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Lukas Vukovic

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About Lukas Vukovic

  • Rank
    Salt this, buddy!
  • Birthday April 22

Fleet information

  • Current Vessel
    In Training/Unassigned/On Leave

Personal information

  • Location
    San Leandro, CA
  • Gender
  • Interests
    Writing, reading, gaming, music, urban exploring/hiking.

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  1. Cadet Lukas Vukovic sat back in his seat aboard the transport shuttle that took him to Starbase 118. He sighed and scratched the right side of his neck. The stubble poking through his skin was itchy. He decided to let himself go a bit, even though he’d always been clean shaven in his four years at the Academy. The irritation would pass as his stubble grew longer. That ridge on his nose though, from his Bajoran side--that always irritated him. He ran his finger up and down the bridge of his nose. “Attention, we will be docking with Starbase 118 in a few moments,” the pilot’s disembodied voice filtered through the passenger cabin. Lukas quelled the butterflies in his stomach and got his pack ready. When the transport docked, Lukas disembarked. He headed for the nearest restroom, but wasn’t quite ready for the hustle and bustle of the station. He grew up in Oakland, the lesser known “can-do” Bay Area city alongside San Francisco. That was a city. He knew its grind and flow. This, this station was something else entirely. It took him five minutes just to get through all the people in the docking bay. Once inside the restroom, he occupied a sink and dropped his pack. Cupping his hands over running water, he splashed it on his face and looked at himself. Slate eyes, high cheek bones, and large ears filled out his entirely average oval shaped face. His skin still possessed a slight olive tan, despite spending most of his time not under the light of a star of any type. His kept his charcoal colored hair buzzed, running into the growing stubble on his face. He’d made it. He’d really made it. After his father saying he was a trouble maker not good enough for Starfleet, and his mother saying he belonged in the service of the Prophets, he’d proven them both wrong. Now all he had to do was finish his cadet cruise and he’d be posted to a ship. Sure, he’d patch things up with his dad, especially since Lukas had proven him wrong. He wasn’t so sure about his mom. He never really talked to her anymore anyway, since she decided to move back to Bajor. He didn’t really have any other friends to share in his accomplishment. He hoped he’d make new ones on whatever posting he was given. Standing straight at his full hundred-eight-five centimeters, he slung his pack over his shoulder. He was still early, as he didn’t need to report in yet, so he decided to follow a computerized guide and take a lift up to the New York District, as he’d had enough with San Francisco and didn’t feel like trying anything too exotic. After fighting his way through foot traffic so bad he almost thought he really was in Manhattan, Lukas came to a diner called the Greasy Spoon. He ordered a hockey puck and a pair of drawers, hoping they didn’t burn it too badly. It turned out to be tasty, well-done but still juicy and sealed-in flavor. The coffee was so-so, but it was a diner. When he was done, he checked the time. He still had enough minutes to take his time to the holodeck and report in. Stomach full, he slung his pack over his shoulder and whistled an old tune, walking through the mimicry of Manhattan towards his future. Cadet Lukas Vukovic
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