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Did someone on Denali Station say something funny? Gut wrenching? Thought provoking? Feel free to post those things here. I'll start. --- Absolutely classic @TLea being secretly excited about the prospect of something blowing up. It's good every time. 😉

I always appreciate it when we respect the fact that life doesn't have a reset button after the mission. So here is @Talia Ohnari dealing with the after effects of getting hit by a sleeping dart in a wonderfully comedic way. But she's also struggling quite seriously with how some portions of the mission went for her. Loved all of this. Also looking forward to seeing how our somewhat taciturn paramedic responds!

I was waiting for @Tomas Falt 's reply to @John Kendrick 's request for Tomas to be his son godfather. From the first time I saw the two simming togheter I enjoy their playing. indigenous peoples of Earth. I made it myself, and added modern bedding for good measure. Kendrick: Tomas gave his friend a smile. Falt: It’s basically a portable crib. Tough enough that Christopher can be safe in it outside whilst we’re putting the finishing your cabin. Kendrick: Response. Falt: Yes, we. Consider this me volunteering to help you build it. If you need a hand that is? Kendrick: Response. Tomas set the cradleboard down before reaching inside and pulling out two glass bottles. Falt: ::smiling:: I came across an old Earth traditional called “wetting the babies head,” and I had a couple of bottles of Duvel left from the barbeque last year… He passed one bottle to Kendrick, and opened the other for himself. Falt: Apologies, they’re not very cold. ::raising the bottle:: To your family… Kendrick: Response. TAG/TBC Lieutenant Commander Tomas Falt Executive Officer Denali Station J239807TF2

((And the conclusion of "White Tribble" and "1 Hypo makes you larger, and 1 hypo makes you small" )) (( Ba'el's Mind, Paioke Colony-Drever IV)) The older Klingon again nodded approvingly to her. A look of approval on his face, W'mar: No, I am not. :: Takes another drink from his flask before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand:: So, if I am not really W'mar, as you say, then what am I? Ba'el stared at him for a moment before she lowered her gaze, unsure how to answer the question. W'Mar chuckled to himself for a moment before he spoke again. W'mar: Come now, this should be a simple question and easy to answer. I thought you were a trained "counselor', and not a trainee on her first cadet cruise. There was a mocking tone to his questions, and Ba'el could feel her own temper build in response. Ba'el: I am a Counselor! W'mar: Then answer the question! What. Am. I? Ba'el thought a moment before responding to his challenge. Ba'el: Since all of this ::Gestures around herself:: isn't real, then it is a construct of my unconscious mind which means ::Glares at W'mar:: You are as well. W'mar: ::nods:: Very good. Ba'el: Then what is all this about then? ::Glares:: Why now? The old monk met her stare, and the challenge it implied. It is a test of wills, but Ba'el refused to avert her eye's in deference to the older Klingon. W'mar's steely gaze was evenly matched with the fire in Ba'el's eyes. The standoff lasted only a moment before W'mar smiled and took another drink. tacitly yielding to the younger woman. W'mar: Good. I see you still have the heart of a Klingon warrior. Even if you reject the warriors path. Ba'el: I have not rejected the warriors path! W'mar: Oh? ::cocks his head slightly to the side:: You left your people, and joined starfleet to be a "counselor" for the glory of the empire I suppose? ::a dismissive gesture:: Bah! Ba'el took a deep breath to focus her thoughts and not give in to her anger. Ba'el: I left because that was the path laid out before me in my visions. Not every battle can be won in physical combat! Not every battlefield is so simple as an open field! Not every enemy is easy to slay! W'mar dismissed her statements with a wave of his hand. W'mar: Invisible enemies? in our minds? Perhaps human minds are vulnerable to these "enemies", But a Klingon mind is stronger. Ba'el: No, it is not. All minds are strong, Klingon or otherwise. But even the strongest ones can be worn down by unexpected foes, by enemies the mind cannot cope with. I have seen it with my own eyes. W'mar shakes his head in disbelief. W'mar: I'm confused. You talk of helping others minds, like a doctor, yet you also talk of fighting enemies that are unseen. So which are you? A healer of minds, or a Klingon Warrior? Ba'el leaps to her feet, fists balled, glaring angrily at the old monk. Ba'el: I AM BOTH A HEALER AND A WARRIOR! W'mar looked up at her with a stony look on his face. W'mar: Is that so? Tell me how this can be? Ba'el took a moment to regain her control before speaking again. her heart pounding in her chest. Ba'el: I stand with those who have been condemned to fighting a lonely battle. With no support, no reinforcements and no chance to rest and regain their strength. A battle against an enemy already entrenched within their minds. The enemy is tireless, their very strength can double the moment you aren't looking. It is a long campaign against almost impossible odds. Against such an enemy, every moment of survival is seen as a victory. For me, there is no more honorable combat than this. And I will never yield. W'mar looked at her in silence. The crackle of the fire filling the silence between them. Ba'el: This is an enemy that does threaten our people. An enemy against we have no defense. An enemy our people don't see as a threat. But it is there. And has already claimed the minds of those caught unawares. I have seen those who suffered amongst our people. They are treated as weak cowards, or simpleminded. But they have suffered at the hands of enemies that can make a Klingon's blood run cold with fear. W'mar: What enemies. We fear no-one! Now it was Ba'el's turn to be dismissive. Ba'el: The Borg for one. An enemy that cares nothing for honor, that views us as simply a resource to be harvested. The hearts of even the greatest of Klingon warriors will know fear. The fear of being robbed of the self through assimilation. The fear of defeat without a glorious death in combat. I remember seeing the Klingons rescued from the Borg on Boreth. They were hollow shells of themselves, and all but forgotten by their fellow Klingons. W'mar simply stared at her. Saying nothing. Ba'el: I was a young acolyte then. But I knew this was wrong. Kahless never turned his back on his people, and yet we claim to follow in his footsteps? The enemy had shown themselves to me. To fight them, I needed training I could not get in the empire. So yes, I turned to the Federation. And yes, I joined Starfleet. They had the knowledge I needed to fight this enemy. Someday I will return to the Empire. And when I do, it will be armed with the weapons. the skills, and the experiences of this path. She stopped to take a breath and looked down at him. Ba'el: I have freely surrendered my todays, for my peoples tomorrows. W'mar slowly regained his feet. He walked around the small fire to stand before Ba'el. W'mar: Your heart, is truly Klingon. With such fire, futures are forged. With a final nod of respect, the old Klingon monk begins to talk back to the tunnel he arrived from. Just before he enters, he turns to look at Ba'el on last time. W'mar: Ba'el, daughter of Laneth, of the house of Konjah. I wish you well on your path. Qaplah! Ba'el: Qaplah! Brother W'mar Ba'el watched him walk into the tunnel. eventually, he faded from sight. oO Well that was interesting. But I still don't know how to wake myself up. Oo From the tunnel, W'mar's voice could be heard one final time. W'mar: One more thing. Getting injured by animal traps will not help you get into to Sto-vo-kor. So try not to get darted again? oO Darted? Oo Pain suddenly flared in her hip and side. the burning sensation made her nerves scream in agony. She felt herself falling. Her last sight was the cavern floor rushing up to meet her before she blacked out. ((OOC: I think that should tie it up. Wake me up outside please.)) Ensign Ba'el Counselor USS Constitution-B C240012B13

((This is the continuation of "White Tribble" )) (( Ba'el's Mind, Paoike Colony-Drever IV)) W'mar: Ba'el, daughter of Laneth, of the house of Konjah. We need to talk. Ba'el: Talk? ::Tilts her head in confusion:: About what? The old monk simply grunted with amusement. He pulled a flask from within his robes, opened the cap and took a deep drink before he returned his gaze to her. W'mar: About why you are here. Ba'el was even more confused now. Ba'el: Why I am here? I do not even know how I got here! The last thing I remember was....was W'mar: Drever IV? Ba'el looked up sharply. The memory coming back to her. Ba'el: Yes! I was helping one of the colonists and went to get some water for his garden and.. The old monk laughed. Shaking his head upon hearing her words. W'Mar: Getting a colonist some water for his garden? Is THIS the path you left us to follow? And then what happened? Ba'el bristled at the old monks mocking a moment before she tried to recall what had happened. Ba'el: ::furrows her brow:: I went to get the water, as I started to walking back, I heard a noise in the underbrush, and tried to see what it was. Then it starts to get blurry and I must have blacked out. The old monk gave her an incredulous look before he took another drink from his flask. W'mar: Yes, that sort of thing can happen when you get shot in the 'oSrlq by a couple of darts! Not exactly the sort of tale to inspire your fellow Klingons with. The younger Klingon woman was now confused, embarrassed and angry Ba'el: Darts? ::Shakes her head in confusion:: Wait, am I dead? W'mar: No. Merely unconscious. Ba'el: Merely unconscious? ::looks around then back to W'mar:: So this is all in mind mind. W'mar: ::nods approvingly:: Just so. It's nice to see your wits haven't been completely dulled yet. Ba'el: If this is all simply in my mind, then you aren't really W'mar. The older Klingon again nodded approvingly to her. A look of approval on his face, W'mar: No, I am not. :: Takes another drink from his flask before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand:: So, if I am not really W'mar, as you say, then what am I? ((TBC: Gotta stop to make dinner, I will pick this up again soon.)) Ensign Ba'el Counselor USS Constitution-B C240012B13

Mark knocked it out of the park with this MSPNC. Tensions are high in this scene and one wrong move by either side could bring war to this planet. Domeni’Dolce's gambit to arrest a member of the Kings Path has worked, but he didn't expect the other parties to be there. Meanwhile Achi'Trinot might actually be the one in control, as we soon learn, it looks like he's ready to do anything for his cause. Then when he was surrounded with blades to to his throat, Mark took what I gave him (which was quite bare bones) and elevated it to new heights. Mark then drops the hardest line ever and my jaw on the floor when I read it. "Achi’Trinot: Your choice; martyr or prisoner. " @Josh Herrick

Alice is amazing to see her point of view while @Quentin Beck's quarters get invaded ((Quentin Beck's Quarters - USS Ronin)) Odd. Strangers in the room, though one scent was familiar; Alice had picked up on it a few times in the corridor outside when making her way to the medical lab, and once very recently near the hole in the wall where her Father retrieved food for her. The one with that scent was there again now, and they'd opened up another hole beside it and had not brought food for her. She did not approve. Leaping down from the top level of her tree, she padded towards Smelly and mrowled. They were next to the food dispenser, after all. Alice: <<Feed me, peasant.>> Stranger: She blehbleh hungry? Alice sat down expectantly in the spot where Smelly would have set their feet to climb out of the hole, a clear indication she was upset at not being fed. She glanced over her shoulder at the Stranger, her tail flicking in confirmation as she licked her chops. She also purred loudly. All of the traditional signals any hairless one should know for feeding. Smelly: Do you think blehblehblehblehbleh animal blehblehbleh person blehblehbleh? Stranger: :: shrugs :: Blehblehblehbleh. Blehblehbleh fur blehbleh. She's cute. :: bends down and strokes the cat :: Aren't you a nice girl. Oh. Ooooh! The one thing Alice loved more than food was attention. She purred loudly, raising her rear end and turning to press as much of herself against the Attention Giver's hand as possible, her tail curling around their wrist. She considered for a moment flopping onto the floor and rolling onto her back for belly rubs, but that seemed far too scandalous on a first meeting. Smelly made an ugly sound with an ugly look on their face. Smelly and Ugly: :: eugh :: Blehblehbleh. Bleh bleh holo-emitters ready? Attention Giver: Yes, blehblehblehblehbleh beta shift blehblehbleh. Blehblehbleh how you wanted. The Attention Giver stopped giving attention to her once Smelly and Ugly started talking again. Alice stretched out on the floor and flicked her tail in indignation, turning to face Smelly and Ugly and staring up at them, still waiting to be fed. Smelly and Ugly: :: devious :: Blehblehblehblehblehbleh. Blehbleh. Former Attention Giver: I don't think blehblehblehblehbleh. Blehblehblehblehblehbleh? I thought blehblehblehblehblehblehbleh good idea? Smelly and Ugly: Blehblehbleh you lack imagination blehbleh. Blehblehblehblehblehblehbleh no big deal. Blehblehblehblehbleh Luxa. Blehblehbleh kiss blehblehblehbleh Luxa blehbleh bare ass. Her ear flicked at the mention of Luxa, the other cat in Father's life. Alice had not met her yet, had only picked up her scent lingering on Father, and she was aghast that he would spend so much time with her and not Alice. Her purr grew lower in volume and intensity, though it was hardly a sign of approval. She licked the back of her paw and started to bathe herself. Former Attention Giver: True. Blehblehblehbleh. Smelly and Ugly: I hate him. Blehblehblehblehblehbleh terrified blehblehblehblehbleh never forget. Blehblehblehblehblehbleh Luxa blehblehblehbleh friends bleh capable bleh. Friends blehblehbleh know exist. Her ear flicked again at those first words - she had heard Father say them many times in their short time together, usually while he thought he was alone and usually while he was looking at a flat hairless one that was even more hairless than usual. Sometimes while talking to a different flat hairless one. Former Attention Giver: Blehblehblehbleh we're watching. Smelly and Ugly and Hateful: Blehblehbleh. Blehblehblehbleh greatest fears to life. :: looks to time on the replicator :: Bleh go blehblehbleh shift ends. Former Attention Giver and Smelly and Ugly and Hateful walked past her without offering any food and what little affection she might have felt for either dropped to nil. She stopped bathing herself, only partly done, pushing herself to stand and mrowling at them as they moved to the door. Smelly and Ugly and Hateful paused to look back into the room and made the same face Father made when looking at her, but it was smelly and ugly and hateful. Stopping in the middle of the room and sitting, she wound her tail around her feet, staring at Smelly and Ugly and Hateful. Her purr of annoyance deepened when she was left alone. Father would be hearing about this. Alice Ragamuffin Kitty and Quentin's Companion USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0 as written by Ensign Quentin Beck Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0

(( Paoike Colony - Crever IV)) Beside the small pool, Ba'el lay where she had fallen. The simple, locally made, compound that coated the darts, was intended to only induce some mild disorientation and discomfort in local fauna. The darts, based on size, and dosage, were sufficient to encourage animals to avoid the colony without causing them any permanent harm. But Ba'el wasn't one of the local fauna. And her Klingon physiology reacted a bit differently to the compounds introduction to her system. It was nothing that would endanger her life, and she would recover in time. But for now, Ba'el was drawn into a very vivid dream. And every so often, her prone form twitched. The first thing she noticed was that she was very warm. A soft crackling sound and the scent of burning wood forced Ba'el to open her eyes. She found herself sitting on the ground in front of a small fire. She looked down at herself and was surprised to discover herself dressed as an initiate of the Followers of Kahless. Ba'el lifted her eyes to examine her surroundings. Though it was dark, she began to pick out enough details to know where she was. oO I know this place! These are the caves just north of the monastery on Boreth! Oo The last thing she recalled, was being part of an away team on Drever IV. So how did she come to be here? Her thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice. "So, you are awake at last." Ba'el looked up to see a figure swathed in a heavy cloak walk from the darkness and into the chamber. She watched them approach until the figure stopped.The figure pulled back the deep hood of their cloak revealing themselves to be a Klingon male, who was a great deal older than her. At once, she knew who he was. Ba'el: Brother W'mar? What is going on? W'mar: Be silent! The older Klingon settled to the ground, taking a seat across the fire from Ba'el. She remembered brother W'mar from her time at the monastery. He had been one of her tutors during her studies. W'mar was a harsh teacher who had expected his students to do more than simply memorize the words and repeat them when required. His students were required to apply critical thinking to what they read and how the writings applied to the universe as it is now, and not when when they were written. He conducted debates that were almost interrogations until he was satisfied that his students had a clearer understanding of the writings of Kahless. He glared at Ba'el for a moment before speaking again. W'mer: Ba'el, daughter of Laneth, of the house of Konjah. We need to talk. Ensign Ba'el Counselor USS Constitution-B C240012B13

Love these sims with Work, really building up for an adventure on Ferenginar. I know it's not easy writing two of your own characters in one sim but @Marty Tucker is able to make them seem like distinct and true characters! Can't wait to see what happens next!

Holodeck is always fun, and since @Tomas Faltorganized the event I'm looking forward to see how things will evolve. A nice collaboration from Falt,Xiron,Harper and Forsyth! ((Cable car in the Alps, Holodeck 2, Deck 6, USS Eagle)) Harper: We could just order the computer to give us appropriate attire… Falt: ::with mocked shock:: Where’s the fun in that? Besides, real spies wouldn’t be able to ask the computer to just provide them with clothes. Xiron::nodding toward the others:: Ready? Harper: I suppose so. Tomas gave a grin Falt: Besides. I’m sure you know how to incapacitate someone? Vahin: ::to the guests:: My apologies; I swear I saw something that looked bear-like. Xiron: I must have burrowed back underground. Harper: I do, actually. Tomas raised an eyebrow, it was a good question and it would be equally sensible to have an answer before they did anything drastic. He thought quickly. Falt: Why don’t we dress them in our clothes and then tell security at the top that they tried to attack us? Harper: I guess that’s what we’re going to have to do. Satisfied Harper was now on the same page as the rest of them Tomas tuned back into the conversation around him… Guest: I think something is going on here. I think we better tell the host about this when we reach the top. Despite Vahin’s amusing struggle with Earth trivia his performance was having the desired effect, the guests were all completely focused on him and not the rest of the team. Xiron was the first to take advantage and strike, hitting her target in the back of the neck. Appropriately for a spy thriller the woman simply collapsed as a result, unconscious. Harper was next up, using a sleeper hold to subdue her quarry. Harper: There we go. Vahin: It’s about time. With two of his crowd already down Vahin ended his show with a powerful uppercut to his targets chin. Vahin: ::softly:: Sorry. Xiron: Nice punch Vahin! Harper: It was a very nice punch. Tomas nodded, it had indeed been a good punch. His own target was still standing and beginning to look really angry at the events that had just unfolded in front of him. Tomas brought him down with a swift chop to the jugular. Harper: I guess we’d best get changed. Falt: That was the idea, yes. Xiron::Smiling slyly:: So….Are we all just going to change in this car together or can we pause the game for privacy. The question gave Tomas pause. He was pretty sure they’d all gone through decontamination cycles or had torn uniforms over the years, but he now realised that really wasn’t the same as stripping down for a holodeck game… Before he could reply the holodeck arch appeared in the middle of the car, before swishing open to deliver Lieutenant Forsyth into their game. Forsyth: Hi, Sorry I was late but I had to take a call from my mother. Tomas raised an eyebrow, as entrances went it wasn’t the most subtle. Harper: If anyone wishes to have some privacy, please feel free. Xiron::Her antennae bounced in a shrug at Harper’s statement..::Alright then. Tomas wasn’t remotely concerned about taking his uniform off, he had sensible under garments on after all. He bent down and began removing the smart suit from his victim. Falt: ::to Forsyth as he dressed himself:: Glad you could join us! Forsyth: Thank you, W-What are we doing here? Vahin: We’re spies and um…we’re stealing clothes. Tomas finished pulling on his new pants and shirt and set to work tying his bowtie. Falt: Since you’ve joined late I suggest you just replicate something Forsyth: Oh, Right.::beat:: That makes more sense now, Cool. Vahin: ::pulling on his stolen pants:: I’m almost ready. Harper: I guess we’re ready then? Forsyth: I'm not really familiar with spy thrillers, I'm more of a detective fan. Vahin: ::patting Alex on the shoulder:: Just follow our lead. ::looks to Harper:: Ready. Xiron: Ready! Tomas adjusted his bow tie and donned his jacket. He regarded his reflection in the glass of the cable car for a moment. The program had done a good job with the suit, he really looked the part. Falt: Ready. Which was a good thing, because the cable car was now arriving at the top station whether he was ready or not. It came to a smooth half and the doors swished open. To his surprise they were not met by a single immaculately dressed butler or compere, rather than a security party. Harper: Oh thank goodness! Please, help, they attacked us! Vahin: ::stumbles out of the cable car:: Safe at last! ::feigning fear:: We could have died in there! Harper: These people should be tossed in jail. Tomas rolled his eyes at the overacting, but couldn’t fault them for getting into the spirit of things. Forsyth: Response Butler: Welcome to… He was stopped mid-sentence by Vahin grabbing his lapels. Vahin: We were attacked! I would have died if not for the bravery of that man and woman. ::he motions to Falt and Xiron:: Tomas decided to attempt to look like someone doing their best to keep their cool despite the situation. He knew he wasn’t a very good actor, but on this occasion that might actually help. Falt::: over-exaggeratingly calm:: It was certainly an unpleasant situation. Forsyth: Response Butler: ::politely removing Vahin from his lapels:: Please, sir. Calm yourself. What happened? The butler looked much more offended by Vahin’s physical assault on his uniform than the one that had supposedly taken place in the cable car. Vahin: ::overacting:: I’m sorry it’s all too much… Xiron: It all happened so fast! Harper: They attacked us in the car once the doors were closed. Forsyth: Response Falt: We managed to subdue them. I must say I wasn’t expecting riff-raff like this to have been invited to the party. Now Vahin had finally released him the butler seemed to pay more attention to their claims. Vahin: Everything they said is true! You need to send the car back down! Hurry before they wake up and attack us again! With the butler distracted Tomas watched as Xiron moved behind him to the cable car control panel. He jumped back slightly as a few seconds later the car behind him suddenly left the station in reverse. Xiron: Oh my! The car has malfunctioned. When was the last time someone ran a diagnostic on it?::Her antennae shot straight up as she gasped in mock surprise.:: Despite the overacting Tomas was impressed at the initiative she’d shown. He decided the situation now merited a more indignant approach. Falt: ::to the butler:: First you let the riff raff in, and now the cable car has a mechanical issue? That could have been me out there now, man. This is simply unacceptable. The butler stared at him silently, with the look of a man suddenly concerned he might lose his job. Vahin / Forsyth: Response Xiron took an invitation out of her stolen handbag and waved it in from of the butler, who now looked like his world was crashing down around him. Harper did the same, prompting Tomas to search for his. He found it in the inner pocket of his jacket. Xiron: I seemed to have forgotten my coat. We should just head on inside. Harper: Agreed. Ugh, what a horrible way to start a night. Please do something about those horrible people! Tomas flourished his own invitation before giving the man a final glare and following the others Harper: Well, that was interesting. The team set out towards the only obvious entrance, a large doorway cut directly into the mountainside. As they neared the highly decorated double doors Tomas realised he could hear faint music from within. Without any obvious manual intervention they swung open as the group neared, causing the music volume to peak. Tomas crossed the threshold and found himself in an enormous room, essentially a cavern carved into the mountain. He’d thought the doors had been highly decorated but the décor in the cavern was something else. Every surface he could see was adorned with white silk or gold, all lit by numerous fine chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Harper: This looks more like a mansion. Falt: Agreed. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron: Response They came to a cloak room and Harper checked in her recently stolen fur coat. Tomas stood back, since he didn’t have a coat to check in. Harper: What information do we have about our target? Falt: Almost nothing. We know their the owner of this… establishment, and the host of the party, but beyond that your guess is as good as mine. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron: Response The music changed to a more upbeat number, causing some of the holographic guests to make their way to the dance floor. Harper: Should we stay together or split up? Falt: I think we split up, we can cover more ground that way. I’m not much of a dancer, so I’ll head toward the bar… Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron / Harper: Response Falt: Ask questions, poke around, see what we can find out? That kind of thing. He paused for a moment to snag a glass of champagne from the tray of a circling waiter. Falt: Who knows, there might even be a game of poker we could join. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron / Harper: Response Tomas nodded in agreement. Fortunately, as well as the rather excellent suit his victim had been wearing he’d also sported a splendid Swiss watch that now adorned his own wrist. Falt: Let’s meet back here in say, half an hour? Forsyth / 5 di 4091 Lieutenant Commander Tomas Falt: Confusing the Butler 0 visualizzazioni Foto del profilo di Tomas_Falt Tomas_Falt da leggere, 3 apr a sb118-...@googlegroups.com OOC: I've put an ANY tag in at the end of this sim as it would be a perfect spot for anyone else to join in. ((Cable car in the Alps, Holodeck 2, Deck 6, USS Eagle)) Harper: We could just order the computer to give us appropriate attire… Falt: ::with mocked shock:: Where’s the fun in that? Besides, real spies wouldn’t be able to ask the computer to just provide them with clothes. Xiron::nodding toward the others:: Ready? Harper: I suppose so. Tomas gave a grin Falt: Besides. I’m sure you know how to incapacitate someone? Vahin: ::to the guests:: My apologies; I swear I saw something that looked bear-like. Xiron: I must have burrowed back underground. Harper: I do, actually. Tomas raised an eyebrow, it was a good question and it would be equally sensible to have an answer before they did anything drastic. He thought quickly. Falt: Why don’t we dress them in our clothes and then tell security at the top that they tried to attack us? Harper: I guess that’s what we’re going to have to do. Satisfied Harper was now on the same page as the rest of them Tomas tuned back into the conversation around him… Guest: I think something is going on here. I think we better tell the host about this when we reach the top. Despite Vahin’s amusing struggle with Earth trivia his performance was having the desired effect, the guests were all completely focused on him and not the rest of the team. Xiron was the first to take advantage and strike, hitting her target in the back of the neck. Appropriately for a spy thriller the woman simply collapsed as a result, unconscious. Harper was next up, using a sleeper hold to subdue her quarry. Harper: There we go. Vahin: It’s about time. With two of his crowd already down Vahin ended his show with a powerful uppercut to his targets chin. Vahin: ::softly:: Sorry. Xiron: Nice punch Vahin! Harper: It was a very nice punch. Tomas nodded, it had indeed been a good punch. His own target was still standing and beginning to look really angry at the events that had just unfolded in front of him. Tomas brought him down with a swift chop to the jugular. Harper: I guess we’d best get changed. Falt: That was the idea, yes. Xiron::Smiling slyly:: So….Are we all just going to change in this car together or can we pause the game for privacy. The question gave Tomas pause. He was pretty sure they’d all gone through decontamination cycles or had torn uniforms over the years, but he now realised that really wasn’t the same as stripping down for a holodeck game… Before he could reply the holodeck arch appeared in the middle of the car, before swishing open to deliver Lieutenant Forsyth into their game. Forsyth: Hi, Sorry I was late but I had to take a call from my mother. Tomas raised an eyebrow, as entrances went it wasn’t the most subtle. Harper: If anyone wishes to have some privacy, please feel free. Xiron::Her antennae bounced in a shrug at Harper’s statement..::Alright then. Tomas wasn’t remotely concerned about taking his uniform off, he had sensible under garments on after all. He bent down and began removing the smart suit from his victim. Falt: ::to Forsyth as he dressed himself:: Glad you could join us! Forsyth: Thank you, W-What are we doing here? Vahin: We’re spies and um…we’re stealing clothes. Tomas finished pulling on his new pants and shirt and set to work tying his bowtie. Falt: Since you’ve joined late I suggest you just replicate something Forsyth: Oh, Right.::beat:: That makes more sense now, Cool. Vahin: ::pulling on his stolen pants:: I’m almost ready. Harper: I guess we’re ready then? Forsyth: I'm not really familiar with spy thrillers, I'm more of a detective fan. Vahin: ::patting Alex on the shoulder:: Just follow our lead. ::looks to Harper:: Ready. Xiron: Ready! Tomas adjusted his bow tie and donned his jacket. He regarded his reflection in the glass of the cable car for a moment. The program had done a good job with the suit, he really looked the part. Falt: Ready. Which was a good thing, because the cable car was now arriving at the top station whether he was ready or not. It came to a smooth half and the doors swished open. To his surprise they were not met by a single immaculately dressed butler or compere, rather than a security party. Harper: Oh thank goodness! Please, help, they attacked us! Vahin: ::stumbles out of the cable car:: Safe at last! ::feigning fear:: We could have died in there! Harper: These people should be tossed in jail. Tomas rolled his eyes at the overacting, but couldn’t fault them for getting into the spirit of things. Forsyth: Response Butler: Welcome to… He was stopped mid-sentence by Vahin grabbing his lapels. Vahin: We were attacked! I would have died if not for the bravery of that man and woman. ::he motions to Falt and Xiron:: Tomas decided to attempt to look like someone doing their best to keep their cool despite the situation. He knew he wasn’t a very good actor, but on this occasion that might actually help. Falt::: over-exaggeratingly calm:: It was certainly an unpleasant situation. Forsyth: Response Butler: ::politely removing Vahin from his lapels:: Please, sir. Calm yourself. What happened? The butler looked much more offended by Vahin’s physical assault on his uniform than the one that had supposedly taken place in the cable car. Vahin: ::overacting:: I’m sorry it’s all too much… Xiron: It all happened so fast! Harper: They attacked us in the car once the doors were closed. Forsyth: Response Falt: We managed to subdue them. I must say I wasn’t expecting riff-raff like this to have been invited to the party. Now Vahin had finally released him the butler seemed to pay more attention to their claims. Vahin: Everything they said is true! You need to send the car back down! Hurry before they wake up and attack us again! With the butler distracted Tomas watched as Xiron moved behind him to the cable car control panel. He jumped back slightly as a few seconds later the car behind him suddenly left the station in reverse. Xiron: Oh my! The car has malfunctioned. When was the last time someone ran a diagnostic on it?::Her antennae shot straight up as she gasped in mock surprise.:: Despite the overacting Tomas was impressed at the initiative she’d shown. He decided the situation now merited a more indignant approach. Falt: ::to the butler:: First you let the riff raff in, and now the cable car has a mechanical issue? That could have been me out there now, man. This is simply unacceptable. The butler stared at him silently, with the look of a man suddenly concerned he might lose his job. Vahin / Forsyth: Response Xiron took an invitation out of her stolen handbag and waved it in from of the butler, who now looked like his world was crashing down around him. Harper did the same, prompting Tomas to search for his. He found it in the inner pocket of his jacket. Xiron: I seemed to have forgotten my coat. We should just head on inside. Harper: Agreed. Ugh, what a horrible way to start a night. Please do something about those horrible people! Tomas flourished his own invitation before giving the man a final glare and following the others Harper: Well, that was interesting. The team set out towards the only obvious entrance, a large doorway cut directly into the mountainside. As they neared the highly decorated double doors Tomas realised he could hear faint music from within. Without any obvious manual intervention they swung open as the group neared, causing the music volume to peak. Tomas crossed the threshold and found himself in an enormous room, essentially a cavern carved into the mountain. He’d thought the doors had been highly decorated but the décor in the cavern was something else. Every surface he could see was adorned with white silk or gold, all lit by numerous fine chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Harper: This looks more like a mansion. Falt: Agreed. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron: Response They came to a cloak room and Harper checked in her recently stolen fur coat. Tomas stood back, since he didn’t have a coat to check in. Harper: What information do we have about our target? Falt: Almost nothing. We know their the owner of this… establishment, and the host of the party, but beyond that your guess is as good as mine. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron: Response The music changed to a more upbeat number, causing some of the holographic guests to make their way to the dance floor. Harper: Should we stay together or split up? Falt: I think we split up, we can cover more ground that way. I’m not much of a dancer, so I’ll head toward the bar… Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron / Harper: Response Falt: Ask questions, poke around, see what we can find out? That kind of thing. He paused for a moment to snag a glass of champagne from the tray of a circling waiter. Falt: Who knows, there might even be a game of poker we could join. Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron / Harper: Response Tomas nodded in agreement. Fortunately, as well as the rather excellent suit his victim had been wearing he’d also sported a splendid Swiss watch that now adorned his own wrist. Falt: Let’s meet back here in say, half an hour? Forsyth / Vahin / Xiron / Harper / Any: Response TAG / TBC Lieutenant Commander Tomas Falt Executive Officer Denali Station J239807TF2 Vahin / Xiron / Harper / Any: Response TAG / TBC Lieutenant Commander Tomas Falt Executive Officer Denali Station J239807TF2

@Korras. Once again you have melted my heart with the domestic fluff of Amar and Haukea interacting. Loved this sim from the moment I first read it. Knew I had to post it. Anything that makes me smile deserves an appreciation. ______________________________ ((Starbase 118 – Airlock near drydock)) It had been a week or so since Haukea left, but a lot of things had happened in those days. Amar had had a talk with someone from Child Services, who had given the okay for her to stay with Haukea for the meantime. They made it clear it was not a permanent okay, but for now she’d be staying. For now, no more running. While Haukea would sometimes be off-station, it was deemed okay that her neighbors checked in on her. The same woman had ran her DNA, whatever that meant. It turned out, she was not registered anywhere. Her parents simply never bothered to do so when she was born, she guessed. It did not surprise her, her parents were not all that good. It also meant that there was no way of finding them, which was fine with her, she really did not want to go back to them. And, the woman had made sure she got enrolled in school. At first, she thought it would be dumb. But, it turned out that it was not all that bad. In fact, she thought she liked learning. Vanla had always made sure everyone in the Misfits knew how to read and write, as well as maths, as it often helped in their line of ‘work’. But school was different entirely. She realized quickly that she had missed a lot of things, and would need a lot of time to catch up. But her teacher was very helpful, and she felt that she was genuinely trying to help her, and being very patient with her. The extra homework gave her something to do in the evenings as well, so it wasn’t all that bad. The day the Narendra returned, Amar was noticeably excited. So much so, that her (amused) teacher gave up when the Narendra was nearing the station, and sent her off to greet Haukea at the airdock. And that brought her to now: her face pressed against the glass as she watched the ship dock. It took a while before Haukea came through the airlock, and Amar was practically bouncing on her feet by the time she did. Amar: ::Rushing up to Haukea and hugging her:: I missed you! Willow: Response? Amar: How did it go? She had not heard any particulars of what had happened yet, just that they had encountered a bit of a problem on a diplomatic mission. Willow: Response? Amar: ::eyed widening:: is everyone okay? Willow: Response?

More genius from @LuxaLorana for torturing Our Man Beck

This was a definite share. Not only did @Arturo Maxwell paint a picture, he did it with Picasso like precision! My character began to build a scene and what he did with it was a beautiful glorious thing. Full SIM: https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-butler/c/vb5sHL50VkE

Some lovely writing from our new tactical officer. Showcasing the evolution of the relation ship between her and her academy roommate. ((OOC: Long sim is long.)) ((Academy Campus, Starbase 118)) The Narendra had returned from her mission, but with most of the senior staff on their well-deserved shore leave, Eshrevi once more had the impression she was left to figure out the intricacies of her new posting on her own. Or rather, the circumstances surrounding it. Right now, for example, she was making her way back to her old dorm room on 118’s Academy campus, because assigning her new quarters had been an oversight so far. Perhaps she should be a little more demanding, self-sufficient, and show initiative- just find the person responsible, request new accommodation, and get it over with. She wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t. Perhaps she simply liked to play PLOM (poor little old me). Or perhaps she was just exhausted and glad to be able to decompress in a place that had been her home for the past few years, rather than unpack boxes. Perhaps she didn’t want to let go. Maybe it was a mixture of all of these. ((Same location, four years ago)) Eshrevi trudged wearily back to her dorm room. Her steps were heavy with the weight of a particularly rotten and exhausting day that had the Andorian eagerly anticipate the peace and quiet of her quarters. Really, she wanted nothing more than an early night's rest after a long sonic shower. And she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Because once the doors slid open, she wasn’t greeted with the silence and solitude she so desired. Instead, some Terran (?) music was blaring from the questionable quality speakers the room was fitted with, and a sickeningly sweet scent hung in the air, intensifying her already sour mood. Eshrevi was tempted to simply turn around and leave, and considered sleeping in the library, on a park bench, or falling down the stairs to earn herself a biobed in sickbay. Retrospectively, she should probably just have picked the park bench. With a resigned sigh, the she forced a greeting as she entered, her tone already tinged with thin-veiled annoyance. Sh'shiqil: Hey Brennan. Brennan: Hey! Brennan, her roommate, responded from her desk. The woman’s oblivious cheerfulness grated on Eshrevi's nerves, and had since the day they first met. It was tradition at Starfleet’s Academy Campus to share quarters with another first-year cadet. It prepared aspiring officers for life aboard their first vessel, where they - depending on what ship they served on - were either sharing their room with one to three other junior officers, or simply lived in a hallway with all the other junior officers. Usually, Eshrevi wouldn’t mind - both her upbringing with several siblings and her previous career had gotten her used to having to earn the privilege of privacy. But in this particular case, it seemed that whoever was responsible for assigning roommates had decided to conduct some sort of social experiment where they matched two people who were utterly incompatible. Alcyone Brennan was good bit younger than Esh, and half Rodulan - which in and of itself wasn’t a crime, but didn’t make the young woman particularly likeable in Eshrevi’s eyes. Not that she had something against Rodulans as a species, but she didn’t enjoy the company of telepaths. That Brennan insisted her telepathic abilities were minor at best, didn’t make it much better. It just made her a bad telepath. In addition, Brennan somehow managed to be shy yet talkative, and prone to sharing things Eshrevi had no interest in knowing. Like how her classes went, or that she saw a squirrel - whatever the fuck a squirrel was - on the way to the library. But the worst thing-… Brennan: My mom says hi! … was that. Sh'shiqil Good for her. Eshrevi suppressed a growl of frustration as she retreated to her side of the room, her antennae stiffening with irritation. Brennan came from a sprawling family that seemed to rival the size of a major Andorian clan, and apparently called member at least once a week. She received stupid little notes of encouragement and parcels with even more stupid handmade tokens on a regular basis, and that made Eshrevi angry. Because she and her family hadn’t spoken since the day she told them she would join Starfleet. Perhaps it was an ill-advised change of careers. Eshrevi had attended, and graduated from Chekthora, the prestigious Andorian Military Institute on Andoria. She had served in the Imperial Guard long enough to build a career and reputation that made her parents proud. And now, while the skills she had learned there were valuable and would certainly be beneficial in the years to come, she was once more starting out as a cadet, and once more had to prove herself. But it wasn’t sudden. Eshrevi had played with the idea of joining Starfleet for several years, weighed pros and cons against each other, and eventually came to the conclusion that being her own person and making her own decisions was more important than chasing family approval. She had studied for the entry exam in secret, passed it with a score just high enough to get accepted, and then casually revealed her plans during an already tense family dinner. Needless to say, it hadn't gone over well. She could probably have picked a better way to inform them. Oh well. Brennan turned with a slight frown, her forest green eyes fixed on the Andorian. Another annoyance for Eshrevi—Brennan's cosmetic contact lenses. If Brennan felt discontent with her species' features, she ought to consult a therapist rather than a cosmetologist. Brennan: Did you have a bad day? :: she asked with genuine concern in her voice:: Sh'shiqil No :: responded Eshrevi a little too quickly. Then she amended:: It wasn't bad. But it didn't go as planned. Brennan: What happened? Eshrevi didn’t want to talk about it, which was pretty much what she told Brennan, who gave a slow nod but seemed unwilling to give up on having a conversation. Brennan: Do you want to hear about my day? oO Not really Oo thought Eshrevi, but she merely said: Sh'shiqil: I guess. Just make it quick. I already have a headache. Brennan either didn’t mind, or didn’t notice the jab. Brennan: It was good. I get to prepare participants for a medical trial, and I’m really looking forward to it. She was positively glowing. Ugh. Brennan was doing her major in nursing, which was basically just holding people’s hands and telling them everything was going to be fine while the doctors did the real work. Eshrevi was aiming to become a tactical officer and make sure that people didn’t get injured in the first place. Maybe she could apply for a different room, with a different roommate, but Eshrevi was concerned that making such a request would flag her as a potentially complicated cadet. Maybe she could get Brennan to request a different room. But that, too, wouldn’t make Eshrevi look good. The best course of action was probably to deal with her as little as it was possible. Sh'shiqil: Ah :: Eshrevi replied impassively, tuning out Brennan's prattle as she placed her shoes in the designated area:: Brennan: … and that was pretty much my day ::her voice trailed off, having grown quieter and a little unsteady:: Sh'shiqil: That's nice. She hadn’t noticed the change in demeanour and her patience was wearing thin. Brennan nodded solemnly, and for a moment she seemed unsure what to say. Then her eyes lit up as she continued Brennan: Oh, and I got a parcel today. Some homemade cookies. Would you like to try some? Eshrevi blinked once, slowly, and tried to ignore the surge of anger rising within her at Brennan's seemingly perfect family and their constant displays of affection. She told herself that there was no point in a confrontation, but before she could convince herself to let it go, she snapped. Her voice was loud, and edged with bitterness as she replied. Sh'shiqil: Stop flaunting your perfect family in everyone's faces. No one wants to hear it. Brennan: I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to… ::she stammered, her voice trailing off. Her eyes filled with tears, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She fell silent, her gaze downcast. :: Eshrevi was ashamed to admit that all she could think of in that moment was that she had gotten the woman finally shut up. Her tone was laced with venom as she spoke. Brennan: You never do, do you? Always rubbing it in that you have these wonderful and loving parents and aunts and whoever the heck all these people are. Eshrevi watched Brennan's reaction, which really was no reaction at all. That didn’t calm the Andorian down one bit. She wanted to lash out, if not physically then at the very least by continuing their argument, but instead found herself confronted with a suffocating silence that stretched on and on and on, until Brennan's quiet voice broke the tense silence. Brennan: …Foster. Sh'shiqil: What? :: she hissed, not getting it:: Brennan: They're not my parents. They were my foster family :: she admitted softly:: Eshrevi felt a pang of guilt stab through her anger as Brennan's words sank in. There was no shame in having a foster family or being adopted - such practices were common enough for many species - but Eshrevi knew that, for humans, it was not. And she could imagine that it was a far cry from the perfect family she had accused Brennan of having. She opened her mouth to speak, to offer some semblance of apology, but the words caught in her throat. When nothing came forth, Brennan rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate as she slipped on her shoes. Without another word, she made her way to the door, and left. Finally alone, the heat of Eshrevi's anger began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, gnawing sense of guilt. She sat on her bed, glaring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like her to lash out in anger, not any more, and especially not at someone who was so much more… fragile than she was. Would Brennan complain about her? Probably not. There wasn’t really anything to complain about, and this probably was neither the first nor the last argument she would get herself into. Still, the right thing was to apologise. The thought of facing Brennan filled her with a sense of unease. Admitting to flaws and vulnerabilities had never been her strong suit, but facing her fears and working on weaknesses was something she used to pride herself in. With a sigh, Eshrevi pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the door. She had no plan on how to find Brennan, but looking for her was better than sitting around doing nothing. Or sitting around feeling guilty. Neither was a great option. As Eshrevi approached the door, it hissed open, revealing Brennan standing on the other side. For a moment they both stood there, an awkward tension hanging in the air. Brennan: …Hey. Sh'shiqil: Hey. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither knew quite what to say. Eshrevi cleared her throat. Sh'shiqil: Where have you been? :: she asked, her voice tentative:: Brennan hesitated for a moment before holding up a hypospray. Brennan: I got this for your headache ::she explained sheepishly.:: Her cheek flushed with embarrassment, and Eshrevi felt the last remnants of anger and annoyance crumble at the gesture. She still felt an inexplicable urge to respond with a sharp remark, like a familiar instinct to assert her independence and self-sufficiency. But she resisted. Sh'shiqil: Thank you ::she said instead, her voice softer than she intended:: Brennan nodded, retreating to her desk as Eshrevi took the hypospray. They lingered in silence for a moment longer, the weight of their previous confrontation still hanging in the air. Finally, Eshrevi broke the silence. Sh'shiqil:: Can I still have one of those homemade cookies? ::she asked, gesturing towards the box Brennan had indicated earlier:: Brennan nodded carefully, bringing the box over to her. Eshrevi selected a cookie, and the the simple act felt oddly significant. She took a bite. It was nice. Sh'shiqil: It’s nice. More awkward silence followed, and Brennan once more quietly retreated to her desk. It irked Eshrevi that the usually so verbose woman wasn’t saying anything and left the talking to her. If the last conversation had shown anything, then it was that Eshrevi wasn’t great at talking. Sh'shiqil:: I’m sorry. Brennan: I know. I’m not mad. Eshrevi nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully on her cookie. Sh'shiqil: I failed an exam. ::she admitted. :: Brennan tilted her head to the side. Brennan: Do you want to talk about it? Eshrevi shook her head. Sh'shiqil: Not really. But I would like to hear more about your day, if that’s okay? She beckoned Brennan with a gentle wave of her hand, inviting her to sit beside her on the bed. And after a moment of hesitation, Brennan joined her. Brennan: Sure. ((Today)) Things had changed, and despite the stress Eshrevi was feeling, her steps were a lot lighter as she entered her old quarters, expecting them to be empty. They weren’t. Brennan: …Hey. Sh'shiqil: Hey! A big smile spread on Eshrevis lips, and all the stress of the past few weeks - final exams, graduation, the mission - washed off her. She hadn’t even dared to hope that Alcyone, too, had been assigned here. But with the woman’s usual excellent grades, that wasn’t a surprise. Sh'shiqil: So they overlooked your room assignment too? Honestly I would have expected this place to be better organised, but I guess everyone is busy. ::she barely inhaled before she continued:: How were your first few days? Mine were great! I took a shuttle to the Narendra and arrived during an altercation with an enemy vessel :: she smirked :: Of course they needed me on tactical, and of course I made sure everyone got home. The words just kept spilling forth, and while getting out of her uniform and into a more comfortable piece of clothing, she told Alcyone every little detail of the mission, the battle, the other officers she had met, and the presumably bright future she had ahead. Eventually, she let herself fall into one of the chairs, and closed her eyes for a moment, finally basking in the high of a battle won. Sh'shiqil: Next time, hopefully you can come too. I’m sure someone needs their hand held ::she grinned:: That was their dynamic. Eshrevi made fun of Alcyone’s chosen duty post, and the other woman tried explaining for the umpteenth time that nursing was more than emotional support for officers who had gotten slightly injured. Then Alcyone tried to make a similar comment about tactical, failed, and turned red like the butt of a Kahit. But she didn’t. She didn’t say a single word, and at the absence of the usual banter, Eshrevi opened her eyes again and looked at Alcyone, who just sat there, eyes fixed on her own hands, not saying a single word. Sh'shiqil: Zion, what happened? : Zion - the nickname Alcyone hated, but that usually made her smile when Esh said it. This time, she didn’t smile, and it took minutes before she spoke. Brennan: I failed. Sh'shiqil: … What? ::she said, not getting it. She could be a little dense sometimes:: Brennan: I … in that last test, I just froze. I didn’t get to graduate. The instructors… I don’t know. Eshrevi simply stared at Alcyone, momentarily forgetting the somewhat exaggerated display of emotion she had taught herself to not come across as too cold-hearted or threatening. She took pride in being just the right amount of both. She knew that the Instructors could be tough - they had to be. It was their job to make sure cadets were, in fact, ready to graduate. She also knew that the other woman could be a little touchy-feely, and lost her self-confidence easily. Especially when she sensed something that threw her off. But all softness aside, she was still training to be an officer. And someone working for Starfleet should be able to stand above some instructors' bad mood. Sh'shiqil: You … don’t know? ::she asked incredulously:: Brennan: I guess I’ll just… leave. Even if Eshrevi didn’t have a solution right now, this certainly wasn’t it. Sh'shiqil: No. :: she frowned :: Brennan: Why not? I can’t do anything right! :: her voice was loud, and had an usual high pitch to it:: Esh took a deep breath. She wanted to be kind and nurturing but… really that wasn’t her style. It wasn’t how she was raised. Then again, the tough love approach didn’t exactly seem like a good choice here. So she was trying something in-between - logical reasoning. Sh'shiqil: Look at me. Brennan: I don’t want to ::she said quietly:: Sh'shiqil: Do it anyway. Finally, Alcyone looked at her. She had been crying, and that … made Eshrevi angry. Not at Alcyone - okay, at Alcyone too - but mostly at whatever had happened to throw her off balance. She took a moment to suffocate that anger. Sh'shiqil: Look… :: she bit her lip, then started again..:: You weren’t ready. Once you graduate, you can get into all sorts of very unideal situations. Like me, arriving in the middle of battle, not really knowing what is going on. There will always be things that can throw you off. People die, maybe even friends. Others get severely injured. You know that. Alcyone nodded. Sh'shiqil: Not being ready is… fine. It’s not a great feeling, but you learned that now, in a training scenario. And it’s good to figure it out before you’re being thrown into situations you can’t handle. You now know this is something you have to work on, and then, you will be ready. Brennan: What if I’ll never be? Sh'shiqil: What if the Starbase explodes and opens a black hole that destroys the sector? Alcyone chewed on her lower lip, attempting the smallest of smiles. Brennan: You wouldn’t let that happen. Esh reached out, and took Alcyone’s hand, for a moment allowing herself to appreciate the other woman’s faith in her ability to keep a starbase from exploding and a black hole from forming. Sh'shiqil: Obviously. And you won’t let ‘never being ready’ happen. When can you repeat the exam? Brennan: In six months. Sh'shiqil: That gives us six months to work on the things that didn’t go well. Top grades, assignment here. Brennan: You think so? Eshrevi nodded. She was well-aware that it would take work, and even if she doubted Alcyone a slight bit, she was convinced of her own skill. And now that Eshrevi had already graduated and was no longer concerned with her own exams, she would hopefully be able to invest time into helping. In addition, it meant that she would have access to the people who mattered - if she played it right, she could recruit them to help out where it was needed. Surely some of the doctors would be willing to run with a cadet nurse when they weren’t busy with sector-altering missions. And McLaren was an abundance of confidence who could probably teach Alcyone a thing or two. All of that aside, suddenly, she was glad to not have been assigned quarters yet, and she hoped it would continue to remain an oversight. Or perhaps she could even request to stay here, though she’d need a good reason to get that approved. Hm… she would have to think of something. Sh'shiqil: Yes. I’m an excellent teacher, you know? This time, Alcyone actually smiled. Brennan: Suuuuure. You’d have me run laps whenever I answer a question wrong. Sh'shiqil: …. Yes. My class, my rules. Which was one of the many reasons Eshrevi would never become an Academy instructor herself. She actually would make people run laps or do push ups. A little physical exercise had never harmed anyone. Sh'shiqil: ::she smirked, but then turned serious for a moment:: I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier that something was up. I was… :: she hesitated, looking for the right word:: Brennan: Self absorbed? Inconsiderate? A jerkface? Esh dipped her antennae and slumped her shoulders for good measure. Sh'shiqil: … A jerkface, :: she whispered, quietly and remorsefully:: But. :: her face lit up again:: I will make it up to you. I have credits to spend. How about I take you out for dinner? Alcyone seemed to consider that, and Esh could tell that she would rather remain curled up on a ball and wallow in misery. Maybe even put on some sad music. Because really, Eshrevi liked to do that too, but she usually put a time-limit on said wallowing. Brennan: I… don’t know. Sh'shiqil: I know. That’s why I am making the decisions, Brennan. Come on, put on a nice dress. We’re going somewhere fancy. Alcyone nodded, and before she headed over to her closet, she embraced Eshrevi. That was nice because Alcyone was warm and soft, and had somehow managed to become Eshrevi’s best friend. And she was glad that they hadn’t parted ways. End Scene ___________________ Ensign Eshrevi Sh'shiqil Tactical StarBase 118 Ops

There was one of these for the Victory and I seen other ships with a simular topic, so here is a new one for a new ship, who wants to be the first to put up a funny Quote from one of the crew??

This has horrific ramifications for Beck's personal reputation despite his innocence. Hilarious work by @LuxaLorana

Here we have @TAma tying everything together for comedic gold. I love how @Quentin Beck and @Xiron helped bring this together.

@Sal Taybrim’s portrayal of Rugen has been a joy to read and I think this sim sums up why. Rather than a typical one-dimensional, diabolical villain, Commodore Taybrim made the character not only believable, but even relatable, as a product of his environment and up-bringing. Anyone who wants to write believable villains with depth to them, I urge you to read this sim. I know I got a lot from it, myself. ((Byzallian Cave Network)) Rugen: A very naieve viewpoint. You think all worlds are as rich as your Bardeez. You think all people are as kind as yours Federations. The galaxy is a far more cruel place for this without your privledges. Rugen’s life had never been easy. Not a single day had been flush with food or full of guaranteed safety. He had parents who cared for him and his brother, who taught him to hunt, to cook, to dress for the weather, to build shelter and to survive in harsh times. He had family who banded together. He had a clan that were a family. And each and every one of them had suffered exposure, starvation, disease and loss. That was the way of things. The Dorfmen might have never come together as clans, worked to build anything if they were not pushed to do so. Fairhug: Come with us back to the peace talks. State your position. Make us understand through words, not violence. Willow: We will listen. We don’t have to agree, but we can compromise. Find a way where we can all be half-way happy. Compromise. He didn’t trust the word. Wethern: I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust us. We are a corporate uniform. All looking alike in good health wealthy to you. I wasn't always in Starfleet it's a new addition to me. I got tired of the suffering and joined with those who have the resources to help. Why not listen to us what do you have to lose? Rugen: We have our traditions to lose. What made us strong. What bound us together. I have seen the space nomands. No-people with no-family. No-souls. We have soul. We wish to keep it burning brightly. He was strong in his convictions, compelling. And yet there was a rigidity to his thinking, a cold, solid wall of belief that was not cracking. And worse, it was delivered in a calm, rational voice. He had thought about this. He was not working in anger. He was working from a place of considered rational thought. Fairhug: ::frowning:: Then let’s start with names. I am Lieutenant Commander Fairhug, First Officer of the Federation Starbase One-One-Eight. This is Lieutenant Haukea Willow and Doctor Corey Wethern. Who is it we are speaking to? Rugen: I am Exalpius Rugen, First of the Clan of Fire. He said it with pride and then watched the Bardeezan. He was known. It was not that he wanted to be known. Or tried to be known. But he had been the one to never back down, even as weaker clan leaders faltered. And for that he was proud. He had lived by his values. Willow: I am a security officer. I do take an unorthodox tactic framed by non-violent actions. I will not shoot unless I am provoked. Wethern: A pleasure I'm sure. I'm not here for surprises I just want to make sure our people are in health. I'll happily deal with any of your wounded as well. Fairhug: Rugen. You were responsible for some of the worst atrocities of the war. He fixed his gaze on the Bardeezan. Fairhug. Rugen: You say that as if war is not an atrocity. It is. That is what it is. And yet it is our life. Fairhug: Justify it however you want, you attacked civilian populations. Those people were not soldiers, they were unable to defend themselves. Is that Byzallian honour? The sound he made was not disrespectful, but one of non-comprehension. A non-verbal exclamation. Rugen: Civilian? ::The universal translator struggled with the word, as well as his next words:: There is no person outside of war. Every Dorfman is raised in war. I do not understand. There is no corresponding word. No one escaped war. No one had the choice to not be a solider on Byzatium. That was the difference between them. Bardeez had luxury. Byzatium had none. Willow: Those actions are in the past. We must now think to the future. Wethern: We all have our skeletons in the closet. I know I've exchanged phaser fire for medical supplies before. I've also done things I'm not proud of. The question is are you willing to leave that behind and actually lead your people in a meaningful fight rather than perpetuating the cycle of death. Fairhug: ::calmly:: Show yourself, Rugen. He moved, slowly, like a panther. He stayed in the shadows, guarded. You could see the form but not the features. Not the detail. Rugen: Here is where I stay. He was coiled, like a spring ready to snap, but not overtly hostile. In fact, he looked so perfectly at home in this harsh environment. These dry caves, this mottled darkness. The low hiss of steam somewhere beneath the surface and the occasional rustle of a predator in the depths of the cave. It would have looked tremendously out of place for him to be anything but tense. Rugen was a part of Byzatium. Byzatium was part of Rugen. They were inseparable, and here he was, a product of this plant, this culture, this life. Willow: ::Lowering her arm, the quick action having tweaked her back further:: Step into the light so that we may know your true form. Wethern: Rugen, believe or not the Commander here is trying to do this in your best interests. We can guarantee you a seat at the table for the talks but you have to be willing to talk. Fairhug: ::sighing:: And to listen. He blinked, shaking his head very slowly. He was, admittedly, surprised that this had not yet come to violence. And as much as he did not ever want to admit it, he wanted to be heard. He wanted his point of view, his people’s point of view, his experiences to matter. Not Toral, richest of them all, to speak for them. Not Toral who had grown soft and known luxury. No, he wanted to voice of his kind heard. The ones who scraped for every last bit of food, shared scraps with the children, boiled and ate every last part of every kill to ensure the tribe stayed strong. And at this point he didn’t even care if he died. He wanted someone to hear his clan. His people. There were others who would take up his torch with fervent pride should he fall. Rugen: To listen. When you already stated I was a … ::His mind clicked as his universal translator worked:: Atrocity. He said it like it was a title or a name. It was clear he did not see his acts in the same light Gogi did. He could not even fathom that there a population could have the luxury and privilege of keeping a portion of the population completely out of war. Would be own up to his acts? Surely. Did he think they were wrong? Depends. He believed – with fervent conviction – that he had followed all established rules of war. His opponents believed in different rules. His opponents had convenient rules to allow themselves an advantage. Such was war. And war was life. Willow: We cannot absolve you of your past atrocities. However, your current innocence can still be decided. How would you prefer to be remembered long after you are gone? As a murderer who could not learn the error of their ways, or someone that saw repentance? Hated by many in most cases but at least allowed some freedom in the ladder. He knew others would follow his example. Maybe some of them would have better, prettier words to tug at the heartstrings of these Federations. Not him. His words were short and blunt and to the point. Wethern: Come on Rugen, at least come to the table, release the captives. We can't write the whole incident off but you could be at the talks and receive a fair hearing. Fairhug: Say what you want about the Federation, but that much is always guaranteed. Fair. Sure, they would listen. And then they would always, no matter what, side with the Bardeez. Because the rules the Bardeez followed more closely matched the rules the Federations followed. Rugen did not follow those rules. Therefore Rugen was an Atrocity. And Atrocities must be eliminated. Rugen: So they will hear us. Try us fairly, find us guilty and then either re-educate us, force us into their culture or quietly eliminate us. I could do it; I know. I could prolong my own existence of… atrocity as you say. It will not change the fact that we lose our very identity. The Byzatium that was will die by Toral’s hand. And that was what he mourned. He had an identity in war. His clan had an identity in war. And what these Federations were talking about was a complete and utter destruction of self. He could not comprehend who he would be in the aftermath. So wasn’t it best to be dead? Willow: Do not spoil what is yet to come by clinging onto the past. Wethern: There is always a choice, remember that. We are remembered by pivitol moments in our life. Make sure this one is for the better. Fairhug: Make the right choice, Rugen. He was a wiry man, of middle height. Dark hair just starting to grey. Tanned skin. Angular features. A weathered, hardened man. But not an imposing man. Not physically at least. He had an aura about him that told of confidence, unwavering conviction and true love for his people. The warriors around him moved to protect him in instinct, not order. For whatever cruelties he had poured on others, he had apparently treated his own clan as family. The sad thing was, had he been raised on another world he would have easily looked like a scholar. Rugen: This is me. Fairhug: How do *we* know we can trust *you*? Willow: Trust is not earned lightly. We can never be sure it is truly there. Yet we can hope. Wethern: How about we all lower our weapons as a first show of faith. Wouldn't want anyone to accidentally get shot now would we. He considered this and then calculated. He knew exactly where his hunting knife was, and it was strapped for the fastest release. He believed that if the Federations discarded their beam weapons he could take all three in under a minute with just his knife. If he needed to. He held his disruptor pistol out, but did not yet release it. The speaker – he understood that was the healer – dropped his weapon first. Note to self – do not kill the healer if at all possible. Healers were valuable. Rugen: I am willing… He looked at them as if to say ‘you first.’ Willow: For a doctor my friend here makes an excellent point. We should all do better to follow his example. Fairhug: Good idea, Doctor Wethern. The Bardeez dropped his rifle. Rugen dropped his pistol. The Bardeez still had a hostered pistol. Rugen still had a knife strapped to his leg. And this is why Byzatium training was so important. Rugen estimated it would take the Bardeez three to four seconds to unholster his pistol from that position. He also estimated that he could pull his knife with its special bindings in less than a second, while running towards the Bardeez. So, should this turn ugly – bullrush the Bardeez, pull knife on the way, go for the jugular. That should hamper him before he got his pistol pulled. The entire plan worked through Rugen’s mind as he kept his expression neutral. Wethern: Why don't you tell us where the hostages are then maybe we can help you with something? Rugen: They are here. ::He said vaguely waving to the caves beyond.:: True and yet so vague. The Federations didn’t have much time to be upset about his answer. Rugen tensed again, coiling downwards ready to strike. His warriors huddled down under cover, fingers on the triggers. They all knew that sound. The scratching, scuttling doom. The sound that haunted the nightmares of every Dorfman child. Fairhug: What is that?! Willow: Hard to say. For all I know it could be a rodent of unusual size. ::Her humor disappeared into the darkness, lost in the seriousness of the situation:: Wethern: I would like to point out my earlier comments about caves and things tending to want to kill you. Whatever it is it does not sound happy.....and that is my professional opinion. Rugen said one word. One little word. Even without context that one word was chilling, as if he was describing the devil itself come to devour them. Rugen: Omunics. The walls of the cave seemed to come alive with figures rushing toward them. Immediately the Dorfmen warriors engaged. The speed of their response was mesmerizing. They entered into a well-practiced dance of battle with the most ever-present threat on Byzatium. Every warrior knew the deadly stakes and yet had honed their skills like an artist. If anything told of why Rugen was the way he was – it was this response. The ever-present knowledge that one could be attacked at any time, no matter who they were, that was the overwhelming nature of growing up as a Dorfman. The Federations were not even remotely ready. Fairhug: Weapons! Willow: Get back! Get Down! Wethern: You heard the lady. We can still end this peacefully. Rugen ogled at the medic, having already snatched up his weapon, ready to defend himself. Rugen: you think the Omunics will ever know peace? You will be torn to shreds, your flesh will fill their feasting table should you think such soft thoughts. Fairhug: My father was in the city of Ifar the day you and your men attacked it. Oh, so this was personal. Rugen: Now he rests in the Hall of the Not Forgotten. For Rugen it was not personal. He offered that as respect to the Bardeez. Fairhug: I will make sure you answer for it. It was not taken as respect. That was a failing of the Bardeez. A failing of the Federations. Everything was personal. On Byzatium, taking things personally was a liability. There was not personal reason for the Omunics to attack. They were hungry. They craved resources. They would use the flesh of a Dorfman to feel their young and grind the bones to fertilize their underground gardens. It was not personal, every Dorfman was another resource, another piece of meat. Rugen did not personally kill anyone in Ifar. He attacked by the Dorfmen rules of war a city of a warring faction. He assumed everyone in that city was a warrior and prepared for an attack. Apparently the Bardeez – he now learned – had completely different rules. Apparently this Fairhug assumed his father was to be left out of the war. And apparently this Fairhug had not placed his father in the Hall of the Not Forgotten to live on. Instead he gathered up his father into his heart and carried him everywhere. That would get a Dorfman warrior killed. Revenge was the path to dishonorable death. Rugen was intent on facing the bigger threat – the oncoming Omunics. But Fairhug had other ideas. The massive Bardeez tackled him, and unlike Namhug, this one was tall and strong and built like a warrior. Rugen was smaller and wiry and almost all muscle. There was no softness to his form, no luxury, no waste. He curled up and rolled with the impact until it came to a stop and both men were facing one another. The Bardeez Fairhug made a lunge for the throat, and Rugen caught him by the hair Rugen: You fight like a wild animal… Fairhug: ? He dodged the next blow and considered pulling his knife. Considered, but he was somewhat enjoying this savagery from the Bardeez. He didn’t know if the planet ever had it in them to be true warriors. They had always seemed like reluctant children dragging their feet to go to war because they felt they had to. Rugen: That is because your father’s soul rests inside you. Controls you. Maybe you should let him go. Oddly spot on advice for a person one was trying to strangle. Fairhug: ? Wethern: Right behind you! You got this Commander? Fairhug: ? In the background the two Federations were fighting and bantering. Talking about ale and rest. The Dorfmen warriors were silent, staving off the hoarde of Omunics. If there were not six Dorfmen warriors, the entire remaining group would be dead. But he supposed that the Federations would take the credit. Rugen: My people are saving your people. And yet you think our way of war is worthless. Fairhug: ? Rugen was a slippery opponent. No matter how hard Fairhug tried, he could not get a solid grip on the Dorfman. Decades of practice came to the forefront, and Rugen kept sneaking in quick jabs to the joint or muscle in the fight – things that would ache and hurt even if they didn’t break. He jabbed a knuckle punch into the inner muscle of Fairhug’s thigh, causing the quadriceps to spasm. Rugen: Do not make me kill you… He was done with playing punching bag for an angry youth. His hand went for the knife strapped to his leg. Fairhug: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Dorfman Chieftain Byzatium

Godspeed @Hiro Jones ❤️ And know that you left this fleet brighter and kinder than you found it.

(( The forests around Paoike Colony, Drever IV )) It was silent here and peaceful. Mostly. In the ten years of the colony being in this place it had not happened often that nature and the colony invaded each other. But at times of course some wild creature got confused about the borders. Naturally. Animals did not know about this kind of stuff. So it happened here and there that one found its way into the fields, or even houses. The forest did not know how it had happened but one day someone came and put things up. Things that kept the animals out of the colony. Mostly. These things had ropes and nets, metal cages, others were tubes that shot out pointy things that made the animals sleep. People words like perimeters and defence hung in the air of the forest. And the forest had seen it work many times. None of the creatures were harmed, only stopped. The forest liked that. The people knew how to avoid these things. Even the little furless two leggers. If they came deeper into the forest they knew how to step around, or not go where the things were. The one that put the things out was really good at that, that one also was good with the animals. Knew how to carry them, how to get closer or when to leave them. He used a lot of person words even though he was alone, maybe he talked with the forest. Just that the forest did not speak people words. When a new person came into the forest the forest did not recognize them. If the forest had been able to say people words, maybe it could have warned them. They were walking the wrong way right towards one of the tube things. Maybe the thing thought the person was an animal trying to get into the people place. And then the person went down onto the ground. The forest did not speak people words so it could not warn them. ((OOC: Just for clarification, Ba'el ran into a defence perimeter meant to keep wild animals in the forest because she did not know where those 'traps' are and was alone without her team so nobody could carry her back out. )) ----- The forests around Paoike Colony, Drever IV simmed by Commodore Jalana Rajel Commanding Officer USS Constitution B Image Team Co-Facilitator A238906JL0

(( Quarters Ollo )) Ollo Prime, the "original Ollo," was perched cross legged on his bed and gently rocking back and forth. Ollos 3, 4, and 9 were also seated cross legged and rocking. 3 and 4 were on the couch, and 9 was on the floor in the dining area. Incredibly, no one figured out there were a dozen Ollos. Something happened to the holodeck before he used it, and it kept pumping out copies of Ollo. Not photonic, but real, coherent matter copies. Whoever said "Hell is other people" was never stuck in a LtJG-sized quarters with 11 copies of themselves. Everything he hated about himself was not externalized and highly visible. And everything he didn't need or want to know about himself was omnipresent. He had to see what he looked like when he sat down, drank from a glass, yawned... all of it. And it was invariably awkward and uncomfortable. But they agreed: keep it secret until they could figure out the solution. And until then.. Misery. Abject misery. Worst of all? Ollo was forced to recognize how terrible his toupee looks. He wasn't fooling anyone. They'd figure a way out of this mess. Surely, they would...

This brought tears to my eyes. @Kirsty L. Carpenter is an amazing writer.

@VLen Kel providing a very sweet and heartwarming scene between Kel and Rox

@LuxaLorana making me laugh with how disgusted she is by the whole situation; special mention of @Alieth for delightfully playing along