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Maz Rodan

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Posts posted by Maz Rodan

  1. I can't tell you how good it is to have my old collaboration partner back on the ship - and the fleet at large - with us! Max, you have been missed, and this is incredible, as usual!
     
     
    ---
    (( Shuttlecraft Ramena, in Raft-One Traffic Control Space ))
     
    Shuttles sure seemed like magnets for disaster - always falling into spatial anomalies, getting captured by hostile forces, breaking down at the most inconvenient times... it was a wonder the crew safety commission didn't strike every single last one from service.  The problem was they were still the best way for a small number of people (or just one) to get from place to place.  People like Maria.  Except they were only the best until they weren't.
     
    Maria sighed heavily.  The Arrow at long last loomed larger and larger in the window.  All in all, the journey could have been far worse.  The trip should have only taken three or four days, but instead it took two weeks.  She was back though.  Of course, Maria wasn't supposed to be seeing the ship or its crew for at least another month according to the original plan, but the reason why her assignment to the Degault and Genti II was cut short was a story she hoped wouldn't pried into.  Or not immediately, at least.
     
    Ah, who was she kidding?  Shayne would probably tear into it (and her) the first second he saw her.  She grinned at the thought - nothing like a good verbal sparring match with the ol' CO to feel right at home.
     
    The fact she was here at all was a minor miracle.  When she was dropped (more dumped, really) at the depot, the sole Starfleet officer on the planet had informed her that there were in fact no shuttles available.  Upon some rather pointed prodding, he admitted there was one "in the back."  Maria demanded to see it, and he obliged.  He led her back, and flung the tarp off of what would more rightfully be called a warp-capable rickshaw, complete with chicken wire for conduit shielding.  Anxious to put the Degault behind her, Maria immediately mounted up and warped off into the sunset, no questions asked.  Just over six hours later, the shuttle had its first systems failure.
     
    From there, it turned into a game of hitchhiking along the trade routes of the Alpha Isles over the following weeks: first with a Caldonian yacht, then a Galadoran freighter, then finally a Dokkaran ore tug.  Between fouled warp injectors, a replicator on the fritz, and a navigation computer held together by Serilian Gorilla Paste, the best place for Maria's junkyard queen to be was safely docked in the shuttle bay of a larger, faster ship.  That also gave her time and tools to patch the systems well enough to traverse the final twenty-four hours or so to Raft-One on her own, where Arrow was docked.  So far, her handiwork held up.  Barely making warp two was hardly traveling in style, but when the distance was reasonably short, it worked.  She thought, for a moment, she might just dock without incident.
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Shuttlecraft Ramena to Raft-One traffic control, on final approach to USS Arrow.  Switching comms. =/\=
     
    Controller: =/\= Roger, shuttlecraft Ramena.  Safe docking.  Out. =/\=
     
    Maria switched to the channel she had memorized.  She felt her stomach churn as the familiar shape of the ship got bigger and bigger.  For a moment, she mis-characterized the feeling as anxiety, but quickly realized it had more to do with the fact that Dokkaran miner's rations did not sit well with her.  Also, it probably had more to do with the fact that the Arrow was upside down from Maria's point of view, and there was an uneasy lurch in the shuttle's rate of roll coming around to match orientation.
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Suttlecraft Ramena to Arrow, request permission to dock. =/\=
     
    Shuttlebay: =/\= Permission granted - proceed to shuttlebay two. =/\=
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Acknowledged, trimming course. =/\=
     
    A few compliant beeps later, and the final approach vector was laid in.  Maria, while certified, was far from an ace pilot, so she trimmed the approach rate downwards for a gentle landing.  The only problem was the shuttle was now stubbornly stuck at a 45-degree angle relative to the bay.
     
    Shuttlebay: =/\= Shuttlecraft Ramena, please adjust your relative roll to zero-zero-zero. =/\=
     
    Maria rolled her eyes.  Did they think she was coming in like this on purpose?  Landing on a single nacelle was about the worst thing you could do.  She pressed a few buttons that should have brought her around, but the shuttle's computer beeped at her defiantly.
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Arrow, I seem to be having technical difficulties.  Stand by. =/\=
     
    She got out of the seat, and pried a panel open with a huff.  As she stared at the innards, there was a powerful wash of deja vu.  She shook it off, and set to work.
     
    Alvarez: Fine, you wanna do it the hard way, we'll do it the hard way.  Let's see here... :: She started singing, tracing her finger across the circuits. :: The thruster pack is connected to the :: beat :: octo-valve, the octo-valve is connected to the :: beat. :: servo relay, the servo relay is connected to the :: beat. :: nav ODN bus, the nav ODN bus is connected to the... :: She stopped. :: HA!  Got you.  Just a good old manual override and...
     
    She yanked a glowing cable from one slot and thrust it into another port.  The shuttle bucked, throwing Maria's footing off and sent her backwards onto the far wall.  The good news was that the shuttle was now rotating.  The bad news was that it would not stop rotating until the cable was removed again.
     
    Maria reached forward, and yanked on the cable.  Sparks flew up, and the cabin went dark.  Outside, Arrow was still spinning closer and closer into view.  Upon realizing the step she missed, Maria swore.
     
    Alvarez: I really should have paid more attention in engineering class...
     
    Shuttlebay: =/\= Shuttlecraft Ramena - please null your rate of roll. =/\=
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Yeah about that... =/\=
     
    Shuttlebay: =/\= Ramena, you are crossing the final abort zone, correct your roll or abort your landing! =/\=
     
    Maria hauled herself up to the chair and tried a few controls.  Nothing worked.
     
    Alvarez: Computer, diagnostic - what command systems are still functioning?
     
    There was a moment.
     
    Computer: Audio commands, database functions, and communications.  All navigation is offline.
     
    Maria groaned.
     
    Alvarez: =/\= Arrow, all navigation is out, prepare for a crash landing. =/\=
     
    Shuttlebay: =/\= Roger Ramena. =/\=
     
    The man sounded thoroughly annoyed.  At least with the painfully slow approach Maria had chosen, there wouldn't be any real damage to Arrow, and no one would care much about the hunk of junk she currently sat in.  She sat down and held on as the shuttlebay got larger and larger, slowly twirling round and round.  Then, she chuckled as an idea crossed her mind.  Not everything on the shuttle was broken.
     
    Alvarez: Computer, play "The Blue Danube."
     
    The computer chirped, and the schmaltzy strings and horns struck up in a lilting waltz.  Maria laughed at the perfect absurdity of it.  If she was going to get in trouble for all of this (and she almost certainly would), she might as well have her fun with the moment.  As Arrow appeared to serenely spin around her, docking lights going in circles around her head, she felt her stomach lurch again.  That put a stop to her fits of giggles, replacing it with an uncomfortable groan.
     
    Alvarez: I'm gonna be sick...
     
    As the waltz drunkenly crescendoed, Maria had to admit her commitment to the joke was not helping her.  She gripped onto the chair as the shuttle went upside down yet again as it crossed the boundary of the shuttlebay in slow motion.  The normally imperceptible transition in gravity felt like a rollercoaster in this orientation - the blood in her head drained "up", but the blood in her feet "down" - if those directions could even be called that.  There was an abrupt crunchy clang on the roof from the shuttle dropping on the shuttlebay floor, and a horrid scraping squeeeeeeeeee of metal against the floor as the shuttle came to a stop.
     
    Then, the shuttle's gravity switched fully off, and Maria was sprawled across the ceiling with no warning.  Fortunately, her dignity was hurt more than anything, at first blush.  She scraped herself off of the deck, and proceeded out the upside-down exit.  She gave a pretty smile and flirty wave to the on-duty chief as if that could solve all transgressions, then promptly emptied the contents of her stomach on the deck.
     
    (( Mini-timeskip ))
    (( USS Arrow, Deck 3 - Sickbay ))
    (( OOC Note: I'm leaving tags open for one or more of our doctors to answer.  Or for anyone to visit. ))
     
    Maria cradled her head in one hand and her stomach in the other, legs draped off the biobed she sat on.  This was definitely not how she imagined her reunion tour starting.  She kept her eyes shut to keep the unnatural light of sickbay from making her feel even worse.  She wasn't sure if she was being a complete wimp about the discomfort she was in, or if the washes of general stomach malaise were really as bad as she'd said.  Hopefully the doctor's tricorder would answer that.
     
    Alvarez: I really should not have eaten all that Dokkaran Relvu Stew...
     
    Sickbay: Response
     
    Alvarez: At least it was fresh!  Or rather the captain said it was fresh...
     
    Looking back, it did have far more of a fermented taste than seemed safe.  Maria didn't ordinarily have trouble with being spun around, and it had been long enough for her vision to settle, so she was a little concerned that her body was still in full revolt.  The food she ate for the last two weeks seemed like a good explanation.  It certainly felt more satisfying to blame it on that than her miserable piloting and fix-it skills.
     
    Sickbay: Response
     
    Maria opened her eyes and looked up with a displeased frown.
     
    Alvarez: What does that mean?  Is it bad?  I'm assuming by the number of syllables that it's bad.  :: Suddenly grinning :: Is it contagious?  Maybe I should be put in isolation for a few days...  :: She winked. ::
     
    Only Maria could be excited by the prospect of a potentially dangerous medical condition.  After all, who knew?  Maybe this would be a way to avoid Shayne for a couple more days.  Or at least get a doctor's note keeping her out of purging the waste systems.  She smiled, then realized that was punishment more commonly reserved for Ensigns.  Something she wasn't any longer.  On the Degault, her rank wasn't much more than a formality.  She spent more time on the planet anyway, so it only now occurred to Maria she hadn't spent more than a minute aboard Arrow with the new half-pip before she'd shipped off.
     
    Sickbay: Response
     
    Maria was too busy inside her own head to really process the answer to her question.  Thoughts of what Arrow had been up to in her absence crawled up in her mind - she suddenly felt a little guilty for not checking in on Quentin or Chloe or anyone else.  She had meant to, of course, but it never happened.  It took until this moment to process the new scars she'd noticed on Arrow's hull and the general pale dejection of some of the crew wandering the halls.  Sure, Maria wasn't exactly hot stuff at this particular moment in time, but at least she had an excuse: she was suffering from... whatever syndrome it was the doctor had just said.  What was everyone else's deal?  Her dark eyes focused on the doctor, this time with a curious and crystal-clear intensity.
     
    Alvarez: Hey, did something happen last mission?  Things around here seem :: She considered the word a moment. :: off.
     
    Of course something happened.  Something always happens on missions.  She meant what happened?
     
    Sickbay: Response
     
    Lieutenant JG Maria Alvarez
    Operations Officer
    USS Arrow - NCC-69829
    A239710MA0
    Wiki Operator
    • Like 2
  2. Have you ever known a huge secret, like something so fantastic and epic you can't wait for it to get started? You're chomping at the bit to tell people, but you know you'll spoil it? This is me right now aching to get our current mission kicking! And this sim from @Quentin Collins III solidifies my childish excitement!!

    ----

    It had been almost a decade since the tomb-ship had moved. Longer still since life had trod its levels. 
     
    But it seemed it's path through the Isles had positioned it for all sorts of re-acquaintances. Back to light and matter and even a touch of life. Time would tell if they would actually survive it's contact with the tomb-ship but its deckings hummed with an ambient energy all the same. One long thought lost to the ravages of time and cosmic tides. Hosting its first “guests” in the Ferengi; the first in centuries. 
     
    It's journey had started long ago, but was longer still from ever being complete. Bound a holy mission but then lost to the indifference of space. And a souring in the faith of its crew. One further twisted by time and distance from home. More than a hundred decks carried these stories and more. But that may have been lost on the scavengers that had first discovered her, hanging carefully and hidden in their personal space-fold. Itself another odd quirk of the deep decay that had set into the ship's bowels. Decay that couldn't be reversed now, only managed. By hands inexperienced in the work of its management.
     
    But as charged energy particulates danced across its hull, revealing its massive shape and form to open space for the first time in years, something else stirred it the lowest depths of its deepest holds. Something that forgotten what the light even looked liked. But not what the smell of meat smelled like. 
     
    Groans and creaky wails started to echo from the lower decks. 
     
    Not all of them mechanical in nature. 
     
    To Be Continued…
    -- 
    THE SPACE HULK
    Ancient Derelict
    Once Thought Lost to Time
    As simmed by  
    --

    Lieutenant Commander 

    Quentin Collins III

    Chief Science Officer

    --

    U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829

    ID: E239512QC0

    --

    F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR

    (SB118 Forums

    • Like 4
  3. Well done and massive thanks to our Maria Alvarez for brainstorming, evolving and executing the idea of The Bairiri - the cultural, musical, and artistic coming together of the Gentii species and Starfleet. These sims were beautiful to read!

     

    (( Genti II - Grand Central Establishment, Federal District.  Brynja Bairiri Hall - Main Stage ))

     

    (( OOC: Buckle up!  I did my best to roughly notate which parts were which, but it’s all pretty approximate if you dare to try matching it up.  If you have Spotify, I recommend the edition I’ve been listening to.  If you’re short on time or don’t enjoy classical, I’d still encourage you to give the finale (last track) a listen.  If you need youtube, this is the best I can do (finale) - personally I find the sweaty conductor distracting (maybe listen, don’t watch) and the live audio quality is inferior, but hey it’s free.

     

    Once again, thanks to everyone who contributed, and bravo!  Without further ado, turn up the music (no really), and I hope you enjoy reading! ))

     

    How exactly do you represent the sum total of the creative and aesthetic output of billions of people living over as many as ten thousand years?  Maria couldn’t even be sure how to represent her own tastes, let alone attempt such an undertaking.  Should she go modern?  Classic?  Jazz?  Should it be from Earth at all?  Orion courtier?  Andorian acid?  Edo futurist?  Cardassian traditional?  Some fusion?  Endless choices boggled the mind.

     

    Truth be told, ever since she came out of the shared dreamscape and learned there’d be another attempt at the Bairiri, there was only one piece of music that she couldn’t get out of her mind, but she rejected it.  It was too hard, too long, too old, too schmaltz, too traditional, and most of all: too ballet.  She’d spent far too long investing time training in so many other forms of dance to distill herself down to that - not to mention she was still wrestling with how to feel about ballet.

     

    She’d appropriated the growing empty space in Arrow where the holodeck would eventually live for her practice the entire week.  She sampled parts of as many as fifty pieces, but, try as she might, every time she put on music she found her heart going back to an ancient, mystic tale.  Finally she gave in and decided to give it a chance.  When she heard it again, in its fullness for the first time in a long while, she knew her heart was set:

     

    The Firebird.

     

    As she finished the dramatic red, black, and gold stage makeup and tested her pointe shoes one last time, it was a decision she now knew to be the right one.  The metaphor was too alike, the music too powerful.  From behind the curtains, Maria wondered if R’Ariel or Quentin had made it to see her dance.  She’d put up the holocamera Regan’s sister had gifted her, just in case, but a recording wouldn’t be the same.  She hoped they would understand the deep personal nature of what was about to transpire.  And, perhaps, how immensely exhausting an undertaking it was.

     

    Performing the entire ballet was, of course, out of the question.  The manpower and time to achieve that was simply unavailable.  Had she not performed the firebird role before, it would have been impossible.  While some cuts made Maria’s work easier, many removals eliminated vital rest.  It turned a twelve-mile jog into an eight-mile sprint.  That only compounded the dramatic changes to the choreography since its creation nearly five hundred years ago that kept the dance modern and relevant: each rendition layered in diverse new styles and moves, piling yet more taxing and technical challenges atop an already difficult ballet.  So, she had to pare back in places to save strength for the climaxes.  Even with the simplification, her whole body was already prepared to have its revenge on her for the hours of practice every day, just as soon as she stopped to rest.

     

    But that wasn’t going to happen yet.  The sun had just dropped below the trees, setting off a colorful, smokey light show in the darkening Gentii sky.  The lightest of breeze picked up in the semi-outdoor stage, tussling the red “feathers” of her short dress adorned in shimmering gold swirls.  The costume hugged her body and clung to her arms and legs like any dancer’s costume should.  R’Ariel’s words of encouragement to throw herself into the role replayed in her mind.  Though her willowy form was certainly on display, she was now transforming into another creature entirely; becoming something born of ancient magic with powers untold.

     

    As the high-power lights flooded the stage and the holographic orchestra tuned, she felt the familiar rush of blood through her chest and cheeks and fingers.  It wasn’t quite the usual performance anxiety - the Gentii had never seen anything like this, and she’d practiced tirelessly.  Instead, the warmth [...]ing her nerves was a friend that focused her.  She imagined the heat in her veins belonged to the firebird herself, manifesting in her body and to help her take flight.

     

    She looked across, beyond the other side of the stage was a surprise for everyone: her Gentii counterpart, Eka, who would dance the part of Prince Ivan.  She proposed the idea as soon as she settled on this dance, and within the hour she was shaking the man’s hand.  It was a massive gamble, but the consummate professional learned the choreography at an unbelievable pace.  It forced even more simplifications, but the reward was fully embracing the purpose of the Bairiri in a way Maria enjoyed far more than she even thought she would.  He looked back to her and nodded.  He was ready.

     

    The orchestra fell quiet, and the hall became very still as the spell set in.  Countless Gentii (and at least a few crew) waited for the start of the legend of the Firebird.  As she entered the stage, Maria felt all the other thoughts and inner talk melt away.  She was no longer an listless ensign or an out-of-place officer, or even Maria.

     

    She was the Firebird.

     

    ---

     

    ( Introduction, Appearance, Danse, Capture, and Supplication of the Firebird )

     

    The lights came up, and the faintest of creeping the low strings set the scene.  The holographic backdrop and set depicted an old, decrepit garden overgrown and only darkly lit by the light that filtered through to the dank forest floor covered in fungus.  Smoke rose in the background.  This place slowly succumbing to a rotting power no magic could not defend against.

     

    The firebird entered, stage left, and beheld the land’s steady march towards ruin.  Her flight coasted from one side of the stage to the other, distraught by the steady defilement and decay of her natural home.  She flew and flew, gliding through the twisting vines in search of any life that hadn’t been overtaken.  The grim, plodding music offered little hope for the magical beast.  The light steps and buoyant arms carried the bird back and forth, a little arabesque in a place that looked hopeful, but then up and onwards when the leaves wilted away at the slightest touch.

     

    Then - at last!  The firebird spotted a cherry tree with a single blossom in a grove.  The flower radiated faint holographic light in the dim light.  The radiant red creature finally descended into the clearing. She cupped the precious life in her hands, thankful to have found anything remaining.  She turned slowly, appearing to hover, supported only by one pointed foot, tending to the branch and tree that held the pink-white flower.  She pranced with delight at finding something so beautiful still tenuously holding on to life.

     

    Suddenly, the wind turned, pushing in the smoke from far away.  It flooded in like fog, suddenly gripping the tree trunk, threatening to strangle the life from it.  The firebird flew into action, circling the tree now under her protection.  She flapped and flapped, whirling her limbs to drive away the choking smog.  As soon as she chased some out, yet more rushed in.  But in the end, her sheer energy and the wind from her wings pushed the fog’s grasping fingers back, saving the tree.

     

    She danced again a while, slowly and gracefully, assuring herself the grove was now safe.  Finding a forest creature, she playfully chased after it, her soft and gliding movements taking joy in the small pleasure.  Finally, content with the sparse grass and leaves, the firebird finally set down to rest on a branch.  Immediately disaster struck.

     

    A snare!

     

    The bird leapt into the air, frantically working to escape.  The cruel chain pulled her back to the ground, her feathers collapsing.  She got up and twisted the rope round and round, trying to wear out its threads.  She jumped again!  But it was no use.  The tether would not yield - its teeth held fast.

     

    When all seemed like it would be lost, a hidden figure emerged from the woods.  Prince Ivan (played by the Gentii Eka), the philosopher, ruler, and hunter, danced his way out onto the stage.  He circled the entrapped mythic beast in slow steady steps, hardly believing his fortunes.

     

    The firebird, huddled in a shivering mass on the floor, looked up to him with soft pleading eyes.  She held her arms close to her, then offered up her hands in supplication.  She slowly rose, announced by hushed strings that wove a winding melody as delicate and subdued as her dance.  She circled, dipping repeatedly to beg the prince for help.

     

    And free her he did, only to bind her to himself.  The firebird hid her face, then took his hand as the strings warmed into the pas de deux.  The orchestra, never quite sure of its footing, swelled and dropped back, in and out of key after key, as the prince and firebird danced through the grove - the red wings never able to spread and carry her to freedom.  The prince led his prize through each step, never letting her out of reach.

     

    The dance seemed to stretch out, the pair twisting around with the woodwind’s harmony.  The firebird, on toe points, was paraded around the stage for the audience to see.  But the uneasy music kept any glory at bay.  Every once in a while, she’d attempt to flit away, just to be restrained by the prince once again.

     

    Finally, after a long dance, the firebird knelt at the side of the cherry tree, and wept.  A tear fell to the ground, and her magic filled the stage with horn and light!  Suddenly a thousand glowing pink-white blossoms bloomed, breathing life and light back to the tree.  The prince, shocked and realizing his error, dropped the tether.

     

    The firebird looked up, realizing she was now free.  She wriggled from the dreaded leash, and took flight across the stage, a trail of twinkling magic left behind her wings.  The prince chased after her, still fearful of the wrong he’d nearly committed.  The firebird circled back, and took his hand, again suspended in an airy arabesque, leg arcing into the sky as she floated.

     

    They danced again, but this time he pleaded for her forgiveness in each step.  His frame lifted her into the air, and she exalted in the flight.  At last, the gentle duet wound back down to a whisper.

     

    The firebird, facing the prince, plucked a feather from her plumage - glowing brightly of red and gold as if holding her fire in its veins - and offered it to the prince.  It was a token of forgiveness and gratitude all in one, but more than that: it was a way to summon the firebird and her magic in a time of need.  She swirled about with great majesty, and the feather’s light blossomed, imbued with her powers.

     

    The prince accepted it with great reverence, hallowed music weighing his motions down.  He led the firebird through a final dance in thanks of his own, then the music carried her off into the sky and off the stage.

     

    TBC...

     

    PART II

     

    (( Genti II - Grand Central Establishment, Federal District.  Brynja Bairiri Hall - Main Stage ))

     

    ( Tsar Ivan and the Princesses’ Round )

     

    Prince Ivan was alone on the stage.  With the magical protection of the firebird now gone, the fog began to creep back in.  He moved through the forest, seeking shelter from the oncoming nightfall, the ever thickening vines and branches closing in about him as he searched for the way out.  He gracefully circled one spot, then another, and another, hoping to find escape.  But it was not to be, for a dark and powerful curse animated the trees against him.

     

    There!  In gaps, flashes of white shapes frollicked just out of view.  Their music was light and beautiful, almost enticingly so.  Ivan chased after one, then tumbled headfirst into a clearing containing old stone ruins.  He sprung back up, and to his amazement several women (holographic in nature) dressed in pale white circled around on the stage, arms joined together.  They danced around and around, half peasant-like, half with seductive regency.  The orchestra warmed into a simple, lyric melody led by the winds and echoed by the strings.  The women reached out with translucent limbs, beckoning to Ivan to follow.

     

    And follow he did.  He floated towards them, drawn in by their ethereal beauty.  When he caught up, the princess in lead, wearing a silver circlet, let her hands alight in his.  Overjoyed, he took it and whirled her about in slow motion, unable to remove his eyes from her.  He lifted her, regarding her like a precious jewel.  She, in return, glided around him in dainty pointed-toe grace, leading him through the ruined stone walls.

     

    The romantic swells of the orchestra shifted through the keys, as gentle and tender as the prince’s movements.  She regarded him equally - falling in love with each measured lean and step.  Yet the music shifted into an uneasy, disquieted minor even as their footwork grew more intimate.  The prince seemed to take no notice as the orchestra took an unexpected turn into dissonance.

     

    They danced and danced, the other women praising the pairing.  The stage lights slowly narrowed and narrowed as Ivan’s steps became more and more labored.  But still he went on and on to the slow lyricism, still unable to drag his gaze away from the princess.  He went on until finally the light shone nowhere but him.  In the background, darkness fell fully on the stone ruins.  Exhausted, he slowly laid to the ground, and released his grasp on the woman who slipped into the now-everywhere dark.

     

    ( Appearance of the monsters and the Capture of Ivan by Kachtchei the Immortal )

     

    Clangorous bells sounded with the crash of a cymbal, and blue swirling light appeared everywhere, as if through the lens of rippling water.  At the edges of the castle wreckage, the petrified forms of a dozen knights standing still in stone were revealed, fortelling Ivan’s fate.  The prince, realizing his peril and free of his trance, scrambled back up to find the maidens were now ghouls and goblins swarming around him.

     

    The monsters taunted the stricken man, forcing him to leap to and fro.  Their giddy demon dance was pushed on by the whip of dissonant horns.  Dark horns and claws and gnarled feet terrorized the audience equally, flooding up to the brink of the stage before withdrawing in a wave.  An audience member shouted out, temporarily forgetting the limits of their holographic power ended at the lip.

     

    Then they were all suddenly still.  A short horn intercession, and timpani silenced their cacophony.  Silence rested heavily.  Ominous, muted reeds twisted together in malicious harmony as a figure emerged in the dark.  First seven foot tall, then eight, then nine.  The hideous and powerful Immortal Kachtchei stepped forth into the diseased light, tattered rags doing little to mask his mangled form.  His nails were so long they curled in on themselves. His beady eyes glowed out at the audience before casting their glare onto the Prince.

     

    Ivan scrambled up as the music turned to stark clashing harmonies.  The dark magician approached him, heavily swaying on each beat.  A mangled hand reached out towards the prince, and Ivan swirled away in fear.  Ivan danced again, attempting to escape but the monsters blocked his path at every turn.  They closed in ever tighter as the music spelled his imminent doom.  Kachtchei raised his knotted staff, and prepared to cast his wicked curse.

     

    The glow under Ivan’s jacket was his last hope.  He drew forth the feather, the red and gold filling the stage with its glow.  He thrust it high, and the abominations cowered from its radiance!

     

    ( Return of the Firebird, Her Enchantment, and the Infernal Dance )

     

    The feather glowed bright with the light of a sun, and the firebird appeared in the center of the stage unfurling her plumage (a special effect masking the transporter beam).  Seeing the prince’s predicament, she flit over to him in a rush of music.  She swirled energetically about, shielding him from the hordes of beasts taunting him.  They recoiled as she chased them back, then rushed back in as she moved to the other side.

     

    Kachtchei stretched out his arms, tattered robes hanging from his bony form.  He swung forward, trying to catch the firebird with his curled nails, but she was too fast.  She pranced out of the way, light on her feet.  She circled back, just out of reach and he swung again with a heavy step forward.  Again, he missed - the firebird sprung effortlessly away, beating her feet midair in a teaseful flourishing cabriole.

     

    She led him through a chasing dance, ever just out of reach.  Her plan steadily became clear as the golden-red trail of her sparkling magic began to weave a spiraling trap around the sorcerer.  As her sweet enchantment grew in power over him, so too did the monsters steadily fall to her magic.  The music grew and grew, causing more and more monsters to follow her steps, succumbing to her fast fluttering steps.  The stage steadily turned redder and brighter as her elemental energy dominated the creature’s minds.  Finally, even Kachtchei himself was bound to her dance, his hulking mass entranced.

     

    Blam!

     

    The full orchestra struck.  Percussion shook the very walls of the performance hall.  The sides of the stage belched flame and the spell was sealed.  Horns blared and the whole ensemble ran into a dizzying fervor.  The monsters fell over themselves, leaping from all fours, led on by the ever-tireless firebird.  Her weightless effervescence was totally beyond them, seemingly unbound by the laws of gravity with easy flicks of the legs keeping her suspended mid-air or on toe point.

     

    Kachtchei himself fell in alongside his own cursed servants.  The firebird circled him, her swirling flight forcing him to exert his own enormous size into the air with great effort.  The symphony careened further out of control as the beasts pushed themselves ever harder and faster.  Any time one would flag, the firebird was there, her lyric magic jig keeping them from flagging. On and on they went, possessed of no will other than to dance under her spell.

     

    The firebird’s spell crescendoed with the music - she swooped from one end of the stage to the other, until the full thunder of the orchestra joined her in powerful spin after spin, the magician and foul servants spinning with her.  One by one they fell away until it was only the magician who remained standing.  At last he too dropped to the floor, exhausted by the dance, unable to move.

     

    That left the firebird to finally alight next to Prince Ivan, now released from Kachtchei’s powers.  Rescued and reunited, he took her hand and led her through an adagio berceuse, warm strings underpinning the gratitude and peace that came after the toil of the dance.  The pair took slow, steady steps across the ruins, the prince’s hands on the firebird’s waist, supporting her as their fluid motions glossed across the stage.

     

    But there was still something else stirring.  The hulking form of Kachtchei rustled with an ominous double-reed dissonance.  He awoke, then snatched up the firebird, catching her by surprise!  She flailed and fluttered in his grasp, trying to escape.  Ivan, seeing her peril, pulled his sword and lifted it high.  (A skilled eye would have caught the influence of Klingon Operatic arts here in particular.)  A swift stroke, a short struggle, and the sorcerer stopped moving.

     

    The firebird flitted away, escaping his reach, but it wasn’t necessary.  His body fell to the floor with a clangorous clash of cymbals and horns, sword in back.

     

    Kachtchei was no more.

     

    ( Finale )

     

    Quiet settled, and profound calm washed throughout the auditorium, only the hushed whisper of violins speaking in unified harmony accompanied the first pale yellows of dawn.  Then, something even more unexpected: a soft carpet of grass came to life at the feet of the prince and the firebird, sprouting as if in fast-forward.  As the light continued to rise, the reason became clear: the magician’s cursed machinations were burning away in cleansing fire.

     

    The sun crested with the horn solo.  As the curse lifted, the monsters transformed back into the women the prince had danced with.  Now, instead of sickly pale, they were radiant and vital, wreathed in silver-laced white gowns.  The firebird swooped over to the princess, still slumbering, and woke her with a gentle touch.  She rose to the tune of the horn’s anthem, life and light spreading their foothold around her.  The princess looked up to the firebird, then the prince, the first people she’d seen with her own sight in ages.

     

    The princess took the prince’s hand, and the two danced for joy, united this time of their own volition by the soft violins.  As they did, the other women regained their feet.  The firebird roused them, her flute joining in the reverie, her magic accelerating the crescendoing return of their epic theme.  Then, even the stone encasement of the knights began to crack and fall away, their cruel entombment finally coming to an end.  The strings soared with full brass as the transformation gained speed and life returned.

     

    The firebird took flight, and the knights and women paired off; the prince with the princess.  She twirled about, flowers and trees of the glade returning to full leaf and blooming in the magical contrail she left behind.  The plants clawed up the stone ruins as she danced and leapt for joy at life returning to the garden.  Then, a true miracle came with the arrival of a new elevated key.

     

    The old stonewall face crumbled away under the weight of the new greenery.  The wrecked magician’s abode dissolved away with the chest-rumbling exaltations of the full orchestra.  In their place, golden red walls erupted from the ground forming the pillars and vaults of a magnificent new palace.  Beginnings erupted everywhere around the firebird and the royal court, exploding out into the depths of the forest, dispelling every trace of the defeated evil.

     

    At long last, the orchestra halved their tempo and returned to the home key, giving shaking grandiose acclaim of the soon-king Ivan, and his soon-queen processing down the red-and-gold marble steps.  The knights and maidens were their entourage, the firebird the symbol of their new peace and balance with nature.  The firebird herself alighted, resting in the officiant’s place, tongues of flame on her feathers bearing witness to her rejuvenated power and spirit.

     

    Brass blasted their final cadential pronouncement over heroic strings, the powerful vibrations moving the air inside the audience’s chests.  The firebird anointed the prince as king and regent over the reclaimed lands with fire that spread across the stage.  She placed a crown on his head, then the princess’.  The new monarchs turned to the audience, and the orchestra swelled to its final climax.  The final cymbal crashed, and the lights blinked off.

     

    ---

     

    The story was over.

     

    By the time the lights came back on for bows, Maria was herself again, though not entirely the same Maria.  She was gracious, all smiles and gratitude for the crowds; friendly to every Gentii or crew who came up to her after the show, but everything after that last note turned into a surreal blur.  Like there was still a piece of her still up on that stage.  Still a piece of her that was the firebird.  Maybe a piece of her that was still Quentin, too.

     

    She lingered a long time into the night on the Gentii surface, even well after she’d taken the makeup off and changed into something far more comfortable.  There were a great deal of “hows” and “whys” from new converts to modern ballet, all of which she answered thoughtfully.  But eventually, they all left for home, exhausted from the days-long Bairiri.  After the public left, she found herself saying her farewells to Eka, even giving him a tight hug he never expected.  The look in his eyes as he said goodbye told her it would be a long time before he forgot this night.

     

    Maria still couldn’t rest though.  With the Bairiri hall emptied out and closed for the night, she found herself meandering the quiet streets of The Grand Central District, brilliantly lit by beautiful skyscrapers.  Even though she was totally depleted, she couldn’t get free of the music or the rush of the performance.  She had probably danced as well as her very best before she injured herself.

     

    She wandered until she found a park with local late-night patrons indulging in the street-side carts under warm street lighting illuminating every step.  A couple was making out on a bench, totally unaware of the alien not ten meters away.  She strolled the path inwards until her toes were at the edge of a pond that reflected the city lights and stars back to her.

     

    She closed her eyes, and found herself to still be humming the final theme.  Her arms moved through the fluid motions on their own by pure memory, her body not ready to let go of the magic.  A tear finally started to dribble down her face.

     

    When she opened her eyes again, there was a woman watching at her, completely still.  In the dim light, Maria saw that the Gentii was totally fascinated, even moved, by the scene.

     

    Maria just smiled.

     

    END

     

    Ensign Maria Alvarez

    Ops Officer, USS Arrow

    A239710MA0

    Wiki Operator

    • Like 4
  4. This is pure gold!

    ----

     

    Quote

     

    (( USS Arrow, Deck 1, Bridge ))

    (( Some number of days after reaching Starbase 821, the graveyard shift ))

    The late watch on the bridge was mind-numbingly dull under normal circumstances, but with Arrow berthed and much of the crew on leave it was so, so worse.  It was painfully quiet with the dull thrum of the engines on the opposite end of the ship leaving the bridge silent but for the work of an engineer doing who-knows-what under one of the consoles at the aft of the bridge.  The only other soul on the bridge was one Lieutenant Commander Quentin Collins, who Maria still wasn’t too sure about.  They hadn’t spoken much since last leave, which was good and bad, but she couldn’t help wonder - what was going on in that head?

     

    She sighed and slumped into her seat, her butt sliding all the way to the very front edge.  She swiveled herself in the chair idly with nothing to do but watch a panel for readings or alerts that, if the computer didn’t hurk (which held some ridiculous negative exponent of probability), would never come.  She checked the time for the upteenth time, with the console giving a rhythmic bippity-bleep in response to her inputs.  Still something like an hour until the shift was done…

     

    Maria pushed the swivel on the chair around again, surveying the same scene she had thirty seconds ago, still slouched horribly.  She shuffled her feet along the floor as she did, the heavy heel of the standard issue boot found a spot on the floor that gave a good thunk.  Maria adjusted her foot, having found something new to amuse herself with.  She tweaked the positioning and angle of attack until she’d turned it into a rather satisfyingly bassy tone.

     

    She cautiously eyed Collins, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her level of distraction.  They were in port after all.  She eyed the console again, which predictably showed still nothing.  She checked the time again, with a bippity-bleep.  She quietly drummed the plasticy side of her chair with her fingers, tapping out some improvised rhythm with combinations of click, clack, and smack.

     

    Her heel found the hollow spot on the floor again.  Thunk.  She decided to test a full rhythm.

     

    Thunk, smack.

    Thunk-thunk, smack - bippity-bleep!

     

    Her sour expression lightened a shade into something devious, realizing she had invented a way to keep herself busy at least for a moment.  Maybe it was the boredom overwhelming her judgment, or the fact that she just didn’t care, but she launched into a full beat regardless of what the XO might think.

     

    As soon as she had a sort of back-home mid-tempo urban R&B beat locked in, she improvised a rap on the spot, grooving in her seat as she went with style and attitude.

     

    Alvarez:

    Keep-in’ watch on the bridge of the Arrow,

    I’ve got Starfleet duty seepin’ into my marrow.

    Runnin’ diagnostics an’ checkin’ em twice,

    When we fly into battle we ain’t throwing no dice.

     

    Yeah, our ship and crew ain’t the cream of the crop,

    But when the Borg come knockin’ we make the beat drop.

    We’re the crew of the Arrow and we look hella fly,

    And we comin’ in hotter than a Tal Shiar spy.

     

    :: Drum Break ::

     

    We got Quentin Collins sitting center seat,

    Shakin’ his head to the groove a’ ma beat.

    We got pluck an’ courage, don’t shy from a brawl -

    We can take any challenge, be it big or small.

     

    We’ll be groovin’ along in our little ship,

    Warpin’ through the stars at a steady clip - 

    Leavin’ home behind, but not sheddin’ a tear,

    Cuz we huntin’ the secrets of the final frontier.

     

    :: Drum Break ::

     

    Gather ‘round, go an’ shout it on the street,

    This is the story of a ship a’ Star-fleet:

    Gallantly serving in the Alpha Isles,

    We protect and serve in the sickest a’ styles.

     

    Sheliak, Iconians, and a pirate, too -

    We rose to the challenges, us scrappy few.

    We keepin’ our morals on the straight and narrow:

    These are the voyages of the USS Arrow!

     

    ---

     

    She finished with an irrepressible, pleased grin before she realized how nuts she must appear judging from the look she was getting from Collins.  Maybe she had gotten a little too into it.  She hadn’t given her audience much thought, and was quite frankly surprised she wasn’t stopped.  Shayne almost certainly would have disapproved.  She [...]ed her head with a pretty smile, as if to say, ‘what?’

     

    Collins: Response

     

    Alvarez: :: She smirked. :: That’s our theme song now as far as I’m concerned.

     

    Collins: Response

     

    Tag/TBC...

     

    Ensign Maria Alvarez
    Ops Officer, USS Arrow
    A239710MA0
    Wiki Operator

     

     
    • Like 4
  5. Quote

     

    Collins: Great Caesar's Ghost...
     
    R'Ariel: ::whispering:: Who Is Caesar?
     
    Kal: Some kind of name for a salad dressing I assume. It’s very good and quite delicious on any salad. In fact, it tastes even better with some kind of white, crumbling like substance that humans call cheese. More specifically feta? I enjoy it quite much.
     
    She pulled back, with a quizzical look on her face.
     
    R'Ariel: You must have REALLY enjoyed it.
     
    Wilde: I thought it was parmesan cheese on a Caesar salad?
     
    Collins/ch'Doro/DeBarres/Kal: Response
     
    R'Ariel: Sweet Baghol!  ::she smirked, this was clearly a game, and she was going to play it:: I hate salads.

     

    I need to start using Sweet Baghol more! 😂

    @R'Ariel @Quentin Collins III @Eerie @BenStryker

    • Like 1
    • Haha 1
  6.  

    Quote

     

    ACT III

    (( USS Arrow, Deck 3 - Security Annex ))

     

    Maria hummed a tune softly as she prodded at the internal sensor grid node.  The electronics was proving to be as stubborn as she was, with no number of re-routes or repairs or re-calibrations bringing the sensors in the sector online for quite some time now.  It was soul-crushingly dull work, and somehow she’d ended up abandoned by the engineering and ops teams in her pursuit to fix the issue.

     

    It was probably just as well, since she was terribly unfocused on the work at hand, spending just as much time browsing weakly related informational articles to pass the time as actually doing any real work.  She had discovered the resonator crystal for the particular assembly in this node had been mined on Gelrak V, apparently sustainably harvest with new microbe-friendly laser cutters before being shipped on a low-warp barge to a processing plant halfway across the quadrant because a star called Ytterbi 418 emitted a particular kind of radiation that made working with the crystals easier.  Bizarre stuff.  Needless to say, she was glad of the interruption that came in the form of a certain Lieutenant barging into the small room.

     

    The doors swooshed open and Regan ran in, quickly checking the blind spots and area of the room with his weapon loaded and pointed. It was clear, with no sign of paint or people in it. Save one.

     

    He was dressed only in his uniform trousers and his grey Starfleet tank top. He was bootless and running the corridors in just his socks. He felt it made him more silent, more stealthy. Around his forehead he wore another headband to keep his hair out of his eyes. He was rather taken with them and was tempted to petition Captain Shayne that he let him keep it as part of his uniform. If people could still wear skants in this day and age then surely Regan could be forgiven a badass head bandana. 

     

    Crossing the distance between them, Regan raised his paintball gun with both hands on the trigger. His face was stern, watching her every move.

     

    Maria rose up, her height bringing her not that far short from her counterpart.  A quick appraisal of his outfit and the brightly colored paintball pistol was enough to say there was an interesting story just waiting to be told.  She slipped into a character like she’d been pulled over.

     

    Alvarez: Mornin’ there officer, I was goin’ the speed limit I swear.

     

    Wilde: Are you armed!? Show me your hands…

     

    Alvarez: Don’t you need a warrant for that?

     

    Wilde: Hands! In the air! Nice and easy, hot stuff…

     

    Maria lifted her arms in mock surrender, an incredulous smile on her face despite herself.

     

    Alvarez: Ah, so now you wanna flirt, eh?  :: She grinned, and spun around. ::

     

    Certain she was unarmed and no threat, Regan lowered his weapon carefully and then ‘broke character’ and rested his weight on one hip.

     

    Wilde: Hey, aren’t you playing?

     

    Maria relaxed, and leaned up against a wall.  She had no idea what was going on, and the question was something of a surprise.  She searched his face for a clue, but didn’t find anything.

     

    Alvarez: Playing what, exactly?

     

    Wilde: Uh, hello? Deck 3: Paintball Assassin? Everyone’s playing! Ok, I have to confess something. I’ve made a huge miscalculation!

     

    Alvarez: So that’s why no one else is helping with this sensor node.

     

    She sighed, not really caring about the inconvenience now that something more interesting had come along.  She waved at him to spit out the story.

     

    Alvarez: Well?  Out with it.  What have you done?  It had better be good.

     

    Wilde: Ok, so I was talking to one of the Caldonians from the Syrtan. They have a holodeck! A working holodeck they use for running experiment simulations in. Well, I managed to barter for some holodeck time. I wanted to finally get to use my copy of Vulcan Love Slave 7, you know, for… reasons… but the Caldonians said it should be fair for us to decide who else gets some holodeck time, so I thought it would be sporting to raffle the time off as a prize in a game of Paintball Assassin. You know, the last man standing with no paint on him wins, but… ::He looked at her.:: Oh this crew is vicious! We’ve been playing for nearly two hours! We descended into animals! I don’t know how many are left. We’re only playing on this deck, and Engineering is out of bounds. Most of the enlisted crew are out. I’m not sure about the senior staff.

     

    Maria chuckled.  It certainly did sound like a situation had developed, and one hell of a story to tell.  She had to admit that even after not that long on the ship some holodeck time sounded worth fighting for.

     

    Alvarez: Heh, amazing how little it takes for civilization to fall apart…  Who’s in?  I have a hard time imagining the captain playing along.

     

    Wilde: I don’t think Shayne and Collins are playing, but I’m not sure. The departments banded together pretty quickly but it’s organised chaos. Security and Tactical fell to in-fighting of all things! I don’t know if Serinus is playing. The engineers are pretty tight, but since Engineering itself is a no-go I don’t know where they are. Damn! I at least thought Keneth would want to team up with me… traitorous little targ! ::Beat:: Science and Medical have merged and Sickbay is a kind of neutral area. Oh this is kinda out of hand! There’s paint everywhere! Crewmen are just walking around covered in paint. It’s barbaric, yet…

     

    Alvarez: :: She muttered. :: No wonder I can’t get this node working, the folks in ops probably sabotaged it.  It’s what I’d do.

     

    Wilde: ::His eyes sparkled.:: I’ve never felt so alive! The rules are no comm badges, no sensors and no tricorders. You win this game by guts and instinct alone! Aren’t you playing? Don’t you want some holodeck time?

     

    Maria would have probably immediately wanted in on such a scheme under any other circumstances, but she uncharacteristically backed away from the question still smarting from what had happened in the cargo bay.  Her body tensed a little, unsure how to respond.  She wasn’t even totally sure why Regan was being good to her right now, she thought she’d made it pretty clear she was messy, damaged goods.

     

    Alvarez: No comms or sensors?  Sounds like a Tuesday in the fleet.  :: She harrumphed. ::  No thanks, I’m happy to keep my guts and instincts to myself this round.

     

    Regan pouted and gave her a playful tug on her uniform sleeve.

     

    Wilde: Oh come on. It’s fun! I’ve already pot-shotted a lot of your Ops guys. 

     

    Alvarez: I really should probably fix this sensor relay, and after that I need to pay a visit to cargo bay two.  Did you know that around 5% of what the average starship carries around in cargo never gets used in its service lifetime?  Talk about waste, man.

     

    It was a random factoid she dredged back up to distract from the total lameness of what she was doing.  She would much rather drop the work and play around, but it was a good, diligent-sounding excuse that didn’t scream ‘rescue me from my own personal hell.’

     

    Wilde: ::Rolling his eyes.:: Talk about the most boring thing I’ve heard all week. I thought you’d be playing, not hiding away here of all places.

     

    Alvarez: And suppose I did play.  I don’t have a paintball gun.  Even if I did, do you know how bad my marksmanship scores are?

     

    Wilde: We’ll get you one. When people get paintballed they just leave their guns where they fall. I can get you a paintball gun in no time!

     

    Alvarez: Besides, I’d never make it out of the room.  You could just shoot me right now.

     

    Wilde: I’m very tempted to Ms Alvarez. But that’s not sporting. I thought you’d be the one to give me a run for my money! We’ll sort out the rest of the repairs later. 

     

    Maria was rapidly running out of runway to keep giving excuses not to play.  She knew she’d be better at it than she was letting on: wiley, out-of-control escapades were exactly her kind of thing.  As for gunplay, there was no time like the present to work on those skills.  It all boiled down to her inability to believe Regan still wanted her company after everything.  She’d already shed tears for the friendship, and was ready to just move on like she always did.  He didn’t seem to share that sentiment, wanting to team up as he did.  Her body betrayed her sense of exhausted defeat when she admitted just as much.

     

    Alvarez: Why would you want that?  I thought it was pretty clear I’m not a good thing for you in any way, shape, or form.

     

    Regan exhaled a long breath. Why was it so hard for her to accept the truth that he liked her company and really wanted another bash at their friendship. She was much like him when it came to personality, and he felt close to her because she was more of a misfit than anything else.

     

    Wilde: Do I strike you as a person who’s ever listened to anyone when they’ve said ‘that’s bad for you’? I make my own opinions, and my own choices. I pick my own friends. 

     

    He stepped closer to her and patted her on the shoulder.  Maria’s expression softened as he did.  He really was a lot like her - doing things his own way and standing by his friends to the bitter end.  She didn’t totally trust her own feelings though, imagining it to be just a bandage over an awful rift between them.  She fidgeted tensely with a tool trying to decide which instinct to follow.

     

    Wilde: Look, I get it. You’re a misfit. A screw up. Guess what? So am I! I know we’ve got a lot of stuff to sort out between us, with Starfleet and Ghant and everything. And I promise we’ll get there in time. But there is one thing I need you to know, what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time; Regan Wilde does not give up on his friends! But if you’re not ready to make that same commitment to our friendship, well, I guess I’ll leave you to fix your sensor array or whatever it is you’re doing here… Have fun. Guess I’ll see you at senior staff meetings.

     

    He turned to leave, checking his ammo in his paintball gun.

     

    It was a pretty low down and devious trick to play on her, but they had a history of not being able to talk properly without storming out on each other.  Maria tisked, and stood back upright, catching him by the arm before he could leave.

     

    Alvarez: Hey, now that’s not funny.

     

    She grinned bitterly anyway - it almost was.  One or the both of them had been so block-headed the whole time they hadn’t gotten to actually hang out much.  She was almost annoyed over how charming he was being (or maybe how charming he thought he was), but she had to confess she’d probably try the same thing in his place.  She scanned his face, and found sincerity behind his boyish facade. She felt her habitual smile tentatively crawl its way back onto her face, colored by gratitude, willing to give this a try.

     

    Alvarez: Alright, fine.  But only because asking for my help means you know somewhere deep down I’ll be better at staying in the game than you are.  :: She smirked. ::  I’d hate to see you lose your shot just because I made you go it alone.

     

    She grinned at herself, figuring he’d do just fine without her, but it certainly didn’t hurt for her to have his back.  It was more just fun to rib him.  Besides, she still couldn’t quite shake the guilt from the other night, at least seeing him on his way to a holodeck might make her feel a little better about it.  Maybe she’d have a shot at real redemption over whatever silliness this was.  Either way, she’d invest in it.

     

    Wilde: Oh yes. I desperately need your help to stay in a game I’ve been winning for the last two hours… ::Smiling:: I want to rekindle the camaraderie we had. We make a good team! We can win this together. Let’s call these the golden rules on the Arrow, eh? No man left behind. Misfits rule! Ooh, we’ll call them The ‘Row Code!

     
    Maria shook her head with a smile.
     

    Alvarez: It’s so bad it’s good.  You’ve clearly got a whole bad-boy cop vibe going, I guess that means I’ll be the straight-laced rule follower.  It’ll be good to get out of my own head for a bit. :: She put on a slight accent and leaned in. :: The law’s the law, kid.  It’s the difference between us and the criminals, capiche?  :: She giggled, getting ever more into character. ::  Oh!  We need nicknames…  :: She thought for a second. ::  Tango and Cash!

     

    Wilde: What are they? I’ve never heard of them. But I like the idea. We do need cool nicknames…

     

    Alvarez: Cops from an ancient buddy-cop movie.  Bad movie, really, but appropriate names.  I’m Tango because, duh, I’m an Argentine dancer, and you’re Cash because… y’know, you’re loaded.

     

    Regan laughed. She was more apt at Earth history than he was. But they had a ring to them. Regan blanched when she told him his nickname and offered a demure grin.

     

    Wilde: Hey, I’m not actually that rich, you know. I’m only like ::counting in his head.:: fifth in line to the Wilde Estate. Providing my cousin Danny doesn’t have any more children. Besides I’m not stingy with my latinum.

     

    Maria gave him a playfully accusatory glare.  Her family had been comfortable enough, but far from wealthy.  Her mind boggled at what Regan had hinted to when he mentioned his family estate.

     

    Alvarez: Yeah, and I’m fifth in line to order drinks from a coffee shop in my hometown.  I think this one’s no contest.

     

    Wilde: Fair point.

     

    Alvarez: Alright, so what’s the plan then, Cash?  :: She put on a voice again. :: And I don’ wanna hear any of ya dangerously illegal stunts this time, ya hear me?

     

    Regan, who adored theatrics, drummed up a character he’d seen somewhere from watching ancient movies in his youth.

     

    Wilde: I'm too old for this s...Wait, I think that's the wrong character… I don’t know, I’m the hot-shot, you’re the brains.

     

    Alvarez: How did I become the plans person?

     

    Wilde: Because you had the plan to hot-wire the computer into thinking you were the Commander in Chief? That makes you the planner, doll.

     

    Alvarez: :: She sighed. :: It was fleet admiral, and I was hoping you might forget that.  Fine.  :: She put on a voice again. :: Step one, I need a piece.  :: She shot him a glance. :: A paintball gun.  Second, we need information.  No sensors, so we do it the old fashioned way like we did back when you was in nappies, son.  We find someone who knows the lay o’ the land, we haul ‘em back to the station and interrogate ‘em.

     

    Wilde: You’re going very film noir with this. How about a different approach...

     

    Alvarez: Hey, everyone’s a critic now.  You try putting something together in thirty seconds.  Fine, what do you have?

     

    Wilde: You’ve seen Tango and Cash, have you seen… Die Hard?

     

    Maria’s eyes narrowed before she put on a grizzled grin and flipped her hair in her face.

     

    Alvarez: Yippee-ki-yay mother...

     

      ((Timewarp - Deck 3; Shuttlebay 1 - Main Level))

     

    Wilde: Tucker! You’re out, Crewman. I got you fair and square!

     

    The fight to the shuttle bay was exciting. They’d evaded most of the engineers on the way, and fought their way into the shuttle bay. They thought they’d been victorious until they found themselves cornered behind one of the shuttles. The engineers had been sneaky and made a pact with the rest of the Ops crew.

     

    Paintballs flew through the air and splattered against the pristine duranium of the shuttle. Regan peeked out from behind the nacelle to gauge how many attackers were converging on them. A brief glance around told him it didn’t look good. He ducked back as another volley of paint almost scuppered his chances of victory.

     

    Wilde: This doesn’t look good, Tango.

     

    Alvarez: No, Cash!  Never give up, never surrender!

     

    Maria grinned with the hammy line, and fired off a few unaimed potshots around the corner just to make a point to their attackers that advancing would be unwise.  Still, they were impossibly outnumbered and vastly outgunned, putting them in quite the plight.  The opening to the jefferies tubes was much too far - any number of the paintball guns aimed at the shuttle they sheltered behind would hit them on the way even at a full sprint.

     

    Wilde: We’re pinned down like rats! I shouldn’t have been so [...]y about paintball. I also shouldn’t have underestimated the engineers!

     

    Alvarez: The ops department will pay for their sudden but inevitable betrayal!  :: She smirked for a beat. :: There has to be something we can do.  Flanking maneuver alpha 63 or something, I don’t know!

     

    She was desperately working to think up something to keep them in the game.  She wanted to see Regan win.

     

    Wilde: I’m sorry for getting you involved in this. I shouldn’t have pushed you to play.

     

    Alvarez: I’m just sorry you won’t get to play out Vulcan Love Slave 7… sounds like it had a, uh, truly gripping story.  :: She giggled. ::

     

    Wilde: ::Chuckling:: Hey, I never said I was a saint! It’s been a long six months since the academy. A guy has needs, you know... 

     

    Regan popped out from behind the nacelle again and loosed a few rounds of paintballs against the attackers. They hit their mark but still the crew advanced.  Maria steadied her aim and managed to actually land a shot on a yellow shirt at the periphery, somewhat to her surprise.  It wouldn’t do more than buy a few more seconds though.

     

    Wilde: It makes no sense for both of us to lose. I’ll take the fall, just be sure to mop them up in style. Avenge me!

     

    Alvarez: Hey, who said anything about losing?  My aim has been improbably better than usual today, if we can just… :: She turned and saw he was serious. :: No, wait, don’t you dare…!

     

    It was too late.

     

    Regan nodded and climbed upon the roof of the shuttle and fired rapidly into the bay. Paint exploded all around the bay, covering shuttles and crew alike. He thought himself pretty heroic, standing against the oncoming storm, taking one for the team.

     

    The first paintball hit his chest. He looked down at the yellow stain in shock and horror. He was out. He’d lost. He fell to his knees like the macho soldier trope. Then a dozen other paintballs hit him in the torso and he shot a scolding look at the others who’d obviously been waiting a long time to do that.

     

    Wilde: Alright, I get it. I’m out!

     

    Maria let loose a blood-curdling battle cry, in an almost-too-real retribution for her fallen comrade.  She valiantly rushed forth and squeezed the trigger as fast as the mechanism would allow.  To her credit, there was probably one shot that made it to within single-digit centimeter distance from its intended target.

     

    Her reward for her heroics was a uniform practically bathed in paint within seconds.  There simply was no other way for it to end.  She halted in her tracks and put her hand to the paint like she was in an over-acted, B-tier holovid.  She performed essentially a stunt fall to face Regan.  She whispered hoarsely like she was really wounded, but the uncontained smile told another story.

     

    Alvarez: So, Cash… this is the end.  Can’t say I saw it going down like this.

     

    He fell down onto the roof of the shuttle and suppressed a smile as she fell to his side.

     

    Wilde: They got me, partner!

     

    Maria reached out towards him in mock weakness.

     

    Alvarez: Real shame you’re not gonna get that holodeck time.  I was going to make sure you got it...

     

    He looked at the ceiling from his place on top of the shuttle. Regan was enjoying hamming up his performance. He shot a sly side-glance at Maria.

     

    Wilde: Maria. I have something to tell you.

     

    She coughed sickly for effect.

     

    Alvarez: It’s okay, I know all about your unrequited love for me…  I’ve known how you felt about me since the day we met.

     

    Wilde: No, I’m serious. ::Beat:: There is no prize for Paintball Assassin. I mean, there was. But we’re in it.

     

    Maria propped herself up and dropped the act.  She probably could have processed the information much faster on any other day, but she just couldn’t imagine he’d do what she thought she might be hearing.

     

    Alvarez: Wait.  Either there is or isn’t a prize.  What are you talking about, Regan?

     

    Wilde: ::grinning.:: We’re in the prize. This is the holodeck on the Syrtan, but there is no paintball game. I beamed you over before you started fixing the sensors in security. Computer, end program.

     

    The entire scenario dissolved in a melting fizz of photons and force fields - the shuttles, the bay, the paint, the guns and the crew disappeared. Regan and Maria were alone in the shiny silvery holodeck.  Maria pulled herself up to a stunned stand, leaving Regan still lying on the ground beneath her.  She processed the whole thing in slow motion.

     

    Alvarez: You… little…

     

    She trailed off.  She wasn’t mad.  Impressed, but not mad.  The whole meaning of it still didn’t sink in. Regan propped himself up on his elbows.

     

    Wilde: ::He flashed a big grin.:: I made it all up so you’d come and play paintball with me.

     

    Maria’s eyes narrowed at him craftily, as the clues fit into place.

     

    Alvarez: So that’s why my aim was better wasn’t it?  You probably tweaked the difficulty… not that I mind…

     

    She trailed off, examining his reaction for clues she was right as she pulled Regan up to his feet.

     

    Alvarez: ...And how long was I “fixing” that sensor node programmed to never work in any capacity ever?

     

    Wilde: About twenty minutes. I had to make sure the recreation of Deck 3 of the Arrow was fool-proof. One good thing about being the son of a famous crime holo-novelist is you pick up some handy tips in programming. The downside is my mother used my holographic template for all of her victims for ages. I’ve seen myself murdered dozens of times over the years.

     

    Maria laughed, but quickly a whole tsunami of other emotions were piling up on top of her.  Her smile slipped away into something bittersweet.  Her voice softened.

     

    Alvarez: Why?

     

    Wilde: Well she said I had the perfect build for a murder victim, whatever that’s supposed to mean?… Oh. Why, what?

     

    Alvarez: Why did you do this for me?  I… :: She let slip a heavy breath. :: I feel terrible for the way things have been with us.  I feel like I messed it all up.

     

    Wilde: Because you're my friend. Because 'no man left behind'. Remember? The 'Row Code. Because you've been shutting yourself away and ignoring people. I've done my fair share of messing it up too. You’re a good person, Maria. No matter what you may think of yourself. You dropped everything just to play a stupid game of paintball with me when I wanted you to.

     

    Maria looked down to her feet, grinding her shoe into the floor.  She felt weird being so bashful, but she didn’t know how to respond.

     

    Alvarez: You’ve been so incredibly generous to me, Regan, but…

     

    She looked back up, and met his eyes.  Behind her brown orbs was a desperate plea for true reconciliation.  No games this time.  Her chest betrayed the slightest shakiness in her body, communicating the overwhelming importance of all this to her.  She’d had a bad run, so it was an awful lot to process and communicate.

     

    Alvarez: I don’t want to be playmates.  I want to be friends... real friends.  No more walking out, no matter what happens.  You might be right it was fate we met, I don’t know, but I need where we go from here to be because of something even more powerful than that - a choice.  That means I’m not doing this on a whim.  Definitely not anymore.  I need you to be sure of that too.  Do you understand?

     

    Wilde: Yes, sir! ::he grinned but noticed her facial expression:: Look, with a friendship like ours you need to learn to roll with the punches and take the rough with the smooth. It probably won't be easy. We've both lost our temper with the other and walked out on each other. But we'll figure it all out together. I promise. Like I keep saying, Regan Wilde does not give up on his friends!

     

    Maria couldn’t hold back any more.  She piled into Regan with a fierce hug she probably needed more than him.  She clung to him for a moment, her body finally letting go of weeks worth of anxiety before she let go of him.  She gave a broad smile and let herself slip back into her more usual self.

     

    Alvarez: You realize you’ll never be rid of my quips now, right?  I don’t care if I have to army-crawl through a muddy warzone to goad you back to life, you’re gonna hear it from me…

     

    Wilde: Absolutely. As it should be. Though I hope I don't end up in a muddy warzone any time soon...

     

    Alvarez: And don’t even start with me if any of my antics get you a demerit or land you in the brig.  You know full well by now what I’m like, so there’s no excuses, Cash :: She grinned. ::

     

    Wilde: Hey, if I end up in the brig, I'm gonna need you to spring me, right? Besides, What's Tango without Cash?

     

    Alvarez: Good.  :: She smiled. :: Now, what do you say to dinner?

     

    Wilde: Great idea. I'm starving! Let's try some Caldonian food. Looks quite interesting. I'm sure between us we can sweet talk one of the crew into letting us use a replicator.

     

    Fin

     

     

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