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((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

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.

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

@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

(( 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

I love the detail that @Kirsty L. Carpenter put into this. Nothing like fighting in the Holodeck with iffy safeties. ((Kirsty & Teryn's Quarters, Deck 9, U.S.S. Ronin.)) Kirsty felt like she had just gotten to sleep, her body still getting used to the new sleeping arrangements, when a very odd Security Alert thrummed through her personal terminal. Odd in that it seemed to originate from Engineering. It seemed Ensign Is'Kah had been running a...fairly complex and fairly power-draining holoprogram. And for...quite a long time too. Repeatedly over hours and across ungodly times of night. For multiple days, or nights, rather. Like right now, in fact. Which is what triggered the security subroutine. It seemed one of the Assistant Chief's had clocked the program and the strain it was putting on ambient power cores and computational powers and set up a "dragnet" for it. But the only question that seemed to occur to Kirsty, standing in front of her personal terminal with a curious frown in her pajamas was... oO What the hell kinda program is this? Oo She decided she was going to find out for herself. ((A Short Time Later...)) ((Holodeck Main Level, Deck 7, U.S.S. Ronin.)) Kirsty only looked at the external terminal display of the deck for a bit. She couldn't really make heads or tails of it, but it seemed to be fluid to a degree. That was, at least, if the constantly ticking upward Level designations on the display were any indication. Anyone else might have gotten an Engineer, or maybe called for backup. But Kirsty only found herself more curious about what this could even be. And how much control Is'Kah seemed to have over the program itself. She would mark this later as the first of a few mistakes. She barrelled into the Holodeck into a brutally beautiful winter wonder-hellscape. Implacable stars and a harsh moonscape hung above an endless white waste, complete with howling winds and sharp, stinging particulates of snow and powder that instantly stung her frame and face. The wind itself seemed not to blow, but PULL, grasping her harshly and sending her skidding like a poorly flying bird into the nearest snowbank. She didn't even have the time to grasp the holo-arch, which disappeared almost as soon as she was cleared of it. One of the "physical conditions" of these high level holoprograms. She tried to call for it, but the snow and wind choked her voice back down her throat. She hadn't expected this. And further hadn't expected just how unforgiving the conditions around her seemed to gleefully be. oO What the hell...Oo She finally got herself back to her feet, using the stinging of her bare feet as a steadying point. She peered against the horizon. Tried to take it all, or as much as she could, in. No landmarks. No distinction between the geography either. There was just snow and wind and the burning stars above and now...movement. A hunched, darkened figure was looming toward her with the wind. Stretching and bending an impressive wingspan alongside its flattened, blocky frame. It didn't look like Is'Kah, but she had to take a chance...She started to raise her voice over the wind, cupping her hands across and around her mouth to raise her yell further. Carpenter: Is'Kah! THAT you!? The figure then SPRANG! Suddenly and violently. With enough ferocity that Kirsty lost her footing in the snow with an instinctive backstep. She sprawled backward, landing with an audible crunch and OOF as the figure sailed above her. Revealing the snarling teeth and antenna of an Andorian Ice Hunter. And the flashing ushann in each hand. Carpenter: whaaaa the h-h-hell?! She sputtered to the rapidly piling snow around her, but she scrambled, half flopped to her belly, trying to get eyes on the Andorian as quickly as possible. He had landed a lot better than she had. Rolling and pitching on his shoulder, leaving barely a ghost of a trail into the snow. Well-worn white-and-grey liveried medium armor protected his body from the elements, including a choice pair of boots and gloves Kirsty found herself intimately jealous of. Especially once she had gotten back to her feet, plunging her bare feet back into the snow almost to the ankle. The dual ushann ice-knives would protect him from everyone else. But higher level programs also hinted at lessened restrictions on safety protocols. Just what in the hell was Is'Kah playing at here?! The Andorian took one leaping step to the left, then another to the right and forward. Kirsty raised her arms, tightening her fists for likely heavy work. The Andorian's fists, wrapped tightly across the middle hafts of the ice-knives swept the right blade wildly. Kirsty took another unsteady step back, hating the way the snow was slowing her down. But then the Andorian made HIS first mistake, trying another glancing blow with the left blade, which hit nothing but the under part of his wrist against Kirsty's sharply upraised knee, jarring the knife in his grip. But nicking her upper thigh, sending a hot lancet of blood across the snow for their trouble. It was enough of an opening though, and Kirsty didn't hesitate. Knowing that the Holo Andorian likely wouldn't either. She lashed out violently, but with a feral focus. Driving her right fist flat against the Andorian's neck. One of the few unarmored points of his body, as most Ice Hunter armors don't have any ballistic underlays or neck scoops. The Ice Hunter's body jarred like his wrist had and normally she would have kept him jarred with a left hook, but her wobbly stance kept her from her usual one-two. Instead she took a page from the Andorian's book, springing her own frame into a bullet. Pointed to further drive the Ice Hunter from his feet and away from using those ushann. They both tumbled into the snow, limbs akimbo, but Kirsty's shoulder thumped against something hard in the snow. She snaked her hands after it, whatever it was. The Ice Hunter roared just feet away. His voice eerily joining the howl of the wind and a ghoulish churning sound of the snow around his whipping frame. He barreled toward her, looking like a deadly plow, parting the snow around his rage. Kirsty gripped the haft in her dominant hand, brought it up blindly but surely, bringing up a spreading curtain of snow along with...the upturned bottom of a LIRPA?! The heavy block of weighted metal sunk heavy and true against the side of the Ice Hunter's skull. Sending him flinging like a puppet with his strings cut into the snow bank to the left of their erstwhile battleground.She turned the Vulcan weapon in her hand, blade up toward the starry sky, and leaned heavily on the staffen middle of a thing she was...kinda growing to love? First...she was gonna get those Ice Hunter's boots and gloves...and then she was gonna find Is'Kah and finally get the skinny on...whatever the hell this was. Carpenter: Alright, Ensign, it's your game...let's play. She started forward. Eager and now armed against whatever was coming next. Is'Kah/Any: RESPONSE -- TAG/TBC -- Lieutenant Commander Kirsty L. Carpenter //\\ Chief of Security & Tactical Starfleet SAR (Marine Rank: Major) //\\ U.S.S. RONIN NCC-34523 ID: E239512QC0 //\\ F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums)

@Quentin Beck's Bec is so damn ferengi to the level of repulsion and I love him for it XD ((A couple of days later, asteroid field, near the orbit of the planet REDACTED, system REDACTED )) The box for Deep Rockets Delivery Service wasn't the best box available for a race such as this, but there were only a few that might be considered more lavish, more comfortable - it was perhaps even second only to that of the Nagus. Pillows covered everything. Gold covered everything. Latinum covered everything. And although Bec's own personal wealth was only a fraction of that of his company, he lived by Rule of Acquisition number 46: it's good to be the King. One could hardly blame him for taking advantage; he'd built the company from the ground up, after all, and the only reason he'd started selling shares was because he knew that treating the company as its own entity would allow him to make bigger, better deals that would lead to bigger, better stacks of latinum down the line. That money belonged to the company, technically speaking, but it allowed him to make investments he might not otherwise make because of their volatility; the company could bounce back a lot better than he could as an individual entrepreneur. That shuttle was one such investment. As was this race. He was limited with what he could do with the money as far as betting went, so that required dipping into his own personal bank account, but he had done everything he could to assure making some kind of return on investment. Not to mention he knew Alieth very well. It was tempting to turn on the listening device his men had installed in the Threshan E'Shua, but he knew he would only hear one of two things: either dead silence or Alieth cursing his name. It was, more or less, standard practice when it came to them, though it was more amusing than insulting. He knew that, despite her words, there was warmth in what she said. Perhaps not adoration, but at least some kind of fondness she would keep entirely to herself. He was all right with that. Bec was also alone in the box. He would need to make an appearance in the lounge at some point, of that he was certain, but he enjoyed his solitude. He sat on the largest, softest pillow at the very center of the room, studying a number of screens mounted on the far wall; one mirrored the images on the larger screens that Alieth was indicating to Luxa, showing rotating shots of all of the different ships in the race. One was focused entirely on their ship, seen from a distance. One screen was off and would remain so for the time being. The final screen was a much smaller one, and it was mounted on a small rotating desk panel next to his seat. Alieth's Starfleet file scrolled slowly over the screen. He hadn't looked at the official one for quite some time… but then, she hadn't been around for quite some time, either. And the Ronin's arrival meant he could make sure his copy was up to date. She had quite the official record - though it paled in comparison to what could be listed on an unofficial one. A small window was open on that same screen, showing live footage from a body camera that had been mounted on one of the bounty hunters he'd hired to track down Beck. They had mostly been foiled so far in their attempts to pick him up, but Bec had faith one of them would manage it sooner than later. He didn't think it bad to keep an eye on things. Alieth was right about one thing - he had bet against them. Quite a bit of money, in fact. But he'd also bet in their favor, which stood to win a lot more money in the end as they were being treated as fresh-faced and inexperienced racers. That was fine by him, too. He popped a Beetle Bite into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he considered his options. Seemingly making a choice, he set another between his teeth before laying the bag in his lap and leaning forward to type a few things into the small console next to him. The offline screen flickered to life to show the interior of the custom shuttle and the two women seated in the primary cockpit. It seemed Alieth was explaining the race to Luxa - good. Alieth: No outside intervention, no connection to databases, only what we have with us. Nothing else, the first one to cross the finish line wins and takes it all. As long as you do not die, everything else is allowed. Lorana: Response Aboard the Threshan E'Shua, a hologram flickered to life on the upper lip of the instrument panel, centered between the two seats. It was a near-perfect recreation of Bec, save it was really only on the blue wavelength for visibility and it flickered occasionally. Not to mention it was only about twelve inches tall. When Bec spoke, his voice was small and tinny. Bec: Honey Badger, my love. I am very pleased the two of you made it - and with extra time, no less. Alieth/Lorana: Response Bec: Now, now, darling, you know I'm not allowed to play favorites. Not publicly, anyway. I can promise you, though, this will be easier than you might think. Alieth/Lorana: Response Bec: You think I'm worried? You're in the fastest, sleekest ship in the quadrant. I'm not worried. Alieth/Lorana: Response Tags/TBC Bec Chief Owner and Operater, Deep Rockets Delivery Service Ferenginar A238810SA0 As written by Ensign Quentin Beck Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0

Newly promoted LtJG @Charles Matthews is calling Serala out for being irresponsible while being pregnant. I am totally loving his internal monologues and thought I would share with everyone! Enjoy! ((Holodeck 2, Skyfire Beach, USS Astraeus)) [[Time Index: After the Awards, before conversation between Matthews and Zarax]] ((OOC – As previously stated, discussed with Serala. None of these are my views, nothing is personal. All context is purely IC)) Matthews: Ma’am, I respect you. A great deal. You’re a great officer; a fierce, honourable fighter, a snazzy dresser; but why would you put yourself in harm’s way when you’re pregnant? ::pause:: I know you’re a better fighter than me, but it would have only taken one mistimed blow, or one misstep, for something horrible to happen. My job is to help maintain the safety of everyone on board, that includes you. Your baby too. Serala: ::gritting her teeth as she tried to respond calmly:: Okay, let me say this the only way I know how. And I apologize in advance if I hurt your feelings. Yes, I am pregnant. And I realize you don’t know me that well, Lieutenant, but I have been in much more dangerous situations while pregnant that sparring on the holodeck with a masterfully trained samurai swordsman. When I was pregnant with T’Saara, near the end of my term, I found myself running for my life in a frozen forest with a few of my fellow crewmates. I survived, and I survived in the holodeck. oO OK, here we go. You just had to have this conversation, didn’t you? Right now, of all times and with her, of all people. You couldn’t just leave well enough alone?... No, I couldn’t. If I didn’t do this today, I wouldn’t have done it at all… Well, you’re in it now. Say what you need to but don’t antagonise her, and don’t let her feelings push yours to somewhere you don’t want them to go. Oo Sensing the Commander had more to say, and not wanting to interject too much, Charlie let out a brief reply. Matthews: There isn’t a need to apologise to me, Commander. I’ll be fine. ::smiles with uncertainty:: oO Liar! Oo Serala: The mother in me is extremely grateful that you are so concerned about the well-being of my unborn child. And you are not the first security officer to express such concern. My best friend, and former Department Head before I leap-frogged him to become the First Officer, also had the same concerns for my health. It would be disingenuous of me to condemn you for your concern while praising him for his. But, and let me be clear on this, I did not, and would not, knowingly place myself and my child in harm’s way. I saw enough of your skill before we sparred, and am confident enough in my own skill, to know that nothing was going to happen. And even if by chance it had, medical is only a transporter ride away. And our doctors are some of the very best in Starfleet. oO Oof. That stings. She saw enough of my abilities to know nothing was going to happen?? Wow. Pride has taken a hammer blow with that one. That’s nice… Relax. Think of some soothing music… I don’t think that will help… Well, put on your best poker face and fake it until you make it… Oo Matthews: I understand that, Commander. However, I feel like I’d be being remiss with my duties if I didn’t express my concerns about this. Serala: I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant. I really do. But I am asking for your trust that as a former Security Department Head, former Tactical Department Head, former Strategic Operations officer, trained martial artist, and First Officer - not to mention a mother - I know my limitations and will not knowingly place myself in danger unless the safety of this ship and its crew, or the interests of the Federation, require me to do so. Can you accept that, Lieutenant? oO Is she bragging? To be fair, if I had a record like hers, I’d be listing it off too if some newly promoted Lieutenant was questioning how I was doing things. But I’m not questioning her record, or her list of commendations, or her abilities; I just want people to be safe. She wouldn’t knowingly put herself in danger, I know that, but what about the unknown?... Well, we can’t know about the unknown, can we?... Isn’t that another reason to have a crew? Not just for their expertise, but to offer a differing opinion, or to be another pair of eyes in a certain situation… Oo Lieutenant Matthews took a few seconds to consider how he would reply to the First Officer. He could tell that she was trying to fight against her irritation, but he was also wondering how long she could maintain it for. Could she fight her natural instincts for that long? The fact of the matter is that he did trust her. He trusted everyone. Maybe not personally, not yet, but the trust was there professionally, and there was no reason for it not to be, not until somebody gave him a reason for him to not trust them. Matthews: Ma’am, I can accept it, and I do trust you. Without question. I haven’t raised these concerns to annoy you in any way. If I have done that, I am sorry, it wasn’t my intention. Especially not on what should be a happy occasion. oO Could it be that we’re a little alike, at least a bit? We’re both a little proud, maybe both find it too easy to get angry or defensive. Maybe we both feel as if we have things to prove too… Yeah, that sounds like top tier psychobabble there… What does she have to prove? She’s a massively decorated First Officer… Oo Serala: Response Matthews: I know you would never knowingly put yourself, the crew, or the ship in unnecessary danger; not unless it was for the good of the Federation, but it is the unknown that I am referring to as well, Commander. Yes, you’re a better fighter than me, better than most on the ship in fact, but is it totally out of the realm of possibility that something else could have happened when we sparred? Statistically, there was a possibility, no matter how slim that possibility could have been. We can never anticipate the unknown, ma’am. That is a part of the point I was trying to make. Serala: Response Matthews: To paraphrase what you said earlier, Commander, can you accept that I will always be keeping an eye out for the unexpected? Not just with yourself, or your baby, but with everyone. ::slightly smiling:: Much in the same way that you wanted to look out for the Captain when he wanted to board that damaged freighter. It’s not a testament to what I think of your abilities, or what you may think I may think of your abilities, it would be what I am here to do. Serala: Response --- Lieutenant JG Charles Matthews Tactical & Security Officer USS Astraeus NCC-70652 A240012CM1

I posted a narrative paragraph from this sim by @Talia Ohnari in our quotes thread, and when I felt the urge to also post the very next narrative paragraph, I figured the whole sim should probably be highlighted. Enjoy!

Did I reread this like five times and then wait all day before getting to my computer to put this on the appreciations thread? Perhaps. I was looking forward to Annamae's reaction to the end of my sim and at the very, very least I am not disappointed in the sheer chaos she has once again brought to the stage. Cue the adventure's of the Kitty Hawk's Science Crewman and her reaction to the aftermath of her girlfriend's adventures: ((Terminal A - New Year’s Day 2401 - 06:31 hours)) Annamae, still awake from the muted and polite New Year’s celebrations on board Ten Forward on the USS Kitty Hawk, ambled along Terminal A. Some people, both Starfleet and civilian, were just starting their shift in the terminal. Some people were waiting for a QSD ship that was arriving that morning. The crewman wore her replicated novelty Halloween headband with pride. Was it appropriate to wear them for New Year’s Eve? Absolutely not. But that was the point. oO Contrarian for the sake of being contrarian? Tick. Oo As she made her way up the stairs towards the train station platform, she felt her stomach rumble. It was time for breakfast. ((Table 6, Brew Continuum - 06:49 hours)) Barberra: I’ll have a... wait- Touching her nose, Annamae was still deciding between several options for breakfast. The Andorian waiter was becoming impatient. Waiter: Ma’am, I have three tables of New Year’s revellers waiting, maybe I can take their order first. Annamae looked up to observe one of the tables. They were wearing beach gear, and laughing. One of them was slapping their hand on the table. Barberra: No, it’s okay... they’ll look like they’ll take a while anyway. I’m doing you a favour. Waiter: ::Sarcastically:: Oh, yes. The morning of Terran New Year is turning out to be a *great* shift to have chosen. Just tell me what you want. Barberra: Okay! Geez! The nachos. Waiter: Nachos. For breakfast. Barberra: What. I love guacamole. In fact, scratch that – I just want a bowl of guacamole. Waiter: We don’t *offer* just a bowl of guacamole. Barberra: Why not? ::Shrug:: I’m a customer, right? ::Pointing at menu:: It says right here. “Extra Guacamole.” I’ll just have that. Waiter: No, that’s extra Guacamole *with* an order of nachos. You can’t order extra guacamole by itself. Barberra: Oh. Okay then. Waiter: ::Relieved Sigh: Okay. Barberra: ::Looking at menuPADD:: I’ll order the nachos with two extra serves of guacamole. Waiter: ::Tapping on order PADD:: Got it. Barberra: Without the nachos. The waiter’s antennae twirled as she once again regarded Annamae with slight contempt. Waiter: You have to have the nachos. Barberra: Just hold them. Waiter: No, I just said- Barberra: ::Deadpan:: Just don’t bring them out. How hard can it be. After an exasperated sigh, the waiter gave Annamae a congenial smile. Waiter: What a waste of credits. Happy Terran new year. She grabbed the menuPADD from Annamae’s hands, then turned back towards the counter area. Barberra: And put that on the Starfleet attaché account! Annamae didn’t know if that would still work, given her Starfleet liaison to the FDC role was long suspended while she was temporarily stationed on the Kitty Hawk... ((Bench, Merchant District – 09:35 hours)) The problem with working different shifts on the Kitty Hawk was that Annamae’s body couldn’t work out whether she was wired or tired. The time would come when she would crash in a heap, having worked half of Gamma shift, and then joined the countdown to midnight in Ten Forward. The artificial sunlight in the Habitat Ring made that adjustment even harder. It felt nice, and warm, and made the caramel chilli milkshake she was sipping even tastier for some reason. Annamae knew that Bec was in her apartment, the ship’s computer had told her so. She also knew that her girlfriend was probably recovering from a large night, having been told about their New Year’s celebrations in the Sub-tropical biome. Eventually she would let herself into Bec’s apartment to sleep when her body told her she was officially ready, then look forward to doing something with her likely hungover girlfriend that afternoon. But before then, there was someone she wanted to say “hello” to... And finally she saw the person walking toward the shop they owned. Annamae stood up from the bench, and made her way towards them. Barberra: You’re 5 minutes late. The Ferengi woman, owner of the “Backspace” fortune teller shop, slowly turned to face Annamae. Ninzo: ::demanding:: Who are you to tell me I’m late! Barberra: I’m your tenant, antique Terran satellite dish ears! Ninzo: ::Lifting finger:: You’re not, you sublet that room child, now I have to put up with C’lem Phan’ta’go continually asking if I can hear him! ::Pointing at ears:: Doesn’t he not know I’m Ferengi? The woman walked to the door of her shop, waving her hand over a scanner to open it. The door slid open with a “hiss”, allowing the pair to walk inside. ((Inside, Backspace Fortune Teller)) Barberra: I’ve come to renegotiate the rental amount. My profit from his subletting is not satisfactory. Ninzo: I’m not changing the rental amount. WE HAD AN AGREEMENT, CHILD! WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT HEADBAND! Barberra: I’M NOT YOUR CHILD, YOU OLD PSEUDO SCIENCE CON ARTIST, I’M YOUR TENANT! Ninzo: NOT AT THE MOMENT YOU’RE NOT, YOU’RE ON THAT USS CATTY BIRD OR WHATEVER IT’S CALLED! Barberra: I’M STILL TECHNICALLY - ::normal tone:: ooh, I like “Catty Bird” - ::resuming argument:: I’M STILL TECHNICALLY YOUR TENANT BUT I’M SUBLETTING TO CREWMAN PHAN’TA’GO SO IT’S STILL VALID FOR ME TO ASK FOR A REDUCTION IN THE RENT! Annamae took a long sip from her milkshake, while eyeing her landlord. Ninzo: ARE YOU TRYING TO INTIMIDATE ME?! RULE OF ACQUISITION SIXTEEN. “A DEAL IS A DEAL!” WHEN YOU COME BACK FROM YOUR HIGH AND MIGHTY EXPLORATION OF THE DELTA QUADRANT TO COME AND LIVE HERE AGAIN, WE CAN RENEGOTIATE. UNTIL THEN, LET ME READ YOUR PALM! The elder Ferengi woman reached out to grab Annamae’s hand, but the crewman smacked it away. Barberra: NO! RULE OF ACQUISITION SEVENTY-FIVE. “HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, BUT THE STARS ARE MADE OF LATINUM”. REDUCE MY RENT YOU OLD RUSTY BAT’LETH! Ninzo: RULE OF ACQUISITION TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN. “YOU CAN’T FREE A FISH FROM WATER!” Annamae furrowed her brow for a moment, before continuing the shouting match that they both loved and missed. Barberra: HOW DOES THAT RULE EVEN APPLY TO THESE NEGOTIATIONS?! Ninzo: WHO SAID WE WERE NEGOTIATING! Suddenly a voice came over speakers in the shop, quietly echoed by the source of the comms from the rented room that was a level above. Phan’ta’go: =/\= Hello, this is C’lem Phan’ta’go, can you hear me? You’re both talking at a level of around 10, the feeling here is that you need to bring it down to a 6, yeah? =/\= The two women looked towards the staircase. Ninzo/Barberra: ::simultaneously:: SHUT UP, PHAN’TA’GO! ((Iko Apartment, Marrakech District – 10:28 hours)) It had finally happened. Annamae could hardly keep her eyes open. She sat on the edge of Bec’s bed, tiredly taking off her Starfleet issue boots. While listening to Bec snoring. Very loudly. Barberra: Bec? No answer. No movement. At all. With a tired sigh, the crewman took off her combadge and threw it into her left boot, before laying down on the bed next to Bec... She listened to her girlfriend snore, as she fell asleep, on top of the sheets - still in her blue Science uniform. ((Annamae’s dreamscape)) Clowns. Clowns everywhere. She was surrounded by them. The carnival, the very same carnival that she, Kivik and tr'Khev had experienced when encountering the space borne goo that had traces of 8472 DNA, was on fire. People were screaming and running away. But the clowns, with their red eyes and ocular implants, who were slowly stepping towards her, all spoke in unison. Clowns: We are the clowns. We will add observations about your biological and technological distinctiveness to our long list of bad jokes, which will service us at kid’s parties. You will be humiliated. Barberra: Woah, creepy. I know I should be scared? But... this is kinda awesome. Suddenly, one of the clowns groaned, very loudly... right as the ground seemed to shift underneath her- ((16:23 — Iko Apartment, Marrakech district, Habitat Ring)) The crewman sat *bolt upright* in bed, sweating slightly from her vivid nightmare. Barberra: ::Quiet, awed tone:: Awesome... Slightly disappointed that the dream wasn’t real, she turned to see Bec Iko curling herself up in the sheets of the bed. Barberra: You’re hungover. Bec seemed to curl up under the covers even more. Iko: No I'm not. Annamae sniffed the air above Bec, Barberra: Oh yeah, you smell like you just drunk a keg of bloodwine. Definitely hungover. Iko: I'm not! Bec’s slid her leg out from under the sheets, to playfully kick Annamae. That was when Annamae noticed new ink on Bec’s ankle, her skin red underneath. Barberra: Woah. Cool. What is that? “One cup self-raising flour, 2 tablespoons cocoa powder, one tablespoon... ::screwing up nose:: antimatter waste?” Iko: Huh? Bec’s head came out from somewhere under the covers, to look at her own leg. There was a pause from Bec for a moment as she observed the new tattoo. Realising that Bec seemed to be surprised by it, Annamae let a wicked grin appear on her face. Iko: #$%@. And like a turtle, Bec withdrew under the sheets again. Annamae preened her hair while she spoke. Barberra: You used my cake recipe?! Annamae *jumped* on top of Bec, wrapping her arms around... whatever body parts were under the sheets and blankets. Barberra: Well now we can both be ready for a first contact! ((Flashback – “The Tusk” tattoo shop – Merchant District, Amity Outpost, Stardate 239908.01)) Annamae showed off her brand-new tattoo on her ankle. Barberra: It’s a pancake recipe. You never know when you might need it. Iovianus: I see… Iko: ::to Iovanius:: Agreed. The doubt in the security officers was obvious. She moved to justify her new ink. Barberra: Okay, but consider this. Let’s say, it’s a first contact situation. And you give them access to the Starfleet cultural database. But that doesn’t satisfy them, the new species want more. I just look down on my leg, whip up some pancakes, and ::clicking fingers:: bingo, new Federation member candidate. Iko: Orrr you could just remember the pancake recipe... ((End Flashback)) Barberra: ::Delighted tone:: Orrr, you could just remember *my* cake recipe? Ah ha, see I was right! Where are you under there?! It didn’t matter where she was, Annamae decided to playfully pin her half-Klingon girlfriend down on the bed for as long as she could! [End scene for Annamae] ========================================== Crewman Second Class Annamae Barberra Science Specialist USS Kitty Hawk V239511WU0

This JP between @Gila Sadar and @LuxaLorana with her PNPC Vailani is very nice, it gives great insight into both characters, and their lovely friendship as well as really hit some serious emotions in me. I do think I teared up a few times. This was great, and I appreciate both of you for writing it and sharing it.