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Trellis Vondaryan

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Everything posted by Trellis Vondaryan

  1. How exactly will they be defining 'real production'? A kindergarten play is technically a 'real production'...
  2. I don't think I've ever heard anyone describe themself as a 'twatwaffle' before. This one had me chuckling a bit.
  3. Thanks to some fine work from Taelon, Trellis is rocking some formal attire now.
  4. I almost completely avoid it. Partly because Trellis is in Intelligence so the need for it hasn't arisen (yet) and partly because I'm not very good at using it anyway.
  5. ((Medical Offices - Starbase 118)) ::Damien Bagwell the third, or "Big D" as he liked to call himself, was busy preparing for his next shift in Sickbay. A rather sweet gig, he thought personally. Lots of attractive females in distress, totally needing a tanned, toned dose of comforting in their time of need. And he, was often on hand to offer such a service. The only downside, was the unfairly attractive new CMO, she was a sweet looking redhead with a fiery temper to match. She just didn't "get" him. Something about "integrity of the position" or some medical babble like that. To be fair, the last time she called him into her office, he had been starring a little lower than her eyes while she talked. That Betazoid could get heated, and animated when angry. If it wasn't at his expense, he'd be able to enjoy it to the fullest. ::Getting back to his meticulous prep work for his look, he slapped another glob of maximum hold gel as he crafted his hair in the oh so perfect "What? Oh no, I totally woke up like this..." style. Finally finished with his 'do, he reached for his most cherished of all his grooming products: Axe Men's Daily Fragrance. He had it on good authority that this vintage, highly sought after product had been "the" thing of 21st century Earth males. He guarded his private stash closely. This stuff didn't come cheap, and he paid a fortune for it. At least, he had a fortune. Or, his father did. In order to get the old man off his back, and keep himself in the will, he became an Enlisted Crewman 3rd class, assigned to Sickbay. Finally ready, he gave himself a once over in his bathroom mirror before donning a completely unnecessary pair of mirror shades and headed out to report for his shift.:: ((Main Sickbay - Starbase 118)) ::"Big D" had just arrived, giving a few fingers guns towards a group of his favorite nurses, when suddenly, there was an ear piercing alarm blaring. Freezing in place, Damien swore they were amidst an attack from hostile forces as a swarm of mechanical drones buzzed around him, red warning lights swirling. He barely had time to throw his hands up in front of his face before he was sprayed down with a thick orange, foamy antiseptic smelling liquid, covering him head to toe like a radioactive melted marshmallow. Within moments, the swarming mass of drones abated, the sirens silenced and the warning lights dulled. Stunned, he stood shivering in a daze, looking around, there was a collection of doctors with expressions of smug approval. Suddenly, he locked eyes with one particular doctor, her face a mask of pure fury. He always though she was hot, but the look she was giving him was more thermonuclear. Her arms were crossed and her stance was rigid. But how could she honestly blame this on him? He just walked in the door. Not HIS fault. She had to see that...didn't she...?:: Ezo: ::narrowed eyes:: Private Bagwell...::tossing him a towel:: Clean yourself up and report immediately to my office. ::pointing sternly:: Immediately. ::With a final glare, Mirra Ezo made her away from the main entrance of Sickbay, and Private Bagwell, who was completely coated in anti-contaminant foam. She made it into her office and wagered she had a solid five minutes while Damien scrubbed the last of the foam off himself, and getting a new uniform before she would have to speak with him. While attending the Shore Leave beach party, there had been a rather unfortunate incident as was reported her by Dr. Jos first thing that morning. Thankfully, Orderly Lassinam'lal would make a full recovery, but, this was the fourth infraction of one Enlisted Crewman Third Class Damien Bagwell. She'd had more than enough. It was time for some serious payback. With the help of a very enthusiastic mechanical specialist in the Environmental Containment unit, her plan had formed. The look on Damien's face was enough to make her want to order the biggest "Thank You" cookie basket she could replicate for the entire department. Her musings were cut short by a timid knock on her door.:: Ezo: Enter, Private. ::Walking into her office, Damien appeared like a poor, muscly, drowned rat. Apparently his "maximum hold" gel couldn't stand up to a decon shower. oO What a waste of a good hair day...Oo D.Bagwell: You...uh...::clearing his throat:: Wanted to see me..? Ma'am? Ezo: ::nodding slowly:: Please, have a seat. ::He quickly slunk into the offered seat, a pink fluffy bath towel wrapped around his shoulder like a security blanket:: D.Bagwell: ::stammering:: I had nothing to do with those drone things, I swear doc, you gotta believe me, I just walked in...and...woosh! ::His hasty explanation was suddenly silence as he focused on her icy glare. For once, his vision was glued to her face and zero intention of straying...:: Ezo: That, is where you are very much mistaken. The "drones", were mobile contaminant containment units. You see, despite myfrequent instruction, you have repeatedly reported to your shift doused in...whatever it is...and this time it had caused Orderly Lassinam'lal to have a violent allergic reaction. Therefore, from this moment forward, the contents of that...odor, have officially been classified as a "class three" respiratory irritant. On top of this most recent incident, you have shown a lack of respect of the post of which you have been tasked. Using my Sickbay as your own personal dating service. This is unacceptable, to say the least. ::Squirming in his seat, Damien was pretty sure this was the worst "talk" he'd ever had. Even worse than the one he received from his father when he crashed his hover-boat to impress some sunbathing co-eds.:: Ezo: ::leaning back in her seat:: Now, what I think, is you just don't understand the significance of what we do here. So, as of today, your intake privileges have been revoked. For the next three shifts, you are going to be assigned to hazardous waste removal. Once completed, you will be spending time in our pediatric burn unit, reading to the patients, tea parties, dress up, whatever their little hearts desire. I will, of course, be speaking directly to your shift supervisors, and until I am satisfied that you have garnered an appreciation to what this facility stands for, you can consider yourself on strict probation pending termination. ::leaning forward, her voice lowering:: And this goes without saying...but if you walk into my Sickbay wearing that offensive odor ever again...what happened today will be considered a "light shower"...am I clear? D.Bagwell: ::audibly gulping:: Ye-yes ma'am. Very clear. ::nodding furiously:: Loud and clear. Ezo: ::leaning back, crossing her arms over her chest:: I am pleased to hear that. You're dismissed Private. ::Damien quickly scrambled out of the chair, he turned stiffly, bowing repeatedly in an awkward show of respect, but instead nearly tripping over every piece of office furniture between her desk and the door. Once out of her office, and the door firmly shut, Mirra burst into hysterical laughter.:: ------------------------------------------- Lieutenant Mirra Ezo, MDChief Medical Officer Starbase 118 OpsC239205ME0
  6. This reminds me of Julian Bashir's speech about why he chose DS9 in 'Emissary' (I think).
  7. I doubt it. I bulge in all the wrong places.
  8. I like that they've gone with the TNG era style of uniform. I don't like that they don't have men's swimming trunks...
  9. ((The Illogical Eatery -- Shi'Kahr District -- Starbase 118 Commercial Sector))::Sequestered in a booth at the rear of the restaurant, Chalan Fuliar offered a silent prayer of thanks to The Prophets for the air conditioning fan that whirred quietly above him. Hailing from Hedrikspool Province on Bajor, Fuliar was used to a mild climate, not the oppressive heat of the Shi'Kahr District which was designed to simulate that of Vulcan. Ordinarily he would have studiously avoided entering this this quarter of Starbase 118's enormous Commercial Sector, but today he faced little choice if he wanted to catch the station commander in between meetings, then he had little choice.::Chalan: oO Of course, if I was allowed into the Operations Tower then I wouldn't need to come here at all. Oo::Despite there being over 250 journalists living on Starbase 118, none of them were permitted to enter the station's nerve centre. On the one hand, he could understand the need for operational security- journalists being allowed to roam The Hub could cause chaos- but the career-minded and predominantly selfish side of his character could not deny that it made job that much harder. He had even gone as far as to petition the office of the station's Executive Officer several times for permission to enter the aforementioned tower- but unsurprisingly, each request had been rebuffed without explanation. Thus, he was forced to try and catch Sal Taybrim when he left the tower and risk heatstroke... all in the name of journalistic gold. Fuliar was not the kind of man to barge into people's conversations and therefore he was waiting for Taybrim to finish his conversation with the station's C.A.G. officer, Antero Flynn. He knew little about the Risian other than he had previously served as a helmsman on theColumbia and Apollo and that people often spoke extremely highly of him. Rumours suggested that he was once romantically involved with Lieutenant Commander Whittaker, but he could not be bothered to substantiate those rumours since he was a respected, award-winning reporter... not some tabloid hack in need of column inches. He was beginning to seriously consider that Taybrim and Flynn were going to be nattering all day when he noticed that things looked as though they were wrapping up. Perking up, Fuliar abandoned the long-cold Spice Tea he had half-heartedly been imbibing for the past half hour and fished the Dictaphone from the pocket of his pastel blue linen trousers. When he was absolutely sure the two men were parting, Fuliar quickly left the booth and crossed the rust-coloured restaurant (did Vulcans appreciate any other colour aside from red?) and caught up with flame haired Betazoid CO. ::Chalan: Commander Taybrim! Commander Taybrim!Taybrim: Yes?Chalan: ::hurriedly showing his credentials, which were hanging from the lanyard he fished from underneath his navy hued t-shirt.:: Chalan Fuliar, Federation News Service -- I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the recent incident in the Dungeon?Taybrim: And I was hoping to get back to work. ::He replied mildly, with a small smile.::::Undeterred, the Bajoran fell into step alongside Taybrim and waved the Dictaphone in front of the man's face.::Chalan: What can you say about reports that your senior staff have discovered a hidden area of the station adjacent to The Dungeon?Taybrim: What can I say? You seem to know as much about the rumors as I do. Maybe you can tell me who is spreading said rumors?Chalan: ::smiling wryly:: Nice try Commander, a journalist never reveals his sources. ::beat:: Besides I'm a journalist, it's my job to ask questions.::The truth of it was that he had had it on good authority from several members of the station's enlisted personnel (who were almost always happy to offer titbits of information) that the station's senior staff stumbled across a sealed section of the station while investigating a nightclub in the dungeon and that the discovery had led to the arrest of the criminal known as Janker -- and the death of a Starfleet Marine. The station's press secretary had confirmed that Captain Raymond Hughes had been killed in the course of his duties, but had staunchly refused to divulge any more information.::Taybrim: That's funny, I thought it was your job to keep other people from doing theirs. ::He smiled sweetly.::Chalan: Does the arrest of a wanted criminal known as Janker have anything to do with a raid by the 292nd on a bar in the Dungeon known as Harkins' Den? Or the arrest of it's propietor? Oma-Saan is it?Taybrim: Harkin's Den was legitimately shut down due to health code violation, and after the evacuation evidence appeared leading to several arrests.::The Bajoran reporter could not resist the urge to smirk. While Harkins' Den was no doubt a cesspit of filth and depravity -- he had never visited it -- Taybrim had neglected to explain why exactly he had ordered Starfleet Marines to do the job of the medical and security department.::Chalan: Since when are Starfleet Marines tasked with responding to health and safety violations? ::smirking:: I bet Doctor Ezo wouldn't be too happy with that, would she?Taybrim: In fact I think Doctor Ezo was quite happy to have the backup. ::He tossed back, watching the reporter carefully.:: Harkin's Den was on several violations of Starfleet rules and regulations and was unwilling to comply with any security measures. Considering their violations put the safety of innocent civilians at risk, the escalation of the matter is regrettable, but necessary.Chalan: So you are denying that you ordering the arrest of Oma-Saan was not connected to the arrest of the criminal known as Janker?Taybrim: Mr. Chalan, the press release already states that Oma-Saan has been found guilty of criminal activity on StarBase 118, he is being transferred to Starbase 44 for trial and will likely serve a life sentence. In light of this, Harkin's Den has been closed and will not be reopening. That space will be cleaned and refitted, allowing a new establishment to open in its place. ::The look on Taybrim's face was unmistakable. He thought he had outfoxed the journalist. Thankfully Fuliar had made a living out of gaining the upper hand and lulling his interviewees into a false sense of secuity... not to mention a few journalistic rivals.::Chalan: In my experience Commander, press releases are nothing more than smoke and mirrors to conceal the truth. I found that out when I was the FNS correspondant to the Palais de la Concorde on Earth. ::beat:: What I also learned was that sooner or later, secrets have a way of coming out for all and sundry to hear.Taybrim: The word 'secret' is a hard definition on a base as big as this one, Mr. Chalan. If you turn around you'll see a bulkhead and a computer panel. ::He pointed directly behind the reporter.::Chalan: ::raising an eyebrow and fixing the CO with a smirk:: Is there a point to this or are you the station's newest tour guide. ::chuckling.:: If you are, you're doing a terrible job.Taybrim: My point being, there's a door in that computer panel. You can't open it, you can't even see it. But a trained maintenance staff could open it and slip inside. And do the oh so secret work of fixing computer terminals or making power system repairs. And no one else would know they were there. Is that secret? Yes. It is also the way the station was built? Yes.Chalan: Are you about to make another point?Taybrim: I think the station is a bit safer with two criminals behind bars, and that is what is important.::Fuliar scrutinised the man's face. He was good. Very good. One of the best even. That was probably down to his diplomatic training. He'd read the man's Starfleet file, he liked to know who his 'opponents' were. Knowing that he wasn't going to get anything else from the Betazoid, he took a step back and offered him a slight bow, not out of respect, but in mocking.::Chalan: Well played Commander. You're good. ::beat:: I should probably warn that I'm not the kind of reporter who takes things at face value. ::beat:: I'm like a Terran bloodhound. ::he turned to walk away, but managed the throw one last quip.:: I don't stop till I get what I want.::He didn't hear a response, if Taybrim had even chose to reply. No, his mind was already working on another avenue to explore.::Chalan FuliarFNS Correspondant/Journalistic Scumas simmed by:Lieutenant Commander Theo WhittakerExecutive OfficerStarbase 118 OperationsC239203TW0
  10. Really, that just looks horrible to me. It's an action film that happens to have 'Star Trek' in the name
  11. I think like any writer will say, there's always at least an aspect of yourself in your character. There are lots of things I have in common with my character, but there are also tons of things that he does that I would never do (nor want to). So I was torn between the last two answers because in some respects my character doesn't have much to do with me at all. I've found those aspects the ones that have been both the most fun and difficult to write.
  12. I think a modern Viking ceremony would be putting Hughes in an empty torpedo, blasting it into space and then blowing it up. That's how I imagine it, anyway.
  13. ((Harkins Den – The Dungeon – SB118)) ::Hughes watched quietly from the corner of the room as the two men conversed with each other, brown eyes only occasionally flicking in their direction as he kept his wrist aiming roughly in their general direction. The small parabolic microphone disguised as a button doing it’s job as the conversation fed wirelessly into the virtually hidden speaker resting in his ear.:: Oma-Saan: What Chennel doesn't know doesn't hurt her. ::smirking:: More profit for us. Janker: Exactly. ::He put his fingers together, tapping them lightly.:: Oma-Saan: What do you need to do? Janker: Well, the first step is for me to take my leave of you and do some exploring. I said they sealed five entrances and there was at least seven, hidden in the bowels of the dungeon. That doesn't mean they're easy to get to. ::The Below. Hughes knew that place, he knew the entrances and exits from him like he knew every other hiding place on the station. He’d been down there himself a few times for some of the more questionable activities the Black Tower had him running now and then, one of the derelict secure area’s functioning as a black site for ‘enhanced interrogation’. Now, once more it was going to be the destination of criminal scum.:: Oma-Saan: You know where they are then? It shouldn't take you long to find them at all. Janker: ::Scoffing:: If it was easy to find do you think it would have persisted for so long or stayed secret to so many? The Below is stuff of legends, and while a lot of that rested on people believing it was a myth, lots also stayed on the steady shoulders of it being incredibly hard to find. Oma-Saan: ::muttering:: Assuming it was even real in the first place. ::louder:: If the rumors are true, Starfleet did some damage to it a while back. ::That was an understatement. The place was a ruin, save for the aforementioned site, pockmarked by firefights and explosions in the wake of a terrorist assault. Then again, it was also quiet with no civilian interference. If the Tower gave him the relevant code words, he could make this Oma-Saan disappear as swiftly as a raindrop in a thunderstorm.:: Janker: Yes, there's also the question of how much damage was done down there. No point in trying to move goods or people through the area if its busted up. Oma-Saan: ::smiling:: It seems you know the basic tenets of business after all. I'll stay here to keep distraction away from you. Let me know how it goes. Janker: ::He smiled, showing off a mouth of sharpened little teeth:: Oh, I'll do the scouting, you stay here where its safe. I'll find you. Oma-Saan: ::He narrowed his eyes to slits and spoke in a tone that threatened violence.:: Yes, see that you do. ::Hughes waited just a few moments before following the diminutive Janker out of the exit, ensuring to leave just enough time to not make it obvious he was following him, even feigning a slightly drunken swagger as he bundled himself out of the door .He was wearing rags, deliberately dirtied to give him the appearance (and not to mention smell) of one of the other poverty stricken dwellers of the Dungeon. Oma-Saan was criminal enough, but he was arrogant. Distractions only work if they are unexpected, but now whatever he decided to throw would be identified as a ruse. Hughes had his quarry, now like the Bloodhounds his grandfather used to keep, it was time to move in for the kill. Paths twisted and turned, footsteps muffled by his shoes and a deliberately subtle step, before becoming masked once more by the sound of thumping techno music, The Raven, another one of those edgy clubs that cropped up from time to time serving the niches of the stations young and daredevil residents. Gothic, the term apparently was, although this seemed to be little more than some tragic medieval frontage on a broken old warehouse rather than the grandiose imagery of Transylvanian horror:: Bouncer: Bugger off, peasant. We got a dress code, you don’t fit it. ::Hughes muttered something in a drunken slur, stumbling off towards the side alley before dropping his loose fitting coat on the ground along with the hood he’d encumbered himself with. Underneath he wore a simple black coverall, adding a handful of puddle water and ruffling his hair to give it a rather impressive set of short spikes. Combined with his black boots, he fit the image of aging Goth who should know better quite well. He didn’t make eye contact with the bouncer as he slipped in behind a group of women wearing corsets easily a size too small for them, bulging out like overcooked muffins but chatty enough to not notice his presence, allowing him to slide in alongside them past the cloakroom and into the main area of the club. Suddenly he felt far, far too old to be in here. Surrounding him were throngs of teenagers from numerous different species, each of them seemingly come together to celebrate the droning-voiced music with its heavy and ponderous riffs. It was, for all intents, a living nightmare. The Pelian had headed up to one of the private rooms soon after his arrival, leaving Hughes to endure the horrible music in silence as he forced himself to dance (badly), blending in with the clientele and fending off a few advances from the mushroom corset ladies who’d been kind enough to get him entry. Still, after hearing the last drunken daddy issues story and how ‘dark’ and ‘cool’ the club was, the loud voice suddenly in his ear was a welcome distraction:: Trel’lis: =/\= Trel’lis to Marine Captain Hughes. What is your location? =/\= ::The voice came through loud on his earpiece, although he quickly broke into a grin and pulled out his communicator, looking for all intents like another reveller taking a call. Hughes: =/\= The Raven, the Dungeon. You should get down here, this club is amazing!=/\= Trel’lis: =/\= Lieutenant Zinna and I need to get with you, ASAP. Details to follow upon arrival. =/\= ::His eyes flicked upwards to Janker slipping into one of the private rooms, before glancing back towards the bar:: Hughes; =/\= Hey yeah! I think it’s happy hour or something, hey, don’t forget the dress code. I got us one of those private rooms upstairs, gonna be an awesome night!=/\= Trel’lis: =/\= Good. See you in a few. Trel’lis out. =/\= ::He made a show of nodding and grinning before closing his communicator and heading slowly up the stairs behind the Pelian. He’d been smart enough to lock the door, yet like just about all technology on this starbase there was ways around it. His elbow pressing sharply against the panel did the trick when backs were turned to him, crossing a couple of wires. As he stepped foot inside, the room was empty. Something though, something tickled his sinus’s beyond the pall of smoke. Burning, the smell of welded metal giving him an invisible trail as he followed it underneath a tacky curtain, the back of his hand running against the wall as he headed towards it’s source. An ODN panel the only discernible point of interest on the plain steel wall. He traced his fingers along the outside edge of it, far too hot to be a regular power output, the stink of burnt metal clinging to the air like a fog. Footsteps came up behind him, his hand reaching towards the hilt of his combat knife tucked stealthily under his waistband before relaxing as two women approached him. Hughes: Do either of you have a Phaser? Trel’lis: I have my cricket one, to keep things ‘discreet’. I was a Security Officer before transferring to the Diplomatic Corps. Zinna: No, I don't have a phaser. ::She rolled her eyes. Counselors never needed phasers...but in this instance, she probably did need one. :: Hughes: ::Hand outstretched:: Lock the door, one of you needs to disarm the fire detection system via the computer. Zinna: ::While Trel'lis disabled the system, she looked at the Marine Capt.:: Do you have a report, Captain Hughes? ::Hughes took the weapon, waiting for the computer to confirm the club had been taken off the detection grid before letting out a steady stream of focused fire around the edge of the panel, catching it to drop it carefully on the ground::Hughes: A Pelian has found a way into the Below. He’s working with Oma-Saan to carry out something… I don’t know what, but it doesn’t bode well. Here’s the deal, we’re going to pursue him and capture him for questioning. Trel’lis: Isn’t doing that dangerous? Zinna: Being here period is dangerous. Hughes: Yes, it’s dangerous. I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. If you’d be more comfortable waiting for a security detail I’ll fully under… Trel’lis: Say no mo! Let’s do this and quickly, so our ‘cover’ isn’t blown. Zinna: I agree... ::Hughes smiled, briefly. For a councillor and a diplomat they had a fair amount of guts between them:: Hughes: Normally I’d insist ladies first, but I’ll take point. Just one more thing… when we capture this Pelian I’ll let you lead the interrogation. If you can’t get him to talk, I’m going to ask you both to leave the room. Do you understand? Trel’lis: ::nods:: Understood. Zinna: Yes, sir. ::Hughes nodded and slowly eased his way into the gap created,:: Hughes: Area’s clear. Let’s go. -- PNPC MCapt Hughes by Major. Tatash Marine Lead SB118 Operations C239108T10
  14. Happy birthday! It's a good day for birthdays. :w00t:

  15. ((Atmosphere, Tilanna V)) ::He was falling. Thin, white clouds turned to rust-colored sky, back into puffy white mist. ::3000 feet. ::Falling next to him, nine others were wearing high altitude jump suits. ::1500 feet. A red light flickered in his helmet, warning of the low altitude. ::The ground, merely a hazy grey outline moments before, was beginning to become clearer. Skyscrapers were taking shape. Vehicles, looking like a long row of ants, made a line of traffic. ::700 feet. In his mouth, he could taste the bitter, acidic flavor of adrenaline. ::Sweat dripped into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Blinking it away, his display showed 600 feet. Getting close to the pull point. ::500 feet. The line of vehicles came into focus. Distinct shapes were visible. Larger ships were bulldozing their way through lanes, pushing aside smaller ships. ::He reached to his shoulder, checking to make sure the ripcord was ready. More sweat dripped into his eyes. Blood drained from his face. There was no pulley for the cord! His heart, already beating quickly from the exihiliration of falling, spiked its rate. ::He looked to his right and left. The other nine figures continued to fall. 200 feet. Pull, now, pull! ::Reaching to his shoulder, he frantically tried for the cord. It still wasn't there. ::100 feet. The other figures continued to fall. Traffic swerved to avoid them. ::A green phaser bolt passed by his head. Too close! He heard a distant rumbling, like a bomb exploding. Smoke filled his helmet, obscuring his vision. He felt a searing pain in his thigh, like a hole had been ripped through his leg. ::50 feet. Still no chute. None of the others had deployed theirs, either. 40 feet. 30. The smoke cleared from his helmet, only to be replaced with the face of a screaming driver. 20 feet. His heart was pounding, threatening to spill from his chest. ::10 feet. Deploy your chutes, deploy your chutes! Phasers continued to scream past his head. The other nine figures were not so lucky. He saw bolts rip through the bodies. Screams of agony filled his helmet. ::Help us! Why didn't you help us!? ::The bodies crunched with sickening thuds.:: ((Raisillius Quarters, Starbase 118)) ::He awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. He was covered in a cold sheen of sweat. His sheet was drenched. His quarters were dark. ::Next to him, just perceptible in the darkness, Jandara dozed, the spots on her neck and back visible where the sheet left her body exposed. ::Quintus swung his feet out of bed onto the cold, metallic floor. The biting chill brought home the reality of the situation. ::He was back on the base. In his quarters. The engagement in Tilanna had been over a week ago. The phaser shots were over, the rumbling explosions completed. His HALO jump had been a success; he'd landed. His fallen friends were dead, their families notified, their funerals conducted. ::Quintus went to the bathroom, reaching for a towel to dry the sweat from his bare chest and arms. He let out a long, deep sigh. His head was pounding. ::Quietly, so as not to wake Jan, he stepped to the replicator, ordering a cup of warm jestral tea. ::He sat down, sipping his tea, staring into the darkness as his heartrate returned to normal and his headache dissipated. ::Looking at the chronometer, Quintus saw that it was 0200 hours. Corporal Korek would have been on duty in the CIC, had the Klingon survived the battle. Alas, he had not. Quintus swallowed the last of his tea, a bitter taste forming in his mouth. ::He wondered how he had been lucky enough to survive such a dangerous mission -- twice over, in fact -- when nine of his fellow marines had fallen. Why did he deserve to live? He'd killed. He'd been wounded. What made him any better than his fellow servicemen and women? Why hadn't the phaser blast hit him higher, in the chest, killing him? ::A tear dripped from his eye. He got another cup of tea from the replicator. Sitting down again, he stared out once more into the darkness of his quarters, watching Jan breathe as she slept. Sipping his tea, he sobbed to himself, passing the night away.:: -- MCaptain Quintus Lucius Raisillius Alpha Company, Paladins, Marine Leader Simmed by: Lieutenant Trellis Vondaryan Chief of Intelligence StarBase 118 Ops O239208TV0
  16. If not us, then who? If not now, then when? Someone's got to do it, it might as well be us. It's more fun that way.
  17. ((The person tagged in this sim took a LOA almost immediately after it was posted, so never responded. Still, I thought it was good enough to post even with the open tags.)) ((Risian Beach Program - Holodeck 5- Starbase 118)) ::He watched the tiny cloud drift slowly over the soft blue sky, a small wisp trailing out behind it. Such a small thing, surrounded by vastness. It gave a feeling of humbling insignificance that normally helped him relax, but none of his usual calming methods were working. The board beneath him rocked gently with the tide, usually a soothing motion that could put him to sleep. His feet rested in the cool water, in contrast to the hot sun that kissed his skin with the perfect amount of warmth. A soft sweet breeze promised relief from the hug of humidity. This was his sanctuary, his spirit medicine. His eyes drifted slowly closed, he was met once again by lifeless faces. Their empty expressions somehow peering right through his soul with living eyes. Phaser blasts colored the backdrop until his side began to tingle and he opened his eyes. He looked down to the now healed area and rubbed it with a scowl before making his way back to shore, his efforts to calm his mind ineffective. Drying off with a colorful beach towel, he wondered if perhaps he just needed to get it off his chest. This was a normal thing people went through after traumatic situations, right? He called the wall panel and opened a channel, he knew someone who might have some insight. He was looking forward to catching up anyway.:: Flynn: =/\= "Flynn to Kelly." =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? Flynn: =/\= "Kickin' back in my beach program on Holodeck 5, you want to come crack a cold one?" =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? Flynn: ::Smiling:: =/\= "You know it. Just be ready for hot sand." =/\= Kelly: =/\= ? ::As the channel closed Antero thought back to the first time he had shared his program with the crew of the Columbia during his first shore leave. That was a day he would never forget, some of the most fun he had ever had. It felt like so long ago now. He was glad he had some of those friends like Tatash and Theo back in his life. He moved to a big white parasol giving shade to two beach loungers and quickly set up a large wooden bucket of ice between them, filled with an assortment of light beers. A small side table held a dish of fresh lime wedges, two frosted pint glasses, and a bottle opener in the shape of a pineapple. Satisfied, he was already sitting back with his feet out when his friend arrived. He greeted him with a smile and gestured to the other seat as he pulled a beer from the ice and cracked it open, pouring it into the frosted glass at an angle and handing it over with a wedge of lime.:: Kelly: ? Flynn: ::a soft laugh:: "What can I say? I'm a born host." ::It was more true than people knew. He was raised from a young age to make sure everyone was comfortable before relaxing himself. It helped that he genuinely enjoyed it. He relaxed back and took a drink from his glass before setting it on the arm of his chair, staring out at the water. Watching the tide was a strange sort of meditation. There was a brief silence as they settled in.:: Kelly: ? Flynn: "It is isn't it? Someday I hope I can show you all the real deal. Try as I may my program just can’t capture the true magic of Risa." Kelly: ? Flynn: ::He gave a light nod before turning his gaze to him.:: "So how have you been doing? You know...Since Tilanna." Kelly: ? ::He knew the man had seen his share of action, more than Flynn had. How much had he gone through? Did it ever bother him? Was he immune to it? He offered a somewhat guilty smile, it seemed the tactical officer was quick to pick up on the source of his subject change. He couldn't deny he probably seemed distracted.:: Flynn: ::Nodding with a grim expression:: "Dreams mostly. Hollow faces that haunt me at night, the eyes are all still somehow alive. Like their souls demanding an explanation." ::He looked back out toward the ocean and took another drink.:: "Its Unnerving." Kelly: ? Flynn: "It’s just so foreign to me. So against my nature. I know we were doing what we had to, and I don’t regret it. I just..."::He shifted uncomfortably:: "I guess I just don’t know how to process it. Kind of feels like it’s changing who I am sometimes." Kelly: ? Flynn: ::Contemplative:: "Yeah. I guess I hadn't thought of it that way." ::He looked again at his friend.:: "I caught myself when we first got back sizing up restaurant patrons trying to decide if they were armed, then determining the best exits and what would make the best cover if things went south." ::He paused and admitted a small smile.:: "It was a place called Granny's." Kelly: ? Lt. JG Antero Flynn CAG Officer Starbase 118/Aegis C239205AF0
  18. By the time I get around to reading all these great sims (usually morning, my time) you all have put up the same quotes I was going to post! Great minds do think alike! I also really enjoyed the conversation between Zinna and Captain Whittaker. Although I do have a different view on parenting now. I was so looking forward to just dropping one off at school and feeding it and nothing else! (And this is why I don't have, nor ever will have, kids.)
  19. This was what I was just about to post! I found the whole sim quite amusing.
  20. They moved around slowly, going in the almost traditional nose-to-nose pattern that ships often seemed to end up in despite the three dimensions of space, a universal greeting that would always result in….:: Comm: We are being hailed It is amazing how ships are always nose-to-nose like that. Almost like there are effects budgets or something...
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