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Posts posted by Bryce Tagren-Quinn
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@Doz Finch has a gift for dialogue and is such a fantastic storyteller. I can't wait to read more! Fantastic work! 👏
Quote((Finch’s Scrapyard, The Apa Farm, Bajor))
The thing about coincidences is that they always felt contrived…at least they did to Doz. As if the universe, living and breathing in its infinite mystery and neverending wisdom—not to mention its dodgy sense of humour—decided to select mere mortals at random and plop them into situations that seemed far too unlikely to actually be true. Supplanting people and scenarios in a sort of “willy-nilly” fashion, like the jokester it was. And in this case, tossed into an incredible chase involving a mechanical dog eerily similar to one she had known in her past, she had found herself at the butt of its latest joke; surrounded by robots in the scrapyard of a Bajoran farm, she had somehow bumped into her brother Wallace, actually in person and face to face…for the first time in years.
W. Finch: Bless my soul. Is that you, Doz?
Finch: Wallace!
W. Finch: ::Shocked::…You’ve aged.
Finch: You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, thank you very much! ::Shaking her head quickly:: What are you doing here? On this farm? On Bajor for god's sake!?
It was as if she had been electrocuted, seeing him there, all fleshy and real and not at all like the holographic version of him she had seen in video messages in which he wished her a brief and slightly awkward happy birthday once a year. But there in person her brother looked so old, so different… saggier skin, dulled eyes, a certain frailty...if that was the right word to use. And evidently he saw the same in her too. A pair of strangers... almost.
W. Finch: What does it look like I’m doing! I’m keeping busy. I'm building things. Mending them.
Finch: But what happened to your work at the institution on Tellar Prime?
W. Finch: ::Sheepishly:: Eh, well…they are a very prickly people, the Tellarites.
Finch: ::Bemused, she raised an eyebrow:: I did think you were off your head taking that position all those years ago. But are you alright? In yourself?
Off his head because he was an awkward person who fringed on the bizarre, certainly in social settings—so she could only imagine he was the same in professional ones too. That was him, though, and she had always loved him (as frustrating as it was sometimes) because of it. But she wouldn’t say that to him, at least not there in that moment after not seeing him for so long. She could already feel a thin sweat lacquering her arms and neck at the mere encounter, still struggling to believe it was really happening—or it could have been the weather, which she had started to notice had become steadily balmier.
W. Finch: I’m fine! In fact, I’m very well. Life is good here.
Finch: I’m glad. Really, I’m glad.
W. Finch: …Yes…but what are you doing here, Doz? How did you find me, exactly?
Finch: I came here to return what I’m guessing now is one of your faulty contraptions. I should have known, really. It wouldn’t be the first time one of your “robots” has spiralled out of control. The thing near had Deep Space Nine on lockdown!
It was her attempt at humour, a tiny way to bridge a connection with the brother she had almost completely lost touch with over the years. Decades upon decades of an unspoken tension that had festered to a point of obscurity, one that they both knew existed but never brought up, as was the curse of their family. Emotional depth hidden by a steel wall of raillery, strong enough to protect them from any oncoming barrage—the reliable Finch trait.
Finch: Actually, if I’m being honest, I was glad for it. I was on one of those monotonous station tours.
W. Finch: Oh, not one of those.
Finch: Exactly. Anyway, I caught it and decided to bring it back here. I mean, look at the state of it, Wallace. The thing has a death wish.
Wallace: ::Scratching the side of his chin, he smirked, eyes bulged:: It just has a personality is all. All dogs have them, Doz. You remember Jupiter, of course.
The robotic dog beside her continued to spew out mechanical panting sounds, and amidst its mechanical tune she fondly remembered Jupiter, their family Goldendoodle, panting excitedly in its place. A very distant memory indeed that instantly imbued her senses with that familiar nostalgic warmth, almost tactile; the smell of the sea carried along the sands of the Yorke Bay beach, the squawking of penguins dispersing from a rising tide, the fresh splodges of mud in the kitchen after a rainy day and the pungent odour of wet dog intermingled with burning wood on an open fire.
Finch: Our first dog… How could I forget him? He was just as bonkers as you.
W. Finch: ::He grinned clumsily:: Not that it helped him to like me anymore. He always liked you most...the same with people too.
Finch: Oh, nonsense! But if that's true then it’d only be because I’m a pushover, Wallace! I'm sometimes too nice for my own good.
W. Finch: ::His smile waned a touch, before his profile lit up again, eyes popping:: So tell me what you’re doing now. Are you still working on that notorious intrepid that’s always getting into trouble?
It didn’t surprise her that Wallace hadn’t tracked her career. That he wasn’t aware of what had gone on with her since the “incident” on the Marigold. She had wanted to tell him so many times how she had received a sponsorship in her fifties, how she had returned to the Academy to certify her commission as an Officer. It was outlandish, really, and completely out of character. She had sworn so many times that she would never do it. That she was content to stay where she was. But after losing Murph…
Finch: I’m an Officer now, Wallace! An Ensign—shiny pip and all.
W. Finch: You never are!
Finch: I am! ::She harrumphed comically:: I’m on a flagship. Arguably *the* flagship. The USS Gorkon. A Sovereign class. All the way at the outer edges of Romulan and Klingon space. ::She emphasised the names:: You want to see Main Engineering, it’s something else.
W. Finch: ::Grinning widely:: That’s wonderful, Doz. Really, really wonderful.
Lines deepened like long canyons at either side of her eyes and mouth as she beamed at him, bathing a little in his approval. Regardless of how old they both were, of how bumbling he was with family matters and of how sometimes his ignorance frustrated her, he was still her older brother. Losing touch with him over the years had felt like a splinter under the skin, each year buried deeper and deeper, unable to be plucked out but still now and then reminding her of its presence with its tender sting.
Finch: If I’m being honest with you… I did it because I didn’t know what else to do. When… ::Her voice crackled, and she paused, squeezing her fingers together:: …When Murphy died.
W. Finch: ::His smile faded:: Yes… I was…very sad to hear about that.
Finch: ::She swallowed:: He always talked about you, you know. Always said how much he missed you. He really valued your friendship and… he never understood why you cut him off.
W. Finch: Yes, well…that was the past. ::He awkwardly smiled:: No point bringing it up now. ::Looking at the dog:: I’ll take a look at it and see what can be done to fix it. Shouldn’t be too complicated. It’s one of my earlier designs—will probably take minutes.
As if she had been holding air in her lungs, she exhaled, her two bushy eyebrows meeting each other with regret. Regret for how everything turned out with her brothers, especially him. The distance that had become so monumental over the years that they barely recognised each other, except for their voices—and even their voices were different. He was raspier, strangulated… so god only knew how she sounded. But his temperament hadn’t changed. His proclivity for ignoring the truth, for choosing ignorance over empathy, for turning away from *his* innermost feelings hadn’t changed. Not one bit.
And it was like looking at herself in a mirror.
Finch: He loved you anyway, Wallace.
W. Finch: Mm… except he loved you more.
Her lips drifted apart, and everything around her went quiet—ghostly. Still. He loved you more. What did that mean?
TBC
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@Doz Finch & @Vylaa ❤️
QuoteFinch: As long as it doesn’t involve me catching my death in subzero temperatures. ::Raising her eyebrows:: I know all about you Andorians and your code of honour. Play a game of cards with one and before you know it, you’re floating in an ice hole begging for a hardship deferment. ::She laughed:: The Captain of the Marigold was an Andorian.
zh’Tisav: Oh, wahhh. Pinkskins are always on about cold... ::She raised an eyebrow.:: Don’t forget we live in a sweatbox just to be a part of the Federation.
Finch: That is true, but what a sweatbox eh! ::She winked proudly:: I suppose you’ve heard it all your life from us Humans. Moaning about being too cold all the time. Too this, too that.
zh’Tisav: ::Examines her cards.:: Meh, it’s mostly the Trill. ::Raises he hands in amusement and shakes them.:: Oh no, my hands are cold!
Finch: ::Cackling:: Now listen Vylaa, if you had to carry a symbiont around all day everyday, I’m sure you’d be complaining about your cold hands too, and the rest.- 5
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@Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall ❤️
Loved this JP! It was beautiful, well written, and this bit made me smile and chuckle a little.
QuoteMarshall: Am I going to open this and a tiny Caedan is going to jump out in pineapple pants?
E. Reynolds: Charming as his fruit-themed underwear is, no. ::She laughed, her hand reaching for Jo’s to offer a gentle squeeze.:: It’s not a prank, it’s a present.
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Ylvor: Is this a good time to mention I haven't attended my check in physical yet?
She could see it now 'On Today's Edition of the Fleet's worst Ensign... All the way from Alkenzi Minor.. please welcome Torvi Ylvor!' She winced.
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Congratulations!! Well done, and absolutely well-deserved!!! 🥳👏
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Tahna: So, we’re looking for esani and makara root. What do you want with makara root anyway, Bry? Got some secret Bajoran girlfriend to look after?
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@Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall
QuoteWith a resigned, wry grin, he looked sideways at his friend.
Nkai: You really do take me to all the best places.
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Tagren-Quinn: Just getting a gift for my nephew. He has a fascination for life beyond Earth, mainly insects and reptiles, amphibians, but he enjoys lions, tigers, and, umm… bears, too.
Neathler: No marsipulians?
Tagren-Quinn: Ah, yes, haha, he does, he does. A serious oversight on my part.
He continued to grin and laugh as she walked up beside him, navigating away from the thicker portions of the crowd.
Neathler: A lost opportunity, mister Tagren-Quinn. But I’m sure I’ll be able to convince Ko to bear no ill feelings.
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I absolutely loved this sim, @Doz Finch. The dialogue ("All I’ll say is that I’ll be sleeping with my eyes open from now on."), the descriptions, and present events and how they relate to the past. There is so much I adore about this and if I listed them all... I would just end up rewriting your entire piece here, haha. 👏 Nicely done!!
Quote((Commercial Promenade, Deep Space Nine))
She had found herself at the front of a large crowd of alien tourists. Some were tall and bony, and a few were short and hairy, while others had flickering antennae, extra eyes and even the occasional and classic pointed ear. They had all been listening to a meek Bajoran talk about the various different rooms, staircases and bulkheads that they had passed during their tour along the winding and echoing promenade, his voice as thin as the wiry hair on his head—a head that, incidentally, kept tilting to the side, seemingly weighed down by an oversized earring that dangled from his desperate lobe.
She didn't know if his monologues had been from a script or entirely from memory, but what she did know was that they had been about as exciting as watching milk curdle. Stood beside her was a squadron of Andorians, complaining about how they should have spent their time at the recreational ice sculpting event on the upper deck, instead of having wasted it on the tour, and opposite to them on her other side was a stoic Vulcan pressing her fingertips together with so much force that she half expected them to snap at any given moment.
Tour Guide: And so… here in this very spot there was… for a time at least… one of the stations first bureaux where one could exchange one's credits, and latinum, and other… less frequently used, and… generally less valuable… forms of currency, so that one could go about one’s day and purchase the things that one, well… desired most in that moment...
She leaned into the Vulcan with a whisper.
Finch: I had a nasty run in once with an exchange bureau representative. Oh yeah, it’s true. On Ferenginar. ::Shaking her head:: Steer clear of them when it comes to swapping your credits, that’s my advice.
T’Plai: I do not foresee any immediate reason for why I would find myself in need of a Ferenginar exchange bureau.
Finch: That’s what I thought as well, until it actually happened. Enjoying the tour?
T’Plai: It is most…
Finch: I’ll say it for you, love. Boring! ::grinning:: Hello, I’m Doz.
T’Plai: T’Plai.
Andorian: ::Hissing:: We don’t want to hear about exchange bureaus! This is ridiculous! What about the command centre!? The prison cells!? You are wasting our time with this nonsense!
Tour Guide: Uh, the, ehum, necessity for exchange bureaus here at Deep Space Nine was… in some political and, ehum… economical sense… most needed for those visitors who…
T’Plai: What brings you to Deep Space Nine, Doz?
Finch: Good old and well overdue shore leave. Very needed after what we’ve just gone through, let me tell you. ::She cachinnates, shaking her head:: Don’t ask, T’Plai. All I’ll say is that I’ll be sleeping with my eyes open from now on.
T’Plai: That sounds most illogical… however I will, as you Humans say, take your word for it.
She gave the Vulcan a wink, and turned her attention back to the wispy man and his painstakingly long soliloquy on the history of exchanging currency in the very spot they stood in. Behind him, through the strange vertically placed windows, she could see thousands of stars, like little crystals on a black lake. She almost disappeared into it, as the man's whirring voice began to blend in with the ship's own melody…
…until the sound of swishing metallic feet pierced through the serenity, in the form of a four legged robot, erratically charging through the crowd, violently (and perhaps triumphantly) interrupting the tour. As it soared through them, she and T’Prai moved out the way, watching in confusion.
Stranger: Get that robot!
She gave it no second thought; as quick as a zip, she was gone from the crowd, chasing after the robot alongside a stranger, her grey hair pushed backwards in the onslaught of swooshing artificial air. The robot weaved through yelping groups and crowds, upending stalls along its path for Doz and the stranger to dodge and jump over, her ears filled with the noise of its oddly mechanical scurry. As her heart pumped inside her chest like the drums of a marching band, and her lungs squeezed and released with each pant, she did all she could to keep up the pace, her small body shuddering rigidly along like a jittering videotape; it was only when she caught sight of its tail, did the memory come flooding back to her.
((Flashback: Many years before - Main Engineering, USS Marigold))
The Denobulan Chief Engineer, Zeeza, along with Finch and Norström stood in front of a central table upon which a dirt-covered robot lay sprawled on its side, scattered specks of silver glinting under a spotlight from above.
Zeeza: Hmm. Curious thing.
Norström: Not a thing, Chief! Look at it. Four legs, a tail. It’s a dog!
Zeeza: One made of composite metals, apparently.
Finch: Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Zee?
Zeeza: Extendable receiver, with a light-emitting diode housed in a thermoplastic radome…
Finch: …Retractable titanium wheels…
Zeeza: It's basically textbook.
Finch: You’re definitely thinking what I’m thinking.
Zeeza: There is no doubt about it.
Norström: Well!?
Finch: It’s a rover.
Zeeza continued to stare at the robot, her thin lips pressed together in silent rumination, whilst Murphy, amazed but also perplexed, scrunched his face up.
Norström: A rover!? Out in the middle of nowhere, on a random insignificant moon? ::a pause:: But why?
Zeeza: Why indeed.
Finch: Doing a bit of scientific research, maybe? Gathering a bit of information…looking for minerals?
Norström: Or sniffing them out?
Finch: Maybe it was doing a bit of digging?
Norström: Looking for a bone?
Finch: On a moon, Murph!?
Norström: Maybe it thought the moon was a tree?
Finch: Well it obviously barked up the wrong one then!
As they both burst into sonorous laughter, Zeeza, faintly grinning, continued to examine it.
Zeeza: The casing is rudimentary and nothing all together special, but its inner configuration is a lot more interesting. ::peering into its belly:: Do you see that?
Finch: Batteries. Totally inert, do you think? Good to no-one?
Zeeza: Not necessarily. Scan its inner shell for anything that may indicate a power source.
She squeezed her lips together and crossed her eyebrows seriously, taking a tricorder from the table in front of them, quickly performing a scan of the robots inner shell.
Finch: Here we are… oh, you’ll like this, Murph. Radionuclides.
Norström: Aha! That means we can save it! But hang on—it's a bit dangerous for us to be around it then, isn’t it?
Zeeza: No, no. You can't back away now. Pets are for life.
Finch: ::Assuringly:: There’s only traces of it, Murph, it’s barely there. The thing’s obviously been offline for, well...
Zeeza: I would say many decades.
Norström: ::Tutting:: So he was out there all that time—cold and alone.
Zeeza: Alone perhaps but not cold.
Finch: That's right, because of its thermogenic power system. But I wonder what happened to it? A malfunction, maybe?
Norström: Sounds like you that, Doz. Malfunction’s your middle name, isn’t it?
Finch: I’ll malfunction you in a minute! ::waving the scanner::
Norström: Ahh!
After giving Murphy a playful swipe, and pretend daggers, they both turned their attention back to Zeeza, whose pensive contemplation always gave off an air of mystique, her brilliant brain conjuring up something always worth hearing.
Zeeza: I think I can bring it back online.
Finch: Fantastic! What do you need?
Zeeza: Time and resources…yes, time and resources. I’ll find the time, Doz, if you can get the resources together.
Norström: And me? You’re not going to leave an electronics specialist out of this, are you? It would be a crime if you did.
Zeeza: You have the most important task of all of us, Mister Norström.
Norström: Really? ::smiling:: And what task is that?
Zeeza: To come up with a name for it.
With a resounding and delighted smack of the table, Murphy heartily laughed, overjoyed that Zeeza had agreed to help bring the robot back online. And Finch, grinning from ear to ear, could only laugh along with him. It was going to be a challenge, particularly doing it under the nose of Gepe Grasa who so often loathed people and their passion projects, but if they could bring that robot back to life, then they surely had to try.
((Present day: Commercial Promenade, Deep Space Nine))
Her chest was tight as she continued on with the chase, and the robot, not fazed in the slightest, carried on with its tireless marathon of the promenade, until it reached a wall that it couldn’t get past, spinning itself around in what could visually have indicated a panic, if not for its wagging mechanical tail that seemed to say otherwise. Doz, now clutching her chest for breath, exhaling a wild mixture of laughter and squawks, stopped in front of it, not letting it out of her sight.
The stranger who had gotten stuck behind a gaggle of Bolians, finally came to a stop at her side, in a breathless eddy of his own.
Stranger: Good, you cornered the thing.
Finch: The...thing? ::she said, catching her breath:: Four legs, a tail… no, it’s not just a thing. ::She stood to her full height with a satisfied sigh:: Look at it. It’s a dog!
fin
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The promenade of Deep Space Nine practically hummed with a blend of chatter and excited anticipation as the myriad inhabitants moved slowly, appraisingly through the section of station. Some were already decked out in their "Where Wormholes and Weirdos Collide" and "Defiantly Awesome" souvenirs, likely purchased from a Ferengi-looking establishment they'd seen further up the long circular walkway. Jo already had her eye on one: "Bajoran Spirit, Starfleet Swagger" mug.
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@Vylaa - absolutely loved this sim! Seeing her reconnect with family after the lovely adventure that was Skarbek, and the news!! I always enjoy how you bring Andorians to life in sim. Great work! 👏
Quote((Market Square, Lortos City, Kendra Province, Bajor))
The transporter beam deposited Vylaa in a corner of the market square. Her first impression was the noise; the sounds of the crowded market rushed in on her like an ocean tide. Second were the decorations. Judging by the buntings and other dangley shiny things hanging from the market arches, as well as the music competing with the people for the Loudest Award, she’d arrived in the middle of something, maybe a festival. Maybe she should have done a little more research before beaming down.
Third was the heat. Whether by natural weather patterns or by the mass of people radiating body heat, it was damn warm. She set off, pushing through the crowd, wishing very much she had worn something much lighter. She tugged the straps on her pack tighter to keep it from swinging into people, and checked her map. She was staying at a hostel for the night, then joining a group for a couple days hike in the mountains.
The zhen was ogling her surroundings when she heard a shrill whistle, the call of a certain bird that lived in the forests surrounding her home city. Definitely not something you’d hear on Bajor, but she knew someone who could mimic it perfectly. She stopped and cast her gaze about excitedly. There she was, Sallia, standing waiting for her. And she wasn’t alone. Riv and Sel stood by her side. Vylaa took off running, ignoring the grumblings of the Bajorans she pushed aside, and somehow managed to wrap her arms around all three. Had she been strong enough, she probably would have lifted them up.
When she released them, her antennae tingled. She’d been hit with a trace, a whiff of something familiar. She shot Sallia a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed. The shen glanced away. Her wife was keeping a secret, and if the zhen’s suspicions were right, it was a big one. However the group was in the middle of a crowded market, and that was definitely not the place she wanted to ask that question.
zh’Tisav: What are you doing here!?
A familiar twinkle lit Sel’s eyes, and a half smile reached the corner of his mouth.
Sel: Well, you’ve been gone so long we decided to take matters into our own hands and come to you.
Riv eyed the Bajorans eyeing them. He was used to the Andorian sense of privacy, and Vylaa knew it took getting used to to have a bunch of eyes on you. She’d known that her whole life; three tall, identical women got virtually no privacy. Her antennae curled toward each other, amused by Riv just being Riv. She was very certain he’d been the one who’d missed her the most, and had called in a favor or two with his superiors to find out the Gorkon’s next port of call.
Riv: I wish they’d move on…
Vylaa slapped his heavily muscled shoulder playfully. He acted gruff and gloomy, but he really was just a big kitten, mostly around his mates and children. Speaking of…
zh’Tisav: Were are…?
Sallia, who had not let go of Vylaa’s hand the whole time, squeezed it.
Sallia: Back at the house we rented with your sisters. And seeing how packed this place is, that was probably a good idea.
zh’Tisav: That’s fair, let’s get out of here. I’m excited to see them.
As they pushed their way through the crowd, Vylaa asked what had been on her mind since beamng down.
zh’Tisav: Any idea what the fuss around here is?
Riv grumbled an answer.
Riv: I have no idea, but they were up all night dancing. I could barely sleep.
((Vylaa’s Rented Home, Lortos City, Bajor))
The interior of the house was nice and cool. It was just, well, grand. There was plenty of space for her large (by pinkskin standards) family and then some. There was even a huge room upstairs they could turn into a communal sleeping space. Her mates seemed to have thought of just about everything, and that just twisted the Skarbek-sized knife deeper into her guilt. She stepped off of the bottom step to the main floor, done with her inspection of the place.
Her mates were waiting for her in the main room, seated around a small table playing a card game. How could she have ever dreamed she wasn’t bonded? She felt like her heart was being ripped out all over again From outside, the playful cries of children playing reached her ears, occasionally punctuated by the voices of her sisters who were watching them, and the guilty feeling doubled. She hadn’t told any of them what had happened, and wasn’t sure if she ever could. She approached the trio and took a seat on the open side of the table but didn’t ask to be dealt in. The zhen fixed Sallia with a knowing stare.
zh’Tisav: So, are you going to tell them?
The males wore confused faces. They looked at Vylaa, then Sallia, then each other. They shook their heads in unison, totally in the dark. Sallia, for her credit, managed to look nonplussed, for all of about ten seconds, then her slender antennae curved in amusement.
Sallia: Uhhh... Seems I’m pregnant.
You could have heard a pin drop. Riv and Sel stared at each other, faces a mixture of confusion, excitement, and a tiny spoonful of fear. Vylaa started to giggle, and Sallia joined in. Their husbands were kind of cute when they were clueless.
Sel: How did you…?zh’Tisav: Pheromones guys…Vylaa’s lower back along her spine was already itching, a strong clue that she was already reacting to Sallia’s pheromones. Kheth growth tended to be a very itchy process so it was hard to not know when it had started. There was no doubt in Vylaa’s mind, this was happening.zh’Tisav: ::Sighs:: Well, I guess my plans for awhile have changed…It wouldn’t do any good to fret, so she wouldn’t. What was done was done. And really, deep down she was happy about the news, she just wished they could have planned better this time.
zh’Tisav: Riv? You’re kind of quiet. You alright?The thaan seemed a little… hesitant, just staring at his cards. A bit concerning, since he always seemed so sure of himself.
Riv: Well, four ankle biters is no more difficult than three. And we can’t exactly undo it. ::A twinkle reached his eyes.:: I’ll be fine, I’m just shocked.
Vylaa rose, and patted him on the shoulder.
zh’Tisav: That makes two of us. But hey, at least I’m not getting abducted by a shuttlecraft in the middle of survival training like the first time.She pointed to the front door with a joking smirk on her face.zh’Tisav: I’m going to go out and spend a bit of time with the five people I like best, you three can start dinner after your game. We'll tell them all at dinner.
TBCKheth: the temporary pouch that grows over and around the lower torso of a zhen for the final phase of Andorian gestation.
In no particular order:
Atohriv "Riv" th'Viannis
Sallia sh'Ovaarral
Sel ch'Rhekriqand
Lt JG Vylaa zh'Tisav
Engineering Officer
USS Gorkon
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Oh wow, thanks for the lovely praise, @Doz Finch. Means a lot! Everyone's sims have been so inspiring and seeing everyone's responses in "the wake of Skarbek" has been fun to read. 💚
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Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn, MD of the USS Gorkon going for a clean and casual look.
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Reynolds: Skarbek?
Brunsig: For crying out loud. Yes. ::He ran a hand through his hair, short blond locks sticking up in every direction.:: Are you alright?
Reynolds: I need a strong cup of tea before I can answer that question. Are you?
He grunted softly in his non-committal way, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
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Wonderful sim 👏
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Such a great sim 👏
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@Genkos Adea - I absolutely adored this sim. Very moving, and beautifully written!
Quote((City Streets, Borrel District, Witherington, Indre III))
Gnaxac saw Croaker emerge from the crowd, and he hurried over. He was clearly injured himself, and Gnaxac rushed over. He took the child with Croaker, sharing the load. The good doctor fell to his knees, and Gnaxac tried to get a hand under his armpit to help him back to his feet.
Gnaxac: =/\= Croaker and I have the child, what does it look like from over there, Blondie? =/\=
Marshall: =/\= Like insurrection, finally. =/\=
Tagren-Quinn: ::Panting:: =/\= By the light. =/\=
Gnaxac’s little heart swelled to four times its size as the gravity of Blondie’s statement sunk in. Were they about to finally win? Not the war, of course, that Gnaxac didn’t expect to live to see, but a small battle in the war was enough for him. For now.
Gnaxac: =/\= Thank the Exchequer =/\=
Overhead, vessels screamed by and burned through the rain, hinting at possible widespread destruction and, thus, bringing further uncertainty over tomorrow’s existence. Gnaxac let out a little squeal with every explosion, but one died in his throat as a mellifluous voice filled his lobes. He blinked several times as he tried to register that he knew the owner of the voice, and what it signified…
Tahna: =/\= Citizens of Witherington– ::She paused.:: You know who the Cardassians are and what they do. You know they will destroy your homes, your lives, on a whim. Do not let them. Now is your chance to stop them. Not for yourself, but for your family, your friends, your children, so they never have to see the trauma of a Cardassian occupation. So your people and planet can thrive, free. =/\=
The corners of Gnaxac’s mouth tugged upwards unbidden by his brian as he watched the tide turn before his very eyes. Croaker closed his eyes, but Gnaxac kept his open - he wanted to see this, even if tears threatened to fill them.
Tahna: =/\= Resist, sow chaos, protect the vulnerable. You are not fighting alone. This is your life, your home. Take it back. =/\=
Lark’s message was a rousing finale, and it finished and for a moment, one solo, beautiful moment, there was peace. And then Blondie’s voice cut through it as Croaker and Gnaxac’s eyes met.
Marshall: =/\= Coming back your way. Did you hear Lark's message? =/\=
Tagren-Quinn: =/\= …yes. I-I did. =/\=
It came out a little choked, emotion clear in his voice, and Gnaxac reached up to put a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.
Gnaxac: =/\= We did, and it seems to be working… =/\=
As Blondie came into view, sailing effortlessly around the fallen colossal vehicle and avoiding other hazards with quick and sure steps, the weight of everything hung heavy in the air. Bodies lay scattered, beaten and broken, and dead.
Gnaxac gave a heavy sigh as that weight fell upon him, and he almost collapsed under it. It was only the fact that they were together, and that the people were finally starting to stand up for themselves that stopped him from surrendering all together.
Marshall: I don't think we've got much time until it's flooded with colonists here, picking up what's left of the vehicle and the weaponry. ::She sniffed hard..:: We're turning the tide.
When Gnaxac opened his orange lips to speak, they words came out strangely bitter.
Gnaxac: Took them long enough.
Tagren-Quinn: And our teams… they are…
Pain seemed to stop Croaker, and Gnaxac tried to muster up a smile.
Gnaxac: Well Lark’s okay at least. But I don’t know about you, I’d kill for a painkiller. Or twelve.
Marshall: Response
Tagren-Quinn: I think we’ve all seen better days. Nothing that Wheels can’t patch up when we get the gang back together.
Gnaxac: And you… you’re a doctor too unless you’ve forgotten.
Marshall: Response
Tagren-Quinn: Maqoch… Doodle…
Gnaxac gave Croaker a smile as the Doctor studied him with his eyes. He tried not to wonder if he was passing or failing the silent test he was currently undergoing, and instead gave the child currently clinging to him a little squeeze.
Tagren-Quinn: Blondie… I…
Before he could complete the sentence, a group of Cardassians began to edge their way into the area, with the colonists yelling and firing in the background. The brief reprieve was never destined to last long. Gnaxac looked down at the child in his arms.
Gnaxac: Let’s get out of here. I think we can leave them to fight their battles.
Tagren-Quinn/Marshall: Response
Gnaxac hunkered down to the child’s height (it wasn’t difficult) and looked them in the eyes. He tried not to think if they’d ever seen a Ferengi before, and so smiled the least toothy smile he could. As much as Ferengi women dug toothy smiles, he wasn’t sure the same was true of Bajoran children.
Gnaxac: What are we going to do about you then, hm?
The child looked up at them all silently.Tagren-Quinn/Marshall: Response
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Gnaxac “Doodle”
Maquis Engineer
The Skarbek
As simmed by
Lieutenant Gnaxac
Engineer
USS Gorkon
G239502GS0
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Such a well-written sim...
Imul😭💔
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@Genkos Adea - made me smile and gave me a chuckle ❤️
QuoteGnaxac grinned mischievously as he swung behind the turret, his little legs dangling on either side.
Gnaxac: Plus, why should you get all the fun?
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Exploring the Skarbek world has been exciting and a great way to explore different facets of our characters, taking them to places we haven't thought of before, and scrambling maybe existing parts of their "regular" versions. @Doz Finch - I have truly enjoyed reading about SkarDoz ("Gramma"), and seeing the world through her eyes, and the transformation she's undergone along the way. I love the introspection, particularly at the beginning of this sim, and how she relates to her companions. Very well done! Kudos to all of you, @SevaReeshe, and @Tahna Meru for bringing forth such an enjoyable and amazing scene!
Quote((Niu Hotel, Borrel District, Witherington, Indre III))
Age was a fickle thing. For so many it was a trophy of acumen. As if somehow, somewhere along the line, a person who had reached a certain number of years and had the accompanying throng of wrinkles had thereby achieved immaculacy. Forget everything a person may have done in their life, whether good or bad, great or insignificant—if they were older, then they were just right. It wasn’t to be considered, questioned, or even argued over in a championship of debating Tellarites. God help anyone who had the audacity to even try.
But it was fickle. Like a brilliant sun bleeding through the besmirched window of a shuttle, it sometimes had the tendency to block the aged from seeing what was right in front of them. As Finch stood on the precipice of the communications centre, with two young Bajorans next to her, readying themselves to infiltrate a room within which any number of dangers awaited them, that was the thought that drifted through her own old mind. In the presence of these witting, and sometimes unwitting young women, so much of who she had become had been reflected back to her, forcing her to look inward at herself, at her choices, her thoughts, her actions, her stubbornness.Is this what it had taken? A brush with death? The impending and adrenaline fueled scramble of a firefight in an old beaten down hotel, in which they had no time to think or acclimate, and no time at all to do anything other than attack and defend. A fight in which she had felt bizarrely alive, for the first time in so long, and in which she had to put her trust and faith in those two young Bajoran women, despite neither of them having gone through what she had gone through. Yet, did that matter? Did time or age matter? Misery, grief, the emptiness… anyone could live there, whether decrepit or of youth. Desolation was a house with many rooms.
Maybe it had been something more than that. After all, she had looked death in the eye many times before, and never quite made his acquaintance. Why, then, was it different this time?
She could feel it again. The thrum of her heart, inside her chest full of webs. Aye. Perhaps those women would never see the many facets of who she was, or who she had been; she couldn’t be cut open like a tree and examined, or photographed like an eroded coastal cliff. All they could see was that which was visible on her face, which was so often detached, or read in her actions, so often hard-hearted. But none of that really mattered. As long as she did her bit, and helped them all to stay alive long enough to free that colony. Somehow her little detour with the Skarbek Maquis had given her more of a purpose than she ever thought was possible, outside of Vrekil... perhaps she was more than just a solitary old woman, and an ex-convict with strange connections and questionable tricks and skills, on the run from a man she called Norström. Perhaps indeed.
Seva: G-go!
They hurried in, their weapons armed and spewing concentrated bullets of heat. The initial sight before her was hazy, as a shimmering machine full of small lights with a busied operator took centre-stage, her beady eyes dizzied as Seva took out her guard, and Lark hers. Slightly delayed, her own guard had a moment to turn and lift his weapon with a sharp intake of air, only to be winded in the stomach by the barrel of her rifle, and shot harshly through the base of his chin and out through the back of his skull—her actions swift and almost automatic. His body fell into a heap with solemn exhale, and Finch turned around, her face dripping with sweat and her mouth quickly blowing a strand of hair from her eyes.
It was almost too easy—and it was. The sounds of proliferating voices filled the air, coming from the ramshackled corridor that they had only just vacated.
Tahna: Get down!
Lark dived toward the lock interface, shooting blindly into the corridor as she did.
Finch: ::ducking to the wall with a grimace:: How many are there?
Seva: Response
Tahna: Gramma, can you cut off their access? Lock them out?
Finch: I’m no Doodle, but I’ve picked my way out of a fair few locks before. ::nodding:: I can only try. Here, Seva. Hold this—::throwing her the rifle::—and don’t break it. I’ve waited a damn long time to get my hands on one of those.
Seva: Response
As Seva took the rifle off her, Finch’s eyes darted to a number of screens in the room, her tongue as usual sliding across her thin bottom lip in thought. She approached a few of them, head flicking left to right, gnarled fingers tapping away to try and figure out what one controlled access to the doors. Meanwhile, Lark took stock of the main communications system in the room, seemingly thinking ahead.
Moments later, she hesitated, eyes squinted at a lilac symbol on a beige background. Fiddling with it a few times, the doors to the room clicked, before the oncoming Cardassians reached it, their fists banging against the doors with all of the same frustration their fellow troops had had only minutes before.
Tahna: Everyone okay?
Seva: Response
Finch: Glowing. Radiant as I’ll ever be, now that I’ve locked out those brutes. ::she huffed amusedly:: I’ll give that little Ferengi a run for his money yet. ::turning to Lark, eyebrows furrowed:: You’re hurt.
She approached Lark and gripped the part of her arm not grazed, lifting it up to get a good look at it.
Tahna: Just grazed me. ::She pulled the burnt jacket back over her shoulder with a wince and a wry grin.:: I’ve had worse. Good work, both of you.
Finch: ::grunting, eyes flicking between her graze and her face:: Mm. At least wrap it up with this.
She pulled a cloth out from inside her jacket and tied it around the woman's arm, perhaps a little too tightly, giving it a stiff nod of approval.
Tahna/Seva: Response
The banging of the Spoons outside the comms centre intensified, spurring them all into action again.
Finch: I’ll crack on with the radar, see just how far this thing reaches.
Tahna/Seva: Response
Finch: It’s a sophisticated bit of machinery, this. ::she scoffs:: Makes a bloody change.
Tahna/Seva: Response
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QuoteTagren-Quinn: El-Auria be with us.
Gnaxac: And the Exchequer!
Marshall: Prophets can bite my a—
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@Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall
QuoteThea: What are you doing here?
Rix: Work-ing?
It wasn't difficult to elongate the word as it flowed through his dry lips, through a drier mouth, and a voice box beset by the legions of sand, dust and strain. Cracking off the cap of the water bottle, Rix took a swig from it, and sighed in the singular pleasure of it, before passing it back to the pasty Tyrellian wrestling with her own liver. His throat clear, he continued.
Rix: Ruggedly handsome, dashingly charming, and working on utilities in the area.
Thea: You’re who I’ve been waiting—no, suffering—for? ::She pointed the water bottle toward him.:: This is all your fault. You could have at least brought coffee.
Rix: This is entirely not my fault, I think you'll find it's your fault. "What happens after six shots, Rix? Let's find out, Rix." ::His poor imitation came at the cost of a cough and an ache springing like a fountain in the back of his head.:: Scientists truly have no boundaries.
Thea: I don’t recall such reckless experimentation. ::She drowned her grin in another deep swig of water, soothing her dry throat.:: Doesn’t sound like me at all.
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@SevaReeshe, @Doz Finch, @Tahna Meru
QuoteTahna: So, come in low, land on the roof… ::One hand hovered over the map, tracing their proposed flight path.:: Sneak and fight our way down to the coms center, take it over and blast something Bajoran and angry. The soundtrack for the revolution, and the chaos that scatters the Spoonhead forces.
Finch: Mm, a bit of heavy metal to make their ears bleed.
Seva: Heavy metal? Isn’t that a classical Earth genre? ::A pause:: Klingon acid punk is far more aggressive. Maybe we should play that?
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@Samira Neathler, @Piravao sh'Qynallahr, @Ayiana Sevo, & @Cory Stoyer - loving this little morsel ya'll cooked up! ❤️
QuoteStoyer: I don’t know about you , but I am ready for a good home cooked meal.
Sevo: Then why are you looking at me? I’m a bit out of practice. I told you, I haven’t cooked since I was Camen.
sh’Qynallahr: I can cook edible food, good tasting is up for debate.
Stoyer: Well, we get through this. I will cook you guys a meal that you will never forget.
Sevo: We’ll hold you to that on Peshkova, Strip.
Neathler: We’d better all make it out of here then. The sooner, the better.- 1
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Funny things heard on the USS Gorkon
in Appreciations
Posted · Edited by Bryce Tagren-Quinn
@Jo Marshall & @Doz Finch Loved this! Made me, um... cact-(k)le. 😅😂