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Quentin Collins III

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Quentin Collins III last won the day on August 23

Quentin Collins III had the most liked content!

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About Quentin Collins III

  • Rank
    Admiral Blabbermouth
  • Birthday 12/30/1988

Fleet information

  • Current Vessel
    USS Eagle
  • Current Post
    Science

Personal information

  • Location
    TX
  • Gender
    Male
  • Interests
    Comics, retro TV, criticism, Trek (obviously), TTRPG (mainly Call of Cthulhu), and writing!

Recent Profile Visitors

266 profile views
  1. This recent joint post by @Irina Pavlova and @Randal Shayne just absolutely blew me away. I am not afraid to admit that it made me a little misty eyed as I read it. Because NOT ONLY is it a beautifully written piece of scene work by two immensely talented people (people I just so happen to serve with #humblebrag). But it speaks to the amazing dynamics we can find between our characters, as well as just how rich the personal lore/canon people have built here over the years is. Sims like this are precisely why I wanted to join up and I thank y'all so much for allowing me to do so. And thank you for providing me amazing things like this to read. Enjoy. Pavlova: I pulled her marksmanship scores from the academy and they are better than average. Shooting skills aren’t my concern, its her attitude that bothers me. ::Shayne nodded at that, understanding. Waters was obviously dealing with a lot, but the “woe is me” routine had to stop. They were bound for more trouble than any of them were prepared for if she didn’t. Fortunately, her recent chat with the helmswoman gave him a small inkling of hope in the matter. Only time would tell in the end.:: Shayne: You’ll set her right. This isn’t about her shooting. Gotta get her to move past whatever’s holding her back. ::Shayne would not give Pavlova the satisfaction of hearing that he could think of no one better qualified for the job.:: Pavlova: I figured you would say that. By the way, you might want to pick up the pace or you’ll still be here for tomorrow’s shift. Shayne: Sounds kind of relaxing, actually. I could grab a spare cot, and just tear paper away. Rip. Rip. Rip. ::Indeed, for some strange reason, the prospect had a strange sort of appeal. But he could think of no more effective ways to start the rumor mill and earn the captain’s wrath than by spending the night in Pavlova’s security office.:: Pavlova: You want a drink? We are off duty now, and by your sluggish pace you’ve got at least another hour or two of work ahead of you. ::Generally speaking, Shayne was not a big drinker. It didn’t agree with his temperamental stomach, and it didn’t do favors for his head, either. But it had become something of a tradition between the two of them recently. At first, it was a matter of relaxation. Then it was a matter of medication. Now it was… what? Tradition? He wasn’t sure he knew anymore. But considering the fact that he still had no idea what was waiting for him in the box, he could think of no better way to steel himself.:: ::He turned his head to accept the proposal, but Pavlova was already up and grasping several objects from inside a… was that a freezer? She brought them back to the desk, and Shayne looked at her in untempered astonishment, tinged with a drop of jealousy.:: Shayne: You know, I seen me a mermaid once. I’ve even seen a shark eat an octopus. But I ain’t never seen no phantom Russian minibar. ::The first officer watched as his frenemy poured a reasonable amount into the glass before Shayne, and then forego any pretense of civility by filling her cup to the brim.:: Pavlova: Nostrovia! Shayne: Skol! ::Shayne took a small sip of his vodka as Pavlova downed hers with the experience of someone who’d done it often. The stuff was noxious to Shayne, but he would not be outdrunk by Irina. He braced himself, and knocked back the rest of it, trying desperately not to appear in pain as his esophagus swiftly turned to liquid.:: Shayne: Well, if it’s a rabid vole, at least I’ll be able to laugh at it now. ::Nevertheless, he quickened his pace. If he stayed here too much longer, Irina might feel the need to pour them both another shot, and whether he ended up enjoying it or not, the result would not be good at all. Still careful to keep count, he began tearing at the paper in earnest.:: ::Irina saw him speed up his pace and couldn’t help but smile, then downed the rest of her drink and filled it up again.:: Pavlova: That’s the spirit! ::He tore and tore and tore, and got passed two hundred, and very narrowly missed tearing the oddly folded… something. Curious, he carefully removed it, and looked at it. This was no rabid vole. This was no Jack-in-the-Box. This was… an old piece of paper. Very old by the looks of it. On it was the sigil of the NX-02, and on the bottom… Commodore Vittorio Moretti USS Columbia, Commanding Shayne looked at Pavlova, eyes wide.:: Shayne: Now, wait just a minute… ::Either this really was an elaborate prank, or Pavlova was actually giving him something truly, substantially valuable. Something unique.:: Pavlova: What? You haven’t seen linen paper before? ::He honestly didn’t know what to feel. If this was a joke, he was going to feel mighty foolish. But he had a feeling this was more. And if it was…:: Shayne: ::Quietly.:: Is this real? Pavlova: I don’t know, how much did you drink? Of course it’s real., but its also still wrapped, so keep unwrapping. ::He knew the feel of what he was touching, and with a final tear, beheld the contents. Inside was a vibrantly colored, fully embroidered patch. The dark blue and red trim circled the image of an old Earth starship, and the words along the edge boldly proclaimed “Columbia.” On the bottom was Latin, and though he’d taken several years of it in school, he needed none of it to speak the motto emblazoned on the bottom.:: Shayne: “Fortune favors the bold.” Irina, this is… incredible. Pavlova: I know, right. I mean, of course it is. ::Shayne tried to frown at her words, but he couldn’t. It was absolutely gorgeous.:: Shayne: How the hell did you know I collected patches? I haven’t told anyone that here. Pavlova: What kind of detective would I be if I couldn’t find out all of your secrets? ::Shayne’s eyes squinted at her shrewdly. He kept his secrets very close to the chest, thank you very much, and he disliked the thought of Pavlova having anything on him, however innocuous.:: ::But the patch was really nice.:: ::As he ruffled further, he found the rank pips for a 22nd century lieutenant commander, and pulled them out slowly as well. He held it in his hand, sighing gently. It was gorgeous. Patches were his hobby, but rank and insignia of any sort stoked his fire.:: Shayne: All my secrets? Nah. But you’ve found the important one. ::Irina was very happy to know she still had it.:: Pavlova: I guess that means I won’t be transferring to Janitorial, which is what I was planning if my detective work had been poor. ::But there was more. On the bottom was a heavier package, and unwrapping it revealed… a jacket. No, Shayne realized. Not just any jacket. A certain dark brown leather affair. And on the side… was another Columbia patch.:: Shayne: Oh, no way. Pavlova: When mine was issued, I bought an extra for …., for someone important to me. Since I returned and learned of his oO and EVERYONE ELSE’S Oo passing, I’ve just kept it in storage. I know how much affection you have for your Columbia, so I thought you would appreciate this piece of my Columbia. ::The rivalry, or whatever it was, lay forgotten in that moment.:: Shayne: This is absolutely incredible. Thank you. ::He tried not to offer thanks too readily- in his experience, it was all too easy to confuse appreciation with an excuse from reciprocation. But here, there really wasn’t much else to say.:: Pavlova: I’m glad you like it. When you wear it, I hope it brings you good memories of your friends from your Columbia, and those who came before. ::She had meant the gift just as a simple movement of an item, from someone who no longer needed it, to someone she knew would treasure it, but memories got the better of her and a tear slid down from her left eye, over her cheek and then down onto her shirt.:: Pavlova: Too many of us never finished our tour. 36 went down to the surface of Kjenta II, but only four came back. ::She didn’t mention those rescued a few years later on the Thunder and not disclosed to Starfleet for their own protection.:: Pavlova: 48 went into stasis, and only 12 came out. Out of all of us, only two are still in Starfleet. ::Another tear, this time from her right eye, and again ignored.:: Pavlova: That jacket was meant for Katya’s father. I didn’t know I was pregnant when we shipped out, and we’d only been intimate the one night before, but we were best friends, inseparable since before either of us could even crawl. I was two months older, and Dimitri lived two doors down in our apartment building in St. Petersburg and my grandmother used to take care of both us while our parents worked. He was closer than my own brother and sister, but when the time came to join the defense forces, I was selected for recon sniper and he for navigation. ::She wiped a finger across her left eye, catching the forming tear before it could fall. She turned slightly away and took the opportunity to refill her glass and his, careful again to pour his very short to just one shot while actually overflowing her own by a few drops.:: Pavlova: Damn. Sometimes its all just a little too… ::She turned back, eyes slightly redder than usual and raised her glass.:: Pavlova: To those who didn’t come back, either completely or in part. Vittorio Moretti, Nicholas Lennon, Lan Treng, Prea Rashingham, Bill Thomas, Joan Hudson, Naomi Sakamura, … :: she went through the entire list, unerringly, of everyone who set sail with her that 20th of July in the year 2169.:: Pavlova: Gregori Stetlin, Eva Hauser, Graciela Solis, ::beat:: and an impossibly young Irina Pavlova. ::With the list complete, she raised her glass an inch or so, then downed it all again.:: ::Shayne watched, his elation taking on a grim stoicism. In a way, he almost wished he’d been there, if only to offer some kind of comfort to Pavlova. Would she take it if he offered? Would anything be served by commiserating? What could he do to make her feel the slightest bit better about her trauma? Nothing, he decided. There was nothing he could do, and it tasted like the bitterest ash. He had never subscribed to that mentality before, but in the face of grief like this, loneliness like this, of a sort that he could barely get his head around, nothing he could say would do much. Even trying to put himself in her shoes seemed like an insult of the highest order. So he simply sat there, uncomfortable but ready to listen, and found the slightest scrap of comfort in seeing that this person was a person. Not invulnerable. Not godlike. A person. And that he could drink to, shared experiences or no. He lifted his glass.:: Shayne: To the impossibly old one as well. ::Holding her with his eyes, he downed his glass again, enduring the stinging sensation as a rite of passage and enjoying an act that bore weight.:: Pavlova: Yeah, her too. ::Her voice was soft, another tear rolled down, but there was something more, a hint of a smile.:: Pavlova: You would have liked them. ::She poured them both more of the no-longer-ice-cold vodka and proceeded to tell him about those who had come before until far too late and far too many shots.:: LtCmdr Irina Pavlova Chief of Security, USS Eagle Author ID O238908HA0 And Lieutenant Commander Randal Shayne First Officer USS Eagle NCC 74659 G239202RS0
  2. OH MAN thank you so much for saying that. Crewman Terumak was actually a creation of @Kayla Drex but I do so love torturing him.
  3. Wonderful! Yeah that's what I thought but I just wanted to make sure.
  4. I was wondering, does training take place on the actual training ship or the holodeck recreation of the ship on the Base? I was looking at the wiki and I was slightly confused about where the actual training was going to take place.
  5. Gonna finally do this PROPER! (Mainly because I'm getting antsy to start) What's your real first name?: Justin. Where do you live? (General area! City or state, even!): Texas! How did you find our group?: I stumbled across a comment on reddit. What kind of work do you do: I'm a full time writer! I contribute to NEWSARAMA, Rogues Portal,and the Dark Shadows fansite The Collinsport Historical Society. Additionally,I've been Trek fan pretty much as far as I can remember. It started with TOS reruns in syndication and as I got older i started watching (and reading) more and more. My absolute favorite is DS9 and I even like Disco a lot! (Please don't kick me out) I also really love comics and I'm working on a few of my own between deadlines. I do a TON of table top RPGs, both running and playing. My preferred system is Call of Cthulhu. I watch an inordinate amount of TV, i read a lot of Hard Case Crime books, and i have cried during most Doctor Who episodes I've ever watched. I am so happy to be here.
  6. This one of the things that attracted me to this group! You have a whole fleet! It is all very exciting.
  7. REAL FIRST NAME: Justin! WHERE DO I LIVE: Texas! HOW DID YOU FIND THE GROUP: On reddit actually! I was searching around and someone on Reddit left a comment about this group, singing it's praises! So I thought I would try and apply! WHAT KIND OF WORK DO YOU DO: I am a writer! I freelance and I'm a regular contributor to a few websites! -I am playing a human male science focused character named Quentin Collins III. He's from Maine and slightly older than the average cadet. He is also kind of out there and tall and awkward.
  8. Calling occupants/of interplanetary craft He had no idea how, but somehow Quentin had timed it just so that the song he had flooding into his ears via the smartfoam listening devices he had somehow convinced the dock's duty officer to let him keep on the outbound flight from San Francisco echoed through his head when he saw it for the first time. Starbase 118. The transport runabout dropped out of warp just so that the sun caught it just so through the nebula, sharpening the light from it into a perfect diamond halo around her gleaming exterior. Quentin sheepishly smiled to himself as the runabout glided closer to the base, weaving through the stars and busy space traffic throughout the sector. He also allowed himself a bit of pride for gabbing the duty officer just so to allow himself this moment. Giving up his rucksack of personal items from the Academy for flight storage was bad enough, but when the officer held out his hand for the buds and the data strip they were synced to Quentin found himself, embarrassingly, recoiling. He also felt his cheeks turn into ruddy hot patches as he realized that his stocky frame and lanky limbs, stood almost full two head taller than the officer. His family always said that he was their "scarecrow" and he really felt it in the moment. His awkwardly large frame was something his mother said he would grow into but that was just one of her many lies. But then he started instinctively to speak, eloquently laying out a study that he had read right before reporting that detailed the positive effects that sonic waves had on the nervous system mid-space flight, which also tested higher during trips on smaller classed craft and mass transports. The officer took one look at the deep blue stripe on his uniform and the awkward smile Quentin ended the lecture with and nodded him onto the transport with an exasperated huff. Who didn't love a small victory? Especially one that turned into a bigger one. The shuttle carefully docked and Quentin felt the craft couple into the docking brackets with a gentle shudder. He heard a muffled ding through the soothing pulse of ancient synthesizers and an equally muffled soothing sounding voice. He observed the rest of the cadets and passengers react to the surely reassuring instructions and followed suit, standing, adjusting his uniform, and disembarking into the life he had waited so long to start. Quentin found himself instantly impressed. With everything. Even something so simple as how organized and smoothly the dock ran. After receiving his assignment, he naturally poured over the service record of the base and fleet associated with it. This base produced war heroes, innovators, explorers, and now a Collins was walking it's decks. A bolt of anxiety cracked his chest, but he had worked hard for this. He was ready. Ready for answers and ready to serve. That was all he ever wanted, really. And now he would get that chance, here and now. He consulted the PADD that the L.T. escorting them had passed out as they left the Sol System. It had a full information bank on the base and it's facilities, as well as a personalized notification about his training schedule. He had a few hours still until he had to report so he decided to try and wander a touch, in order too acclimate himself to his new posting. Walking always helped him clear his head back in Maine, why shouldn't it do the same thousands of lightyears away? He decided to start at the famous Node so he eyed the nearest turbolift and started off in that direction. He extracted the listening devices from his ears and was met with the wondrous and busy sound of a working station. The gentle hum of the astrometrics. The constant drone of officers. And best of all? The occasional streak of sound that comes from impulse engines, either from the ships outside or lazily zooming throughout the space. Quentin grinned again. He was surrounded by ships again. A far cry from his family's fishing fleets back in Maine, but it would do just nicely for Quentin. This was precisely what he signed up for. He settled into the lift and consulted the PADD once again. As he cleared his throat to speak the deck he desired a booming voice echoed through the plasteel chamber. "HOLD THE LIFT!", the voice said and Quentin instinctively reached out with the arm grasping the PADD, holding the door. A lean, handsome Andorian slipped into the lift with a huff. They made eye contact briefly, the alien's eyes expressing a silent gratitude as he composed himself. Quentin tried to silently recipricate the gratitude, but just found himself awkwardly smiling. He had noticed the officer's rank, Lt. CMMD, and felt himself lock back into cadet mode. Again he had to remind himself, he belonged here. He had the degrees to show for it, but this might be something he would just have to shake throughout his training. "Thank you, cadet. I hadn't had the best luck with lifts before you.", the Andorian said in a stately but good natured voice. Quentin gave a slight laugh, trying to brush his probably not regulation coppery blonde hair out of his face. "Well, had I seen the pips, you would have gotten a salute along with it.", he returned, trying to sound charming, despite his heavy Maine accent. But the Andorian EL TEE scoffed at his attempt, either out of pity or genuine amusement. Quentin couldn't really tell but he would take it either way. "I'll hold you to that cadet. Computer: Deck 456." He said in a pointedly authoritarian voice and the lift sped upward. Quentin quickly quit while he was ahead and buried his nose back into the PADD, attempting to make his awkward frame blend into the side of the compartment. Thankfully the officer seemed to notice his nervousness and allowed them to ride in comfortable, but edged silence. Quentin was suddenly very aware of his vulnerability and his possibly unkept look. His uniform still fit well, but his longish hair and, frankly, older age suddenly cropped to the front of his thoughts. The lift suddenly stopped as the pit started to form in his stomach. The men both stepped out into the Node and exchanged quick glances. "Good luck, cadet." the Andorian offered, scuttling off before Quentin could muster a reply. His surroundings did nothing to alleviate his rising stress. All around him walked young and beautiful cadets of all species. All of them in the prime of their lives and ready to take Starfleet by storm. And there was Quentin. It was his own fault really. Instead of entering the Academy at the proper age of 18, he caved to his family's wishes and matriculated at Salem University first, studying parapsychology, metaphysics, and classics, earning a degree in the former. Anything to make mother happy, of course. He then took his year on the sea, fishing for his family and experiencing the very thing that spurred him into Starfleet in the first place. He still remembers the looks he got from his classmates, this old wingnut from the coast, thinking he can hack it, and as a SCIENTIST no less. The crueler ones had made their contempt more explicit, tagging his locker with things like "Warlock" and "Creepy Collins" while also sneering as his more antiquated look at the sciences and the world around them. And now he was here, pushing 30 and looking at a whole generation of younger cadets ready to eclipse him and his upbringing. He approached one of the massive viewports, facing raw space. He had worked so hard to get here. And so had they. But his age didn't lessen his need for understanding. It didn't out on the sea when he faced the unknown and felt it acknowledge him and it wouldn't now. Not when he was among the stars and so many unknowns. He felt himself relax, even smile a bit. They sneered at Creepy Collins but he was still here. And he was going to make the most of it. For himself and his new crew. No matter what.
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