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Tony (Mint)

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About Tony (Mint)

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    Skants for days
  • Birthday 02/12/1987

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  1. ((Engineering, USS Za)) :: As soon as Laura entered engineering she knew something wasn't quite right, it didn't sound right. She couldn't put her finger on it at first, then she noticed the warp core it wasn't glowing or make the usual humming sound she was accustom too. :: :: She moved quickly towards the warp core and heard people busying around. :: Human crewman: Ready to reactive reactor injectors Bajoran crewman: Go ahead. I'll monitor the anti-matter flow from here. :: Laura watched as the warp core light up, it was an impressive site. :: Andorian crewman: Reaction is increasing steady. Bajoran Crewman: Keep an eye on it. It takes about 30 minutes for it reach operation levels. Give me a shout if there are any problems. :: Turning to the human crewman:: Run the standard warp core initialisation diagnostic sequences. I'll be back in 20 minutes. Human crewman: Understood, sir. :: Laura moved to intercept the Bajoran crewman as he walked away from the warp console. :: Baxter: Ensign Laura Baxter, nice to meet you. Vreya: Chief Petty Officer Vreya Kima, I'm a little busy at the moment :: He continued walked and Laura quickly followed behind. :: Baxter: If you could just give me an update on the current situation? Vreya: What is your role? Baxter: Acting Chief Engineer ::Proudly:: :: Vreya stopped and turned, looking her over intently. :: Vreya: What happened to Lieutenant T... Te..., I can't remember his name ::He said shaking his head:: and Lieutenant Phillips, I think it was his assistant? Baxter: I don't actually know ::Honestly:: I was ordered to transfer about 2 weeks ago weren't you informed. :: Vreya shook his head :: Vreya: Do you know when your replacement will arrive? :: Laura shoke her head, but she couldn't hide the surprise from her face.:: oO My replacement Oo ::She hadn't though about the fact that they may be sending someone experienced to replace her. :: oO But I am only acting Oo Vreya: How long have you been out of the academy? Baxter: 2 months ::Embarrassed:: oO That doesn't sound great Oo But I have lead teams during my days as a civilian engineer. Vreya: It's a bit different being in the military. If you need any help just ask. I've taken Crewman Behl over there :: pointing to Andorian :: under my wing. Baxter: I'll bear that in mind. ::Slightly frustrated:: Vreya: Anyway need to get back to work. :: Kima walked away. After a few seconds Laura realised that she hadn't got the answer to her question. She considered chasing after him, but now felt very uncertain of herself and didn't want to face him again. :: :: Laura went to hide away in the engineering office, not ready to face anyone else. She pulled up the personnel record for Vreya. He was 45, with over 25 years experience serving on starships. :: oO No wonder he didn't respect me Oo :: Laura read further. He had a wife and two children who were onboard and he had joined the starship during it's refit on starbase 118. She closed the record, she was getting distracted and pulled up the current status. It looked like the warpcore had been shut down due to the need to make some adjustments due to diagnostic amoralities with it's interaction with the slipstream drive. :: Solzano: =/\= This is Fleet Captain Zalea Solzano to all Za personnel. Please board the Za at your earliest convenience. We will be departing at 1000 hours, at which point all officers should report to their Alpha Shift posts. ::beat:: Solzano, out. =/\= :: Listening to the communication, Laura decided it would be best to stay in engineering and monitor the situation with the warp core, then once they were going steady she would report to the captain. Though she would monitor from a distance, as she was still feeling a bit uneasy about her authority after her conversation with Kima. :: Ensign Laura Baxter USS Za Acting Chief Engineer ID number: E239306LB0
  2. round 21 Doctor Saveron: New Beginnings

    ((Arboretum, Deep Space 32)) ::It was a strange thing, this need for nature. And it was a need, a telling mark of the tether that bound them to planets; to ground and open sky and growing things. They were, all of them, creatures of living worlds, not truly adapted to an existence in space, however much their technology might allow them to move through the dark between the stars. And so they brought these little pieces of planetary ecology with them.:: ::The trees of Deep Space 32's Arboretum were majestic, the small patch of grass lush and inviting, to those who were accustomed to such things. Green, rich, humid, with the trickle of water in the background. Nothing like home; nothing like arid plains, dry orange skies and red vegetation of Vulcan. His world, like his people, were an anomaly amongst the humanoids of the galaxy; one exercise in extremes. But they were not the only one.:: ::And now they were venturing to another extreme, the deep galactic south, far beyond Federation borders. I was the kind of exploration that called to him, even as he left things behind. But such was the nature of a career in Starfleet. From the Embassy on Duronis II to the previously little-explored Menthar Corridor aboard a series of ships; theMercury, Garuda and finally Invicta. And now further afield still, on the newly refurbished USS Za.:: ::The ship was unknown territory as, quite probably, were all his crewmates. Perhaps a few might be familiar, but he understood that the crew was drawn from across Starfleet. The Captain was an unknown as well, but he understood that they shared both a career in Starfleet Medical and a concern for the plight of the Romulans. Perhaps that was why he had been requested. The unknown would require flexibility and diplomacy, if the space they were to explore was anything like that they were leaving.:: ::There would be time enough to meditate on that, and on other things.:: Saveron: Saavok.::He called to his son.:: It is time to board the ship. ::The young Vulcan boy looked up from where he was investigating a heretofore unencountered plant with the kind of enthusiastic and slightly destructive interest of young children everywhere.:: Saavok: Yes father. ::He would rather have stayed, but he knew they had to go. Every movement took them further from the Corridor and the friends he had made. Even if those friends also came and went as their parents transferred. Such was regrettable, but it was a consequence of his choice to accompany his father.:: ::Brushing off the knees of his trousers, the boy picked up a small carry-cage and approached his father. The white angora tribble in the cage began to coo at the movement. After a moment the two set out together in the direction of the ship dock.:: Saveron: Our possessions will have been conveyed to our quarters. We shall go there directly. Saavok: Do you know whether there are any other children on board? Saveron: Negative, however I will enquire on your behalf. ::He had already resolved to do so, aware of his son's preference for companions of his own age.:: Saavok: At least it's a long mission. It will not be easy for them to transfer away. ::He mused.:: ::Saveron let the comment go. His son expressed excessive regret at their departure from the Corridor, but emotional suppression was not the easiest discipline when one was nine.:: ::They both left friends behind, those whose company they considered preferable. Some more than most. But in some cases a clean separation was preferable to the unanticipated difficulties surrounding continuing association with one with whom he had been... very close.:: ::Such things were in the past. As they approached the umbilical joining the ship to the station, the only way to look was forward to the future. If it was anything like his time in the Menthar Corridor, it would be full of fascinating challenges.:: END Commander Saveron Chief Medical Officer USS Za R238802S10
  3. round 20 Q & Q, "Q-versations, part 2."

    ((Q Continuum)) ::She smirked with amusement.:: Q: So much for the exchange of rooks. Quana: I don’t follow your meaning. :: She looked at her with a raised eyebrow.:: Q: You obviously weren’t paying attention, were you? Quana: Not particularly. Like I said, they need conflict and you refuse to provide anything worth while. Q: Conflict is more than the physical drama. It is mental as well. Despite their simplicity, they are quite adaptable. ::She flicked her fingers and a view of Aron Kells appeared before them.:: Q: He navigated his challenge rather well I think. :;glances at Quana.:: No, you can’t have him. Quana: Wasn’t planning to ask. Instead, I’ll merely pointed out that you told your king the aim of the game - or, for your clarification, you *cheated*. ::She crossed her arms, a scowl on her face.:: I demand a *real* scenario. All your people have had it easy - I’ve put mine through all acceptable conflicts. Those on the Invicta should do the same. You can start with your queen, since I started with mine. ::Q laughed in the face of her companion.:: Q: Need I remind you of the rules we agreed on? Quana: I’m sure you will anyway. Q: There was no stipulation of the severity of the scenario. I prefer mental challenge, considering how fragile their bodies are. Telling them what is at stake, is part of the challenge. Fear works well with this species. Quana: Then *challenge* them. You have a queen with a failed “slipstream” experiment, my rook and yours beside her - what better hurdle to overcome? And should something happen, you always have your bishop to fall back on. ::The smile faded from her face.:: Q: Do not presume to tell me what challenges to use, Q. That was our agreement. Quana: *Your* agreement. I never agreed to such terms. ::She leaned forward.:: Do you really want to play a boring game? I know what you’re doing here - you think you can beat me by sticking to your own rules, claim all my collection for the continuum, but believe me. I’m quite capable of forfeiting the game, taking all the remainder of my collection and just build it back up. You’re not going to win this round if you don’t *challenge your pieces*. ::Her eyes narrowed slightly.:: Q: I find your need to “collect” boring. The Continuum does not want your collection. We agreed to these games in order to avoid taking unilateral action. ::She paused. She had thought most of her race had left behind these needs aeons ago. It was the younger Q that brought chaos.:: Q: If I win… you stop collecting. Quana: That requires a few conditions. ::Her hands clasped behind her back, a coy smile on her lips.:: No cheating from this point forward, no ridiculously easy scenarios. Pitting piece against piece. None of this “for their safety” nonsense. If you’re truly concerned for them, place them in a case when they’re removed from the board instead of allowing their obliteration. ::She laced her fingers together as she stared at her companion.:: Q: I find it hard to fathom the words that had just come out of your mouth. ::pause:: You expect me to play a game where you set all the rules? ::pause:: For all the good it did you last time. Quana: Well then you have nothing to worry about, do you? oO I could have been basking in the heart of a star. Instead I’m doing this. Oo Q: We shall see. ===== Q (simmed by Lieutenant Raissa Moonsong) and Quana (simmed by Lieutenant Commander Tristam Core)
  4. round 8 Capt. Reynolds: Kismet and Cowardice

    (( Corridors, USS Invicta )) ::A new ship, and a new school. Not *entirely* new, something for which she was grateful. The faces were mostly the same, and of course Dylan now had new partner in crime, in form of Saavok. He didn't really need walking to the classroom, and she suspected it wouldn't be long before he wanted to be left to get to school alone. But for now, he was content with the company and she liked the few extra moments it gave her with her eldest. ::Though her company was lacking that morning. While Amelia was contentedly cocooned in her sling, as ever soothed by motion, Quinn was distracted by the PADD in her hand. She scowled at the urgent missive from Admiral Zeldenthuis that was seared into the screen, not daring to respond immediately, for fear of career-ending sarcasm. The next time she saw that man... well, she'd… she'd... ::She'd be very cross. Not that it would do her any good. The ebullient Dutchman was well used to her squinted glares by now, and almost seemed to delight in them. Perhaps this time she'd try not to give him the satisfaction. ::Chance would be a fine thing. Pursing her lips, Quinn dropped her hand -- and the PADD she carried -- to her side, and looked to her son, who was unusually quiet. ::He wasn't there. ::She turned, puzzled to see him a few paces back, stood at an intersection, staring intently down one of the corridors. Reynolds: Dylan? ::She started back toward him.:: What's-- Dylan: Dad? ::He paused, disbelieving.:: Dad? DAD! ::He broke into a sprint, charging down the corridor and out of sight. She frowned in confusion, then realisation dawned and all the colour drained from her already pale skin. Reluctantly, her shoulders hunching in grim anticipation, she looked in the direction her son was running. ::If looks could kill, she would have combusted on the spot. Walter Brunsig *glared* at her, seconds before Dylan threw his arms around his arms around his waist. The boy was barely holding back tears, almost overcome with emotion. ::Quinn felt like crying too, but hers was an entirely different set of reasons.:: Dylan: Nono, look! Look! ::Oh, she was looking. Like a shuttle wreck, she couldn't turn away. Dylan released Walter, only to take his hand and start dragging him down the corridor toward her. Silently, she prayed for a red alert. ::It was not forthcoming.:: Dylan: Look! Look, Nono! You were wrong! He's okay! ::Her answering smile was a grimace, and she deliberately avoided meeting Walter's gaze. The threat of spontaneous combustion had only increased, after all.:: Reynolds: I, uh… Yes, I was. ::Her mind went blank. Amelia groused in the sling. There was an awkward pause that ended with an irritated snort from the tall blond.:: Brunsig: Isn't it time for school? Dylan: Yes, but-- Brunsig: Go. Use that brain of yours. Expand your mind. Be productive. Shoot spitballs at your teacher. Dylan: But-- Brunsig: Beat it, Pickle. ::A moment, then he added,:: We can catch up when my shift's finished. Dylan: Promise? Brunsig: Scout's honour. ::When Dylan didn't move, Walter planted his hands on his shoulders, turned him in the direction of the classrooms and walked him a couple of steps forward.:: School. Now. ::There were some fights you couldn't win, and she saw the realisation that this was one of them cross her son's face. He grumbled, glanced back at them both, and shot Walter a small smile before tearing off in the direction of the classrooms. No doubt Saavok would be hearing all about how Dylan's dead father was not-so-dead after all.:: Reynolds: Thank you. ::To no one's surprise, his mood markedly soured after Dylan's departure, and he was back to glaring at her.:: Brunsig: I'm not doing it for you. ::He eyed her.:: So why didn't you tell him? Reynolds: ::Weakly,:: I… was going to? ::She just hadn't been sure how. How to tell Dylan that the man he considered his father wasn't dead after all, but marooned on an uninhabited planet for several years. How he was back, but there'd be no happy families. That civil conversation was a stretch. ::And honestly? She didn't expect him to stay around for very long. If she knew Walter, his transfer request was already submitted, and he was simply waiting for permission to hightail it away.:: Brunsig: Let me guess. Your great, master plan was to hope we wouldn't bump into each other? Reynolds: Yes. Brunsig: For someone so smart, you can be jaw-achingly stupid. Reynolds: ::She sighed.:: Yes. ::Insults thrown and acknowledged, she expected him to walk away. He almost did, taking a step forward. But something caught his eye. Something small, blond and five months old.:: Brunsig: So this is the spawn of Reynolds. ::He paused, studying Amelia.:: She's not entirely unattractive. Who's her father? ::Oh. That question. Why did he have to ask *that* question? She grimaced, and the reluctance to answer was obvious in her voice.:: Reynolds: Harrison Ross. ::He paused. She saw the recognition in his eyes.:: Brunsig: You have appalling taste in men, Quinn. Reynolds: You aren't so bad. Brunsig: I rest my case. ::She gave him a weary, resigned look. Oddly, he had returned his intense gaze to Amelia, who returned it, and threw in a gummy smile for good measure.:: Reynolds: Walter? ::His eyes snapped back up to her, and his scowl returned.:: Brunsig: I'll stay out of your way while I'm aboard. Reciprocate. ::He paused.:: Dylan can come by if he must, but I'm not sticking around, and I'm not going to explain that to him. ::She sought for the right words. Perhaps not to fix things -- nothing would immediately repair the damage, but maybe she could start things in the right direction.:: Look, I-- Reynolds: Walter, I-- ::She didn't get to finish. He slapped his combadge, began barking out orders and stalked off down the corridor. Wrapped up in her own unhappiness, she didn't see the last glance he threw over his shoulder as he rounded the corner and moved out of sight.:: fin -- Captain Quinn Reynolds Director of IntelligenceUSS Invicta & Commander Walter BrunsigStrategic OperationsMenthar Corridor
  5. // Captain's Personal Log, SD 239206.19 // Of course I didn't see it coming. Who would have? Who would have ever thought that he would have by the Architecting President? No one, that's who. Which is why, of course, I thought it was okay to let my mind wander in the first place. (( Main Reception Hall, USS Invicta )) Egan Manno: Kells! :: Egan Manno's voice was a whisper, albeit it a pointed one. Her elbow, on the other hand, was not so soft. He was surprised, a moment later, that she'd risked it; some of the cameras were already on them, and they would've caught not only that motion but also his way he jerked out of his reverie. :: Kells: Hrmph? Egan Manno: Stand. Up. :: She was smiling. Everyone was. And clapping? Yes, all of them were applauding, and the president was -- Architect, was she looking at him? What off Earth was she doing that for? :: Kells: What? Why? Egan Manno: Just do it! :: So he stood. Not knowing why, but he figured, if the president was looking, well, the worst he could do was make a fool of himself -- and with Egan Manno's elbow, he'd already done that. Then she began to speak... :: // Captain's Personal Log, SD 239206.19 // No one would've seen it coming because it's ludicrous. One's orders come from one's CO -- in my case, Egan Manno -- or, at the very outside, the CO a grade or two above one's. Not from the president. The Starfleet isn't a military organization and she's not Commander-in-Chief of the Federation Starfleet -- but damned if that stopped her here. At first I didn't know what to think. I mean, it was the rhetoric I dreaded, all about bravery on the frontier and pushing the limits of exploration and the steady hands of diplomacy -- sound bites, little nothings that had zero to do with the Va Wreth mission and the capture of Ross, which is what I finally gathered she was talking about. But why me? I hadn't really done anything special, and most of my senior staff hadn't even been allowed in. By the Architect, Rahman wasn't even there, and her teams had been entirely responsible for finding Ross. But then she came to it, finally. Not only was I and my crew all that she'd said, we were the very best of the Starfleet and of its mission here, including the great experiment that was Astrofori One. The Invicta, she said, and I swear she was looking right at me when she said it, is exactly the sort of vessel Starfleet wants to have at this crucial juncture in the Menthar Corridor. And she, damn it all, couldn't think of any captain and crew she would rather have aboard. (( Main Reception Hall, USS Invicta )) :: Push up, pull down: Aron was so lost in a moment he hadn't believed had actually happened that Egan Manno, as surreptitiously as possible, had to tug on a pleat in the back of his uniform jacket. He was already clapping, had been as he stood there and continued to as he sat down rather abruptly. The applause continued, though the bright eyes of the cameras returned to the president as she continued to speak. Aron bent over to whisper in Egan Manno's ear. :: Kells: Can she do that? Egan Manno: I'm not going to argue with her. Are you? Kells: But-- really, can she do that? Does she have the authority? Egan Manno: Of course not. But she's expressed her desire to see the Garuda's successful crew, including its captain, transfer to the Invicta. I, and the other officers who actually make such things happen, will put through all the orders. It's a semantics question, Captain, and easily resolved. ::beat:: Congratulations. :: She actually seemed to mean it, too, despite being caught just as off-guard as he'd been. Well, and he supposed that there was nothing else for it: He couldn't exactly protest now. Wouldn't that be something, though? To stop the State of the Federation address as it was being given and insist that he wouldnt' take the spot? It would be pointless grandstanding, of course, more of the rhetoric he hated -- but something about it definitely appealed to him. :: // Captain's Personal Log, SD 239206.19 // Not that I was ever actually going to do it, of course. The president's promise was one thing, but Egan Manno's assent? Well, that was a done deal. She'd made it quite clear when she appointed me as the Garuda's CO what my options were (namely, take command or -- nope, there is no 'or'), so I didn't have much hope here. Nor did I have a good reason for not wanting to do as the president said, beyond that initial shock -- though once I started to think about it a little more, I realized that all my previous years of CO experience were vastly different from this. I'd operated alone, as the CO of the single Starfleet starship for dozens and dozens of light-years, in uncharted, often hostile space. And now they wanted me to play politician? It seemed bizarre, but -- as I say, I wasn't going to argue. (( Bridge, USS Invicta )) :: It certainly wasn't a bridge as he was used to it. The ships he'd seen rolling out of Utopia Planitia had increasingly dark, crowded bridges. True, there were some, like the Intrepid class, which were fairly large -- but always so dark. The Invicta's wasn't anything like that. Huge and bright, it built upon familiar aspects of the Garuda's basic model -- the tactical horseshoe, the array of consoles at the bridge's rear -- but included an entire conference room right in the middle of the bridge, as well as increased automation -- only two stations at the bridge's front, for ops and science -- and a lot of space devoted to seating areas, presumably for the use of discussion and use of foreign dignitaries and notables. The Invicta, after all, was a ship dedicated to diplomacy and science. And was, for the moment, a few hours after the State of the Federation address, mostly empty. In fact, with the exit of a pair of technicians a few moments ago, Aron was alone. He wouldn't remain that way for long, though, and he didn't turn when he heard the turbolift doors open. Nor did he sit down at the conference table; rather, he stood at the front of the bridge, gazing at the huge viewscreen. :: Kells: Roshanara. I've been waiting. Rahman: My apologies, captain. Kells: No, no hurry. I imagine you've heard, then. Rahman: Part of the delay was there seemed to be a bit of a mix up. I was told initially I'd be remaining on the Garuda to accompany her back towards the Federation. Kells: I know. Believe me, your lack of invitation was not my intent, and had I realized it earlier, I would've said something. However-- :: He hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her this, but -- despite the smashing success the president seemed to believe their prior mission had been -- it felt wrong to add to their growing CO/XO relationship with a lie. :: Kells: It was done intentionally. I understand that ::beat:: you were not the first choice to accompany the Invicta as its executive officer. :: And he disliked the president's rhetoric? :: Rahman: I see… Kells: Starfleet Command thought it might be prudent to assign another officer. I disagreed, and Egan Manno backed me up. You're still here, you're my XO, and I told them that was the last I wanted to hear about it. ::beat:: Now, then, we have to begin transitioning everything over. I'll trust you to coordinate shakedown and shore leave schedules, alright? Rahman: Understood, sir. Kells: Very good. ::beat, badge tap:: =/\= This is Captain Kells to all Garuda crew. Effective immediately, the senior staff has been reassigned to the USS Invicta, along with many junior officers and enlisted personnel. Please see your department heads for details, and if you have been reassigned, report over no later than 1800 this evening to prepare for a short shakedown cruise. That is all. =/\= Rahman: If there's anything else, Captain? TBC! Captain Aron KellsCommanding OfficerUSS Invicta
  6. ((Lt DeVeau’s Quarters, USS Garuda))::There was a problem with being officially off duty - it meant it was difficult to work out of the eyes of those who had told her to take some time off. While Alora wasn't generally the sort to leave things undone, she also wasn't a workaholic either. Usually she knew how to balance work and pleasure and still participated in activities that would keep her busy. Alora couldn't shake the guilt, especially in light of her recent findings. Upon discovering the Chief of Science working against orders, she'd been ordered, again, back to her quarters, or the holodeck, or somewhere, for rest and away from the work that waited for her. She had spent some time in the holodeck, banging against the piano in fits of frustration with pieces that sounded similar to Stravinky's 'Rite of Spring', though far more cannibalistic in nature. Eventually she'd managed to snap a string on the holographic piano, and while that could have been taken care of easily, she retreated back to her room. An attempt to contact friends had revealed that the two she leaned most heavily on, Raissa and Aron, were not available, so she flopped on the couch and attempted to read a book.::::Her eyes absorbed every word, every syllable, but her mind couldn't rest. Her sleep had been interrupted with countless nightmares, scenes of the vines that the Kindred had controlled wrapping themselves around their unsuspecting prey. Despite the more favourable outcome, the nightmares never ended happily. Every time, she watched as friends and colleagues were crushed and strangled one by one until she was the only one left, her body still captive, the voice of the Mother chuckling low in triumph. Sometimes, it wasn't the vines that were used but her bare hands, fingers pressing into the flesh. Sometimes, the vines expanded into an organism so vast that despite the lack of air in space, they burst from the ship to swallow it whole before continuing to fly through toward some other suspecting victim. The latter had more of a fantastical quality to it and was easier to handle, but the two former were far too realistic in the wake of what had really happened, and resulted in her waking only to huddle in her bed, sniffling.::::Even while awake, images popped into her mind, unbidden, and as she attempted to find some solace in the fantasy of a good book, her brain refused to allow her rest. Fortunately, the chime of the door tugged her out of any downward spiral and she rose even as she called the computer to allow the visitor entry.::::The doors slid back to reveal a tall, slender form, momentarily silhouetted against the brighter corridor. Stepping inside into the dimmer lighting allowed details to resolve; the familiar angular features, grey eyes and dark hair, the flowing Vulcan robes and, over his shoulder, a familiar bulky shape; his harp case.::::As he stepped inside the doors hissed shut behind him. One long-fingered hand rose in the ta'al, the traditional Vulcan salute.::Saveron: Sochya, Alora.::He spoke quietly. It had been nearly a Terran year since they had last been face to face, and although he and his friend kept in contact during his year teaching at the Starfleet Academy on Vulcan and the Vulcan Academy of Science, even he in his Vulcan logic would admit that such communication was lacking.::::He spoke quietly, for Aron had indicated that the past weeks had not been kind to Alora. That if ever there was a time when she needed a friend, it was now.::::At the sight of said visitor, Alora froze. The form that stood before her was one that she had wished, time and time again, would return - especially after her most recent ordeal. The face, stoic and poised had come to mind on many an occasion along with the desire to have hiscomforting presence in person rather than restricted to the screen as it had been since his departure. For a moment, she wondered if, perhaps, wishful thinking had thrust her mind into creating some sort of mirage, though she managed to croak out a soft,::DeVeau: Saveron?Saveron: Affirmative.::He had learned that some species did not always believe the evidence of their own senses, but then most did not have the level of control that his own people did. The tone of Alora's voice suggested more than the expected level of surprise however, there was he thought a note of disbelief.::DeVeau: You're...here.Saveron: That is correct.::And still she did not seem to quite believe him. A Terran might have offered her a hand to grasp in evidence, but no Vulcan made that gesture lightly, with all that it entailed.::Saveron: My shuttle docked this morning. ::He paused, searching for appropriate words for alien sensibilities.:: I trust that I am not interrupting you?::Never before had Alora had to exert so much control. Her first instinct was to run and throw her arms about the neck of the tall man, draw him into a crushing hug. She even went so far as to quickly close the distance between the two of them, but stopped just before him, hands twitching as she realised such contact was not Vulcan and would not be comfortable for him. Despite that, the evidence that she was quite happy to see him was soon evident in the way her mouth spread into a wide smile that, for the first time in days, reflected in her eyes.::::Her expression indicated that she did not find his arrival disagreeable.::DeVeau: You’re back…Saveron: That is the case. ::He agreed. She seemed to have some slight difficulty with the concept.::DeVeau: I didn’t know you were coming back...you didn’t tell me.::In fact, her last correspondence had gone unanswered where Saveron was usually prompt. She had thought that he’d simply been overly busy and would reply as soon as he possibly could. She had not expected to see him at her door.::Saveron: The notification of transfer required immediate action; I did not have time to write initially. ::He admitted.:: On further consideration I thought that you might find the ‘surprise’ agreeable; I understand that Terrans often do.::Unlike his own people who abhorred disorganisation and the unexpected.::Saveron: You… are not displeased?::He would never accuse a member of his own species of emotion, but Alora always seemed quite ready to own her own feelings.::DeVeau: On the contrary ::she admitted::, I’m extremely, extremely pleased. You have no idea how much I wished you were here...especially after…::She trailed off, her smile wiped clean from her face.::::The tall Vulcan cocked his head slightly to one side, grey eyes scanning her youthful features, now suddenly devoid of the previous, pleasant expression.::Saveron: I am here now. ::He said gently.:: Will you tell me what happened?::He knew nothing of recent events save what he had overheard from quiet conversations. Gesturing towards the couch in silent suggestion, he set his harp case gently onto the floor.::::As she opened her mouth, Alora inhaled simply to take a breath with which to speak. Unfortunately, what exited wasn’t a word but a sob. Once it had escaped, it was quickly followed by another. Then another. Suddenly, Alora wasn’t able to formulate a single word but rather covered her face with her hands, body trembling with every sob without even a step toward the couch. How many times had she done that the last few days? Far too many, and she had thought it was out of her system, but with the arrival of a dear friend, she suddenly found herself breaking down far too easily.:: ::An emotional response. Aron had not been incorrect in his summation of Alora’s state. It was disagreeable to witness, not for the emotionality which was a common feature amongst aliens, but for what it implied about his friend’s situation.::::There was a rustle of fabric as Saveron moved quietly past her, a few faint beeps from the replicator, and a moment later a warm mug was pushed into her hands, the scents of milk and chocolate rising in the steam. He remembered that she favoured the drink. There was the faintest, momentary touch on her arm::Saveron: Sit with me.::He spoke gently, moving over to perch on the couch with that familiar, slightly stiff position of one accustomed to sitting on the floor. The scent of the chocolate mingled with the smells of exotic yet familiar herbs and spices that rose from Saveron’s own mug; his usual Theris-masu. They were familiar smells, associated with conversations and music lessons past.:: ::The warmth in her hands cut through the chill that memories brought and downgraded her sobbing to sniffles with an occasional gulp. The mixture of herbs and candied warmth were soothing in their own right. As Saveron settled on the couch, Alora allowed herself a moment more to gather some composure before she joined him, though she didn’t take a sip of the drink he’d offered just yet.:: DeVeau: I’m sorry. ::And how many times had she said that over the last few days as well? Obviously, this was not exactly what Saveron had expected and certainly not how Alora might have imagined their reunion to go.:: Saveron: You have nothing for which to apologise. ::He paused.:: It is disagreeable to see you in distress. ::How else could he put it? The urge to reach out, to have conveyed without words the nature of the problem, as a Vulcan might, was instinctive, but Alora was no Vulcan, and such gestures were used only between those who were close, or in great necessity. He would not presume. Rather he waited patiently.:: DeVeau: It was… ::It was what? Both Raissa and Aron had asked, but words failed when she tried to describe what it was like. The best she could come up with was…:: DeVeau: Horrendous. ::The word brought that thin-lipped look to Saveron’s face, the closest he ever came to looking unhappy. Aron had hinted that something dreadful had happened, and particularly to Alora.:: Saveron: Will you tell me what happened? ::He asked quietly. DeVeau: I’ll try. ::It took several starts and stops, and after the second collapse into sobs, Alora had to put the mug down on the table lest she spill it. Once she wrestled and gained control again, she continued, but at least two more episodes occurred before she was finally able to finish the story. When it was over, she could no longer cry, partially because she’d already shed so many tears, and partially because of how much detail she’d gone into. For some reason, she was able to admit everything to Saveron, to give him even the smaller details that she’d left out with others. She felt safe with him.:: ::The only movement had been a quiet sip of tea as Alora spoke, she had the Vulcan’s undivided attention. He still wore that thin-lipped expression, and as she finished his gaze turned introspective for a moment, thinking carefully, before grey eyes met green.:: Saveron: I do not know what a culturally appropriate response would be. ::He admitted with the same candour.:: The describe such an experience in my own people’s terms seems… insufficient. ::’Disagreeable’, whilst useful for Vulcan responses to experiences, did not encompass the spectrum of reaction through which aliens endured; certainly it did not cover Alora’s reaction.:: Saveron: I appreciate your candour, ::he added at last,:: your trust in me. I would find it preferable if I could assist in some way. ::Yet he was no Counsellor. The extreme nature of Vulcan mental discipline closed that door to him.:: I appreciate that to experience such, to feel such actions as your own and have no volition to prevent such is traumatic. ::For only a fool would ever think that Alora herself would undertake such actions. He would find it preferable if Alora did not seem to attract such trauma. He recalled all too well the aftermath of her and Commander Rahman’s abduction by the Orionese brigand. He recalled too his own experience of such.:: ::Saveron had been the first person she trusted since leaving the Academy to accept her first posting. Distance hadn’t changed that, and if anything, his presence merely solidified that fact. As one hand rubbed at her eyes, she stared down at the mug of chocolate which, by that point, was probably just barely warm.:: DeVeau: I’m glad you’re back. ::She admitted before adding.:: I missed you. I’m glad you’re here and we can talk again. ::For although he couldn’t express himself in a Terran manner, she somehow felt so at ease with him. He just accepted her outburst, her feelings - he just accepted her and had from the beginning.:: Saveron: I also find it preferable that we may speak face to face once more. ::He replied evenly.:: ::It was agreeable to hear more positive tones from Alora, though he could not help but think of what she had been through, and how such things could leave very deep scars. That he understood far too well.:: Saveron: I… understand, perhaps more than most, that which you experienced. I myself have experienced something similar. DeVeau: You did? ::Alora hadn’t realised that. Had Saveron mentioned it and she’d forgotten? Normally she had a fairly good memory - maybe not as good as Saveron’s, but still.:: DeVeau: Do you mind if I ask what happened? Saveron: I would not have spoken of it if I objected. ::Indeed he had anticipated the question.:: The USS Thunder- the ship attached to the Duronis II Embassy - was nearly destroyed when a Pah Wraith resident in an ancient Bajoran possessed a member of the crew and took control of the ship. Another crewmember became possessed by a Prophet, and the two endeavoured to undertake the Reckonning aboard that ship. Several members of the Thunder’smarine contingent were killed by the Pah Wraith, and a member of the senior staff was mentally subjugated in order to attain the appropriate accesses. ::Of course, not every species had the ability to mentally subjugate another.:: ::Even though he spoke of it as if he were merely recounting the details of a report, Alora knew he was one of those crewmembers.:: DeVeau: And you were taken by the….? Saveron: I was possessed by the Pah Wraith. ::He said simply, knowing he did not need to describe the swath of destruction he had cut through the ship, and her crew.:: ::It had happened to him, almost the exact same thing. Different ship, different beings, but the results had been the same - their bodies and minds had been used to hurt and even kill others. Tears stung Alora’s eyes once more and colour drained from her face. Quickly, she looked away to take hold of herself and struggled to find something to say. She wound up asking a silly question, but at least it would get them off the topic.:: DeVeau: What made you decide to come back? ::He accepted the change of topic. It had been his intention to demonstrate a measure of survivability, not to bring forth again the pain that showed on Alora’s face.:: Saveron: It was not my decision to make, nor was my departure. I was transferred back by Starfleet. ::Just as he had been transferred out. Like all of them he moved at the whims of their superiors.:: ::Alora nodded slowly. Regardless, she was glad for the Vulcan’s return and hoped that Starfleet would leave him there permanently, even if it was a selfish desire. :: Saveron: It is agreeable to be aboard the Garudaagain. I shall be working with your department. ::That made Alora pause. Her department? Had something happened?:: DeVeau: Not as a doctor? I thought you preferred that posting... Saveron: Affirmative; I am here as a Xenobiology Specialist, to assist in the investigation of recently encountered species. The Garudahas sufficient medical personal, though I will of course be available to the medical department should additional staff be required. ::But that wasn’t why he’d been transferred back.:: ::Well that made sense, considering his specialty. Still, Alora thought he made a fine doctor, but if that’s what it took to get him on the Garuda, she wouldn’t argue. Her eyes drifted down to the item that he’d brought with him, finally noticing it in the aftermath of her breakdown.:: DeVeau: You brought your harp. Saveron: I considered that you might find it agreeable to continue our lessons. DeVeau: Would you be willing to play for me? ::One of the many things she had missed was their time spent learning together, especially with music.:: Saveron: Affirmative. ::Sometimes music had a soothing quality that words did not. It was a twin case, and Saveron snapped one side open with practiced ease, extracting an old harp, it’s intricate designs polished with use, made of rare woods from the T’ralorian Preserve, which his people had licence to harvest sustainably. With deft movements he tuned it before setting long fingers to the strings and drawing forth a gentle, soothing melody, pleasant tones and easy on the ears.:: ::Alora’s eyes closed and she sighed softly before curling up on the half of the couch she’d claimed for her own. Although it looked as if he’d brought the other, for the moment she was content to simply let him play and allow herself to get lost in the music. The tones of the Vulcan harp curled about her, reminding her of the not so distant past and the pleasant moments spent together. Notes that seemed filled with far too much emotion to truly be Vulcan danced lightly about her, calling her to forget her troubles for the moment. Each note wrapped it’s delicate tendrils about her, the music drew her into its embrace and rocked her gently upon its rolling waves. How long he’d played, she wasn’t sure, but when the peace finally ended and the wisps of the melody release her and faded, she shifted to settle her gaze back upon the Vulcan.:: DeVeau: I’ve missed this too. Saveron: Would you find it agreeable to resume our lessons? DeVeau: I would love to. I’ve been practising in the holodeck...but it’s not the same. ::Holograms could be programmed to act like real people, but they were still just computer generated images. They didn’t possess actual life, usually, and thus lacked a depth that she missed with real people. Even her holographic sensei couldn’t compared to the real one back in Japan - though she agreed it was better than nothing at all.:: Saveron: I would be honoured to continue teaching. ::Dark brows raised slightly as he offered the old and well-cared for instrument to Alora.:: ::Pushing herself upright, Alora accepted the instrument, her smile returning, though pale in comparison to its usual brilliance, and addressed it directly..:: DeVeau: I’ve missed you too. ::Removing the second harp from the case - this one a modern electronic instrument, all gleaming metal and indicator lights - Saveron regarded Alora for a moment. Sometimes Terrans had an odd way of expressing things.:: *************** Lt. Cmdr Saveron Xenobiology Specialist USS Garuda & Lt. Alora DeVeau Chief of Science USS Garuda
  7. ((Holodeck 4)) ((Standard Phaser Training Simulation)) ::Raissa frowned at the different types of phasers laid out on the counter in front of her along with the species neutral targets arrayed at varying distances. She was a counselor, not a security officer.:: Moonsong: Why are we here again? :: Evan stood nearby, arms clasped behind his back as he regarded Raissa. :: Delano: One of my responsibilities as the chief of security is to ensure all senior officers maintain proficiency with standard armaments. According to the log, you’re overdue. Moonsong: Running away screaming isn't an option? :: The security raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile curling his lip. :: Delano: I’m afraid that wouldn't solve anything, Counselor. Don’t worry, I’ll keep the difficulty settings fairly low. ::She frowned fiercely at him, but there was no real weight behind it.:: Moonsong: Do you have a ‘shouldn't-be-allowed-to-touch-weapons’ setting? Delano: That’s what the holodeck safeties are for. :: Evan raised an eyebrow when he realized Raissa wasn't entirely joking. :: Delano: Isn’t basic weapons training required at the Academy? Moonsong: Well…. yeah…. technically…. Delano: So… you didn't do well? :: Evan was trying to be diplomatic. He knew most officers disliked these annual requirements. His approach had been to try to make it more like a game. Sure, target practice wasn’t exactly Velocity, but it could be fun with the right attitude. :: ::Raissa sighed and looked decidedly guilty:: Moonsong: I shot my instructor…. I mean… not on purpose, but he moved as I firing… I managed to beg my way through an admin waiver. I can’t seem to fire a phaser with my eyes open. :: Evan rubbed the back of his neck, looking just a bit uncomfortable. :: Delano: Well, there’s no sense getting worried about it now. If you end up needing some extra work, I’m sure we can figure something out. ::She sighed and crossed her arms.:: Moonsong: My brothers tried to teach me to shoot with antique projectile weapons. I’ve had the problem ever since I fractured my shoulder with a 12 gauge shotgun. :: The security chief gave Moonsong another raised eyebrow. He’d have to ask more about that story later. His stepfather had tried to teach him to use similar weapons a few years before he’d started at the Academy, but Evan had always preferred energy weapons. :: Delano: I don’t think you need to worry about kickback with most Starfleet weapons. Really, to shoot a type two all you need to do is point and click. Though I’ll need to make sure you know how to adjust settings and set your safety. Moonsong: ::sighs:: I assume you mean now… Delano: Well… we are here. ::break:: Look, why don’t you just show me what we’re looking at. We can call it a practice run. ::Raissa picked up one of the type two phasers and looked at it. She knew the basics of the device. She knew how to manage the settings. That part was easy enough. She even managed to not once point it in his direction. She wondered if he’d give her a waiver if she shot him….. accidentally.:: ::With another sigh she turned and faced the targets, holding the phaser with both hands she pointed. She aimed. Just before her finger compressed the trigger, her eyes squeezed shut and the beam missed the target.:: Delano: Hm. :: Evan rubbed his chin with a finger, thinking more about how to offer feedback without making the other officer any more embarrassed. He opted for humor, in the end. :: Delano: Well, at least you managed to make it downrange. Do you want to try it again with your eyes open? ::For a moment she leveled a look at him that promised harm.:: Moonsong: Evan, that’s my problem. ::Raissa tried again. She struggled as hard as she could to keep her eyes as wide open as possible until….. ZAP! Fortunately the floor was the only casualty.:: :: For his first few months on Garuda, he’d thought it strange that the phaser range attached to the ship’s armory went largely unused. Most of the crew opted to use the holodeck for such things, if only because the exercises were more entertaining. As he resisted the urge to duck, he suddenly had a new appreciation for holodeck safety protocols. :: Delano: Well, that was better. Raissa, it’s… almost like you’re afraid of it. Is this because of what happened to you with your brothers? Moonsong: ::she shrugged.:: I don’t know. I don’t like these types of weapons. Ancient or modern. My brothers love guns. They collect them. ::She sighed again and decided to tell him.:: Moonsong: I was twelve. The twins were fifteen. They didn’t tell me about kickback or blowback or whatever you call it. They made it look easy. They helped me hold it and aim it. I pulled the trigger and I swear I flew backward 10 yards, landing on my back with a broken shoulder. ::pause:: Of course at first they thought it was hilarious. Delano: Really? That’s… :: He really had no idea how to finish that sentence, but he tried anyway. :: Delano: … Awful. Moonsong: Siblings are like that. I developed a rapier wit in revenge. Delano: So… what, you have some kind of phobia to ranged weapons? How did you get through those courses at the Academy? Moonsong: I missed. I mean a missed a lot. But I was getting really good grades everywhere else. ::She sighed looking at the phaser in her hand.:: If the target is the size of a barn door, I can hit it. Law of averages they said. That or if I keep perfectly still and the target doesn’t move in the least, I can hit it. :: Evan nodded, though the truth of the matter was that he was a little bothered. His responsibility was to the safety of the ship and crew. That task seemed much more daunting if some of the crew weren’t as capable of defending themselves as he’d believed. He’d need to step up these evaluations, just to make sure he was aware of anyone else with similar issues. :: Delano: Well, I had a few classes like that, I suppose it isn’t that much of a stretch. Still, it’s my job to make sure you’re able to defend yourself in the event of some kind of emergency. ::break:: I don’t know, you’re the counselor. What would you tell a patient to do if she was having a similar problem? Moonsong: Practice, practice, practice until we can keep our eyes open. ::makes a slight face:: Unfortunately our current schedule doesn’t leave us a lot of wiggle room. Besides, unless the ship is boarded we doubt we’ll be allowed on any away missions. ::Pause.:: Now if it comes to throwing things… I’m very accurate. :: Evan noted the odd use of the plural pronoun, but assumed that Raissa was speaking of the two of them. :: Delano: I think we should make the time. Even say… twenty minutes every other day or so. Moonsong: ::sighs:: I suppose we don’t have a choice. We shall add it to our schedule. :: There it was again. :: Delano: Raissa, did you say ‘we’? What do you mean? ::Raissa cursed herself inwardly. On the bright side she didn’t slip up much in counseling sessions, but because she was with a friend she had relaxed. She looked up at the man she did consider a friend. But as chief of security, he did have a need to know.:: Moonsong: Bodhisattva could not remain. The construct was too damaged. A few hundred of the Community requested to remain to continue to observe our… Starfleet operations. ::another pause:: We.. I… agreed to be their host. :: Evan’s immediate instinct was to think about the potential security risks involved, but he held back from voicing it out loud. The question must have still been obvious in his expression. :: Moonsong: We know… we know… You will no doubt be hearing from the Captain and Dr. Skyfire about it… in exhaustive detail if we know CD. :: Evan nodded. :: Delano: It must be a fascinating experience for you. Mei’konda and I entered the Confluence during our first encounter with the Community. To be honest, it was… almost overwhelming. Are you sure you’ll be alright? ::Her smile faded a little.:: Moonsong: If it were a narcotic, I would be addicted. They have learned a great deal. It is like having an audience all the time. They are only observing so I’m fully in control… except for the occasional ‘we’ that slips out. Delano: Don’t worry, Raissa. I trust you enough to know your limits. But… if there’s something I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask. Moonsong: ::The smile came back:: Trust me. I will. ::pause:: They remember you. :: He looked back to the phaser range and picked up a small type one phaser from the table. :: Delano: I don’t suppose one of those Community intelligences can help with your shooting? ::She went still. The rapid exchange of information. There was a flicker of light behind her irises, perhaps a trick of the light. Perhaps not.:: Moonsong: It it possible. They could act the moment the reflex kicks in. :: Evan held the smaller phaser out to the other lieutenant. :: Delano: Feel like giving it a try? ::There was a faint flicker of light.:: Moonsong: We have given permission to try. ::Raissa closed her eyes a moment and then took the smaller phaser Evan held out to her. She opened her eyes and pointed at the nearest target. As she pressed the trigger her eyes flicked, but they didn't close. It wasn't a perfect shot, but at least she hit the target.:: === Lieutenant Evan Delano Chief of Security/Tactical USS Garuda and Lt. Raissa Moonsong Counselor USS Garuda
  8. round 7 Captain Reynolds: Lost Memories

    (( Personal Quarters, USS Garuda)) ::The plants were gone. ::This was, in the great scheme of things, probably something she should be grateful for. The clean-up of the overgrown flora would have been a mammoth job, and not one she would have had the inclination -- or in her present condition, the stamina -- for. Whichever team had swept through her quarters had left them pristine. ::Almost pristine. There were traces, here and there. A small shard of pottery from a pot here, a sliver of glass from a terrarium there. They might as well have been splinters of her heart, the homes of the botanical sign-posts of her life, the living memories that she had cared for and cultivated for years. ::The bougainvillea bonsai she had picked up on Earth to celebrate her graduation from the Academy. ::The peace lily from Asterospolis, acquired shortly after her promotion to Chief Engineer aboard the Triumphant. ::The Martian rose that David had given her at the beginning of their doomed romance on the Independence. ::The fern from Romulus -- priceless, now that the planet was destroyed -- that she had convinced a botanical importer on Starbase 118 to bring in for her. ::The moon flower that Walter had awkwardly presented her with, after the Eagle had visited Risa in time for the lunar festival of Lohlunat. ::The rare orchid she had come by on Vulcan, after her first mission in command of the Drake. ::There were more. And they were all them, gone. ::She was lost, unaware until now of how much her collection had anchored her. Without their colours and scents, it felt like a stranger's room, foreign and sterile. ::A step away from burying herself under the blankets of her bed to mope, panic seized her. With the grace of a beached whale, she dropped to her hands and knees, scrambling underneath for a case she had never yet opened. ::A light film of dust covered the rigid black leather, smeared and wiped clean in winding trails where vines had crept over its surface. A deep crack stretched across its width, almost cleaving the case in half. The clasps were stubborn, a combination of her shaking hands and lack of use, and the lid split cleanly into two as she pushed it open. ::But there it was. Perfectly intact, the warm, rich tones of varnished maple shone in the light. The viola was the work of a craftsman, as beautiful as the music it made. ::She knelt there, staring at it, the ghostly echoes of duets and quartets it had played ringing in her ears. She played her piano on her own these days, and as much as she missed making music with others, it felt like a betrayal to even consider doing so.:: REYNOLDS: ::Quietly,:: I miss you. ::She heaved a sigh, bringing the two halves of the lid down to seal the case again. She'd have to replicate a new one for now, but perhaps she could see if one of the merchants on Deep Space Ten could import a replacement, hand-crafted one. It was the least she could do. ::Heaving herself to her feet, she reverently placed the broken case on the bed, and dragged herself toward the shower, hoping to wash away some of her gloom -- and with a hand on her swollen stomach, that she was done with loss and loneliness, at least for the immediate future.::-- Captain Quinn Reynolds Director of IntelligenceUSS Garuda
  9. round 3 Lt. Evan Delano - Something Big

    I was absolutely thrilled with how it turned out! I couldn't not nominate it, I tell you!
  10. round 3 Lt. Evan Delano - Something Big

    (( Menthar Memories )) DELANO: Why come to me with this? :: The human on the other side of the table was leaning forward, his hands clasped in front of him. Andrew Davenport. Journalist and, apparently, troublemaker. Something about the man had made Evan suspicious of the man the moment he’d sat down at the table. :: :: At Davenport’s request, Evan had come in inconspicuous civilian clothing - a simple button up shirt and dark slacks - to conceal his Starfleet affiliation. Davenport himself wore a dark hooded shirt that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a few days. :: As the reporter talked, Evan watched for any tell that might betray a lie. :: DAVENPORT: Because you’re the closest thing to a cop I’m willing to trust right now. (lowering his voice) Someone tried to kill me - or have me killed - and I don’t think it was one of these Maquis Reborn. :: Evan looked the man over. He’d done a little digging into the journalist’s background before agreeing to meet with him. The man was not well-liked within Starfleet, and though he did have a following among some political ideologues on Earth, he was virtually unknown outside of the Sol system. In fact, Evan had learned, the man hadn’t so much as left the system in at least seven years. Until he abruptly decided to move to the frontier. He also happened to arrive on DSX the day before a terrorist organization had attacked the station. :: :: Andrew Davenport wasn’t just suspicious. It was clear he was hiding something. Something that Evan intended to know before this conversation was over. Whatever it was, Davenport seemed to think it was dangerous. :: DELANO: What’s wrong with Glinn Zorkal? :: The human looked surprised.:: DAVENPORT: Besides the fact that he’d probably arrest me as a suspected Maquis sympathizer? :: Evan narrowed his eyes. :: DELANO: What makes you think I won’t? DAVENPORT: Because you’re Vulcan. Or at least half-Vulcan. Zorkal seems like a good man, but he’s also the Cardassian chief of security on a station that just lost its Cardassian CO to a terrorist attack. A terrorist attack with Federation - and more importantly, anti-Cardassian roots. I think you’re more likely to be able to see past that and help me figure out what’s going on. :: Evan sighed and picked up his drink. He’d barely touched it. He liked black russians, but he wanted to keep his mind clear. A very large part of him wanted to simply get up and walk away from the table. Maybe send a message to Zorkal, or Calderan, or even Egan Manno. But he could see the logic in the journalist’s explanation. The Cardassian justice system was inconsistent at best. If higher ups were calling for arrests, Evan wasn’t sure he’d put his trust in a Cardassian security officer either. :: :: On the Starfleet side of things, Evan, a lieutenant, could be more discreet than a higher ranking officer like Calderan. Besides, if Davenport’s would-be assassin wasn’t part of the Maquis Reborn, there was a good chance he - or she - was a Federation citizen. Davenport’s background didn’t seem to account for enemies from other jurisdictions. :: :: Evan set his glass down without so much as a sip. :: DELANO: Alright. I can probably look into this. But I’ll still need to talk to Zorkal. :: Davenport looked like he wanted to object, but he held his tongue. That earned him a few points, Evan thought. :: DELANO: I don’t know if the captain will go for it, but I may be able to get you quarters on Garuda. That would put you in our jurisdiction and give me at least some legal authority to start poking around. :: Davenport nodded and remained quiet for a moment. He looked around the bar, then returned his focus to Evan. :: DAVENPORT: I always hated space travel. :: Evan raised an eyebrow. :: DELANO: You’ve come an awfully long way, then. :: The journalist shrugged and downed the last of his own drink. Something orange and with a vague floral scent. He thought it might be Risian, but Evan couldn’t identify it with any certainty. :: DAVENPORT: I have a good reason. I was… I thought it would make for a good story, but after this… :: The human averted his eyes and focused on the single ice cube at the bottom of his glass. :: DELANO: (harshly) I’m through with vagueries, Mr. Davenport. If you want my help, you need to tell me what this is about. Why would someone want you dead? :: Davenport swallowed, once, then looked him in the eye. :: DAVENPORT: (voice low) How closely do you follow Council politics? :: Council? As in the Federation Council? What the hell was this about? :: DELANO: I vote. I read up on the candidates when I do. That’s about it. DAVENPORT: Did you know that they heavily influenced the decision to share this station with the Cardassians? DELANO: And? DAVENPORT: None of that debate was public. I only know about it because… (break) Ugh, that’s not important. Don’t you think it’s a little strange that the Federation Council is making backroom deals with the Cardassian government? DELANO: Not really. We’ve been working with them for decades. Ever since the war, really. DAVENPORT: Exactly! But that cooperation has always been transparent and open. Why keep it behind closed doors now? Why not tell the Starfleet officers in the region until the deal was done? :: Egan Manno had asked him about this very thing while he’d still been Garuda’s Strategic Operations head. He’d never managed to find her a good answer. :: DELANO: I still don’t understand what you’re getting at. :: Davenport leaned even closer. Deep brown eyes locked on his. :: DAVENPORT: Something big - something very big - is about to happen between the Federation and the Cardassian governments. Something that a lot of people aren’t going to like. Something that could even lead to things like… say the rebirth of an anti-Cardassian terrorist group. :: Evan immediately thought of the sabotage he’d found in Ambassador Prianna’s shuttle during Garuda’s encounter with the Kubarey. Of the strange rumblings out of Zeta Equulei regarding the end of the Myr Luuk/Community conflict. Harrison Ross’ not-quite-explained treason. Could there be a common thread? :: :: Now it was Evan’s turn to whisper. :: DELANO: Are you saying that factions within the Federation are actively conspiring against the Council? :: The reporter’s eyes lit up and a mirthless smile curled his lip. :: DAVENPORT: I don’t know for sure, but I can see it in your eyes. It would explain a lot of what’s been going on around here, wouldn’t it? DELANO: Yes, but… :: For centuries now, the Federation believed itself to have moved beyond this kind of petty politics. Yes, the occasional official was removed from office for scandals, but this was way beyond that. It bordered on sedition. The memory of the Dominion War was still fresh for many of its survivors. Yes, the Cardassians had ultimately paid a heavy price for their role in escalating to war, but there were those who had called for greater reparations. Sanctions. Some had even advocated for the complete annexation of Cardassian space. A few of those people were still sitting members of the Council. :: DAVENPORT: You understand, right? The Council is sitting on an old fashioned powder keg. They’ve started the ball rolling towards… something. Only now they’ve realized that some of us - Cardassian and Federation - aren’t ready. So both governments are trying to find a way to resolve this without having it blow up in their faces. DELANO: And you think someone would kill you to keep you from… what, telling others what you know? :: The reporter shook his head. :: DAVENPORT: Probably not for that. But… I know I seem suspicious, and when tensions are high, it isn’t hard to force a connection between one suspicion and another. Maybe some Cardassian gul thought I was an agent for the Council - some kind of shadow representative, perhaps. Maybe some other government caught wind of the deal and is trying to stop it. Who knows. That’s what I need you to find out. DELANO: And what’s in it for you? :: Davenport shrugged, finally leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. :: DAVENPORT: It’ll still make one hell of a story when it’s all over. :: Evan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.:: DELANO: Unless someone kills you first. :: The journalist’s expression quickly soured as Evan stood up to leave. :: DELANO: Don’t worry, I’m not going to let that happen. If I can help it, anyway. I suggest you return to your quarters until I have a chance to talk to the captain about bringing you on board. DAVENPORT: And what should I do in the meantime? :: Now it was Evan’s turn to smile. :: DELANO: Write. Or whatever it is you normally do. You just witnessed the rebirth of one of the most infamous terrorist organizations in the history of the quadrant. Isn’t that enough to keep you busy for a few days? :: The other man nodded, though he seemed reluctant. :: DAVENPORT: You're right, I suppose. :: The reporter sighed and started getting to his feet. :: DAVENPORT: Lieutenant, I really appreciate you helping me out with this., DELANO: Don’t thank me yet. Something tells me this is going to get a lot messier before we're done. === Lieutenant Evan Delano Chief of Security/Tactical USS Garuda Andrew Davenport Freelance Journalist
  11. Can I just say this?

    Woo, way to go, Kat! We couldn't ask for a better ambassador, and I'm so happy she's a part of the group
  12. (( Counselling Suite, USS Garuda )) ::When he was still a young child on Earth, the juvenile advocate in New York City insisted that he be entered into regular therapy sessions. The distaste from those days still lingered with him as he pressed his finger to the panel next to the counseling suite. :: :: He had nothing against counselors, of course - those he’d dealt with were some of the most sincere people he’d ever met. It was the therapy process that made him uncomfortable. Seeking it out made him feel as if he were still broken in the same way that eight-year-old boy on Vulcan had been all those years ago. :: ::The doors opened, and the tall security officer stepped into the room. He’d spent the better part of his life avoiding offices like this one, but it was nice. The Garuda’s normal lighting had been replaced with a full spectrum “skylight” that mimicked real sunlight so accurately that it warmed the skin. There were several soft chairs and sofas, as well as a coffee table, and a much larger table off to one side of the room. Pieces of art were scattered around, and fresh -- or freshly replicated -- flowers stood in a vase on the table. There was no sign of a desk or personal workspace; all in all, it looked more like a living room than an office.:: Delano: Good morning, Commander Valen. :: The younger officer eyed the furniture as if evaluating his options. He finally settled on a small sofa that looked more practical than some of the other options. :: Valen: Call me Carys. ::She deposited herself in one of the chairs nearby, legs crossed.:: I'm not one for formality. ::That much was evident from her uniform. Jacket unzipped, the teal collar underneath unfastened to below the hollow at the base of her throat, she was hardly a good example of a neat and perfectly pressed officer.:: Delano: Of course, Com-- Carys. :: The man’s cheeks blushed green. :: Delano: I’m still getting used to that. The Academy is so rigid compared to actual Starship duty. At least compared to the ships I’ve served on. I’ll try to remember. ::She grinned at him, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips.:: Valen: All I can ask. So what can I do for you? Delano: I was going to make an appointment, but the counseling suite isn’t far from my quarters and ::He paused, then started again.:: I’ve been having a little trouble lately, and I’m not sure if it’s something I should be concerned about. Valen: ::She nodded.:: This is a good place to find out. What's the trouble? :: He looked at the carpet and adjusted his position on the sofa. :: Delano: (quietly) It’s hard to explain. :: He took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. :: Delano: I’ve been an officer for over a year now, but I still feel like I’ve just left the Academy. I’ve been thinking about home a lot lately, and now… I don’t know. I worked so hard to get out here. Now that I am, I’m wondering if it was all a mistake. :: He looked to the counselor. :: Delano: Maybe I’m just homesick. Valen: Where's home? Delano: Earth. Near a place called Seminoe. Valen: Do you find that you're thinking about anything in particular? ::She gestured in the air.:: Places you've been, people you spent time with, certain events? :: That was another question that was difficult to answer. :: Delano: Juvenile records are sealed once a minor reaches adulthood, correct? Valen: They are. :: He nodded. :: Delano: There was an incident when I was very young. A boy from my school class was teasing me and I lost control. I hurt him… badly. When it was settled,I was sent to five years on Vulcan, effectively exiled from Earth while my father arranged for me to learn some basic Vulcan meditation techniques. If he hadn’t intervened, I would have been in a correctional facility instead. I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment. What happened. Why. How it shaped me. Delano: (After a pause, he added) And my parents. Home too, of course. I miss the people I left behind, but I’m under the impression that much is normal. ::She offered him a smile, and nodded.:: Valen: It certainly is. ::She paused.:: If you think back to that time, how you felt. Are there parallels to how you're feeling now? Delano: Parallels? No, not exactly. Shadows, maybe? I talked to a lot of counselors after it happened. As an adult, it seems pretty obvious now that I felt like an outsider. The kids in school used to make fun of my ears and eyebrows and such. It used to make me so angry. What I’ve been feeling now - I’m more depressed than angry. Valen: Anger can lead into depression, especially if you believe that you *shouldn't* be angry. You can start to internalise the anger, feeling guilty about it, trying to hide it from others, and so the slippery slope begins. ::She let that rest for a moment, then continued.:: Has there been anything in particular on the Garuda that's troubled you? Delano: There was the incident with Doctor Saveron when I first came on board. :: He explained how the Vulcan’s unexpected appearance had brought back unbidden memories and emotions from the time he’d spent on Vulcan. :: Delano: For a very brief moment, all the shame and frustration of those years just came back at me, and I nearly lost control. :: As she nodded, he flushed again, averting his eyes. :: Delano: This probably isn’t the kind of thing you would want to hear from a security officer. ::She smiled in response, the silver chains of her earring swaying as she tilted her head to the side.:: Valen: It's why I'm here; you've realised you have a problem, and you need a little help with it. It's no different than heading to sickbay with the 'flu. Delano: Perhaps, though I don’t think this is going to be as simple as a hypospray. Valen: True enough. ::She chuckled.:: But then I'd be out of a job, wouldn't I? :: He mirrored her smile as best as he could. In a way, it felt good to talk about this with someone. He hadn’t been this candid with anyone for a very long time. He trusted the Carys, but Evan had always valued his privacy. Only his family - and Mei’konda - knew all of this.:: Delano: One of the security professors at the Academy at a lecture used to say something like: ::He lowered his voice to sound more authoritative :: Delano: “Behind every good security chief is a really good ‘shrink.’” Valen: Wise man. Delano: I thought it was a joke, but I guess I know what he meant now. ::She smiled at him, offering a nod.:: Valen: When we're inside our own heads, dealing with things on our own, it's easy to fall into circular thinking. We can just go around and around, never making any progress, feeling worse with every circuit. A good counsellor can help you step outside of that, give you the tools to recognise unhelpful thought processes and provide you with the tools to get past them. ::She paused, tapping her leg in thought.:: Valen: So you've told me a lot about what brings your mood down. What makes you feel good? Delano: I honestly enjoy my work. Even when I was in Operations, I felt productive and useful. Everyone on Garuda has been very welcoming. Valen: It's great that you're fulfilled by your work, but there's more to life than our jobs. What do you do with your own time? Delano: Outside of work? I guess I like being active. Solving problems. Improving myself. Helping others. Always working towards a goal. I spend a lot of time in the gym and using exercise programs on the holodeck. But I guess that’s just part of my job. :: He looked genuinely surprised. :: Valen: You look as though you've never thought about it in that way before. Delano: I mean, I always have enough to keep me busy. But I was never much for idle hobbies. Alora-- Lieutenant DeVeau, I mean, was suggesting I try taking up a musical instrument a few days ago. Valen: If you enjoy it, that's reason itself to pursue it. Many people find it helpful to have an outlet completely unrelated to their work. Learning an instrument might suit how you like to spend your hobby time -- progressing, improving, working toward a goal -- while with the advantage that you'll never have to fret about how your progression may or may not affect your work. Delano: It sounds like a good idea. I’m not sure music is the right direction for me, but I’ll come up with something. Valen: We've covered a lot of ground so far. I think it might be an idea to leave it there for today, unless there's anything you want to talk about? Delano: Not really. I just felt like I needed someone to talk to about all of this. I really appreciate you making the time without an appointment. ::She beamed a smile at him, rising from her chair.:: Valen: It's no problem. I'll schedule another session, if that sounds good to you. Just let me know if the time doesn't fit into your schedule, and we'll rearrange. Delano: Thank you, Carys. Valen: I'll see you soon. === Lieutenant (JG) Evan Delano Assistant Chief of Security/Tactical USS Garuda and Commander Valen Carys Counsellor USS Garuda
  13. round 9 Dr. Saveron: Not in my Sickbay

    ((Sickbay, Deck 8, USS Mercury)) ::He had never encountered the Borg before, yet even without doing so they were an anathema to him. To one trained to protect and fortify one’s mind to any outside incursion, the idea that one could be overrun by nanites and one’s consciousness irresistibly subverted to the greater Collective was abhorrent.:: ::Avoiding or ignoring the issue would, however, have been illogical. And so he had studied the Borg, as he studied any fascinating alien species. Not that they were truly a species, rather a disease caused by these nanites, and as a doctor he studied them as such. Unfortunately there was no easy cure. Yes, if an individual could be separated from the Collective it was possible to restore both physical and mental function and individuality, to a greater or lesser extent generally dependant on the length of their time as a part of the Collective. But it was difficult and time consuming and not applicable in the case of a mass infection.:: ::So he had pondered the problem, and resolved that, as in all things medical, prevention was better than cure. The question that was the focus of Saveron’s current research was whether it was possible to prevent assimilation. Infecting nanites did provoke an immune response, that had been proven, but the response was far too slow. The situation was similar to many old infective illnesses, against which now most Federation humanoids were vaccinated. Thus, he wondered, was it possible to create a vaccine against Borg nanites? The donation of a sample of Lt. Wulfantine’s adapted nanites had given him new material to work with.:: ::That was what he had been doing, until the red alert klaxon sounded. The Vulcan quickly shut down the analyser he was using, secured his samples, straightened his blue doctor's coat and walked quickly from the Medical Science laboratory to Sickbay proper. Staff were already moving to their stations, efficiently taking Sickbay to full alert. The CMO nodded silently to Dr Del Vedova, who was on duty.:: Kells: =/\= Kells to medical, emergency on the bridge. =/\= Del Vedova: =/\= Responding. =/\= ::As Dr Del Vedova left for the bridge, Saveron stepped quietly to the fore, grey eyes meeting those of his staff with that impenetrable calm that all Vulcans portrayed. There were few things in the galaxy more frightening and more implacable than the Borg.:: ::The ship rocked suddenly, inertial dampners failing to compensate for what was clearly an impact. The logical deduction was that they were under attack. That was regrettable, but not unexpected. However a few moments later faces blanched as the intruder alarm sounded. They had been boarded.:: Saveron: Orderlies, arm yourself from the emergency weapons locker. ::Which would now be unlocked.:: ::As staff normally dedicated to the healing of injured beings acquired weaponry, Saveron’s thin lips pressed into a thinner line, the only outward sign of the intense emotions that he suppressed beneath his calm exterior. This was a scenario out of his worst nightmares.:: ::The fact of the matter was that Borg were known to adapt to Federation phasers within a few shots. The few hand phasers that the orderlies had would not serve them for long. He made a mental note to recommend to Security that they acquire some projectile weapons. Against physical weaponry the Borg had only their body armour. Unfortunately his lirpa was in the armoury.:: ::Moving to the medical equipment replicator, Saveron overrode it’s normal menu limits with a few quick keys and his CMO’s authorisation code.:: Saveron: Anyone with experience with hand-to-hand combat has permission to replicate and arm themselves with their accustomed weapon. ::He said curtly, and put words to actions.:: Anyone: Response ::Vulcans were pacifists, and Saveron found weaponry and violence disagreeable. His people were not, however, unskilled. Something that Commander Parker had been slow to understand was that a pacifist was not someone who could not fight, for they had no choice in the matter. A pacifist was someone who could fight, and chose not to do so unless all other acceptable options had been exhausted. The doctor who normally refused to handle a phaser now hefted the traditional Vulcan polearm, crushing weight at one end, disembowelling blade at the other. Violence was always abhorrent; occaisionally it was necessary.:: ::It wasn’t long until there was a whine and green sparkles hung in the air, coalescing into three Borg drones.:: Saveron: =/\= Saveron to Bridge, intruders in Sickbay. =/\= ::He said in the same bland tones that he might convey the arrival of expected supplies or the discharge of a patient.:: Bridge: =/\= Response =/\= ::As the Borg drones started to lurch towards them, Saveron hefted his weapon and regarded them expressionlessly.:: Saveron: Remove yourselves from this ship, or you will be removed. Borg: Response Saveron: Resistance is not futile. Borg: Response? TAG/TBC Lt. Commander Saveron Chief Medical Officer USS Mercury
  14. Round 4 LtJG Oliver Weston - There to Here

    ((Dense Jungle, 3 kilometres from the Laurel Celestia, Saksenna Impact +12 minutes, Unnamed Planet)) :: The thick coppery taste of blood filled his mouth again as Oliver dragged himself through the mud on his stomach. As quietly as possible he spit it out and dragged himself further along the game trail and away from the monstrously heavy and laboured breathing behind him. At this point the Laurel Celestia was a dream, and the only real focus he had left was the breathing in the jungle behind him, and his desire to get as far from it as possible. The deep rhythmic breathing that sounded more like a combustion engine turning over than anything organic. One hand in front of the other, that's all that mattered anymore. A long trench stretched out behind his body, a clear trail for anyone to follow, made all the clearer by the long trail of blood at the centre of the furrow. His face was pale and spattered with blood, mostly his, and mud, his hair caked with both. Oliver Weston had definitely looked better. One hand in front of the other. He froze as another gods [...]ed roar tore through the jungle behind him. Whale's Fat [...] still frustrated at losing his kill and the nasty fall he'd taken earlier. The ground shivered again, this time for longer than the last. Oliver counted eight seconds until the shaking stopped and Rexy screamed again in frustration. One hand in front of the other. He could hear the foliage and branches being snapped and crushed off behind him somewhere as the [...] hunted. He spit again and tried to bite back a scream as he dragged his ragged leg over something sharp in the mud. His belt tunicate caught on it and yanked slightly down his torn thigh, causing waves of pain and nausea to wash over him, threatening his vision with black. One hand in front of the other. He tugged up and over and free and his next aimless grope in the dark rewarded him with the tough, knotted root of some ancient alien tree. :: :: Oliver clawed his way around it to the other side and propped himself upright against trunk, trying desperately to put something substantial between him and the Rex. Using both mud caked hands he managed to drag his broken left leg out in front of him and get a clear look at the belt he'd cinched tight above the wound. He'd cut it free from his ISARAS vest before he tossed the dead weight away. That must have been...forty minutes ago, maybe an hour. But it felt like last week. That was long before the quakes started as well, those only started ten minutes ago, and the first of them had saved his life. He could hear the [...] now, chuffing in the jungle behind him. Sniffing roughly at the air and trying to catch Oliver's scent in the pouring rain and amid the other smells of the jungle. The rain came suddenly and hurricane strong shortly after the earthquakes had started. The sky above the canopy filled with clouds and blotted out the stars and breath taking particle stream in minutes and a hard hot rain followed after. The earth turned to mud, the jungle was soup in its driest places, and Oliver had been running, walking, limping, crawling and finally dragging himself through it towards where he hoped to find the Laurel Celestia. The ancient and ruined hulk of a Federation Oberth class, that crashed here before he had even been born. :: :: Fighting back tears and half spitting, half sobbing blood he readjusted and tightened his tunicate, trying not to scream. The chuffing was getting closer now, definitely in the clearing he'd just spent four minutes crawling across. Trembling he reached down to his boot and drew the combat knife he'd stuck there after discarding his vest. Slowly he pulled it free and clutched it tightly to his chest as he listened to the ten ton thoropod step into clearing, and dip its nose to sniff loudly at his bloody trail. :: :: How did I get here? :: ((Dense Jungle, 11 kilometres from the Laurel Celestia, Saksenna Impact - 45 minutes, Unnamed Planet)) :: Their hump through the jungle was about half over when Whale ordered them to freeze. There was a terrible drawn out moment where everything was still as the grave, before it was shattered by the painfully slow appearance of Fat [...]s snout, head and neck as he caught our scents. :: SHELLEY: That's...that's a Tyrannosaurus Rex WHALE: Fat [...]. We meet again. WESTON: :: His voice was just above a whisper. :: Doesn't it only see movement? Shouldn’t we stay still? :: Tarallo didn't even look over at the Intelligence Officer as he responded. :: TARALLO: Common misconception. Excellent vision. WHALE: Response? WESTON: Well that's something at least. TARALLO: And sense of smell. :: Oliver looked at him. :: Excellent sense of smell. WESTON: Thank you Niner, shut up. TARALLO: Sir. WESTON: Game pla- :: They all took an involuntary step backwards as the Rex roared in their direction. Nothing could have been louder. The wave of noise hit them like a punch in the face and the [...] lowered his head as it stormed forwards. Oliver didn't see who shot first, but the burst of phaser fire went high as Rexy went low. It roared again as it closed the distance between them in short order. Oliver reached sideways and shoved Niner hard in the chest while his other hand went up and grabbed Fi roughly by the back of her ISARAS vest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another bright burst of fire before Whale or Shelley broke ranks to scatter. :: WESTON: MOVE!!!! :: Niner tucked into a crouch and sprinted off low and steady towards the treeline, while Oliver hauled Jan in front of him and pushed her forward until she found her feet. Massive foot falls were slamming out a fast pace behind him as they both broke into a sprint. Oliver kept his hand locked on the back of Jan’s vest, and his arm straight, as he was certain the sniper was thinking of turning to squeeze off a shot, and every time she hesitated he pushed harder. The Rex was definitely on their trail now as they broke into the treeline, its roars were deafening and Oliver could hear its breathing as it gained on them. Somewhere behind him there was more phaserfire, Whale, Shelley or Alton trying to interrupt the pursuit, but this hunter was persistent. Ducking and weaving through the trees, it was only a second too late that he saw the shadow loom over them. With one final shove he sent Jan sprawling on her face as he felt the gut wrenching jerk at the back of his neck. :: :: A moment later and Oliver was floating. Violently floating. Violently thrashing from side to side as the Rex worried at his tactical vest. Eight feet off the ground and the world was a dark blur as he was whipped around like a ragdoll by the Rex, its teeth holding tight to the vest. And then, after the sharp sound of tearing fabric filled his ears, Oliver was flying. Leaves slapped against his face, forcing his eyes shut, leaving him only able to feel the sharp impact of a heavy branch that split his lip. His eyes opened with a start as the sturdy branch reoriented his flight into a downward descent and blood filled his mouth. :: :: Crawling through the brush, it took him a moment to find his feet and pull himself upright. The jungle was full of shouting and shooting. Jan's tungsten shot was easy to hear alongside the more common phaser burst, and the Rex's roars dominated all. :: FI/WHALE/SHELLEY: Response? :: A rustle of movement had Oliver reaching for the hand phaser that was no longer there. His vest was in tatters, and hung around his waist by a single strap. Defenceless, save for a combat knife that hung upside down near his crotch, Oliver crouched to run when Doctor Shelley appeared. :: SHELLEY: Response? WESTON: Doctor! Are you alright? :: Oliver was staring pointedly at her stomach. :: SHELLEY: Response? WESTON: What? :: He looked around for the first time and saw the cliff a few meters behind him. :: :: More thrashing nearby and the loud crack bang of Jan's weapon brought them back to the fight, and the Marine raced into sight, stopping several meters away and further along the cliff. :: FI: Response? :: Oliver never had the chance to reply, all he heard was Shelley screaming as the massive jaws exploded out of the trees in front of him. A branch caught him hard in the shoulder, forcing him backwards, but it was nothing compared to the teeth of the Rex closing around his upper left leg. Oliver folded around the creatures head and came eye to eye with his attacker for one brief, horrifying moment before the ground gave out underneath them both. He was dimly aware of screaming in pain as the others shouted things he couldn't understand. :: FI/WHALE/SHELLEY: Response? :: The Rex let go of him as they hit the river below and went under the rapids. :: ((Dense Jungle, 3 kilometres from the Laurel Celestia, Saksenna Impact +12 minutes, Unnamed Planet)) :: The rapids had given him a good distance on the [...]. On the shore he used his small homemade medical kit to stop the majority of the bleeding and shoot himself full of pain killers. The meds allowed him to half stumble half, jog through the jungle towards the Oberth. That lasted fifteen minutes, tops, then he had to use the tunicate, toss the vest and walk/stumble the rest of the way. It was only after the incredibly foreboding message that burst through his waterlogged commbadge that the earthquakes started. Then, the rain. By that point he was crawling. And bleeding. And being hunted again. :: ANYONE: Response? LtJG Oliver Weston Intelligence Officer USS Drake