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Ayiana Sevo

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Everything posted by Ayiana Sevo

  1. (( Part 1)) ((Outpost, Omicron Noctae IIIa)) With a dull thud from the internal mechanism, the doors parted. The thick layers of dust that swamped the room they were stood in stopped at that threshold, though powdered footprints faded across the next room as the unknown visitors tracked it through. Quinn swung her rifle back up, heart rate climbing in concert. Whoever it was, they had moved further into the building; minutes ago, an hour ago, it was impossible to tell. But the door beyond was unremarkable, not of the heavy security design that they had just dealt with. She looked toward Neathler, raising her eyebrows. Reynolds: On your lead. ch'Ranni: Darling, I'll follow you anywhere. The Andorian gave a small smile toward Neathler, and stood, falling in behind the human with a hint of swagger in his stride. The charming rogue, smuggling for self-interest. She wondered what he'd do when they got out; whether he'd return to that life or start something anew. It made Neathler shake her hand, and she pulled a dented hand phaser from the inside pocket of her clothing, passing it toward him. Neathler: Just don't point that thing on me, Smuggler. ch'Ranni: Nice. Through the doors they passed, and Quinn glanced over her shoulder as they closed behind her. Now sealed, the air was thicker in here, the atmosphere not being lost through breaches in the outpost's shell. Jona removed his rebreather and smiled, though neither Quinn nor Neathler had the same confidence in the quality of the air. Perhaps the brunette could also hear echoes of Marshall's warning that the Cardassians were as liable to use toxins and poisons as traps, as they were fire. ch'Ranni: Seems like there's power here. Life support's operational too. I guess somebody's home. ::He faced the next doors and turned to Neathler with questioning eyes..:: Maybe we should knock? Neathler: I lost my manners years ago. And maybe you should keep on that rebreather in case the spoons installed some airborne poison or stuff like that. The comment earned them a shrug, but nonetheless, he slipped the rebreather back on. Neathler slipped into position next to the new set of doors, and with the barrel of her rifle raised toward the ceiling, she nodded toward Jona. With a tap of his fingers and without protest or problem, they were granted ingress, and after a heartbeat's pause, the human woman levelled her rifle and stepped through. She swept the revealed corridor and finding nothing except a choice of which direction to proceed. Neathler: Any preference? ch'Ranni: Left. Always choose left. Quinn shrugged, with no obvious indication of which option was more interesting, safest or useful, it was little more than a coin toss. Contrary as ever, Neathler started to move right — until a tiny sound echoed down from the left. Existing on the edges of Quinn's hearing, it was a quiet, rhythmic tick that seemed to be coming from behind the door at the end of that corridor. With something of interest to examine, the decision was remade and the dark-haired woman made in that direction instead, taking up a position beside the door. Neathler: Ready? The Andorian answered with a nod, his antenna twitching, and Quinn swore she saw a tiny glimmer of amusement dance into Neathler's dark eyes. It was an odd comfort to see, and the hybrid nodded her readiness as well, adjusting her grip on her rifle. A light touch to the control panel, a whisper from the door and it opened. The regular beeping was much more distinct now, though peeking through Quinn couldn't see the source — and indeed she could see something distracting in its peculiarity. ch'Ranni: Huh. I guess I wasn't expecting that. Neathler shifted to see what was being stared at. They were looking into a small and cramped space, more of a storage closet than a room. But sat on the floor right in front of them, still and silent, were two Cardassians, unreactive to the door opening or the armed people pointing large weapons in their direction. They weren't even blinking, and Quinn found herself wondering if she was looking at projections, rather than people. Frowning, her hazel eyes flicked across to the side wall, where a console glowed in cool green and warm brown. Neathler, evidently, had seen it too. Neathler: Shoot them if they move. Shades can you get a ground plan or something, or data from that project? We've got a working console here. Reynolds: Yeah. ch'Ranni: Response Quinn eyed the Cardassians, wary of moving into the same room that had likely incapacitated them. She edged around the two men while Neathler prodded one of them with her rifle. The man swayed at the nudge, but otherwise didn't react. With a faint frown, she started working at the console, paging through screens of Cardassian text as she searched for answers, and it dawned on her that the sound they'd heard in the corridor had not been the idling workstation. Neathler: What do you think, drugged, frozen, paralysed? Reynolds: I'm guessing they set off one of their own traps. ::She paused, a dark thought crossing her mind.:: Though that means they were either trying not to kill whoever got in here, or something else has failed to go off. ch'Ranni: Response Working on the console, didn't see Neathler slip inside the room, her dark gaze panning across floor and wall and finally arriving on the barrels stowed in one corner. She knelt down, testing the weight of the lids, inspect their underneath, shining the light of her torch inside. Then— Neathler: Explosives! Get out! Quinn didn't need any more incentive than that. She bolted back for the door, only to find that now it wouldn't open — a trap now fully sprung, no doubt. Glancing around the small room, she tried to merge the path they'd travelled with what she'd seen from the outside and what her tricorder her showed as she scanned the interior. Pieces interlocked and she turned, pointing to a nondescript section of the wall. Taking a step toward it, she talked as she adjusted the settings on her phaser. Reynolds: The corners of that panel: one each, setting seven, two-second burst. Should blow it clean out. On three— TBC... -- Quinn "Shades" Reynolds Starfleet Defector The Skarbek T238401QR0 ------ (( Part 2 )) ((Outpost, Omicron Noctae IIIa)) There was a blast of heat and the roar of flames, and Quinn felt the concussion slam into her back, throwing her forward, clean off her feet. She arced through the air and hit the powdered, grey dirt — and then there was nothing. No pain, no raining debris, no cries from her comrades. Even the wheeze of her breath through her rebreather was gone, yet she was having no trouble breathing. Cautious and slow, she unclasped her hands from the back of her head, peering around as she eased herself back up on to her feet. Neathler and Jona were frozen mid-movement, the bloom of fire as still as though it was a painting. Dust had been thrown out ahead of the blast, sparkling and motionless in the air. Up in the sky, Quinn could see a shuttle silhouetted against the stars. It was a moment frozen in time — except she wasn't. As she looked around, a frown of confusion carving ever deeper into her forehead, Quinn spied a red trim around her cuffs, the belt and tunic of a Starfleet Admiral instead of her jacket. She was a Starfleet Admiral. That was why she couldn't hear her rebreather. She wasn't wearing one. And this was— ???: Hello. She whirled around. The voice came from a fetching woman, with pale skin, feminine curves and tumbling red hair. She wore the same uniform as Quinn, complete with the pips of a rear admiral, and as their eyes met, she gave an amused grin. Stood with her weight over one hip, arms crossed, she chuckled. ???: You must be wondering what's going on. Reynolds: The thought had crossed my mind. ???: Well, you see I'm in a bit of pickle. My little experiment isn't going so well and— Quinn's heart was thumping in her chest, despite her stony exterior. The last thing she remembered was giving the order to spool up the QSD in order to head back to Tyrellia. Xerix had been at the helm, the new operations chief ch'Ranni sat next to him at his station. Beside her, she and Jo had been discussing the quite frankly ridiculous topic of how to get first dibs on Nkai's bakes now that he was in his new post. Then as surely as a scene change in a holonovel, she'd been stood on Peshkova as the sun set, not a Starfleet Admiral but a Starfleet defector, watching Walter eulogise people who most certainly weren't dead. Not dead at all, just moved on to new assignments, alive and hopefully happy in their postings. Reynolds: Your what? Who are you? ???: My experiment. I'm a... what do you call it? Scientist. I'm doing science. Trying to figure out how you tick. Or perhaps it's why you tick. ::She offered a brilliant smile.:: Anyway, you can call me Q. Reynolds: ...Q. Q: Yes. I assume I need no further introduction. Quinn didn't answer, cold radiating across her shoulders and down her back. She'd never encountered a Q before, but there was someone on her crew who had. Was that why this one was here? Whatever the reason, they were in trouble — Starfleet had encountered Q who didn't acknowledge the value of mortal life. Virtually omnipotent and immortal, they simply didn't understand it. Or perhaps didn't care about it. Who paused to think before swatting a fly? Q: Well, come along. Reynolds: Wha— The Q snapped her fingers, and the moon vanished. In its place was stark, cold metal; a corridor lined with cells in the brutal architecture that the Cardassians favoured. The forcefield on the one she was facing was active, though in that frozen moment of time she couldn't hear the tell-tale hum of energy Her gaze, however, was entirely beyond it. All she could see was the tall, broad German sat on a bench, cradling his head in his hands. Her heart banged behind her ribs, even as her eyes told her he was unharmed. Untouched. So far. Q: You see, I let you all make your own choices in my maze, but some of them were... disappointing. What good are you on the moon when he's here? And that other you should be on the moon, don't you think? With the other blonde? ::She paused.:: Why do you have so many blondes? Do you collect them? Quinn turned to deliver the retort forming on her lips. It was lost as the air rushed out of her lungs, as surely as though she'd been punched in the stomach. The cell opposite was also occupied; Valesha, bearing subtle signs of Cardassian interrogation, pale to the point of translucence, raw-eyed as she stared vacantly across the corridor, her head on Johns' chest. Oh, Johns. He wore the not-so-subtle signs of Cardassian interrogation, bruises and cuts covering what skin she could see. But he was ashen, the tell-tale pallor of the dead, and ice flooded Quinn's veins. Cheeky, smiling Johns who laughed and loved and managed to make himself worth much more than the trouble he caused. How could he be dead? Why was he dead? The universe could be unfair, but this... this had intention. Reynolds: ::Quietly,:: What have you done? Q: Me? Nothing. ::She walked through the forcefield as though it wasn't there, crouching down beside the pair.:: The Cardassians, on the other hand... Well, I'm sure I'd find it simply awful if I cared about it. But I'm a dispassionate observer, ::she waved an elegant, disinterested hand,:: or whatever. Objectivity and all that. Ice became fire, grief turned to anger. She bit down on it, refusing to lose control, but there was a flare in her eyes and a flame in her voice as she answered. Reynolds: You put us here, you're responsible. The Cardassians didn't kill him, you did. Pouting, the Q sprung up to her feet, red hair bouncing around her shoulder. She answered with a petulant tone of voice, as though she was being told off by a parent. Except the Q didn't have parents. Perhaps that explained a lot. Perhaps it explained nothing. Q: I'm not killing anyone! It's not my fault if you're all a bunch of savages. Reynolds: You— The redhead stepped forward and placed a finger on her lips, and suddenly the Starfleet Admiral found she couldn't speak. It was as though her vocal cords had simply vanished — and given she was dealing with a Q, perhaps they had. Q: Shh. ::She smiled and patted Quinn on the head.:: There there. It's all for a worthy cause. Science, remember? I know you love science. Unable to speak, Quinn glared instead. She may as well have not bothered, for all the impact it made. The Q simply stepped back, snapped her fingers and they were aboard the Skarbek in that mad tangle of technology, sweat and elbow grease that MacFarlane called main engineering. Erin was there, a darkening bruise on her forehead and blood matting her blonde hair, up to her elbows in the EPS flow control to the cloak. Q: Here. This is where you should be. Makes more sense, don't you think? Then you can have all your interesting feelings knowing he's up there, ::she swept her hands up,:: and Other You can have all her interesting feelings knowing she's down there, ::she pointed down,:: and it just makes for better results. Reynolds: You can't just change the variables of an experiment half-way through. The words spilled out before she realised she had her voice back. A thought of a tactic, voiced without pause. If the Q considered herself a scientist, maybe she could be convinced to behave like a vaguely decent one. Arguments of morals and ethics were liable to fall on deaf ears, but perhaps if she thought she was being a bad scientist... Q: Can't I? Oh, that's a bother. What can I do? She didn't hold out much hope that the tactic would work, but Quinn had to try. There was no way to brute force a Q into doing what you wanted, words and trickery were the only option and even then it was a limited chance of success. And she was hardly a diplomat. Reynolds: If it's clear you're not going to get usable results, you should abort it. Otherwise, it's a waste of time and resources. Q: Oh, you are clever. :: She chuckled and booped — booped — Quinn on the nose.:: Full marks for the attempt. But we'd best get back to it. Do try to be interesting. She smiled, clicked her fingers, and— TBC... -- Quinn "Shades" Reynolds Starfleet Defector The Skarbek T238401QR0 ----- (( Part 3 )) (( OOC: For clarification — as far as everyone's concerned IC, Erin's always been with the planet away team, and Quinn never left the Skarbek. )) ((Outpost, Omicron Noctae IIIa)) Neathler: Ready? The Andorian answered with a nod, his antenna twitching, and Erin swore she saw a tiny glimmer of amusement dance into Neathler's dark eyes. It was an odd comfort to see, and the hybrid nodded her readiness as well, adjusting her grip on her rifle. A light touch to the control panel, a whisper from the door and it opened. The regular beeping was much more distinct now, though peeking through Erin couldn't see the source — and indeed she could see something distracting in its peculiarity. ch'Ranni: Huh. I guess I wasn't expecting that. Neathler shifted to see what was being stared at. They were looking into a small and cramped space, more of a storage closet than a room. But sat on the floor right in front of them, still and silent, were two Cardassians, nonreactive to the door opening or the armed people pointing large weapons in their direction. They weren't even blinking, and Erin found herself wondering if she was looking at projections, rather than people. Frowning, her hazel eyes flicked across to the side wall, where a console glowed in cool green and warm brown. Neathler, evidently, had seen it too. Neathler: Shoot them if they move. Vines can you get a ground plan or something, or data from that project? We've got a working console here. E. Reynolds: Yeah. ch'Ranni: Response Erin eyed the Cardassians, wary of moving into the same room that had likely incapacitated them. She edged around the two men while Neathler prodded one of them with her rifle. The man swayed at the nudge, but otherwise didn't react. With a faint frown, she started working at the console, paging through screens of Cardassian text as she searched for answers, and it dawned on her that the sound they'd heard in the corridor had not been the idling workstation. Neathler: What do you think, drugged, frozen, paralysed? E. Reynolds: I'm guessing they set off one of their own traps. ::She paused, a dark thought crossing her mind.:: Though that means they were either trying not to kill whoever got in here, or something else has failed to go off. ch'Ranni: Response Working on the console, didn't see Neathler slip inside the room, her dark gaze panning across floor and wall and finally arriving on the barrels stowed in one corner. She knelt down, testing the weight of the lids, inspect their underneath, shining the light of her torch inside. Then— Neathler: Explosives! Get out! Erin didn't need any more incentive than that. She bolted back for the door, only to find that now it wouldn't open — a trap now fully sprung, no doubt. Glancing around the small room, she tried to merge the path they'd travelled with what she'd seen from the outside and what her tricorder her showed as she scanned the interior. Pieces interlocked and she turned, pointing to a nondescript section of the wall. Taking a step toward it, she talked as she adjusted the settings on her phaser. E. Reynolds: The corners of that panel: one each, setting seven, two-second burst. Should blow it clean out. On three, two, one, fire— Their phasers drilled into three of the corners of the building, the differential in pressure between interior and exterior doing the rest of the work for them. The panel screeched and buckled, and while it wasn't quite enough to rip it completely asunder, there was room for them to escape through. Neathler/ch'Ranni: Response Then she was running, sprinting out of the building and into the vast, barren expanse of the moon, her breath rasping loud in her ears as it was processed by the rebreather. There was a blast of heat and the roar of flames, and Erin felt the concussion slam into her back, throwing her forward and clean from her feet. Arcing through the air, she hit the powdered, grey dirt with enough force to drive all the air from her lungs, and she felt a lightning strike of pain as ribs snapped where she landed on her rifle. It pulled a strangled cry of pain from her lungs and she rolled onto her back, tears burning in her eyes. Through the mist they created, she could see a shuttle silhouetted against the sky, recognising the familiar shape of the Inayat-Khan. Thank heavens for small mercies, though her sigh of relief was cut off by another guttural moan of pain. E. Reynolds: Is... Is everyone alive? Neathler/ch'Ranni: Response E. Reynolds: Yeah, I— Ribs. Broken. Ouch. ::She grimaced and breathed out a groan.:: Much ouch. Neathler/ch'Ranni: Response -- Erin "Vines" Reynolds Botanist & Sometime Engineer The Skarbek T238401QR0
  2. ((Captain’s Yeoman’s Office, Deck 2, USS Triumphant)) ::Petra Bjarnadottir-Stoyer had suffered through a rough couple of days. When she’d left their shared quarters after tell Cory she was leaving, it took everything not to turn around and go back, but she knew that she couldn’t. It broke her heart. ::With everything that was going on, Cory avoiding her and Ayiana not coming to her to tell her, she couldn't stay. Captain Brunsig had been wanting her for the Triumphant for a while now, so she took him up on the offer. ::A little separation would be good for everyone involved. ::So, she transferred over and settled in. Her quarters were a lot smaller here than onboard the Gorkon. She didn’t plan on staying in there a lot. The short amount of time she stayed in there the madder she got, spending hours pacing back and forth.:: oO What did I do wrong? Oo ::The words crossed her mind several times over the last couple of days. ::She thought she was a good wife, whatever that meant. She risked her life and career following Brunsig in stealing the Yarahla and searching for the Gorkon. ::Things seemed to be great. Weren’t they? ::But after waking up from the dreamscape, everything went downhill. Cory spoke about what happened, waking up in Ayiana’s arms. That shook her, but Cory assured her there was nothing between them. ::She scoffed as she paced in her rooms. What a fool she was.:: ::A day later, it changed. He came to her and told her that there was something between them. It devastated her in ways she didn’t think it could. ::Her husband and friend. The woman she chose as her maid of honor.:: ::So, they avoided one other, when all three of them knew it wasn’t supposed to end that way. ::Petra wanted to go ask why, but decided to see if someone else would come first. She waited. Nothing. The silence was deafening, the hesitation damning. Cory had been actively avoiding her. She had been keeping tabs on him, the perks of being the Flag Aide to the Admiral. After she found out he had been hurt during one of those darn programs she hated, Petra knew it was time. She visited him in medical, made her choice, and packed at home. ::Something inside her wanted to go back to Cory and shake him until he came to his senses, then drag him to the counselor. She could not to that Ayiana, despite a deep longing to. Her friend hadn’t spoken to her. It tugged at her in places she didn’t realise it could. ::Frustrated she threw the stylus back on her desk and stood up. Throwing her braids back over her shoulder, she stretched.:: Bjarnadottir-Stoyer: Why? ::She’d had enough of crying.:: ::She’d cried for the first several days, hiding away inside her quarters on the Triumphant. Brunsig had left her to it; not asking, not disturbing either. But those days were over, buried and forgotten in a mass of pillows and blankets. She refused to shed another tear. She loved Cory; she loved him so much, and this had cut deep and hard, splitting her open. ::Sitting back down, she finished getting everything ready for Captain Brunsig for the morning review.:: ::He’d told her there was a small, impromptu gym set up in the Shuttle Bay. She had to work off this frustration or she would never get to sleep.:: --- (PNPC) Lieutenant Junior Grade Petra Bjarnadottir-Stoyer Captain’s Yeoman USS Triumphant Simmed by Lieutenant @Cory Stoyer Mission Specialist USS Gorkon C239111CS0
  3. It takes place on a holodeck on Starbase 118. Most training programs in the holodeck have you assume the role of an officer aboard the training ship USS Centris-A.
  4. I will ping @FltAdml. Wolf to look into this.
  5. So much fun. And no pesky Starfleet ethics to hold back my fist.
  6. Yea. Everyone above has pretty much explained it quite succinctly. TAG/TBC is mostly a holdover from older days. I've been here almost five years and rarely used them. I think TAG at the bottom of a post was to indicate people were tagged for responses, but it's deprecated on some ships (it's up to the CO of a ship to dictate its usage). TBC is still sometimes used to indicate a continuation of a special narrative, such as a multi-sim post, or Joint Post. Subject-line TAGging is in a similar boat. On the ships I've served on, we've been actively discouraged from TAGging people in the subject line, as we found that some people would only read the sims their character was tagged in, ignoring the other ships' sims. This could lead to confusion with the plot as people didn't read other groups' sims. Again, this is up to the discretion of the ship's CO.
  7. (( Sickbay, Skarbek )) ::Despite the conversations in the room, somehow it was still quiet. Jo watched as Erin lay in between Quinn and 'Kos, hands held across all three, creating a physical scaffolding to support the mental connection. She tilted her head as Erin closed her eyes. The affirmations from the Doctors of placative assurance, that everything would be OK, hadn't settled her mind any. She wanted to believe them, but life was rarely fair, and friends often died.:: Yiggtissi: OK, let’s begin. Needles, activate the monitors. ::The connected display units illuminated above the biobed loungers, presenting the cortical scans for monitoring purposes. There were facts and figures, a trio of brains that protruded from the screens into holographic three-dimensional imagery. Synaptic pathways lit up as they wound through the grey matter, like tree roots growing under the earth.:: Sim: See you... on the... other side… ::Dense silence overtook the clinic, permeated by the occasional sound of disjointed beeps from the computers. The Saurian remained close to the triad, tricorder in hand, always monitoring for slight changes or telltale signs of distress. Jo shifted on her feet and worried the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth, following the slowly pitching lines on the monitors like the crest and trough of waves in the sea. Finally, the undulating ripples smoothed into synchronicity.:: Sterling: They’re entering deep sleep. Yiggtissi: ::His eyes focused on his tricorder.:: How are we looking, Iriin? Changes? Sterling: No, nothing yet. Yiggtissi: Ok. Begin the neural interface, keep an eye on their acetylcholine levels. Let me know if you see a peak in Corticotropin. I will monitor their Cortisol levels from here. ::Corticotropin rang a bell in some distant drafty hallway of Jo's mind. Instead of delving into the chimes, she crossed her arms, started to chew slivers of her thumbnail off, and found herself looking at Walter. The man was near impossible to read, like flattened braille, and she followed his studious gaze to the monitors above Quinn. Not for the first time that day, she wondered about his plans. Her attention returned to the Doctors - Needles busy with her monitoring, the Saurian doing the same, his dark eyes a mystery, then he looked up at the Bear.:: Yiggtissi: Capt’n, I’m not sure what is going on here but if it hadn’t been for you taking a chance with us, Genkos and I would probably still be in that bar on Alpha Minervus. Brunsig: Response Yiggtissi: I just wanted to say that it has been a pleasure. ::That was the other enigma glaring at them from the umbrae. If this was all a dream, some baroque blend of brain bewitchery, what had her life been up to that point? She had clear memories, more than she cared to. A fragment of her heart wanted it to be real - to "wake up" and for this dream to be the product of an undercooked mushroom stew, to go home to her bike and Erin's billion plants. ::Realigning her mind to the present, she watched the hybrid breathing for a moment, and said the first thing that came into her head.:: Marshall: I wonder what they're seeing in there. ::The words had barely left her mouth before their Saurian Doctor collapsed to the floor, curling into the foetal position in the cramped space. His body shook, arms and legs kicking out in all directions. Jo dropped to the floor beside him, placing her hand on the side of his ribs, feeling his swift and shallow breath. Another kick from his long leg landed into a cabinet door, denting the metal on impact. ::Jo jumped back out of the way as his arms punched the air around him, battling an invisible enemy, then all at once he folded in on himself, tucking in his limbs close, like a human baby would to retain heat. In a second, he had jolted back awake, dark eyes wide and shining under the Sickbay lights. Between them, Jo and Walter helped him to the chair.:: Yiggtissi: I-What happened? Marshall: You dropped like a shot targ. Take your time coming back. Brunsig: Response Yiggtissi: I think I just went through my birth. But all of you were there, in Starfleet uniforms. Brunsig: Response ::It had been a long time since she had been in the uniform of the Federation's military branch and even longer for the German. She looked up at Walter, her question as unanswerable as it felt.:: Marshall: What does any of this mean? ::The unsteady Saurian wobbled back to the triplicated biobeds and leaned on them for support.:: Yiggtissi: I don’t know but if we don’t figure this out soon, I’m afraid the entire crew could get lost in these hallucinations. ::The crackle of the intercom speakers sounded above their heads and a disembodied voice, or voices, started to speak over one another in quick succession.:: Skarbek: =/= Enlistment to the Skarbek Sanitarium. Collect your uniform from the third cat on the right. Please keep your hands and organs inside the ride at all futures, pasts and presents. Throw the lampshade into the volcano and dance like a lemur in a negligee. Casino night is every Sunday that occurs twice in a roundabout. Hahahahaha... =/= Yiggtissi/Brunsig: Response ::Jo felt something wriggling in her pocket and stuck her hand inside, dragging out a tribble. Another spurted forth from the cabinet with the Saurian boot dent, rolled across the floor and started to shimmy. Then it split, multiplying itself like miniature furry amoebas until the floor was a jive scene of dancing tribbles. Jo sneezed into her hands and looked down at her palms to find a tiny Klingon with a bat'leth, who then elegantly swan-dived from her fingers into the pile of tribbles. ::She looked up at Walter and Yiggs, still holding her palms together, not suite sure how to interpret what was going on.:: Marshall: I've never sneezed in Klingon before. Yiggtissi/Brunsig: Response Skarbek: =/= Warning, unknown vessel on approach. Warning, beacon has been intercepted. ::A radio voice.:: And hereeeeeeee's Trellium-D with that all new catchy verse... ::Song starts playing, crooner voice.:: I've got you, under my skin. I've got youuuu, deep in the heart of me. ::Normal voice.:: Warning, warning, warning, warning. Bondage rhymes with hostage. Do you know what doesn't rhyme with bondage? Neurotoxin. Silver syringes will drop in succession from the bow of the cube. Do not be fooled by the dog. It is infinite. =/= ::There was a faint tap on her shoulder - just enough to be felt hitting her shirt - then the trickle of water running down the back of her arm. Jo looked down at the splodge of wet fabric, then up to the ceiling. A single track of water ran across the mottled roof, and then the walls and floor began to shake.:: Yiggtissi/Brunsig: Response ---- Jo "Blondie" Marshall Maquis Resistance Fighter The Skarbek simmed by Lieutenant Jocelyn Marshall Chief Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0
  8. Thanks for the spotlight! This was fun to write, but during research I learned more than i wanted to about pregnancy and childbirth.
  9. There is love in your body but you can't get it out It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth Sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste — Hardest of Hearts, Florence + The Machine ((Cyrithra Forest, Tyrellia)) Brunsig: You forgot something. ::Lost in her stargazing, Quinn hadn't heard Walter approach, and she startled at the sound of his voice. As she turned toward him, he slapped two small presentation boxes into the palm of her hand, without waiting for acknowledgement or greeting. She knew what they contained without needing to open them; one a Purple Heart, the other a Good Conduct Ribbon. She had earned service ribbons in the Roman Expanse, as well as her crew.:: Reynolds: I didn't forget. I just don't like handing myself awards. Brunsig: What the hell are you playing at? ::She stared at him. There had been no preamble or preface to the outburst, and she was entirely caught off guard. Walter's default emotional state was a simmering irritation, but as he stood in front of her, it looked like more than that. He was angry -- angry with *her* --and she hadn't the faintest idea why.:: Reynolds: Pardon me? Brunsig: Are you deliberately aiming to secure the record for most Purple Hearts awarded to a single officer? Or are you actually *trying* to get yourself killed? ::Deja vu all over again. How many times had they had this conversation? Maybe he'd had a point when it had come to their investigation into the Orion Syndicate on Tyrellia, or even the mission to Leutra IV, but this time? This time she had played by all the rules. She'd been a good little admiral, staying away from the danger as best she could. There wasn't much she could do when the danger had barged in without so much as knocking.:: Reynolds: Come on. I didn't run off on an away team. I didn't even leave the bridge! What happened was hardly a result of me recklessly throwing myself at danger. Brunsig: But you were damn quick to try and martyr yourself with that neurogenic field crap, weren't you? If that had been anyone else, you would have had them marched to sickbay and put under guard. But no. Quinn Reynolds has to prove that she's willing to die for her crew. ::It took her a moment to realise that her first instinct wasn't denial, but annoyance that he was right. Was he right? After all, his comment wasn't entirely dissimilar to the observations that had come from her counsellor.:: Reynolds: That's not… ::Fair? Oh no, it was fair. Frustratingly fair. But as much as she wanted to deny it, she had never lied to Walter, and she had no intention of starting now.:: Reynolds: Fine. It was a bad choice. But it was a bad choice in a sea of even worse choices. Our backs were against the wall, Walter. There weren't any other options. Brunsig: Not a single damn option on a boat of seven hundred "clever and brave" people? You're full of crap, Cupcake. ::Her temper flared, and she snapped out the response before her brain had time to consult with her mouth. Funny, how often that happened around him.:: Reynolds: Watch your tone, *Captain*. ::And there they were, each as furious as the other, captain and admiral locked in an irate glare. His lip curled and he snarled his response.:: Brunsig: Aye aye, *sir*. ::Every time she wielded their rank disparity like a weapon against him, she regretted it. That was as inevitable as the heat death of the universe, and yet she found herself doing it far too often when her hackles were up. ::And if anyone knew how to push her buttons, it was Walter Brunsig. He snorted, then turned on his heel and began to stalk away, back toward the path, his footsteps heavy on the soft earth of the forest floor. But after only a few steps, he whirled around to face her again, and the flush of anger on his cheeks was darkened with a blush of something else.:: Brunsig: For crying out loud, Quinn! Do you think I stole a starship and tear-assed across the galaxy for *Vess*? ::If his words had been intended to take the wind out of her sails, they were entirely successful. Her anger fell as quickly as it had risen, washed away by her sharp intake of breath. ::Throughout the whole Yarahla Nine affair, he'd maintained that he'd participated because it was the moral and right thing to do. Because Starfleet had dismissed what Sienelis had to say without proper consideration. Because there had been hundreds of lives on the line, and he couldn't in good conscience ignore even the tiniest chance at saving them. And it was true, of that she had no doubt. Walter Brunsig was brusque, and often rude, but he was not a liar. Those had been his reasons. She had believed him. ::Never, ever had he so much as hinted that there was another truth underpinning all of those noble and fair justifications… and that truth was her. She shook her head, lost for words, and then the first, stupid thing that popped into her head was spilling out of her mouth.:: Reynolds: Well, there is a certain frisson between you two… ::She deadpanned it, but even as the words were leaving her lungs, she was cringing inside. It was a poor time for jokes.:: Brunsig: I am in no mood, Cupcake. *No* mood. ::That much was obvious. She held up her hands, palms toward Walter, and took a few steps toward him, trying to placate his outrage. She didn't want to fight.:: Reynolds: Look, just… ::She sighed.:: Start again. What do you-- Brunsig: You. I want you. ::His sharp blue eyes widened, then he grimaced and looked away. The dim light in the moonlit forest did little to hide the blush that had firmly taken hold on his cheeks. That was not what he had wanted to say -- or at the very least, it was not how he had intended to say it. For her part, Quinn found herself mute, her freckled skin pale, hazel eyes wide and staring; a moth frozen in amber. And there they stood, her transfixed, him avoiding her gaze, the silence growing longer and more awkward with each passing heartbeat.:: Brunsig: Dammit, say something. TBC --------- I never stopped You're still written in the scars on my heart We're not broken, just bent And we can learn to love again — Just Give Me A Reason, P!nk featuring Nate Ruess ((Cyrithra Forest, Tyrellia)) Reynolds: Well… ::Again, she was lost for words. All she could think of was every instance where he'd pushed her away -- and there'd been a fair few -- and it was that resentment that formed her next sentence.:: It's just that you've had a funny way of showing it. ::She waited for the sarcastic retort, and the scowl that would accompany it. Instead he heaved a sigh and shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face and then through his short, blond hair. He hesitated, and took a moment to survey their surroundings, and she knew him well enough to know that he was ensuring they had no unwelcome eavesdroppers before he continued.:: Brunsig: I'm… sorry. ::He grimaced, the words of an apology foreign in his mouth.:: Look, Quinn. In my life there have been exactly two women I've been inclined to commit to. One left me at the altar, and the other wouldn't even say yes to my proposal. ::It felt like an elastic band snapping in her mind, and her expression twisted into an echo of his usual scowl.:: Reynolds: Do you think I'm a liar? ::He was taken aback by the question, and it took him a few moments to regain his bearing and form a response. Quinn let herself have just a little satisfaction at being able to catch him off guard, even to the point where he didn't have the wherewithal to even try and cover it.:: Brunsig: What? Reynolds: I mean, I can't think of any other reason why I'm repeating myself. Brunsig: Quinn-- Reynolds: No. You *listen* to me. I never saw marriage as a part of my life. Ever. I never saw myself as someone's wife, never imagined I'd have a husband or wife of my own. And you never, ever gave me the slightest hint that marriage was something you wanted, either. We never discussed it, you were openly cynical about the idea when other people did it -- so yes, when you sprung it on me, I was surprised and I needed a little time. Brunsig: You-- Reynolds: Shut. Up. ::He scowled, but to her mild surprise, he complied with an impatient flick of his wrist, indicating she should continue. And so, onwards she ploughed, a little bit afraid that if she stopped now, she'd never be able to say it again. Anger and frustration were powerful motivators, after all, and without them...:: Reynolds: I was going to say yes. After the mission, I was going to say yes. So please, stop acting like I left you or threw you out. The only reason you didn't get your answer is because… ::The words tasted too bitter to say, and it was her turn to grimace. "Because I killed you" was an overly-dramatic, but not entirely inaccurate way of describing it. Every commanding officer dreaded the day they had to order someone they cared about to sacrifice themselves, and Quinn had struggled to come to terms with that decision for a very long time.:: Brunsig: You thought I was dead. And then you moved on. Spawned with Ross, shacked up with Tam-- Reynolds: I am not going to apologise for-- ::It was her turn to be cut off, and as much as it annoyed her, she couldn't deny that he'd weathered her interruptions and let her finish. So she pursed her lips, and listened.:: Brunsig: I'm not asking you to apologise for anything. You don't *owe* me an apology for anything. ::He frowned at her, his gaze intense.:: *Anything*, Quinn, do you hear me? Not for that decision, and not for your boy toys. It was the right call -- hell, it was the *only* call. And what you did in your personal life is your own damn business. ::He frowned, stopping there to gather his thoughts. Walter Brunsig was not one to discuss his innermost feelings, not even when there was a metaphorical gun to his head. Brunsig: You'd moved on. I hadn't. Most of my so-called "relationships" have been physical, rather than emotional. It's easier. You have a good time, and you part ways, no hurt feelings. Watching someone move on without you is… ::It wasn't like him to trail off or leave a sentence hanging, with his preference for speaking plainly -- a little *too* plainly, at times. But he didn't need to form the words, because she knew what he was describing. She remembered all too well how it had felt when she had realised that her relationship with David had become an afterthought to his career aspirations, watching him move on and up with barely a backward glance in her direction.:: Reynolds: Yeah. I know. ::Was this where she was supposed to admit that she'd never really moved on? That Harry wouldn't have had a chance if she even suspected Walter had still been alive? That she would have never turned to Kael for comfort, if she'd thought for just a second that Walter had been awaiting her return? ::Problem was, she never quite been able to work out if it was endearing, or just plain pathetic. It had certainly felt like the latter, but maybe...:: Brunsig: I still love you, Quinn. I never stopped. ::He shook his head, heaving another sigh.:: Given the evidence, it doesn't look like I can. ::His words stole her breath, and few moments later she had to remind herself to breathe again as her head grew light. Of all the places she had imagined this conversation going, a confession like that had not been one of them. A small, cautious smile crept onto her lips as she dared to hope.:: Reynolds: That was… actually a little bit romantic. ::He held up a stern finger.:: Brunsig: Don't tell. Reynolds: Our secret. ::She didn't know what else to say. Her heart sounded obnoxiously loud as it banged away inside her chest; a galloping rhythm that she was quite sure everyone inside the forest would be able to hear. Walter seemed equally ill at ease, his cheeks still coloured with that self-conscious flush of pink. What were they supposed to do now? He was only an arm's length away, but it might as well have been a light year.:: Reynolds: Well, this is awkwa-- ::He silenced her with a kiss, his lips warm and soft against her own, his hand light on the back of her neck. The callouses on the tips of his fingers scratched gently against that sensitive skin, shivers rolling down her shoulders and spine. And there, against the edges of her mind, his thoughts brushed against her own -- and to her surprise, they were as soft and warm as his touch. It was familiar and new, all at the same time, and she wanted nothing more than to stay in that moment, with him.:: ::And for at least a little while, there under the stars and leafy boughs, Quinn Reynolds got her wish.:: -- Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0
  10. ((OOC: Character responses are from old sims which Sera was apart of.)) ((IC:)) ((Holodeck 3, USS Gorkon)) :: The scene inside the simulated cave was a representation of what the Aella clan had gone through for hundreds of years when faced with the Ushaan and while each clan was different in preparing their warrior for the single combat duel, it was not uncommon for a mind ritual to take place.:: ::The ritual was designed to have warrior's face and overcome their own personal fears, doubts, and anxieties before the duel. So often a warrior could be defeated by these before they even attached the tether or picked up a ushaan-tor. But if those mental barriers were beaten before the duel, they would be able to enter battle with a singular purpose while being unafraid of their adversary or the consequences of failure. Doing so would greatly increase a warriors chance of victory.:: :: Sera understood the reason Ensign Nohx, the ship's counsellor, had assigned her the program even if she had held apprehension at running it when there was no actual Ushaan was to be faced. She had to face down her own fears, doubts, and anxieties or she would never reach her full potential as an officer.:: :: It was why she sat in a cave who's inner walls and floor were coated in thick ice, and why she sat in front of a small roaring fire in the centre of the same cave. Her eye were fixated on the flames as if she was in a trace which, in truth, she was. She had been led into it by the elder shaman that stood behind the fire. The frail old Andorian stood in the traditional robes with his eyes closed while signing the stories of the Aella clan. The heat from the fire caused a patch of the ice on the ceiling to slowly melt over the hours that she had been in her guided meditation, but the slight drip on her shoulders and head had been forgotten once she had surrendered to the fire and to the voice of the Shaman. The warmth dissipated quickly in the dark cave but it was enough to keep Sera from being physically troubled by the extreme cold, the words and thyme of the shaman's song kept Sera's mind safe as it navigated its own troubling memories and feelings.:: :: It had not all been the work of the Shaman to get into the trance-like state, it was common on to take a small dose of the Saf, a psychoactive chemical refined from an Andorian plant. However it was highly illegal off Andoria, as other species had taken the chemical recreationally and the overdose threshold was alarmingly low. So in front of Sera sat an Akoonah , a device used by the native people of the American continent on Earth to experience vision quests. She found it highly unlikely that it would work for her, but she was wrong. She was taken into a trace by a combination of the Akoonah, the fire and the singing voice of the shaman.:: ::Her memories had forced her to relieve arriving on the Human colony as an adolescent during a time of war, the fear had washed over her like a tidal wave and she had suddenly felt alone and afraid surrounded by a species she had only ever seen briefly and in small number. Her posture in front of the fire had started to crumble as she was overwhelmed by those feelings but then the shamans voice had changed, he sang of Sera's ancestors who had been daring and brave and her memories had switched to when she had finally made friends with Humans, when she had opened up and allowed her personality to come through. Her posture had returned and she smiled involuntarily as she remembered those high school friends and a particular boy her own age, who however brief, had been more than a friend.:: ::For the next hour she continued to smile as the Shaman sang and led her through long forgotten memories, until his voice changed again. He sang of a time when the of the Aella clan had hit by the Terrellian plague and been devastated. Sera's body seemed to spasm and tense in discomfort, her own memories flashing to a much milder time of discomfort. She relived being a cadet and standing on an empty holodeck with Chief Petty Officer McMann looking at her in disappointment.:: ::The Chief poked Sera in the belly with an index finger and moved forward.:: McMann: Until you graduate this academy, you are a cadet and you will address me as an officer. Is… ::poke.:: that… ::poke:: clear? ::poke:: ::She had flinched with every poke in the belly as if the memory of them were moving her backward now but the memory of Leigh McMann faded to be replaced Fleet Captain Reynolds looking at her in annoyance.:: Reynolds: Captain, or sir. Never ma'am…. ::The Fleet Captain looked away from Sera and continued talking. The words faded away, but Sera's antennae dropped to her head her cheeks heated to a darker shade of blue as she relived annoying the fleet captain with her form of address during the first introduction. As the Shaman continued to sing of the disease ravaging the ranks of the Aella clan, her CO was replaced by the image of an Andorian Ensign fighting a horde of spiders. The Ensign kicked with her boot and stabbed with a multitool but was soon overwhelmed despite screaming and thrashing around. Soon the Andorian Ensign was haul up and carried away on a sea of spiders, Sera could hear the screams of the Ensign and then the threats as she fought back in what little way she could. But the Ensign was not eaten, instead she was dumped in front of a groups of fellow officers it took the startled Ensign a long moment to realise that the Spiders had rescued her and had not intended on eating her.:: ::Even in the trance state part of her was embarrassed to watch herself be so foolish and scared in front of her shipmates due to an imaginary threat but the feeling faded as the Shamans song changed. He sang of the Vulcan medical team which intervened saving many lives from the plague at a time when Andorians and Vulcans distrusted each other. Sera became visably more relaxed and an image of McMann returned holding a glass of scotch while laughing with Sera.:: zh'Aella: Yooooouuuu like meeeee. McMann: Tester, what have I done? ::Her CO reappeared pinning a Lt. JG pip on her collar with gloved hands and congratulating her.:: Reynolds: I hereby promote Colleen Bancroft and Sera zh'Aella to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade, with all the rights and privileges that follow. ::Jo Marshall appeared at a poker table genteelly teasing her about the spiders while the Andorain wore a top hat.:: Marshall: There’s no “might” about it. It was spectacular. ::Sera again relaxed and smiled widely at the new memories and her happy state continued for a what might have been another hour as the shaman sang of peaceful and flourishing times for the Aella clan until he began to sing of war.:: ::It was not the recent war that he sang of, the Aella Clan had taken no part in the Dominion War as their number was too small, but when they were more numerous they had fought and died alongside their human allies in the Earth-Romulan War. As the Shaman sang of loose and death, Sera relieved the crashing of the Gorkon out of Quantum Slip Stream into the Roman Nebular. She felt the pressure of the helm console in her chest as the ship's internal compensators fought the sudden stress. She felt crashing humiliation as she looked around the bridge and viewed all the injured. Then the fear returned as she watched a giant petty officer be swarmed by faceless creatures and found a crewman bleeding to death on a corridor lit by flickering emergency lights, but this time the fear passed quickly replaced by something worse. She rocked as if hit over the as her shame attacked her, She saw herself standing beside Cory Stoyer and Jo Marshall as the trio faced a monster. She watched as two of them stood their ground and one of retreated, as she retreated, as she ran away and left them to their fate. Her Antenna spasmed as the shaman's song came to an end at the Battle of Cheron and Sera relived the memory again, but this time she did not run away, yes she took stepped back in fear but as soon she saw her fellow officers stand firm she re-joined them.she remembered beaming the still alive crewman to sickbay. She then remembered her friends and officers telling her that the crash was not her fault:: Stoyer: Sera, you did nothing wrong. As an old helmsman myself, I would let you drive anytime. ::The shaman hummed gently as he circled the now dim fire and he placed a weak hand on Sera's shoulder. She reached out and touched the Akoonah and she became fully aware of her surroundings, slowly she looked up at the shaman.:: Shaman: Are you ready to be tested Sera zh'Aella? zh'Aella: Yes. =/\= Lieutenant JG Sera zh'Aella Helm/Comm/Ops USS Gorkon V239107TZ0
  11. Glad you are enjoying it! Keep up the great work, and you'll be an Ensign in no time!
  12. Don't worry, that was me. I had never heard of writing RPG groups before finding SB118. I browsed the page like a stalker for a couple of weeks before applying. Definitely worth it!
  13. The website and wiki were upgraded to secure connections (https). You will have to manually re-copy and paste your links.
  14. The STO screenshots are just a good way to show a ship that doesn't have a lot of screen time, or are purely B-canon. For example, the TV shows and movies don't make reference to Vestas or Lunas, but they exist in books and STO.
  15. Welcome aboard! If you don't behave yourself, our Brikar, Eerie, can put the squeeze on you!
  16. Happy Birthday, Captain Cupcake!! :harry:

  17. Embedding YouTube videos isn't as straightforward anymore. There is no embed or insert video button. You have to write your reply in the Source Code, copy-and-pasting the YouTube video code from the video's share options. I can handle it fine, but the less technical-minded might have trouble, and are reduced to inserting URL links only.
  18. Honestly, these days you can just use Google Docs. I haven't needed to use Word for most things unless it requires very special formatting that drive's robust, and addon-capable, features dont have. Also you can upload word docs to drive and drive will preserve the original formatting pretty well.
  19. I use google drive. To standardize my text, I select all the text I want, then select a Text Style. In my case, its simply Normal Text, but you can also create custom styles to mass apply. When it comes time to send a sim, I just copy and paste everything from the doc into an email. All my spell-checking and editing is done in docs. Plus it provides a permanent storage area for past sims.
  20. She has Peters on my ship (the Victory), and is helping me out as well. At our mentors' suggestions, we might be starting some sort of IC personal relationship as a way to "break the ice", especially for me, since I'm pretty new still to PBEM. Oh yea, and the wiki stuff.
  21. Thank you, all! We tried once before with those Parasites. It did not go well. Too overt. Perhaps we are trying a more....subtle approach. Also, I am still in training, but I am already enjoying it. I look forward to seeing that Starbase 118 tag in my email. But anyway, I love the Trill species. Dax was one of my favorite characters on DS9. Their merged personalities are very interesting.
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