not join them in this respect.:: ::Where his comrades complained of their isolation, he reveled in it. Being able to move without running aground on some poor ensign’s face was a tremendous relief. Even he, a Pahkwa’thanh- a race famed for their stringent and ubiquitous codes of etiquette- had begun to grow tired of the word “sorry”. You would too if you had to repeat it forty times a day for crashing into people. He fancied himself as graceful, and blamed these collisions on his natural physical bulk. Maybe he needed to consider the option that he was a genuine clutz.:: ::But not now. Now, he would bask in the lack of interaction, and fix things. In this case, an EPS manifold cut-off.:: ::As his massive talons nimbly provided the dexterity required for such a fragile job, his eyes drifted to a particularly vibrant blue hue out of the corner of his eye. Flecks of green appeared as he focused on it, and his mind immediately took him to the one place he was denied.:: ::Home.:: ::Flashes of forested swaths of contenant passed before his eyes. Great azure oceans and standing swamps pooling around tree trunks the size of warp nacelles. He missed the hot sun spilling against his thick hide, missed the hunt, longed for the stench of decaying plant life and fresh soil. He shut his eyes. Not only was that paradise hundreds of lightyears away, but inaccessible to him as a person. It had been months since the word had come in. Somehow, his family- for it could only have been his family- had maneuvered the Ministry to declare him persona non grata. His name, whatever title he may have inadvertently earned, any chance of returning...gone in single claw print.:: ::And why? Ferentis knew his family loathed him. They were a tiny minority on Pahkwa’thanh had always maintained an isolated viewpoint, and when he had first left their planet to explore, and to learn, he knew he was about as good as dead to virtually all of his immediate family, and probably beyond as well. He hadn’t always expected the relationship to be so...finalized. And now, the perpetual misfit- not welcome at home, not built for a starship, not young enough to start again- wondered what to look forward to.:: ::Even for him, a reserved, dignified individual, found that particular question too painful to dwell on. And so he dived back into his work. But after a few minutes of his brain refusing to clear itself of the loneliness, he realized he would need some additional help.:: Ferentis: Computer, recognize voice print. ::the computer bleeped its acknowledgement.:: Give me something good. ::The codeword was accepted, and he was instantly rewarded. A hard piano entry, accompanied by a bass and a resounding brass chorus gently echoed in his ears. Without meaning to, he began to hum along to the words.:: Computer: =/\= Father wears his Sunday best Mother’s tired, she needs a rest The kids are playing up downstairs Sister’s sighing in her sleep Brother’s got a date to keep, he can’t hang around… =/\= ::It was a harmless little program he’d designed to feed his ever-growing addiction to Earth music. His planet had little interest, and even less invention, when it came to music. Ferentis, ever an outsider, couldn’t imagine life without his tunes close at hand. At his command, the computer would lock onto his combadge and have the nearest ceiling speaker play something random from Earth’s past. Any sort of other communication, such as a ship wide message, would overrule the program- he wasn’t there to create problems. But, as the humans said, if he had it, flaunt it. He had the tech know-how to create what he wanted without massive ramifications. What was stopping him?:: ::The unusual nature of his hearing also helped him, allowing him to receive the full musical experience without cranking up the volume. Should anyone human stride up to him as he labored away at his little impromptu worksite, they’d find a dinosaur with his torso in a hole in the wall, jamming to a whisper.:: ::Suddenly he stopped as thoughts pooled into his mind, unbidden. His body froze, leathery skin and taught scales motionless. Images of the last shore leave, and his raktajino-fueled explosion of bad dancing assaulted him. In the moment he’d enjoyed it. In hindsight, the fact that an entire restaurant had seen him flailing about to music made him seriously consider the airlock. Though he was somewhat confident that no Starfleet personnel besides Anath G’Renn had seen him, even that was enough to make him blush hard. His control had been disrupted- a violation that would be difficult to forget.:: ::Now was not the best time for distractions, as was proven by the startling pain in his claw a moment later. A careless movement had left his now tender hand exposed to a breaker of some sort. He gave a quick, brutal roar, and sucked on the stinging, smoking digit hard.:: Crewman: =/\= Harper to Ensign Ferentis. =/\= ::Ferentis rolled his eyes, trying to keep himself under the most rigid control.:: Ferentis: =/\= Ferentis here. =/\= Crewman: =/\=Sir, I have a message here for you, marked personal. =/\= ::That stopped him. Slowly, he extracted his claw from his mouth. Who would send him a personal message? Certainly no one on Pahkwa’thanh. Nor was it likely to originate from someone he knew during his days on the rim. So who could possibly…:: ::Suddenly he realized the crewman was waiting on him.:: Ferentis: =/\= Thank you, Mr. Harper. Please send it to the terminal in my quarters. Ferentis out. =/\= ::The channel closed, and he found himself more preoccupied than ever. As the whirling thoughts and possibilities fought for ground inside his mind, he forced them down. The message could wait, as much as he craved to see who it was. Too often lately he had let his emotions guide him. He was disciplined individual. He would not yield to the cravings of curiosity when there was work to be done.:: ::And speaking of work, it looked like his little accident had disrupted power on Deck 7. He sighed, the music now a parody of his former decent mood. It would take some time to repair the faults.:: ((Some time later, another junction on Deck 7.)) ::His face was placid, but his mood was quickly dissolving. No one would ever know it, though. Years of control came in handy occasionally. He’d been working for hours, and finally, everything was beginning to approach tip-top shape. He flexed his thick neck, trying to relieve the kink that had found its way there as a result of odd angle he’d been holding it in. Once again, he was reminded of why so few of his people ever left their homeworld.:: Thoran: response. ::The voice startled him slightly, but even that minimal movement caused him to smash his head on the edge of the opening he now worked inside. A low groan escaped his lips before he moved to extricate himself.:: Ferentis: Yes, sir. I apologize for the difficulties- I’ve been working to correct them. I hope there have been no other problems? ::He was afraid that something like this would happen. His error was far from deadly- a minor blunder, at best. But he knew of this individual’s reputation for scrutiny, and excellence in his duties. He should have figured the security chief would have noticed.:: Thoran: response ::He caught the sight of his reflection in a shiny piece of bulkhead. His eyes were a little more red than usual. How long had he been going at this?:: Tag/TBC… PNPC Ensign Ferentis Engineer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 =======as simmed by======= Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne Helmsman/Ops Officer/Second Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 G239202RS0
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