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Alora DeVeau

Captains Council observer
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Everything posted by Alora DeVeau

  1. ((Holosuite 1, Deck 5, Holosuite 1) Josh wasn’t exactly sure that this was the best use of his time; this had been his first break in several days of double trying to hobble the Oumuamua back into serviceable shape after the encounter with Alpha Brenkelvi II’s moon. Now that they were docked at DS9, and supplemental engineers from Starfleet were coming on board, he had a sliver of time to himself. And he’d spent the last 10 hours in the Holosuite, getting it ready. JOPA had already turned over quite a number of members since he’d joined, and he didn’t want to be the second person in history to have not pulled a prank before getting ‘kicked out’. But there wasn’t really a guideline around limits, probably just common sense, Josh thought to himself. But then again, common sense wasn’t so common. He placed the finishing touches and informed the computer to save the program. When it activated, which would be on Commander Etan’s off day, with no one around him, he would be transported here to Holosuite 1 and it would start. The engineer had banked up quite a bit of holotime so that he could book the full day. You couldn’t really expect others to align to a desired schedule they didn’t know about. --- (( USS ‘Oumuamua )) Etan Iljor did not take ‘days off’. As the Executive Officer of a state-of-the-art Luna-class Long Range Explorer, there was an endless stream of paperwork and minutiae that occupied his time, even on those days when he vowed to do nothing but relax… not that he made such plans. No, he was something humans often referred to as a ‘workaholic’ and that suited him down to the ground. He loved his work, he loved his ship and he loved the crew under his command (although he was still decidedly cool on Lhandon Nilsen). But after four sixteen-hour duty shifts supervising Deep Space 9’s repair technicians were completing their assignments to his standards (much to the chagrin of the station’s Chief Operations Officer), even the Bajoran had to admit he needed some R&R. That meant he needed to get off the ‘Oumumua and off Deep Space 9. There was little left for him on Bajor now that his parents were in a penal colony on Prophet’s Landing, so he had decided to take a day trip to Sefalla Prime to see the famed Crystal Waterfalls of Chonakra Wept. A twenty-six-hour round trip aboard a Kressari Liner with a complimentary buffet, guided tour of the falls- including an hour in a seventeen-storey gift shop!- and a performance by a Lady Shadonna tribute drag act. He would probably skip the concert since Lady Shadonna was not really to his taste, but Iljor could not deny that he was excited by the prospect of seeing one of the Bajor Sector’s most beautiful sights. He had packed a bag with the usual essentials and had double (and triple) checked that his vaccinations were up to date since the Kressari were unusually stringent about that particular demand. When he was content that he had everything he needed, he made a beeline for the docking port that would take him to DS9’s Promenade. He was less than twenty metres from the Cardassian-design gateway when the world around him suddenly began to shimmer with blue and white energy. With a sigh, he realised the moment right before he dematerialised that he was never going to get a chance to see the Crystal Waterfalls. He sighed inwardly. --- ((Deck 4, Holosuite 1) Josh had taken a higher vantage point at the top of the barn. He thought about leaving it on autopilot, but he was unsure exactly how the Commander would react and wanted to be able to step in if needed. As the commander shimmered in, he was placed directly in the centre of the farm field. Circling him were 20 cows, grazing casually around him, seemingly unbothered by his appearance. As the commander looked around, a slightly modified Terran song blared out over the intercom. Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there Here a moo, there an moo, everywhere a moo-moo Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O Standing in the middle of a large field, Iljor squinted as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright sunlight. filled with confusion and mounting irritation, he listened to the strange, twangy tune. He looked around through half-opened eyes and tried to figure out what was going on. He recognised the bovine creatures as cows, Earth creatures that had been brought to Bajor in the wake of the Occupation’s end. Pa and Ma had never had them on their homestead, but he knew enough to know their manure was a potent fertiliser. He looked down instinctively and hoped that he was not standing in some. It was clear, the first officer was bewildered. Josh smirked; that was the reaction he was going for. Something so bizarre you weren’t even sure you were awake. Etan: What the- :: he pinched the bridge of his ridged nose. :: Computer, arch! As he called for the exit, large mooing erupted from the bovines and they shook their head. Instead, a stand appeared in front of him, with a microphone, and a copy of the rhyme. Iljor pursed his lips, realising what he needed to do. He was also beginning to realise that this entire situation was likely the work of junior officers. This had JOPA written all over it. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. Etan: Somebody is getting a court marshal for this. :: he muttered, before huffing out a sigh.:: Iljor picked up the card and stumped to the microphone. Determined to get this over and done with, he quickly and without any intonation read aloud the rhyme. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. :: he paused and then spoke again. :: Are we done? It was clear to Josh that the Commander was less than amused at the prank — Josh didn’t really have enough exposure in this area to know if that was an issue, or if it was a typical reaction. He was sure T’Larn would be having a field day herself if she was here. Perhaps it was an oversight to not have them here giving the unique look into humour — but he wasn’t sure the Vulcan wouldn’t have reported him. Sure the card was read, line for line, but it was all in the performance. After Etan read out the final line, the computer bleeped at him with a rather unimpressed tone. Computer: Talent score calculated. Result: Needs Improvement. Adding ambiance. The holo emitters overlaid the man’s clothing with a checkered shirt, denim overalls, and cowboy boots. Etan: Oh for Prophets sake!. Computer: Once again, with feeling! Etan: You have got to be kidding me! :: he said under his breath. :: Iljor looked around the simulation again and thought he saw movement atop the large wooden barn at one end of the pasture. He was sure he saw a person there, but given the distance, he could not make out who it was. Etan: Do you want me to sing for my supper? :: he asked, speaking into the microphone. :: Am I supposed to put on a show? The computer bleeped at Etan, indicating that this was indeed what Josh had wanted from him. Etan: Fine. But once I do this, I’m getting out of here. :: he sighed. :: Computer, top hat and tails… and a really jazzy cane. If the junior officer wanted a show, then he would give them a show. The country attire that had appeared just a minute ago was replaced with an elegant suit. Interestingly, the computer had also decided to add a bit of Bajoran flair to each piece of clothing. A ribbon around the base of the ‘top hat chimney’ and the same pattern adorned the lapels Josh wondered if it was a modern take on the classic Terran outfit, or if it was a typical Bajoran outfit. Given this was his second attempt, Josh had programmed the words to appear mid-air and change colour to help the commander keep pace. The LCARS had mentioned this ‘karaoke’ and the earthlings stole the idea. And so Etan Iljor strutted and twirled as though he were performing on the one of the stages of Ashalla’s theatre district. As he threw the cane and twirled it behind his back, he hoped and prayed that there would be no recorded footage uploaded. He didn’t think he could handle the shame. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. It was clear that the commander had decided to put more energy and chutzpah into this round. The cheng was trying to convince himself that the first officer was now enjoying himself, but he could have easily been just trying to escape. Etan finished the round and the computer bleeped cheerfully. Computer: Talent score calculated. Adding ambiance. Etan: Oh no you don’t! :: he snapped, before realising what was happening. :: Wait a minute- The holodeck then populated with 50 farmers and cowboys, rowdily applauding. Computer: Congratulations. You have been awarded ‘Rockstar of the Mississippi'. The imagery in the holodeck faded into the familiar black and yellow lines, with a gold trophy hovering in front of the commander. As the barn dissipated from underneath Josh, he was gently swept into a standing position from by the finely-tuned force fields. Herrick: Commander! ::smirking:: I’ve come to rescue you! Iljor whirled around to see the Chief Engineer smirking at him. His mouth dropped open. Herrick had planned all of this? He didn’t seem the sort. He pursed his lips and favoured the officer with a thoroughly unimpressed stare. Etan: Rescue, my eye! This was your doing, wasn’t it?! :: he jabbed a finger towards the man. :: Josh wasn’t exactly sure how to take the man’s response. Was he angry, was he playing along? He shifted a bit awkwardly and only a single sound escaped his mouth. Herrick: Uh… Iljor folded his arms and decided that retribution would be a matter of when, not if. JOPA had been tolerated for too long in his eyes, and he thought that it was high-time for a crackdown. Etan: Just a thought, Josh… isn’t your performance review coming up in the next couple of weeks? :: he raised an eyebrow in mischief. :: I could think of several… shall we say, cruel and unusual scenarios that could happen before then? Herrick: oO He must be playing along? Oo He wondered what a safe response could be. Herrick: Not from saving the first officer…surely. ::a playful smile turning up in the corner of his mouth:: As Iljor headed for the door, he stopped and turned back to the Chief Engineer. Etan: I’d sleep with one eye open tonight, Lieutenant. :: he said with a chuckle, his mind whirring with plots and schemes. :: And with that, the ship’s executive officer turned about and walked out of the recently revealed arch. Josh pondered the implications of the Bajoran’s words; he was now more worried at the reprisal than he had been of a reprimand. He noticed that the trophy was still spinning mid-air. Herrick: Computer, replicate and transport a 6 foot version of the rockstar trophy and place it in front of the doors of Commander Etan’s quarters. Computer: Requested operation will take 5 minutes to complete, industrial replicator in use. Herrick: Do it. He noticed even his interactions were getting a bit more casual with the Oumuamua; this was becoming his home. --- Commander Etan Iljor Executive Officer USS ‘Oumuamua NCC - 81226 C239203TW0 & Lieutenant JG Josh Herrick Acting Chief Engineer USS ‘Oumuamua O240005JH3
  2. ((Engineering Lab 1, USS Eagle)) Drex had hoped to handle Gul Smith's PADD analysis himself. Not that he really thought he would find anything useful in it, but he had found it, he'd picked it up and brought it aboard and now, due to the turn of events on the mission, he was forced to ask someone else to help him to deal with it. During the meeting the name of a certain Kinsley had come up, but Drex had not been able to find her on board, but others had sent him without hesitation to Ensign Eyna, Engineering Lab 1, Deck 14, USS Eagle. And so he was. As the door opened in front of him with his typical woosh, he took a step inside. Eyna: I told you it’s not ready. Stop bothering me, I’m not going to do it any faster! Drex turned around to see who the target was, but could not see anyone but the red hair officer in the room. The door closed behind him as he took another step. Drex: Were you talking to me? :: He asked, half amused and half perplexed :: Eyna turned to face the unexpected visitor and waved her left head. Eyna: No, no, of course no… I thought you were… oh never mind. Who are you and who are you looking for? Drex approached the work station where the woman was and handed her the security case holding the Cardassian PADD. Drex: I’m Drex. And you should be Ensign Eyna, am I correct? Someone told me you can check if there is anything useful for the current mission inside here. I understand you’re busy, but you can check with the XO the priority for this. The Denobulan officer accompanied the request with one of his large smiles. Eyna took the case and slit an eye, not too convinced. Eyna: The XO you said? Drex nodded. Eyna: What is it? She opened up the case and looked at the device. A smile spread across her face. Eyna: It’s the PADD that ruined the XO’s camping, isn’t it? :: She asked, amused. Drex: Uhm… I guess so… News of the camping mishap had spread around the ship. Eyna: Are you the one who got stunned? :: She placed the case on the workstation, her mind already on the device. Drex: No, I’m just the one who found the PADD under some rocks. Can you read it? He took a step closer. Eyna: Of course I can, what do you think all this wonderful equipment is for? :: Without turning to him, she made a circular gesture with her arm. :: Now, don’t you have a mission to accomplish? The science officer nodded, but did not move. Drex: How long do you think it may take? Eyna: The more you stay here the more it takes. Go! :: She pointed at the door :: I’ll send the results to the XO when I have something. Well, at least she was going to do it right away and Vahin and Lieutenant Raimor were surely waiting for him so it was better to move. With a sigh Drex turned towards the door and left. Once alone, Eyna began to concentrate on the PADD. Enya: Time to share your secrets, my little PADD :: she murmured with a smile wearing a couple of lab gloves:: She set to work recovering the memory chips. Not wanting to risk getting into some Cardassian trick, he cloned the memories and isolated the analysis system from the rest of the ship's network. Fortunately Cardassian was a well known language nowadays, so the translation matrix did not take long to return the first results: a proximity alarm software and a map of Bajor, without any mark. Enya: Oh, you like to play hide and seek, don’t you? She ran the recovery data procedure. This would definitely take longer, so she stretched her back and started walking towards the nearby replicator. Enya: Raktajino, warm. She watched as the tall glass and the brown liquid were created out of nowhere with the typical sound and light effects. She grabbed the cup and she took the first sip of the warm Klingon coffee. As she returned to the working station she noticed some dirt between the grooves of the casing. Enya: Uhm… where did he say he found it? I bet he picked it up bare hand :: She placed the still full cup on the table :: The chances of getting a fingerprint match were practically nil, but since she had nothing else to worry about she decided to give it a try anyway. By the end of the Rackatjino, she was rewarded with a couple of positive matches. Eyna: Daniel Jordan Smith :: she read aloud :: born on … unknown… current location unknown… I will say Bajor now, well… :: she kept reading :: wanted for smuggling and kidnapping and animal trafficking… What a nice person… and Drex, Ensign… Science Officer… not so smart I may say… She saved all the information about Smith and went back to see the status of data recovery. Although the devices seemed very old, it did not contain many deleted records. Of course they could have replaced only the memory chips. The files seemed to be all related, like different versions of the same promotional manifest. Eyna: Don’t fall victim to cellular ennui and the Soulless Minions of Orthodoxy! Her forehead furrowed. She reached for the nearest console and typed in the entire phrase. A few results appeared. Eyna: A biological phenomenon believed to be ultimately responsible for death… Dr. Bathkin.. Dr. Giger… doesn’t seem like they have a lot of fellows… She gave a look at the other files, finding nothing interesting. She saved the new data with those about Smith and sent a report to Lieutenant Commander Falt. END Ensign Eyna simmed by ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14
  3. ((ooc: This isn’t quite a JP, but I did add a few lines that Tom filled in for Nilsen.)) (( for story dev, location left out purposely )) Toxin admired his quarters they were both foreign and familiar to him at the same time, a feeling he couldn’t explain. It had been some time since he and Lhandon shared quarters and he missed his old room mate. As he stepped out he straightened his new tunic, pulling at the helm to remove the wrinkles, why this seemed so important wasn’t immediately evident. Reporting for duty wasn’t a new task, but Toxin had taken his responsibilities since coming on board extremely serious, for he was an officer in charge, he couldn’t let a casual nature disrupt a smooth operating machine. Arlill: ::entering the turbolift:: Bridge. The turbolift doors gently closed and before long the weight of movement felt through his body. As the lift came to a stop and the doors whirred opened, the light of the bridge cast an blue tint across his already blue complexion. As he made his way over to his station. Crewman: Captain on the bridge. Arlill: As you were. #flash# The time had passed quickly, he’d been captain of the USS Gnome for over 5 years and he wouldn’t trade it up for anything, well almost anything. He missed having his friend at the helm and in charge of Operations, but something felt off, he had this feeling of loss thinking of his friend Lhandon. He had a ping of despair. #flash# A shuttle in distress, the pilot not listening to his captain. Arlill: Lhandon, listen, shut down your engines, we can grab you with the tractors. Nilsen: No, I’ve got this. #flash# Two officers standing in front of a crashed shuttle, the only others in sight were medical officers taking covered stretchers off a damaged shuttle and moving them to the shuttle bay floor. Toxin looked towards these white silent beings and back towards Lhandon. He would look down towards a tablet, the orders hard to make out, but he knew his duty. Reaching forward he would remove the officers (beat) his friend’s rank pips and relieve him of duty, something deep inside him he never wanted to do, but the choices no longer existed. #flash# Toxin stands outside of a family crew quarters on deck 9 of the USS Gnome. A smile finds it’s way to his lips, he hasn’t been here in a while, his duties never giving him the time to stop and see friends. He presses a button on the door control, waits for a few moments which seem to take forever, the door opens and his smiling friend greets him. Arlill: Hey Lhando, it’s good to see you, I’m glad you decided to join us. Jeremy: Hey Tox, is that you? ::coming out of the kitchen:: ::to Lhandon:: Hey, I think the roast is almost done. Nilsen: Gimmie a min. There’s drinks on the table, help your self bro. Arlill: Thanks, I will. ::coming into the room:: Toxin followed Lhandon back to the kitchen. Nilsen: Come here big guy ::hugs:: how you been keeping? I never see ya anymore. Arlill: I’ve been doing well, how’s the SB118 restaurant doing? Nilsen: SB118 restaurant? it’s more then just a restaurant mate ::teasing:: Arlill: I know, I know, the arcade. Nilsen: Couldn’t be going better, you gotta stopby at some point bro. Arlill: Hey it’s hard to get away, you know the life of a Capt… The ship jolted hard enough to port that the three of them slam into the wall. Arlill: =/\= Arlill to bridge =/\= ::no response:: =/\= Arlill to bridge =/\= ::no response:: Another jolt, Toxin hits his head, just before his vision fades he sees a Jeremy, his eyes wide open just staring in his direction, a Nilsen screaming at him to respond. #flash# Toxin visits his friend, Lhandon, on Gault at least once a year since the accident that destroyed the Gnome. It’s unclear to Toxin what happened, in this moment. He stands outside a small house, the shutters unpainted and some missing, the walkway with grass winning the battle over concrete. A deep sigh and a knock on the door. A dishevelled Nilsen answers, they hug. #flash# Anyone watching the young captain who now sat onboard the Type-21 shuttle might ask a penny for his thoughts for his contemplation was vivid across his face. But only Toxin felt like something was missing, some presence he once appreciated. It had been a while since Toxin had visited his old friend, flashbacks of Lhandon and Toxin screaming at each other in a shuttle bay sent dread down his spine and reminded him of the darkest of times, at least that’s the feeling Toxin had. As the shuttle came into atmosphere and shook slightly, Tox knew it wouldn’t be long before they were landed and he’d have to continue his annual tradition. He looked down to take in his uniform, it was new to him, oO I wish Lhandon was there when I earned this. I’ll just have to tell him when I see him.Oo Stepping off the shuttle a transport was waiting to quickly whisk the tall blue admiral away to his destination. #flash# The Nilsen Farm, a once grand sight now stood buildings no longer in use, their caretakers long gone, only a few souls remained. Toxin making his way out to one of the yards he finds Lhandon in the field. Arlill: Hey broroomy, it’s been awhile. I’ve missed you. Nilsen: ::no response:: Arlill: It hasn’t been the same in Starfleet since you left. A single tear roles down his cobalt complexion. Arlill: It hasn’t been the same (beat) since you left. Toxin, looking out across the fields, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his skin. He glances down as the tear drops from his cheek, a single grave stone epitaph reads, “I’ve got this”. (( Crew Quarters, Deck 7, USS ‘Oumuamua )) Waking with a fright Toxin sat up quickly, his roommate, only feet away would look over to find a sweating friend breathing quickly, their eyes would meet and almost immediately Toxin would begin to cry. Unable to explain his sudden onslaught of emotions, he let it happen, something in him had this all kept up and it needed to be let out. [ End Short Scene for Toxin ] LTJG Toxin Arlill Helm, Operations, & Communications Officer USS 'Oumuamua NCC-81226 ejeaglesct@gmail.com Writer ID.: O239910TA4
  4. (Maintenance Crawlspace, Deck 10) The Commodore's words had still been ringing in his ears from an hour ago. o0 V'Airu: Perhaps you should be. Reflection regarding one's actions need not only result in regret. You have now experienced, first hand, the result of refusing that introspection. 0o He knows he should learn from that advice bhe past wasn't pretty. Lhandon hadn't liked the past. It was where mistakes, screw-ups, and angry XOs resided. It wasn't where Lhandon had lived. o0 Torka: You say you are off Oumuamua yet you are still Echo. 0o He knew what it meant, Echo Squad. That was the reason he didn't wear red. o0 Salo: First, I want you to make a list of all the people you say are good. Then you need to say why they are good. 0o Lhandon had found his way to his favourite little hidey-hole, a maintenance space that overlooked the main shuttle bay. It was about 5 feet tall, and two people could just about crawl side by side. He had had the foresight to bring a tool bag, so if he had been found, he would have had plausible deniability. But he hadn't been there to do ship maintenance. He had taken out his PADD and opened the file "good people". First were his parents. Papa Mama Then his siblings Marcus Sariah Emilia Kei'ran Madison Isabella Then his best friend Lt Toxin Arlill Then the others he had met along the way. Ensign Elijah Kovacs He had paused on that name. He had been thinking about Eli a lot recently and had enjoyed the time that they had spent together. There was something about his fellow ensign, a connection he had. He didn't know what it was, but he had wanted to spend more time with him. He knew that much. Lt Josh Herrick He had messed up significantly with Josh, but at least JOPA had managed to mend things. Commander Rouiancet He hadn't expected this name to show up. Before the mission, they hadn't met for no other reason than their paths not crossing. But she had gotten him home, and for that, he would always be forever grateful. Lt Sherlock She hadn't been that bad. He had been secretly proud of himself for standing up to her and was glad that they had come to an understanding. His mind had drifted to the little robot that was hidden in Tobat’s office. Lhandon needed to deliver that soon. A smile had come across Lhandon's face at the thoughts, but he hadn't had the energy to pull this off the way he had liked. Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves This was an entry that Lhandon hadn't expected to write. He had heard stories of Greaves and had very much applied the "so freaking cool" tag. They had only had one interaction so far and it ended with Lhandon’s parting gift from the last mission causing him some issues. It was embarrassing that it happened right there, in front of him, in his office. However, he had heard stories of Greaves and had very much applied the "so freaking cool" tag. The tag was put in bold and given a nice little box when he read up on how Greaves had managed to save (in a manner of speaking) the USS Thor and had been able to guide the doomed ship down to a planet with minimal loss of life. Second Lieutenant Arturo Maxwell The second marine on the list was Max. They had known each other for about half a year at that point, having met on Lhandon's first mission. A friendship had quickly formed between them. He had tagged Max as "so really freaking cool and also he's my mate.” o0 Salo: Then, you should make a list of all their flaws. The things that contradict this ‘goodness’ that they possess. 0o He looked back at Maxwell and Greaves’s names, they didn’t have flaws, they were just cool. He continued to flick through that list he made. None of them really had flaws, not really he didn’t think. Maybe Sherlock’s insistence that he was up to something, but that’s not a flaw, that’s a fact. There’s no way Rouiancet has flaws, she’s a commander for warp cores sake, she made sure he got back home in the last mission. Herrick had tried to reach out to him, but Lhandon had snapped and shut him down. The incident had happened right after JOPA, and the chief engineer had been gracious in accepting his apology. The flaw in that was Nilsen. Eli, the engineer who might be turning into ops, had frequently come up in Lhandon's thoughts. The two had gotten along really well, and Lhandon had somewhat enjoyed having someone to show off to. He had wanted to know Eli better and spend more time with him.That guy certianlly didn't have flaws. Arlill had been his big bro. That guy had put up with every bit of drama and stress that Lhandon had given. He should have said thank you more often. Very few, if any other people in the galaxy, would have stuck by him. He just can’t do, these people are flawless. 10’s 10’s 10’s across the broad His mind refused to delve any further into the exercise, begging for a diversion. Before he knew it, he was engrossed in a Federation datafile titled "USS Crow Dog." He had thought, "No, not my ship.” Kind of a twist on what V’Airu asked him to do. Yet he continued. He scrolled through the listing and found the crew roster. He saw V'Airu's name, of course, he recognized her. Then his eyes widened at the sight of her first posting on the Crow Dog—she was in Gold. Ops just like him. He scrolled through her history, starting as a double in Tactical and Operations. The operations side of her life seemed to slip away slowly but... No wonder she let Project F.O.R.T, Nilsen, Arlill and Whitaker go absolutely wild on the OC. She was one of them. He flicked through the rest of her history. USS Tar'Hana was a nice-looking ship but then he saw her posting on the USS Equity where one of her roles was as a relief operations officer. Then suddenly, the image of the ship loaded into his PADD. o0 Oh, she's...0o he saw pure beauty. He fell in love at first sight with the Excelsior class starship. The long lines, the majestic frame, and the power it projected. There were still a few kicking around Starfleet in 2401. And he had to switch to another tab, he had heard about these, the Excelsior II, they were rolling out into the fleet. He had daydreamed about flying one. How would they have flown, would they have been graceful? Turned on a dime or something needing a wider turning circle? Lhandon had continued his reading and soon found what he had intended to read. He had wanted to know about the Crow Dog, mostly for the context. V'Airu was a Tactical Officer, and then a second officer. And then… And then.. Lhandon was suddenly short of breath, in a second he understood everything V'Airu had told him, how she said o0 V'Airu: Whatever happened, it isn't your fault you picked up those feelings and memories. Remember that. 0o His heart had sunk when he found an entry from 2374, "Battlefield Promotion to CO, following deaths of former CO and XO." A single tear had rolled down his cheek. He didn't know those names, but he felt a certain grief for the former CO and XO. This wasn't a memory, just a feeling. A response to the news. o0 V"Airu: but I also would want you to hold yourself blameless. 0o Nilsen: Before I was born. Before I was born. He hadn't looked at their names, not at that moment. He spoke to himself to remind him to remember his age, this isn't it. He shut the PADD off and placed it on the floor, turning his attention to the shuttle bay. There was still a tear on his face. A Type 14 shuttlecraft had shown up, its engines rumbling as it touched down on the pad. Type 14's were nice to fly. He liked Type 14’s. If this was what reflection had been like, he didn’t like it. His thought process was to leave memories in the past. They stayed in the past and they didn't hurt you. Right up until the moment that they did. When they resurfaced during a race. When they remained unaddressed and became your mindscape. They hurt. [End Scene] Ensign Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO USS Oumuamua O240007LN1 He/Him/His (Both player and character)
  5. ((Family Quarters 7-3-442, USS Oumuamua.)) Max was stood just inside the doorway, staring at the furnished yet presently very impersonal setting of what from today would be his brand new home on the ship. To his immediate left, a dining table with a pair of chairs. Directly opposite him was a comfy looking three-seater sofa flanked on both sides by a coffee table and armchair. The room to his right was a bedroom with a bed, desk and chair and some wardrobe space. To his left was a door that led into a bigger bedroom with a double bed, desk and chair, and storage. It also led to another doorway that opened into a fair-sized bathroom. It had been a few hours since his meeting with Colonel Greaves and Lt Sh'Shelor and Max had been aimlessly wandering the decks when he had received a message on his PADD that new quarters had been assigned to him. They were very nice quarters, and a massive upgrade from his shared officers digs down on the Gator Deck. Taking a deep breath, Max made a mental note to hunt down Commodore V'Airu and thank her for the swift assistance towards needing these quarters in the first place. Nodding to himself, Max turned and left his new quarters before doube-timing all the way to the docking port. ((Docking Ring, Deep Space Nine.)) There couldn't be this many people aboard a single shuttle. Could there? Max felt like he'd watched about fifty-thousand people come through the hallway that led to the docking ring proper. He'd paced nervously back and forth, stepping aside with an apology now and then as he got in the path of disembarking passengers. To many passing by he must have appeared as quite a contradiction. A five foot ten and heavily toned Marine bearing a white eye and a mess of scarring upon his face that gave off the air of trained violence and brutal combat, bizarrely combined with a clearly nervous expression and the pacing of somebody battling a swirling combination of excitement and fear at the meeting to come. What on earth could produce such nerves in a battle-scarred Marine? It was a question clearly on the minds of many of the people disembarking, as they cast their own nervous glances and gave him as wide a berth as possible. As the crowds from this sections latest round of arrivals began to thin out, Max felt his nerves get even worse. Had there been a change of heart? He would understand perfectly if there had been. After all, uprooting from an established home so far away from the home you had grown up in, to then live aboard a starship heading for a different quadrant was no small feat. It was an even bigger ask when that person was only twelve and had barely come to terms with being told her father was dead, before being hit with the bombshell that he was alive and well. There had been moments since his return to Starfleet Headquarters for debriefing and retraining as a Marine that Max had wrestled with the idea of contacting her at all. Would it have been kinder to allow her to process his listing as killed, to visit the Hall of Honour aboard SB118 and see his golden lettered name engraved beside many others on the memorial wall. To allow her to heal and move on without him? Or would that have been a far more selfish thing to have done? Which was right? In the end, no matter what would or would not have been the less hurtful option for her, Max had been unable to keep silent and had initially reached out to Sal. After that he had he discreetly contacted Ishreth Dal, SB118's Andorian commanding officer and a dear friend. One who had immediately and without second thought taken her in as if one of his own and taken good care of her. The first indication was the sound of a jingling bell, and a playful yowling. A smile formed upon his face as he recognised the sound of his ginger tomcat, Haggis. The last few people passed him by and revealed the person he had been anxiously waiting for. She was stood beside the familiar face of his old friend Julien Paradi, who for his part was pushing a trolley piled high with bags and a pair of cat carriers. From one, came the sound of happy yowling and the jingling of a toy, and from the other was the dangling paw of a snoozing Nessie. Nodding to Julien his gaze turned to the young face looking straight at him, taking in every detail of his scarred face as if unsure that he was really stood there. And then she took off running towards him. Max dropped to his knees, his arms outstretched. His gave a slight huff from the impact as Milly collided with him, and his arms instantly gripped her in an almost crushing bear hug. Uncaring of who might see, tears rolled freely down Max's face as the mutual hug grew tighter still. Eventually, he released her and she took a step back. Up close and face to face now he watched her eyes scanning over his face again, before a hand gently touched his scarred cheek. She wrinkled her nose at him, a mischevous smile forming. Milly: It makes you look grumpy..... -- 2nd Lieutenant Arturo Maxwell. Marine Officer, 4/73 Marines. USS Oumuamua: NCC-81226. O239311AM0
  6. Too late. Seared into our memories FOREVER.
  7. [OOC: A short sim acting as a character growth acknowledgement, with a healthy side of nonsense.] ((Level 35, Anchorage, Denali Station)) Levels 35 and 36 of the Anchorage tower were occupied by a single apartment, made up of two floors. The uppermost one, level 36, had been, until his recent transfer, Dekas', and boasted a beautiful view over the Administrative District of Denali Station. When the mood struck, the Aurelian could also open a window, and simply take flight for an aerial stroll around the Towers. Level 35 was... something else. Back in 2397, Kettick had suffered a major mental breakdown when an alien telepathic entity had tried to overwrite his consciousness with a simulated human identity. The attack left him in a coma for several months, followed by a long period of recovery, during which he struggled to integrate the remnants of his human persona with his baseline one. During that recovery phase, one of his successive counselors had introduced him to a Vulcan meditation tool that used small blocks to represent thoughts and emotions, that the patient had to stack and balance together. The tool in itself had little use for a species whose emotions were lukewarm at their most extreme, but Kettick had been fascinated by the concept. Fast forward to Denali Station. Following a brief sojourn in a simulated reality created by an ancient alien AI, the Remmilian had tried to map his thought patterns as mechanical actuators, in an attempt to understand how his own mind worked. As Kettick watched the result a few months later, he had to confess a slight touch of concern. The system had grown overtime as the Remmilian matured, accrued more experience, more thinking patterns, more strategies... Now, one could say that the "map" occupied most of the free volume of the apartment on level 35. One could even surmise that, in case most of the walls and structural elements of level 35 on this side of the tower were removed by some catastrophe, the demented Rube Goldberg contraption of brass and odds and ends would still be enough to keep the place together. Perhaps even to live in. An otherwise useless piston moved at a glacial pace, and went to poke a slightly glowing rubber duck, eliciting a reproachful "quack". Kettick did not need Major Quack's opinion to conclude that, in spirit at the very least, he could no longer consider himself a kt'k. Remmilian workers were simple people, efficient people. Not... whatever that was. If he had to be honest, he had to question whether he still was a 'k. Or a Remmilian at all. Some days, the joke he'd make of being "a Kettick" nowadays struck much too close to home. He shook his head, dejectedly, before stopping himself, and shaking it harder. Yet another mannerism he had picked up, trained really, until it was a second nature. All in the name of blending in. If he ever came back to his birth Hive, would they still understand him? And, more importantly, if he ever came back and faced his birth Queen... Well, he knew what he would do, really. By that point, the only question left was probably the blast radius. Kettick: Might as well face it, for the first time in ever... there's only one like me. Add talking to oneself to the list of symptoms. With a last shake of the head, he turned around, clicked the lights off and left the room. A spider descended from the ceiling, and its weight triggered a near-frictionless wheel that ran a few turns before stopping. A faint "quack" echoed in the room. In the darkness, a display screen flickered for a second before fading again. It read: "What am I, chopped liver?" END/NT -- Lieutenant Kettick Assistant Chief of Engineering Denali Station G239107LR0
  8. Welcome back @Wes Greaves! ((Greaves Quarters, Deck 3, USS ‘Oumuamua)) With a light thud, Wes Greaves’ sea bag hit the ground of his quarters. A second thud marked the falling of the oversized bag in his left hand. A final third thunk signaled the resting place of the smaller briefcase from his right hand. The experience of carrying his things from the transporter room down to the gator deck was oddly reminiscent of his first day aboard the Embassy to Duronis II. As he thought about that memory from long ago Wes realized that wasn’t quite right. No, the feeling of dropping off his things in a new home was there, but everything else was off about the two different moments in his life. After a time he realized it wasn’t that today and that day as a second lieutenant were actually alike. Hell, when he got to Duronis he’d barely had time to drop his things off before he was in a briefing to go rescue a kidnapped officer. It was just the feeling he had at the time that matched what he felt now. A moment of contemplation for the future. A moment where his bags came to their resting place, however temporary or permanent that may be. Shuffling around the bed he dragged the bags into a spot closer to the closets and sat down. It was another aspect of this moment that was different. He’d lived in these quarters already. Wes had taken on a Battalion Command for the past six months, but before that he’d been the XO and the Marine Detachment Commander of this vessel. These had been his quarters for a time, and then they weren’t. Captain Winters had taken over for him on his reassignment and made them her own. Now they were returned to a blank slate, waiting to be filled once again by his personal touches. Personal touches he had never been very keen on doing. He would fill his office with the mementos of his career, but his living space had always been spartan ever since he was a young, enlisted Marine. With a smooth motion Wes slid a padd from his briefcase on the floor at his feet and activated the device’s display while striding to the bathroom. He splashed some cool water on his face with a free hand before connecting to the ship’s database. It’d been long enough that he’d been gone that Wes was sure many of the crew had taken reassignments as well in his absence. In a few quick seconds the Marine had the roster of the senior staff up. The skipper and XO he knew were unchanged. Getting a reassignment back to the fleet had taken some string pulling and the Commodore had assisted with it. Glancing through names though he was disappointed to find Jack Kessler’s name missing from tactical. Jack was a fine young officer – no, that wasn’t quite true anymore. He was a fine officer. Wes had to remind himself that time had kept passing in his absence here and Jack had really grown into his own while Wes had still be aboard. His eyes kept scanning the list. Aine Sherlock’s name jumped out at him as unexpected and he raised an eyebrow. The security officer and him had briefly worked together to foil an assassination attempt aboard Starbase 118 a year or so back. He didn’t know her well at all. In fact, that sudden event had been the only time they’d met, but she’d struck him as supremely confident and competent. Another name jumped out that brought a smile to his lips. Toz. The doctor who’d once conspired with another to get him relieved of duty. Though, with honest reflection that situation hadn’t been as serious as Wes had made it out to be. Still, he was glad to see Toz’s name on the senior staff once again. She was a good doctor and a solid member of the crew. The memory made him realize that V’Len Kel’s name was notably absent, and Wes wasn’t quite sure how he’d felt about that. V’Len had become a royal pain in his ass. Insubordinate, obstinate, and impulsive. He’d lost count of the times V’Len had made a mission or tasking more complicated… or dangerous, than it needed to be. Yet, Wes and V’Len had formed an oddly close working relationship in spite of it all. Continuing down the roster cemented the feeling of newness contrasting with the sense of return. This was still the Oumuamua, but so much had changed so quickly. It begged the question. Is the ship the sum of her components, or the ship the sum of her crew. Wes knew that answer firmly and with certainty. The ship was her crew, and this crew was new to him. There was the old and familiar. V’Airu, Iljor, Arlil, Brodie, and Promontory. There was the new. Nilsen, Herrick, Yinn, and Maxwell. There were the odd reunions. Toz and Sherlock. Above all however, there was the name that made this home. Katsim Peri. Tossing the padd onto his bed, Wes straightened a few wrinkles from his shirt and made for the door. Peri was waiting for him at the docking port. He hadn’t told her he’d be dropping his stuff off early. In fact, he wasn’t planning on it at all. Something had just made him want to have this moment of reflection for himself. Now, with that moment gone, all he wanted was to see her. To pick her up in his arms and hold her. A whoosh signaled the opening of the door and Wes was off, destination: transporter room. Then to DS9, and to his love. End ========================= Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves Marine Detachment Commander USS Oumuamua NCC-81226 E239702WG0 =========================
  9. Second part to @Drex0379's story that gives some good insight into family dynamics. IC: ((Bajor Capital, Some Hotel, Drex’s room)) Ayra’s reaction did not surprise Drex. And it was the main reason he waited so long to call her. He bit his lower lip and waited for her sister to finish her list of invectives. When she finally took her breath he dared to reply. Drex: I’m sorry. oO She forgot a couple of names this time Oo I just arrived here and didn’t really do anything yet, I cannot ask to leave now. I told you. You should have organized it before I graduate… Ayra: I did! :: She interrupted him :: And you could not come, either! Drex frowned, his mouth half opened. oO What had been the excuse back then? Oo Drex: I-I couldn't make it. Ayra sighed and moved his gaze away from his brother. Drex could imagine her thinking and felt guilty. He was using his job as an excuse, he surely could ask and perhaps received a positive answer, but he was not even going to try. Drex: I'm not the helmsman of my life right now, you know. I have a lot of people to answer to. I oO That's not an option Drex, don't say it! Oo Maybe... but I don't guarantee anything, if I'll be off duty... maybe I can call in and take part in the ceremony from the Station. She kept silent for a few seconds, but they seemed hours to Drex. He knew her too well. He could tell any single word passing through her mind, or at least he could tell the main meaning of those words, and he did not like any one of them this time. And he knew he was an open book to her as well. oO I shouldn’t call Oo He sighed lightly. Ayra: Is it the truth, Drex? :: She returned to face the screen :: Or something happened with Gar? Drex shocked his head. Drex: No, I like Gar. I know him and you’ll be fine, I’m sure. :: His tone dropped oO Tell her! Oo :: It’s not about you and Gar, you know I’m happy if you are hap… Ayra: Is it dad, isn’t it!!!?? She raised her tone. It sounded almost triumphant at Drex’s ears. Ayra: Oh… :: She pointed at him :: I can believe you’re still mad at him! Drex: I’m not mad at him, but you can imagine what will happen if I show up. :: He replied :: Ayra: So? Are you going to wait until he'll get old enough to lose his memories? It will take a couple of centuries or more! :: she snorted :: I promise you, he will leave you alone. Drex: You cannot promise me this, but thanks :: he smiled a little :: I don’t want your day ruined because of me, Ayra. Ayra: You should let me decide about this. Drex: Please… let it be. I know I have to settle the matter with dad, I will. When he’ll be ready to listen to me. She lifted her eyebrows. Ayra: It will take more than two hundred years, then. :: She commented ironically :: Com’on Drex. He just wants you to be happy… I’m not saying I approve of what he told you, but… Drex: Please, stop. :: He raised his right hand to ask her to silence :: You were not there. I have all the rights to be mad at him. Ayra: He’s just worried. Drex: I understand that, but he should know me. He should respect my choices. Ayra: He is proud of you. Drex looked away. Was he really proud? He was once, I knew it because he had told him so. But now? He did not want him to join the Fleet. He did not explain his reason he was tough. Drex could just imagine it had something to do with his uncle, but Jorx never really said a word. Ayra: You have five weeks. I want my twin with me. Please, try to be here. The Ensign returned to look at his sister. She made a sweet smile. Drex nodded. But he was not convinced. Drex: I have to go. I’ll call you, I swear. Ayra: I love you. Drex: I love you, too He closed the call and stared at the black screen. oO Oh, good job, Drex! Very smart of you. She will talk to him now. If this was the plan you could have told her months ago. Oo Drex: Oh, shut up! I will call him! I'll make things right. But not today. He pushed back the chair and stood up. He looked at the window. It was night. He grabbed a jacket and walked to the door and left the room. Drex: Some fresh air will help. END ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14
  10. I just love this title! LOL Yes, we are dealing with a blob!
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