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Devon Romjin (Rune)

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Everything posted by Devon Romjin (Rune)

  1. ((Diplomatic suite - Two hours after the briefing)) ::Mirra had gone directly to the diplomatic suite, which consisted of several conference rooms, that happily doubled as dining rooms, and a very large sitting area. The walls were painted in warm, neutral tones. A bit of a change from the stark clinical set ups she was used to. Along with her research into the art of diplomacy, she also found a handy guide to menu suggestions...although the way it was written, she greatly hoped it wasn't outdated. "When hosting a bevy Klingon warriors for dinner, one paramount suggestion is to skip the doilies and fine china, these dainty decorations just won't do for the proud race of ridge heads- oO Wait...By the Gods...this says actually says ridgeheads...who wrote this?! Oo ::Skipping ahead:: "Consider the delectably distinguished dishes of the Gagh variety- "First up, you have the Bithool gagh, which have feet. Pungent and sure to give a kick." oO....There is more than one kind of Gagh...? Gods protect me...Oo "Followed closely by Filden gagh, which is squirmy and savory. Next, Meshta gagh, a grand party pleaser as this variety jumps around, often engaging the entire table to catch the dinner.- oO By the Four...it...jumps?! No. Not that one. Ever. Oo "The more common Torgud gagh variety just offers a pleasant wiggle, less likely to escape, and finally Wistan gagh, which has been marinating and packed in targ blood. oO That's it. I'm going to vomit. And make Theo handle the dinner...Oo. "If Gagh isn't your fancy, consider the savory and delicious Heart of Targ. A simple dish consisting of a fresh Targ heart resting on a bed of wilted greens." oO I can't do this. Oo ::She was moments away from finding the closest lavatory and swearing to never eat anything ever again when the familiar voice of Lt. Commander Shayne came across asking for her presence on the bridge.:: Ezo: ::slightly green:: Oh Shayne I could kiss you right now... ::Mirra set down the PADD, gingerly and backing away slowly if somehow these Klingon dishes would pop out of the screen and chase after her. With a final shudder, she exited the Diplomacy suite with only a small amount of relieved haste.:: ((Bridge - Deck 1 - USS Blackwell)) ((Moments later)) ::Mirra stepped onto the bridge, feeling a little less nauseated, and seemingly just in time.:: Whittaker: Very well then, let's not keep them waiting much longer. ::he moved to the rear of the bridge and stopped just as the turbolift doors opened, admitting Lieutenant Commander Ezo.:: Ah, Mirra- turns out you're going to be needed in the transporter room with me. Commander Shayne: have Counsellor Jolara meet us there- and you have the bridge. ::Shaking off the menu induced horror, she steeled herself and gave a confident nod:: Ezo: Of course Sir. Shayne: Aye, sir- I have the bridge. Whittaker: ::to Shayne again.:: We're about forty minutes from P-409 Sigma if I'm not mistaken. Begin our long range scans. ::to Pandorn.:: Mr. Pandorn- you can assist him but be ready to act in case our friends out there- ::he motioned to the image of the gik'tal on the viewscreen.:: -decide to liven up the party. Shayne: Very good, sir. Pandorn: Will do, sir. ::He starts to tap his console.:: ::Whittaker than refocused.:: Whittaker: Ensign Mandak, find Commander Thoran and see if you can assist with the security arrangements. Mandak: Response ? ::A few moments later, in the corridor, away from the bridge Mirra latched onto Theo's arm and looked at him with horror:: Ezo: We have to have Dr. G'Renn give us something to suppress our gag reflexes or we're going to...::grimacing::...dishonor all over ourselves with this dinner... Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::fighting a gag at the memory:: I don't care if she thinks less of me. I won't make Theo, I absolutely won't. Otherwise, my first act as a diplomatic officer is going to offend a large group of Klingon officers before the main course. ::her eyes widened:: Is their entire diet based on one elaborate dare?!? Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::scowling:: This is not funny Theo Whittaker! ::Alright, so it was a little funny. A snicker escaped as she fought for composure:: Whittaker: Response? Ezo: ::smirking:: Hey, you hired me. I'm just trying not to shame you in a public forum. ::the transporter room lay just ahead. The earlier jovial attitude muted as they approached the doors.:: Time to greet our guests. Whittaker/Jolara (if present) : Response? ---------------------------------------------- Lt. Commander Mirra Ezo, MD Diplomatic Officer USS Blackwell C239205ME0
  2. He is the last person on the face of this planet who should direct any Trek movie. He will totally destroy the image of Star Trek and everything it stands for. I certainly will not waste my money seeing anything he directs.
  3. (( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters )) ((Time Index: Shortly after Theo's writes a letter to his mother as seen in 'Letters Home')) ::The Blackwell glided through space at warp, every second bringing it closer it destination: the planet Arndall. What awaited the crew there nobody could know for sure but had Theo been a betting man, he would surely wager nothing good. The Valcarians and the Caraadians' Cold War was in imminent danger of heating up and Starfleet wanted the Andaris Task Force to step in before anything could happen. Had Arndall been located anywhere else, Theo would likely now be deep into negociations- however, this was the Par'tha Expanse and it's "unique properties" meant that navigating was difficult at the best of times.:: ::As he sat watching the stars streak by, he felt his mind wandering. Once more, he found himself wanting to pinch himself. The Blackwell was his ship. What sort of Commanding Officer would he turn out to be? Fair and just? Authouritation? Would he be a father figure to the officers and enlisted personnel he commanded? He knew that his mother would insist that he was born to do this and that he would make a fine CO, but part of him believed that she was expected to say that. Typical mothering behaviour. For the first time in a good while, he turned his thoughts to his father... even now in death, he was likely watching his son with intense disapproval.:: ::Josiah Whittaker had never planned for his only child to enter Starfleet. No, he had been adamant even before Theo had been born that he was to follow him into a life of academia and research on Archer IV, their homeworld. Just as his father had done before. And his before him. And so it went on. Whittaker's were academics and had been for hundreds of years. They revelled in their eloquence and their outdated opinions on class and stature. Theo had never been interested in such a life, driven by an insatiable wanderlust. The galaxy fascinated him, technology had held him in a spell since he was a small child and no amount of lectures and studying enforced by his father could alter that.:: ::The day of their estrangement, when Theo had finally broken free of Josiah's oppressive shackles, was still crystal clear in Theo's memory. He could recall every last detail of that fateful moment. It was the last time he had seen his father.:: (( Archer IV - Whittaker Manor - 12 years previously )) J. Whittaker: You step out of that door and you will never be welcomed here again. ::The crisp morning air held a chill, but not one comparable to the one that had descended up on the entrance hall of their home. Josiah bore down on Theo from the grand stair case with a cold fury in his eyes. Five years of acrimonious words and threats had now come down to this. No longer could Theo deny what he wanted to do. Academia be damned.:: ::The sixteen year old looked up at his father, who had now reached the bottom step of the staircase, looking at him with a deadly honesty. There was no doubt that Josiah Whittaker meant what he had said. Anybody else would have paused for thought, but Theo wasn't anybody. They had similar discussions over their difficult, acrimonious history. And now Theo was weary. He had had enough.:: T. Whittaker: ::he made no effort to hide the weariness from his voice. He wanted his father to know that he had, finally, had enough.:: Goodbye father. ::He turned and reached for the door handle, pulling the massive oak door open with a sharp pull.:: J. Whittaker: Theo! :: Theo hesitated for a moment, thinking that he could detect a rising panic within his father's words. His mind told him not to turn but his heart told him otherwise- and so Theo, always one to lead with his emotions, stopped and looked at his father. Cold fury had been replaced by a look of abject desperation. In that moment, Theo knew that his father understood how perilously close he was coming to losing his only child. It was, in a way, morbidly fascinating to behold. He had never seen this side of his father, who had spent his life being as uptight and reserved as he could. At times, Josiah could put a Vulcan to shame with his laser-precision focus and drive.:: ::And then the moment passed- and the desperation was gone, replaced once more with anger. There was a solemn nod from his father, who looked upon his son with contempt.:: J. Whittaker: Then so be it. I no longer have a son. ::If the words had been design to wound Theo, they failed to do so. So tired of their arguments and the tension between the two of them, the sixteen year old simply shook his head and sighed and walked out in to the crisp morning air. He walked down the gravelled path where the Starfleet Type-8 shuttle waited beyond the pretentious and elaborate gates. His father wanted him to be an academic, like generations had been before him. But Theo, never one to stand on history, had to chart his own path. Even if that cost him a relationship with his father. Starfleet Academy- and the future awaited :: (( USS Blackwell - Deck 4 - Captain's Quarters - Stardate 239412.07)) ::Twelve years had passed since that awful morning and it's after effects still lingered with Theo. Had he been right to chart his own course? Of course- he had no doubt about that. But could he have made more of an effort to reconcile with his father in his last years? The answer was simple: Yes.:: ::Theo had not seen or spoken to his father since that day, even when Josiah had been stricken with the terminal and incurable Meenok's Disease. He had been to the funeral, of course, but his father had chosen not to have an open casket. Neither of them, in his final months- much to the pain of his mother- had been willing to let the barriers down and make amends. It was childish on both of their parts, Theo could see that now.:: ::The guilt of their estrangement had haunted Theo and he believed that it always would. There was no easy answer, no solution. He simply had to live with what he had done... and hope that he had become a better person in the intervening years....:: -- Commander Theo Whittaker Commanding Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 Andaris Task Force C239203TW0
  4. ((Ferentis' Quarters)) ::The Pahkwa-thanh slumbered.:: ::His enormous face rested on the reinforced floor of his quarters, a bit of drool escaping the clutches of his massively powerful jaws. Flesh on his midriff heaved in a deliberate, unrushed rhythm; his breathing, at least for the time being, could be as lackadaisical an affair as he liked. Tiny arms gave the occasional gentle flick at invisible phantoms, seen only in the imagination of one drowsy dinosaur.:: ::Ferentis was wiped.:: ::All that work keeping the holodeck operational had certainly drained his faculties, both mental and physical. Running from one irritation to another, while maintaining the decorum pounded into him by both the demands of cultural upbringing and the procedural rigidity of Starfleet had left him utterly drained. But, naturally, the final nail in the coffin was the realization that the thought keeping him going was not what he expected, and was thoroughly underwhelming in its own right. That infernal letter.:: ::So disappointed was he that he’d simply given up for the day. Grunting with the effort, he’d managed to find a suitably warm spot underneath the heating lamp, and in moments, had succumbed to the inky pool of unconsciousness.:: ::Across, the room however, things were not nearly as stagnant.:: ::Ferentis’ efforts, while unsuccessful in revealing the contents of the letter, had triggered something, though, naturally, he had no way of knowing it. His focus had been so undivided, so intent, that when the icon in the corner had finally stopped its infernal flashing, he hadn’t noticed. Scouring the field of dots, he’d likewise utterly failed to take heed when the icon resumed its blinking pattern- this time, in a crimson hue in lieu of the pleasing forest green that had pestered him beforehand. Were Ferentis watching, he would have been extremely puzzled as to why that particular icon was activated- generally, it was reserved for instances in which a message was being transmitted- something Ferentis hadn’t done, nor had had reason to do, in ages. Nevertheless, from his console, and completely without his knowledge, a signal had been released. With precision, it wormed its way into the chat logs, marking itself as personal, waiting for its expulsion into the fluidic fabric of subspace via the Blackwell’s communication array. To any scan or observant eye on the bridge, it would have appeared like any other private communique between a crewmember and family back home. Indeed, it was far more than that. Were this signal, this program, tasked with spying on the chat logs going in and out of the Blackwell, it could have. It possessed the capability to do so, and now that it had infiltrated the machinery, the ease with which the information could be extracted might be considered laughable. However, this electronic worm had no such intentions; for all intents and purposes, it was quite benign. It glanced around at the miasma of impulses and codes, and patiently waited its turn to leave, causing no trouble at all. A fortunate fact for the crew of the Blackwell- the hospital ship had seen more than its share of robot infiltration and attacks via malignant code.:: ::The array gathered the information to transmit, and expelled it. The program found itself dashing through subspace, bounding along the fourth plane, circumventing gullies and sandbars in the pseudo-energy landscape. However, its destination was not the same as the rest of the letters and status updates and other starship minutiae. It diverged after several light years, aiming itself toward its own pre-programmed location. Hours past like the stars as the signal zipped through space.:: ::As Ferentis snored soundly, the signal finally reached its destination. With unceremonious haste, the tiny satellite communication receiver it had smacked into absorbed it. It didn’t take long for the worm to rummage its way into the satellite’s systems, much as it had on the Blackwell. If it could think or speak, its thoughts and words would have been most innocent. “Pardon me- let me just slide into your outgoing traffic. Not here to cause trouble- sorry about the inconvenience. No need to notice me, just let me through. Thanks.”:: ::Soon, it had again moseyed on through the slog of incoming and outgoing messages, and had begun the next leg of its epic voyage…:: PNPC Ensign Ferentis Engineer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 =======as simmed by======= Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne Helmsman/Ops Officer/Second Officer USS Blackwell NCC 58999 G239202RS0
  5. ((USS Blackwell, Corridors)) ::The stars rushing by seemed so close, as if she could just reach her hand beyond the transparent aluminum and grab one. It was a testiment to just how humanity had interjected itself into what was once untouchable. Space, the stars, heck, even Earth’s own moon was once out of reach. And then one day, someone dared to change that.:: ::In a single decade, and with a single step, humanity had set foot on another world. Sure, it was ‘just the moon’, but for the people of that time period, it had been impossible up until it suddenly wasn’t.:: ::Not long after, it became apparent that man could reach further. A permanent space station was put into orbit around the planet, and then robots stretched out to Mars. Someone even put what they had known as a car in orbit of the red planet. Why? Because they could, and at that point in Earth’s history, that was a huge statement. Why do anything?:: ::Because you can.:: ::Technology sped up fairly quickly after that, and before too long, humanity had found the key to interstellar travel. Warp capabilities changed the entire fabric of time and suddenly all that had been impossible simply wasn’t anymore. Humanity was no longer alone in the universe and there was more than just solid proof. The beings from those other worlds, previously held only in the dreams of those who did things just because they could, were standing right there.:: ::And so, time marched on, technology advanced, and eventually it all led to this moment. This moment was one eventuality of time and experience, particles coalesced into a being that had taken the form of a misunderstood and lost ambassador with thigh-length raven-black hair, crystalline blue eyes, and an almost porcelain appearance, who found herself simply staring into space.:: ::Literally.:: ::Now aboard the Blackwell, Kali continued to make the role her own. Technically out, but not out, of Starfleet’s command structure, as ‘Ambassador’ she enjoyed freedoms that she exercised if only to maintain some form of control of her world. She wasn’t out there blazing trails anymore, or commanding starships in unimaginable situations. No longer did she fly anything other than a desk, so when she could ‘break’ all the rules of Starfleet, she did.:: ::Hair down? As an Ambassador, certainly, even if it did get in her way. Ambassadorial looks? Pffft. What even was that? The robes and garb of others were reserved for the rare instances where business must be conducted. Any other time she was perfectly content either in uniform, or as she was now, in black marine cargos and an old, well worn Marines t-shirt.:: ::Did it make up for how much her life had changed? Perhaps not, but then again, her life existed mostly in the lost and faded instincts and few memories she had. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was regaining more than what her logs had told her about her life before the Scar, but she still felt somewhat disconnected. :: ::But no one would know it. Not even those closest to her, and here, they were far, far away.:: ::The voices of others in the corridor brought her back to the moment, and before her eyes she could once again see just how close the stars were.:: TBC Fleet Captain Kalianna Nicholotti Ambassador at Large Andaris Task Force As simmed by: Lieutenant Commander Cayden Adyr Chief Intelligence Officer Andaris Task Force R238605KN0
  6. I'm one of those who have a hard time when writers contradict cannon. It's like trying to rewrite history. I have no problem adding to it and creating fresh new things for a great story but it can be done without rewriting history sooooo leave cannon alone.
  7. It's a medical emergency. Time is of the essence. If they won't give without going through red-tape bs, then I'd take them anyhow.... though I would find it difficult to believe that a Starfleet Starbase would refuse to give the needed supplies with lives in imminent danger.
  8. I have only ever killed off one character. It was actually a very difficult thing for me to do because of personal reasons. Those who know me, know the whole situation surrounding it. Long story short, I did it thinking it would help me get some closure to losing someone in RL... it didn't really but that's another story. I would like to think it had meaning. As silly as it may sound, I don't think I could write anything else like it again in game.
  9. I will only be seeing it because a friend is more free with their money than I am.
  10. Jumping on the Red Carpet bandwagon here... What are you wearing to the the the 2394 Awards Ceremony? Nikki chose to go with something simple...
  11. Remember the TNG episode "Who Watches the Watchers"? They used a holographic duck-blind to make the observation station invisible... in modern times it's a camouflaged tent or structure hunters hide in or behind.
  12. ((School. Samual's School. And Tristam should definitely not be seated at a teacher's desk.)) ::Samual sat with his head in his hands, elbows rested on the desk, caramel skin on his cheek now doing it's best impression of the colour purple, spreading up to his eye.:: ::Taywor should have been here for this. Not Tristam. And the fact that Taywor was for some reason MIA stirred an anger that the Rodulan didn't think he was capable of towards his brother. ::He had his arms crossed, eyes intently staring at the young boy next to him. That was the point of all this - he was young. He was *allowed* mistakes. But violence as a Rodulan was one thing, violence as a young Rodulan in a place of learning was another.:: Samual: It's not my fault. Core: Really? Samual: She kept going on about mum and dad. Core: I hate to break it to you, Samual, but you were at fault the second you decided to hit her. ::Samual only shut himself further from his uncle. Tristam sighed, resting his elbows on his knees to clasp his hands together.:: Core: You need to tell me everything that's happening at home. Because I am concerned. I am concerned that you have lied to me. For months. Then your parents and gradda lie to me, for *years*. No one is giving me a straight answer about anything, and the second I think that everything is starting to get back onto stable ground, I get called up because Taywor and Yanata "can't make it" and that I'm the next one on the line to sort this out. ::He rubbed at his beard.:: Where are your parents, Mual? Samual: Mum was headed back to Cardassia. Dad didn't say. Core: Great. So they're AWOL. Your gradda is with doctors. Should I even ask about Ilen? Samual: Mum got into a fight with her. Haven't heard from her since. ::He was losing the ability to care at this point, now pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep, calming breath as he swallowed the pill.:: Core: Of course. ::He muttered.:: ::The door slid open to reveal the student coordinator - less then pleased, evidently, not giving Samual a second glance before perching in her chair as if she were a snobby kind of bird. She even had the beak for it.:: Salamara: Daneil Core. I am Sage Salamara. I'm sorry we've had to pull you into this, but with no other close family available- Core: It's fine. Let's just . . . skip the pleasantries please. Salamara: Alright. Samual from this point forward will need to a new place of education. Our staff here, we feel his temperament doesn't suit us here at Maddel. ::Oh he didn't need this right now. This did not need to be the tip of the iceberg that would sink him. Tristam rubbed his eyes with a deep sigh, Samuals shoulder's sinking to a new level.:: Salamara: Given his previous successes in his education, we can recommend some high-caliber institutes in the area, but with this on his record- Core: Who made this decision? Salamara: The school council, Daneil Core. Core: And did the council at any point in time consider the emotional aspect of this entire situation? Samual was *provoked*, Sage. He is having problems at home, and coming to this decision in the aftermath of another kid picking on him about his situation is hardly fair. Salamara: I hate to inform you, Daneil, but this decision was made well informed of Samual's behaviour over the period of the last four months. I'm sorry that this incident may have been due to an emotional outburst, but we can't excuse that he has been deliberately skipping classes - not to mention that one of our teachers logged an incident with Samual regarding some of his work- Samual: That wasn't my fault and he *knows* it- Core: Stay out of this. ::He snapped coldly.:: ::Wisely, the boy shut his mouth, looking away as those more mature debated what to do with him.:: ::Tristam turned back to the sage.:: Core: Is there nothing? Not even a probation period? Salamara: The council's decision was final. oO And suspiciously swift. Oo Core: And the other involved? What about her? Salamara: That is a private matter. Core: So she stays put? After deliberately provoking another student, engaging him in physical confrontation? Salamara: No, Daneil. But I cannot discuss another family's private matters with you. ::Tristam leaned back in his chair, eyes closed as he gave a deep sigh.:: Core: I need guidance. Samual's parents are . . . having some problems, and his other family members are otherwise indisposed. Do I have authority here? Can I actually say 'yes, alright, I'll find somewhere else to take him'? Salamara: Samual is your community's first priority. ::she looked back at Samual, finally addressing him for the first time.:: If you needed assistance at home, you have the right to a new carer, which will require a short investigation. There are also other resources you have access to - but if you wish to re-enroll here, you'll be required to undergo an assistance program. Samual: I'm fine. ::Samual wasn't fine.:: ::Salamara looked back towards Tristam.:: Salamara: Last I checked, Daneil Core, you have the authority as a family member to assist Samual, given that your fellows have not made attempts to contact us regarding him. ::The entire thing sounded juvenile - and it was. Taywor and Yanata, neglecting their kid? In what reality could that even be possible? It was unrealistic. It defied everything Tristam knew up to this point - hell, Tasnim wasn't even related to Tristam, not by any means other than his relationship with Roshanara, but he didn't downright ignore her existence, didn't provide a miserable atmosphere in her presence, and was there on the off-chance she needed something. Taywor and Yanata had a biological requirement to care for their child. 'Being busy' might be a valid excuse for the first week, but four *months* past that and you entered some dangerous territory. ::Salamara had given him a sympathetic look, and despite her initial reaction to Samual as she walked in - the same reaction Tristam imagined any education representative would have given that the kid had literally gotten into a punch up, which was a *huge* no in any square metre of Rodul other than training gym - she seemed to have a concerned bystander's approach to this topic in particular. She clearly didn't want to insult Taywor and Yanata, but she also wanted Tristam's involvement. ::How the hell did Tristam become the mature one, yet Taywor stuck with his child-like attitude to responsibility? And where the hell was Yanata during all this?:: Salamara: I can forward you more details and information about other education institutes and assistance regarding this problem. I assume your contact information is still as it was? ::Tristam shook his head, watching as she slid over a notepad to him on the desk's touch display, entering new details.:: ((Qucaberry Park)) Core: You didn't tell me what's happening at home. ::They'd been forced to clear out Samual's locker. Despite being incredibly helpful when Tristam volunteered himself as a new parental for the kid, Salamara had stressed that they no longer wanted Mual within the area of the school. He was to leave immediately. The fact that other learners had scattered when they saw him spoke wonders about how serious the 'scuffle' had been. ::All of Mual's music gear had been stuffed into his bag, Tristam cringing when he heard what might have been the boy's instrument crack under the pressure of the books, trinkets, and electronic devices now pushed up against it. Textbooks that had been given to him over the years by the school had been returned - Tristam had never seen a librarian shove her nose so far into the air, eyes piercing downwards in a clearly judgemental look. If it hurt Tristam, Samual was definitely feeling the scrutiny. ::When they finally left the building, Maul looked back over his shoulder, recognizing a slightly older boy leaning up against the paved outer wall. Tristam watched on as his nephew almost crumbled.:: ::Now they were slowly walking home, Tristam having stopped to get a bag of pop rocks, now sharing them with Samual. He didn't need anymore attitude, didn't need Tristam saying how incredibly bad his actions had made him look. Now he just needed a shoulder to lean on.:: Samual: There's not much to tell. Core: Four months worth of bad behaviour on a kid's otherwise stellar record says to the contrary. Spill. ::Mual sighed, rubbing his forehead.:: Samual: They're just . . . always arguing. I ask them to stop, they look at me like I broke their basotile, and *I* get told to back off. Help with homework? Forget about it. Then every word mum says at me . . . It's not abusive - at least, I don't think it is. But she picks on basically everything I do. And then says that I'm better off for hearing it, strengthening me for someone harsher. ::He paused.:: It sounds worse when I say it then it actually is. Core: I don't think so. Samual: I do. I love her. She loves me. Dad loves me, too. But when they broke their basotile, they tried playing tug of war with me, and that wasn't . . . it wasn't good. Mum wanted me to go with her on her trips, dad said I should go do overseas studies so that I'm out of the house and in a "more positive environment". Core: And what does Huzana think? Samual: She's been gone since last Areil. ::As Medledore was to Tristam and Nygeyan, Huzana was Samual's individual tutor. In the event Samual needed more assistance in his studies, Huzana was the go-to. Tristam knew extraordinarily little about her, having never met her. Her job was like Medledore's for him - help the kid, always be there for the kid in his studies and the stress they involve, be the guiding rock for the kid until they're no longer a kid. ::Last Areil was almost a year ago. ::He'd been without a mentor or a guiding rock for a freaking *year*. No wonder he had some pent-up emotional issues. There had been no one around to recognize he was having problems - no one unbiased in their opinion of him.:: Core: You're telling me she's been gone a year? Samual: She moved overseas. Core: And nobody found you a replacement? Samual: We just . . . didn't have time to, I guess. ::They live on Rodul. Rodul has 29 hour days. "Didn't have time to" was a lie. Nobody could say that unless they dealt with the 24 hour time most Federation vessels stuck to - *that* was a nightmare when first getting used to it.:: Core: Because of gradda's illness? Samual: I think they just didn't get around to it. ::Tristam sighed, throwing a handful of pop rocks into his mouth, chewing as he thought of his next words, swallowing when he was ready to say them.:: Core: Okay. So the way I see if, yours being at home, at this stage in your life, is not ideal. That's not because I think your parents are evil beings from the shadows of the canvas, ::he said before Samual could interrupt:: but at some point they've not realized that what's happening between them is clearly affecting you. And I am *not* okay with that. ::Silence. He was honestly surprised Mual had had enough courage to grab a handful of pop rocks, picking one by one out of his hand.:: Core: You have two options. You stay at home, ride this out, put up with whatever is happening between your parents right now. Or, you can exercise your right to find a new carer - if only temporary until they can sort out their problems. Samual: Are you volunteering? Core:::sighing:: I'm not sure the Gate's legal teams will recognize my ability to look after you, given that I tend to be off-planet for decades at a time - not to mention currently sleeping on my best friend's couch because I've nowhere else to go. Samual: Nygeyan? Core: Does it seem like I have any other friends here? ::He grinned.:: ::Samual just shrugged, still depressed about the entire day.:: Samual: If I leave, they'll hate me. Core: They won't hate you. Samual: They will. Core: Emotionally blackmailing you to stay isn't fair. It's all the more reason to leave. I'm here now - I will defend you if required. If I have to step up as the oldest, then so be it. Samual: But you're *not* the oldest. Neither of you are. It's a two minute gap. Core: Exactly. I'm older. Not to mention apparently more mature then both of them combined. ::He sighed again.:: Samual, this is your decision. And it's a tough one to make, I know - but it's not permanent. I know that my saying you should leave is harsh, unfair and unwanted, but hearing everything today, hearing that neither of them so much as lifted a finger to support or be there for you today, proves to me that you are better off with them in the background until they can get their act together. It's not just me that will rally, it's the entire freaking *neighborhood*. Vebra is probably shaking in her slippers right about now. ::That earned a giggle from Samual, likely picturing his elderly neighbor literally shivering in her woolly brown slippers.:: Core: If you want to leave, you only have to give the word, and I'll have people on the com to make it happen. You just have to say when and who. ::The boy glanced back to his uncle, gripping the straps of his bag.:: Samual: Okay. But . . . not today. Core:::nodding:: Not today. Tbc . . . Tristam Core
  13. Are you meaning for your sig? Go to your signature settings. See both banners under the text box as available attached images to add? If you hover over the image you want to delete you should see the delete/trash can button on the right side of it.
  14. That pesky little thing called copyright... Personally, while I love ST if I'm going to sink a lot of money into a large production, I would want it to be my own original creation. As a side note.... Star Trek: Renegades isn't letting it stop them. They just removed all references of ST from their project and turned it into an independent sci-fi creation. This is a project has a lot of ST actors involved and is directed by Tim Russ. I believe the second film, Renegades: The Requiem is in post-production now.
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