Search the Community

I really like how the NPC's were displayed here, @Karen Stendhal, plus bonus song! -- ((The Mystical Realm of Eldoria)) Wethern: Ummm, Korras are you familiar with an old Earth mythical creature of a dragon? You know breathes fire, tends to eat adventurers. ::looking at the Dragon:: Nice dragon, friendly Dragon. Korras: I have read about them. An overgrown Krencha that spits fire. The red dragon stood there in a tense standoff, a colossal manifestation of Eldoria's raw power. Its scales, a fiery red hue, gleamed in the dim light of the cave, reflecting the heat and intensity within. Towering horns adorned its regal head, a testament to the strength and majesty that this mythical creature possessed. Wings, stretched wide and mighty, seemed poised for flight, though currently, they remained folded, emphasizing the dragon's imposing stature. The creature's eyes, a fierce and intelligent gaze, surveyed the surroundings with an air of ancient wisdom. As it snorted and growled, the cavern seemed to resonate with the very essence of Eldoria's mysticism, creating an atmosphere both fearsome and awe-inspiring. In the standoff, the red dragon exuded an aura of guardian-like authority, ready to defend its realm against any intruders. The cavern, bathed in the glow of the dragon's fiery presence, became a sacred space where the mythical and the tangible converged, creating a moment etched in the annals of Eldoria's folklore. Wethern: Do any of you know who brought this dragon? I'm pretty sure this cave had a no pets clause. Also anyone know how to get rid of it? Fizzlewick: Oh my enchanted gears and gizmos! Look at the magnificence of those scales, shimmering like a thousand tiny rainbows in the sunlight. The horns curling majestically, a crown fit for the mightiest of mythical creatures. This dragon, it's like a living, breathing treasure trove of wonder! Twigglenook: By the ancient oak trees! That creature is a marvel of Eldoria's mysticism. Look at the wings, the very essence of flight and freedom. The snorting and growling echo the tales of our ancestors. It's both fearsome and awe-inspiring, a guardian of the realms, perhaps. Gravestone: Well, I'll be a gnome's uncle! That dragon's got a presence that shakes the very stones of Eldoria. The scales, tough as the mightiest fortress, and those horns could pierce through the thickest armor. Eldoria's guardian indeed, with eyes that gleam with ancient wisdom. It's like witnessing a living legend right here in our mystical abode. Lemoncable: I think you’ll find he’s my pet. Korras: I am not surprised. Wethern: Korras you hold this beastie off and I'll look what help we have. ::Looking through the vials talking to himself:: Hmmm Love Potion Number 9, Instant Luck, Superstition, Ring of Fire. Oooo what is this. Fizzlewick: Feast your enchanted eyes upon my prized potions! Behold the Elixir of Luminosity, a brew that bathes the wielder in a radiant glow, lighting up even the darkest corners. And over here, the Sparkling Brew of Levity, a potion that grants the drinker the agility of a mischievous sprite, dancing through the air with whimsical grace. Twigglenook: These potions, crafted by the ancient wisdom of Eldoria's forests, are my companions in the mystic dance of battle. The Whispering Wind Elixir, when sipped, renders me as elusive as a zephyr, and the Thunderstrike Draught channels the very storms of Eldoria into my weapon, crackling with electric might. Gravestone: These weapons of mine ain't just pieces of metal, they're imbued with the soul of Eldoria itself! This here Hammer of Resonance, when swung, echoes with the very heartbeat of our realm, striking fear into the hearts of foes. And my trusty Shield of Twilight, woven with the essence of the setting sun, grants me unparalleled defense against the darkest of adversaries. In the hands of Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone, these potions and weapons weave a tapestry of magical prowess, each sip and swing a harmonious symphony in the grand saga of Eldoria. Korras: I think the dragon is the least of our problems. Lemoncable: Well, you aren’t the only ones with a few tricks up your sleeves. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed the sorcerer's move as he cast a spell, summoning thick vines from the cave's floor and walls. As Zalagon roared, advancing menacingly, the vines started to slither toward the adventurers. The trio's response echoed in question marks, uncertain of the impending danger posed by both the magical vines and the approaching dragon. Fizzlewick's eyes widened with a mix of fascination and trepidation as he observed the sorcerer's magical incantation. The summoned vines twisted and coiled, a spectacle of enchantment that ignited Fizzlewick's curiosity. Yet, an undercurrent of concern bubbled within him, unsure of the impending danger that lurked with each undulating movement of the vines. Twigglenook's brows furrowed in thoughtful contemplation, his keen eyes analyzing the unfolding magic. The vines, conjured with a mysterious force, sent shivers down Twigglenook's spine. He sensed the imminent challenge, a puzzle to be solved in the dance between magic and reality, leaving him both intrigued and wary. Gravestone, ever stoic, observed the sorcerer's spell with a watchful gaze. The vines, thick and sinuous, bore an air of ominous intent. Gravestone's grip tightened on his mystical weapon, ready for whatever adversities the magical display might unleash. A sense of determination flickered in his eyes, knowing that Eldoria's fate hung in the balance of their reactions to this arcane spectacle. Fizzlewick: ::Eyes wide with excitement:: Well, blow me down with enchanted breezes! Did you see the finesse in that spell? Those vines are practically pirouetting! But, erm, lads, do you reckon this is a friendly forest dance, or are we about to be twirled into a knot of trouble? Twigglenook: ::Brows furrowed in contemplation:: Intriguing, indeed. The sorcerer's mastery over the natural elements is unparalleled. Yet, my friends, there's an unsettling whisper in the wind. These vines, they may be serenading us into a trap. What say you? Time to unsheathe our mystical wits? Gravestone: ::Stoic, gripping his weapon:: Ain't no song and dance I signed up for. Them vines look mighty ominous, like a nest of enchanted serpents. Hold tight, mates. I reckon we're in for a wild ride. ::Nods towards the advancing vines:: Ready yourselves, and let's show Eldoria we ain't ones to be tangled easily. Korras: I have had enough of this. DabuQlu'DI' yISuv. ((OOC: When threatened, fight)) Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed a surprising turn of events when the Klingon, to their utter amazement, diverted his attention away from the dragon. Corey, the valiant healer, unsheathed his sword and skillfully kept the dragon at bay with precise swipes, gradually weakening the creature as the sorcerer struggled with a change in its power. Korras, with a swift and unexpected move, retrieved three throwing knives from his belt and hurled two of them with impeccable accuracy at the sorcerer's shoulders. The knives hit their mark, causing the holographic figure to collapse to the ground. Lemoncable, the sorcerer, felt a momentary disruption in his photonic form. As the sorcerer looked up at the Klingon, the expression of shock still etched on his diabolical face, the trio of witnesses couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected twist in the unfolding magical drama. Korras: ::holding the third knife, aimed directly at the sorcerers chest:: Now, either end this ::motioning to the dragon with his other hand::, or be ended. Lemoncable: Typical Klingon. Always ruining the fun! Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as the dragon shifted its attention back to the cave, intermittently flickering within and outside of the simulation. In response, Corey, with a determined stance, directed the tip of his weapon toward the sorcerer. Wethern: Looks like you are outgunned, well out knifed, slash sword. Pardon the gun. Fizzlewick: ::Scratching his head:: Well, I reckon we've found ourselves in a bit of a magical melee, haven't we? Outgunned, outknifed, and the poor dragon's stuck in the middle. What's our enchanted strategy, mates? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Aye, outmatched in the arms department, but there's always a trick or two up Eldoria's sleeves. Perhaps a sprinkle of fairy dust or a whispered charm could tip the scales in our favor. What say you, Gravestone? Gravestone: ::Gripping his weapon:: No doubt, we're in a bit of a pickle. But I've faced tougher challenges in the enchanted woods. We may be outknifed, but our resolve is unyielding. Let's stand our ground, mates, and show 'em the might of Eldoria! Korras: If he could have stopped the knives, he would have done so already. The safety protocols work either for all, or for none. And they do not protect the holograms themselves. Wethern: So that means if we take whatever the hell this is out here then it's done for. Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone observed as Corey cautiously advanced, strategically avoiding the swords' line of sight. Lemoncable, on the other hand, cast a glance at the dragon and the vines. Both appeared to be experiencing glitches, with flames flickering. His reaction was one of nonchalance, rolling his eyes at the seemingly erratic display of magic. Lemoncable: Fine. You win this round, Starfleet. But I’ll be back when you least expect it. Fizzlewick: ::Chuckles nervously:: Well, that sorcerer fella may be bowing out for now, but I can't help but wonder if he's got a trick or two up his holographic sleeve. What do you reckon, Twigglenook? Twigglenook: ::Rubbing his chin:: Indeed, Fizzlewick. There's an air of mischief in his parting words. Perhaps there's more to this sorcerer's tale than meets the enchanted eye. Gravestone, your thoughts? Gravestone: ::Squinting:: Can't trust a sorcerer's words as far as you can throw an enchanted boulder. But mark my words, we best stay vigilant. A hologram with a vendetta ain't something to be taken lightly. Korras: What are you? And what are you doing in this holodeck? Lemoncable: Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know? Fizzlewick, Twigglenook, and Gravestone witnessed as the sorcerer vanished in a puff of smoke. Corey, responding to this magical disappearance, sheathed his sword. A slight glitch ensued, followed by the reappearance of the holodeck arch. Wethern: I'm not sure what any of that just was however we need to get out of here and speak to engineering. Fizzlewick: ::Wide-eyed:: Well, that was a whirlwind of enchanted madness! Any idea what just transpired, mates? Twigglenook: ::Pondering:: Eldoria's mystic dance has taken an unexpected turn. I'm as puzzled as a pixie in a labyrinth. Wethern mentioned heading to engineering. Thoughts? Gravestone: ::Frowning:: Don't like mysteries much, especially when they mess with our enchanted realm. What's the plan, then? Off to seek counsel from the wizards of machinery? Fizzlewick: ::Nodding:: Aye, let's unravel this tapestry of confusion. May Eldoria guide our way through these peculiar twists and turns. They move purposefully towards the exit of the cave. A rock song started to play at the end of this magical story... ((OOC based on Queen's Ogre Battle)) (Verse 1) In the realm of Eldoria, where magic meets the light, A battle raged with fury, a clash in the mystical night. Lemoncable's holograms, dancing in the air, Red Dragon and gargoyles, a chaotic affair. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Verse 2) The sorcerer vanished, a puff of mystic smoke, Corey sheathed his sword, and the holograms broke. A glitch in the matrix, a momentary pause, In the holodeck's arch, the resolution draws. (Pre-Chorus) But heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Bridge) Guitars wail like the dragons roar, In the realm of Eldoria, forevermore. Through holographic storms and glitches in the night, Korras and Wethern, they'll stand and fight. (Guitar Solo) (Verse 3) Now the battle's over, the heroes prevail, In Eldoria's tale, they set the sail. The echoes of their victory in the enchanted air, A rock anthem for heroes, a triumphant flare. (Pre-Chorus) Oh, heroes emerged from history's page, Korras and Wethern, strong and brave. In the heart of the battle, they stood tall, Fighting for Eldoria, they answered the call. (Chorus) Oh, the heroes of history, with swords in hand, Defenders of Eldoria, against the sorcerer's command. Through the glitches and flames, they never fall, Korras and Wethern, the saviors of all. (Outro) In the rock anthem of Eldoria's lore, Korras and Wethern, forevermore. A tale of magic, battles, and might, In the realm of heroes, where legends ignite. --- End of the story for Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock --- Gravestone, Fizzlewick and Twigglenock The Eldoria three companions. Played by ‐-- Liutenant JG Karen Trisha Stendhal Counselor Starbase 118 Ops

((Another depthful bit of great storytelling from Mr. @Zenno!)) ((A Maze of Twisty Little All-Alike Passages, Underground on Emisa III)) Senna and Sullustis had rallied the people and got everyone to move. It was no small feat. Some of those caves had been lived in for many hundreds of revolutions. But Senna had claimed the mantle of Clan Leader and there were none who were willing to challenge her for it. The worst had come when they were fitting the children for knives. All of them had been taught how to run their tails across the sensitive bits of an opponent with a wooden training spar while grappling. But this was the first time they had to don all the real kit with the knowledge that the Rodonthi Zealots or Arosathi Isolationists could be around every corner. If attacked, they would be shown no mercy, down to the last of them. And they would offer none in return. Such was life. A small group of the elders had not prepared themselves and were quite agitated when seeing the young fitted out for combat, only holding 12 or 15 revolutions each. Senna would have none of it. This was the end of their Clan and likely this world. Who could be spared at such a time? While the Rodonthi were always roaming and bred aggression into each new convert or natural-born youth, the Arosathi were even worse. They guarded their territory with a vicious fervor. They did not venture beyond their borders, but they would never denote where those borders were, leaving it as deadly guessing game. Sullustis had done his best and arrayed the Clan in a mobile caravan with warriors spaced at appropriate points. Everything was cleared from their homes, including the old radio set. They were making good time. But only Senna and Sullustis were able to judge that, since only they knew the destination. Each curve in the tunnel, each new cave brought uncertainty. They were far beyond their local maps now. One of the girls, a golden-sheen to her skin, was walking by Senna as they trudged up an incline. The little one didn’t speak and Senna’s tail coiled about the girl’s shoulder, a sign of affection. Senna: What’s your name, little one? Sahnda: Sahnda. She didn’t even look up or smile and it made a pit in Senna’s second stomach. Senna: Who looks after you, Sahnda of the Kurmishoi? Senna knew better than to ask where her parents were. So many had died or been taken. But there were always Clan members who would take in the orphans. But this little one had her tail down and to the left and she showed no interest in talking. Sahnda: No one. She was matter of fact, as if discussing the weather. No sadness, no longing… and the weight of all of it sat on Senna’s shoulders. Senna: Then you may walk by me, Sahnda. Sahnda: ::Still looking ahead, trudging along:: Yes, Clan Leader. Senna managed what smile she could and they continued on their way into the unknown, together. NT/TBC MSNPC Senna Kor Clan Leader of the Kurmishoi As simmed by LT Zenno Acting Security Chief USS Arrow A240006Z13

there is so MUCH drama and so MUCH going on in this scene and still @Quentin Beck makes me enjoy every line of his silly self ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) For a second, Quentin thought maybe the Vulcan couldn't see him, despite the fact they were nose to nose. The readings on his tricorder were going wild - elevated heartbeat, elevated blood pressure, and elevated brain activity that suggested he was actively hallucinating. Frankly, if he hadn't been Vulcan, he would either have been tearing the room to shreds or deep in the thralls of a severe seizure. Emzai: Kipal… Whatever chaotic images he'd been seeing must have snapped into place when he'd heard Emzai say his name because his head snapped to look at her, rather than Quentin. That… didn't make him feel any better, between the readings on the tricorder and the tension in Kipal's shoulders. While Kipal's attention was drawn away, the Doctor dropped his hand towards the pocket holding the hypospray. It would take a helluva sedative to knock the crazed Vulcan out, probably applied a few different times even, but it was better than nothing. He probably would have managed it, too, if Kipal hadn't seemed to make a decision in that moment and grab his shoulders. Quentin tensed, his eyes growing wide as the Vulcan pushed him back towards the wall. He'd almost lost his grip on the tricorder but somehow managed to sustain it, continuing to draw in more and more data regarding his current state, which would only prove useful if he didn't put Quentin through the wall as he seemed to intend. He let out a grunt as his shoulders collided with it, then a soft gasp when he felt pressure against his chest as Kipal pressed a shoulder against it. Beck: ::grunting out under his breath:: I've heard of peer pressure, but this is ridiculous… He was starting to think he should have paid a little more attention in close-quarters combat training back at the Academy, but he'd always struggled with fights that weren't choreographed. He wasn't much of a dancer, either - most of the time he lacked the rhythm many people held naturally. Assuming his heart wasn't pierced by his ribs snapping under Kipal's assault, maybe he'd plan on learning to samba. Kipal: :: struggling :: Emzai … your mind … anger … it's … I had no … I can't She stepped towards him and lay her hand on his side. It didn't seem to do much to quell his anger, though the pressure on his chest released by a fraction. Enough for him to breathe. Emzai: They are going to find out what you've done. What you've been hiding here. What's underneath this city. :: to Beck :: I won't die here or be taken into custody or hunted by the federation. I won't allow that. I won't allow you to ruin his reputation. Kipal: My work … Beck: ::gritting his teeth:: Lady, I couldn't give two farts about what you two have been doing here - that's not my job. All I want to do is help you guys survive. Is that too much to ask? Help me help you, help me help you, help me help– That's what he would have said, anyway, if Kipal hadn't suddenly pulled his shoulders from the wall and lifted him bodily before throwing him higher than he'd been before. He got as far as 'Lady-' before being swept off his feet, and the rest of his train of thought was lost in a wooph once his back hit the wall again and the air was knocked from his lungs. The tricorder hit the floor but remained open and still scanning. He didn't witness the fight, as he was too busy collapsed in a heap on the floor trying to catch his breath. He heard the sound of Kipal and Emzai struggling, heard Drisila's footfalls as she moved to pull Kipal off Emzai. Quentin looked up just in time to see them wrestle to the opposite wall and cheered her on while she took a swing at the Vulcan. Reaching into his pocket to retrieve the hypospray, he leaned his other arm against the wall so he could stand only to have the (thankfully smaller and weaker) Administrator come at him like a bat out of hell and give him a full-on slap across the face. Quentin's jaw tightened and he raised a hand to snag her wrist before she could slap him again. He'd hoped to have time to load the sedative into the hypo, but her hysterics were proving to be a rather stubborn distraction. Emzai: :: tears of rage :: You couldn't just leave us alone! I could've fixed it! I would have made it better, don't you see! The tension ebbed from her shoulders and she dropped to her knees at his feet. Quentin looked over in time to watch Drisila slump to the floor in a similar manner, though with her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Kipal slowly crept away from the Klingon corpse and towards the door before bursting through it and out of view. Emzai: :: panicked tears :: Kipal … don't leave me! Don't leave me alone! Not again, I can't bear it! Emzai followed the Vulcan. As worried as he was about Carpenter and Kos and what Kipal might do to them, his training kicked in immediately. He palmed the hypospray and darted towards Drisila's body, snatching up the tricorder and saving everything from his scans before clearing the cache. He was not at all surprised to find it was too late. If they'd been on the Ronin and in Sickbay, maybe he could have done something for her, but… Beck: ::sighing:: Sorry about the resting lIch-face thing. He suddenly felt very stupid when it came to the death rituals of other cultures. He knew there was supposed to be some kind of special ritual for Klingons, but he had no idea how to perform it. He studied her open eyes intently, which looked… shocked, if accepting. Then he closed them and muttered something under his breath about her having gone with honor. Unsure what to do next, Quentin glanced at the open door to the room when he heard his name, then back at the chair and torn bindings on the floor. There were green stains on the rope, on the floor, on the bedding - Vulcan blood, from the looks of it. Loading up the scans he'd been taking of Kipal, he adjusted a few settings and scanned the different marks. There were varying levels of maleconite poisoning, from what he could see, and that kind of build-up in his blood meant Kipal had been hallucinating for… who the hell knew how long? Shaking his head, he closed the tricorder and tucked it back into his pocket before moving to the side of the bed. Now that there was a little more light, he could see a container of some kind stashed underneath the bedframe. Dropping down to one knee, he pulled it out and fiddled with the lock for a moment before smashing the end of the hypo against it to snap it open. Inside were half a dozen full vials of what looked like refined maleconite and another half dozen that were empty. Scowling, he looked up at the door with annoyance before closing the box and tucking it under his arm. There was more going on here than he could have ever imagined. He'd just started for the door again when he heard a sudden crash of glass shattering. Sighing, he loaded up the strongest sedative he could manage with the hypo and darted forward to the door, spotting Carpenter off to one side with… a Romulan holding a sword at her back? What the…? Emzai: :: insane :: Let us go to Kipal's lab. Emzai was halfway between him and Kipal, who was again halfway between him and the XO, who had suddenly arrived out of nowhere looking like something out of a Rambo movie. The Vulcan darted forward to attack Raga with a speed that startled Quentin even now. He grimaced. Raga: By the Branch! What's wrong with him? Beck: He's got maleconite poisoning, for one thing! And he packs a mean punch! Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response The Vulcan pressed forward again as Raga tried to lock hands with him, a contest of strength and will that Quentin could never have accomplished himself. He shook his head and grimaced again. Raga: We…don’t have time for this! You need..to evacuate! Beck: Sir, I don't mean to undermine you, but I do think we need to see Kipal's lab if that's where he was headed. I think it'll give us the answers Miss Mary Quite Contrary here isn't willing to discuss. I'd say just let him go and I can follow if you guys want to evacuate these idiots. Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response Beck: ::shrugging off his coat and wrapping up the PADD, tricorder, and box of refined maleconite:: Take this - it's got everything I could find on maleconite, how it's used, and all of the scans I could get of Kirsty and our Vulcan friend. And don't argue with me on this one, sir, we're gonna need a medical officer down here to make sense of any of this crap. ::nodding at Kirsty:: I'd take her with me, though. And a fresh tricorder. Tucker/Dekas/Carpenter/Emzai/Kipal: Response Ensign Quentin Beck Medical Officer USS Ronin NCC-34523 A238810SA0

Zenno is known for his world creation, but he exceled himself again with this introduction of a new MSNPC. It has been a joy to read, thanks, @Zenno ((Dome Selegrathe, on the surface of Emisa III)) Senna Kor’s tail curled tightly, as it did whenever she was deep in thought. She leaned over the rickety table, studying the maps of the underground tunnels, where most of the clan lived. Since the collapse of the fourth wing, mostly everyone had moved into the second, but space was tight and rations, even tighter. The drip-drip of the contaminated rain water from this morning, seeping in through the cracks in the joints of the dome kept time for her as the minutes passed. She wished she had convinced more of the clan to move into the domes, but the old superstitions were hard to break. Nevertheless, they had to risk, as Rodonthi Crusader Patrols were getting bolder, pushing her people further back, and the Moon People, well, the Moon People continued to do as they have always done. She looked at the old radio, still powered by a barely working generator. When the generator quit, they had no parts to fix it. Another piece of the old world, gone forever. The broadcast loop had continued now for eight revolutions. Would the ninth be different? She didn’t think it would, but the people had hopes. And she was a dealer in hope. It was all they had, living in the ruins of what was. But her contemplations were interrupted by War Captain Sullustis. He strode into the dome, his nose already crinkling with the musty and damp odors that assaulted him. Like all his people, he was lean and wiry. But unlike Senna’s coppery skin, he was silvery and the sunlight, fractured as it was by the cracks both old and new in the dome made quite the rainbow effect on his arms as he strode towards her. Sullustis: Senna, the Rondonthi zealots attacked the Cave of Whispering. Three of ours were taken, likely converted or put to death. But we drove them back, killing five. Should we pursue and take revenge? His tail, lithe and supple, hung low, indicating his anger. Senna’s tail draped around her shoulder, with the end to her right, indicating a gracious welcome. She turned from the unbalanced table which shifted as soon as she took her hands off it. Senna: War Captain. No, we don’t have time. I think the Death Towers have destabilized everything below the third level. ::beat:: Get the people ready to move. I want every Warrior ready to fight, and that includes able boys and girls who can hold a knife. We leave tomorrow. ::turns back towards the map:: Sullustis had not expected this response at all. His tail wrapped around his left arm. He had to secure it otherwise it would have indicated his extreme displeasure at this turn of events. Sullustis: But Senna, where are we going, if not to pursue? Senna: Here. ::points at the map:: The War Captain looked and his eyes grew big and his tail fell off his arm and went straight back in surprise. Sullustis: That.. that… ::restarts:: Is that wise? What is the plan? Senna:: The plan, my dear friend, is that we must risk. We must move everyone and leave nothing here for our enemies. And we will administer violence to any who offer to oppose us. Sullustis: And then? Her tail coiled and tensed. Senna: My friend, we are going to send a message to the Moon People that they cannot ignore as they have done for countless revolutions past. They are going to have to come down here. We will put their tails to the test. ::pauses, looks at the map:: And if the result is what we suspect, we will kill every last one of them and rejoice in it.

@Sal Taybrim knows how to write a villain. 😈 ((Hall of the Not-Forgotten, Chief’s Chambers – Secured Location on Byzatium)) He always walked through the hall of the Not-Forgotten before heading into the stars and going to war. Here were collected the relics of the honored dead, those who had lost their lives in the never-ending war. And that is what life was for him. War. Never-ending war. It was what he was born into and it was what he would leave this sentient existence desperately clinging onto. There was no other choice – he could not comprehend a different way of life. This was life. Is life. And someday he hoped he would not be forgotten. Rugen picked up a green woven sash, worn by his beautiful Imelnia into battle. They had fought side by side. She had born his three children. She had collapsed in the most beautiful pool of blood that Byzatium had ever seen. Her belly split open by a charged plasma sword, blood running from her like hot red rivers. Dorfmen did not mourn. They did not grieve. It was unthinkable. So he celebrated her death with a ten day drunk. He kept a lock of her hair tied to his belt with a tiny red silk ribbon, one of the few luxuries he had given her. And now she was not-forgotten. He would carry her with him into battle in the stars. The same with his best friend Korth who’s throat was slit by Omunics, his young son Ruton who was reduced to atoms in an explosion and his father Ruseth who was cut down by a thousand blades while leading a charge against Bardeez. None of them would be forgotten. Tokens of them rested in this hall, some still stained with spilled blood, others slowly decaying. But not forgotten until they crumbled away into dust and new generations placed new tokens here. Rugen was determined to lead his people forward. To conquer, to fight. It was all he knew, and he prided himself on his culture. He carried his people forward in the way it always was, the way it always had been, the way it always would be. There were others talking about change. A fundamental change of the way of life. As if that was possible, hah! No, Rugen felt they were – at best – dangerous fools playing with the fate of the universe. And at worst they were manipulative predators trying to pacify and fatten up the Byzatium population for takeover and rule by Bardeez and the horrible empires that existed beyond. He would much rather fight an endless war than die as a slave. No one in the hall of the Not-Forgotten would have ever wanted to see anyone in the tribe bow to outsiders. He would do it for them. For the memory of what was and the continuations of what is. War was an inevitable reality of his existence and he would continue on its path until he, too collapsed in a honorable pile of blood. Slowly he set the tokens down and strode out of the hall of the Not-Forgotten, emboldened to do what he had to do next. War. It would be done. ~*~ ~tbc~ ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Byzatium Tribal Leader "Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must" ~Julian Beck E239010ST0

This sim is SUCH a rollercoaster!!! Awesome @LuxaLorana ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) Emzai escorted the doctor to the small room adjacent to her office. She opened the door and stepped inside and beckoned the doctor in. The doctor hesitated a moment, and glanced back. He stepped in. Beck: …hello? Kipal? Emzai had known loss in her life. Horrific, destructive loss that most would never be able to sustain. She had witness her children become monsters; who they were had been dissected and pulled apart in front of her very eyes. She has endured, and she had fought to survive and escape the Borg. She sustained herself on the pain, and the fear. It kept her alive. It became an ally, something primal that she could tap into. Eventually she has honed it into a weapon. Cruel, brutal and without mercy she had been forced to use it. Time and again. She could have told them everything when they had come. Except she held on to what was hers. Power, and Kipal's deceit. She wanted to protect him. It was her duty. If only she had more time, she might've been able to hide it all. Those fires had burned more than land, they'd burned a legacy. The truth of a great scientist. Kipal coughed, he hasn't really appeared to notice them at all. Emzai looked to the doctor, her head lowered. She wondered if he'd actually be able to help. She almost reached out to him. Let it all go, released herself from it all. Then what? Kipal would be arrested for his crimes, as would she. Starfleet had determined her guilt almost from the first moment she met Captain Niac and the others. Their suspicions were written all over their arrogant condescension as soon as they had arrived. Emzai stepped closer to Kipal, followed by the doctor. Drisila then slammed the door shut behind them, and the room was plunged into darkness. Emzai listened, she could hear the soft and quick footfalls of the Vulcan she had spent centuries beside. When the doctor turned to look at the tricorder and what was in front of him again, the wild eyes of an aging Vulcan male stared him down almost nose to nose. A moment was all Quentin had to register the bed and chair behind Kipal, the bindings Emzai had used torn to shreds on the floor. He made a fearful and pathetic noise. Emzai felt a sense of pity for the man. He just happened to get in the way. She took no pleasure in this one. Emzai: Kipal… Emzai reached out to the Vulcan. Her hand was shaking. Even Drisila had taken a step back. Kipal's head twisted towards his wife. She could see the recognition in his eyes. He then grabbed Beck and pushed him against the wall. Beck: Response Kipal: :: struggling :: Emzai … your mind … anger … it's … I had no … I can't She stepped towards him and lay her hand on his side. Emzai: They are going to find out what you've done. What you've been hiding here. What's underneath this city. :: to Beck :: I won't die here or be taken into custody or hunted by the federation. I won't allow that. I won't allow you to ruin his reputation. Kipal: My work … Beck: Response Kipal thrust Beck forward and threw him against the wall and turned on his wife then. Emzai tried to fight against him, his strength was too much. Kipal grabbed her throat and pushed her onto the bed. He choked so hard she thought her neck might break. Then he was pulled backwards, it was Drisila. Ever loyal. The Vulcan grabbed at the Klingon, he once called his child, and wrestled against her. He pushed her against the wall, she swung at him and missed. It was futile, Kipal was enraged with a thousand years of repressed anger. Beck: Responses The doctor was trying to get back to his feet. Emzai lunged towards him, and slapped him. Emzai: :: tears of rage :: You couldn't just leave us alone! I could've fixed it! I would have made it better, don't you see! Emzai fell to her knees then as the struggle behind them went quiet. All that was left was Kipal's heavy breaths. Drisila slumped to the floor, lifeless. Beck: Response Kipal slowly, like an animal moved towards the door. Then abruptly he burst through the door into the office and she heard him hit the forcefield that Drisila had been ordered to activate. Emzai: :: panicked tears :: Kipal … don't leave me! Don't leave me alone! Not again, I can't bear it! Something inside had snapped in her. Like a taut rope that had finally given way and the load now tumbled down, and shattered what was left of her in that moment. The doctor made his way to Drisial as Emzai rushed after Kipal. Beck: Response Emzai was stunned to see that the twins has been successful. Kipal leered at them all like a wild animal. Carpenter: What did you do with Beck? And how much is it going to make me want to hurt you? Emzai ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to smooth it down. Regain her composure. She felt it all around her. Coming apart. She let the rage she felt inside begin to fill her heart. No more would she allow them to take what was hers. The Borg. The pirates. The Federation. Starfleet. She'd rather burn in the flames than allow them to take what she had built. Carpenter: I'm done with that. I was done with that even before your goons. Was this all about "healing" your husband? Why even allow us on the planet if you were just going to stonewall us?! Emzai: :: maniacal laugh :: You don't see what's going on do you? You're just a stupid girl from some backwater, reclusive Earthling village. I bet you still hear your mother in your head. Speaking the truth to you. You don't matter. Not here, not anywhere. Kipal: My work … :: breathes in madness :: The Romulan twin, Perin, that held Carpenter shoved his sword against her back. Perin: :: to Emzai :: What now? Emzai let the forcefield fall. Kipal burst forward. At first, he seemed aimless as he collected himself and then he moved with purpose. Decades of habit took over. Emzai indicated to the Romulans to follow him. Emzai: :: insane :: Let us go to Kipal's lab. Carpenter/Kos/Beck: RESPONSE Tags/TBC Administrator Emzai Landing City Grus Beta Three A240004LL2 -- Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2

((8 Forward, USS Octavia E. Butler, Time: Just before departure from Deep Space 9)) Aine had a plan. A plan to teach Nilsen a lesson. And teach him she would. She was going to prove why you don’t mess with a Senior Officer. Now that the crew was moved over to the OEB, she’d spent some of her first hours aboard not settling into her quarters like most others were doing. Instead she immediately went to work, testing out the new computer system that was augmented with Borg technology. And what she’d found was impressive, it was just a matter of putting it to use now. She’d easily located Nilsen in the lounge via the computer. When she walked in she kept the PADD behind her, both hands cupping it, as she approached his table. She ignored the other Junior Officer seated with him, some Engineer. As she stood close to the table she looked down at him with a stern look. Sherlock: Mister Nilsen, come with me. Nilsen: Aye sir, where we going? Sherlock: Where? I’m taking you to Engineering so I can hit you in the head with a hyperspanner. She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to realize she was joking...again. But it didn’t seem to land this time. She swung the PADD out from behind her, giving him a “light tap” across the back of the head. Sherlock: I need a pilot. So, come on, let’s go. Nilsen: :holding back of head: Ow! Why didn’t you say? Aine quietly began walking away with Nilsen in tow, leading them to the nearest turbolift. She was sure he had questions, but he’d have to wait for the answer to some of them. Nilsen: So what you need a pilot for? Sherlock: I don’t actually need a pilot. But you know how when you check out a shuttle and the Petty Officer brings up your record for a quick peak? Nilsen: Yeah? He said in a questioning manner, not having experienced that before. Sherlock: Well, I hate the look I get followed by the inevitable ::in a mocking tone:: “bring it back in one piece.” Aine was well aware of Nilsen’s record, and well aware that he wasn’t aware of hers. But, like she felt of her own, the past was the past and one can always move forward. Nilsen: And you need me to…Sherlock, you embarrassed? He said smiling, did he just find a thing? He let out a little laugh, the kind of laugh a big kid who hasn’t quite grown up might, not one of malice, but more teasing. Sherlock: I’m qualified to pilot ships up to one million tons. But, one of my instructors at the Academy wrote me up as reckless. Nilsen: Well the instructors there are idiots. Every one of them have never left Sol. Aine scoffed, she completely agreed with him. It was their job to teach Cadets the basics. The problem was that just to get into Starfleet you had to be exceptional, in some ways, to begin with. The average personality of officers was definitely Type-A. Sherlock: It’s not my fault he puked and then passed out. He said turn hard and didn’t state a G-limit. Lhandon had smirk about him at that line. Nilsen: If they don’t want ya to go over a G-limit they gotta say. They entered the turbo lift. Sherlock: Exactly, it’s his own fault. ((Shuttlebay, Deck 9, USS Octavia E. Butler)) The process for Nilsen to take out a shuttle was easy, so easy, he didn’t even need to speak to anyone. This process, at least for him and his qualifications and job roll was pretty much fully automated, he was given a selection which was pretty much all the shuttles except for the captains yacht, and even then, he’d be able to fly it if ordered. Nilsen: So over one mil? Something nice and chonky maybe? It took all of Lhandon’s will power to not end that sentence by saying “your mum” Sherlock: Excuse me? Oh, ship tonnage. No, just a Type 14 is fine. We’re not going far. Nilsen: Like where we going though? This just a simple A to B? Or you got somethin’ else in mind? As the pair approached the nearest available shuttle, Aine began tapping away on her PADD. She brought a display of a report she’d been working on and held it out for Nilsen to see. Sherlock: This morning, I decided to test out the speed of the computer. And randomly, I had this idea. Turns out it actually led to something. I ran a tactical simulation, well, had the computer run it. Nilsen: And what did it show? Sherlock: Well, it ran it twenty-five hundred times. ::beat:: In five minutes. Nilsen: How many? Sherlock: I was impressed. This new system is revolutionary. But, anyways, as you see here, this point on the hull is the least likely spot to ever be hit in battle. She pointed to a point on the image of the ship on her PADD on the Engineering hull, just port of the lower superstructure. Nilsen: Why that point? It’s near enough to engineering that it looks like it could get hit if enemies were targeting there. Sherlock: It factored in all kinds of things. Even the percentage of right handed CO’s who are likely to turn to port. ::shrugging:: Anyways, I’d like to inspect it for my report. Make sure that if any enemies are running similar simulations, they’re not going to find a way to exploit this. As they continued discussing, or rather Sherlock briefed and Nilsen listened. The process behind prepping and getting a shuttle ready to launch was automatic and for Nilsen, with his role, much smoother and without questions. Like a vending machine, the Type 14 was slid out of its rack and loaded onto a platform where it was placed very close to the two officers in gold. Clearance was mostly automatic save for the verbal confirmation Flight Control: =/\= Shuttle 14-022, confirm flight plan.=/\= Nilsen: Close to home flying is the order of the day. Hull inspection and showing off is the order of the day. Flight Control: Of course, you’re showing off, who is it this time, that engineer you like. ::laughs:: Shuttle 14-022 you are cleared for launch. Nilsen: Confirm go. And Jake, I hate you. Aine’s head tilted and a very contorted and questioning look etched onto her face. She wondered if the man in flight control was referring to that Engineer Nilsen was with earlier when she’d found him. He looked over at Sherlock, perhaps a little whiter than he’d like and said Nilsen: No, Sherlock, just no. Sherlock: ::snapping back to form and shaking her head:: I didn’t say anything. The shuttle was raised up as the bay doors above them opened up and the bright light from this star started to wrap its way through the opening. Lhandon fired up the engines and lifted off but not before he said Nilsen: Scenic route? ((Shuttle, Flying outside the OEB)) As Aine took her seat, she grinned and thrust her chin towards the forward viewports. Sherlock: At your leisure, Lieutenant. Lhandon smiled, he had been wanting an excuse to do this. The last time he had flown this close to the hull, it was in the moment of "oh my god, it's going to blow" on the Oumuamua when the mission pod unexpectedly exploded. Lhandon flew forward and over the bridge of the OEB which was just in front of the launch pad. He then sped up the shuttle, a view of the name etched into the hull and its registry. The lights on the saucer section had flashed by. He sped forward a little more and the ship was out of view. Then after a few moments, he had turned the shuttle around in a wide curve and Sherlock and Nilsen had gotten a view of the Octavia, her four nacelles and the saucer blade. Nilsen: She’s a beaut. Sherlock: She really is something else. Lhandon hadn't been told he couldn't do this, so he had flown under the hull, past the deflector dish, and over Lower engineering super structure, just between the two struts of the lower nacelles before shooting out past the quad nacelles and turning around once more. He had a smirk on his face. Nilsen: We should add that to bingo. Aine had let him fly where he wanted and how he wanted. Openly being so reckless with information like Ship’s Bingo, that was almost unforgivable. But she’d let it fly…for now. Sherlock: Excuse me? Nilsen: Oh erm…nothing. Watching the Junior Officer have his fun from the right seat, Aine just let it happen. Sure there were regulations about flying close to ships, but rules can be bent if there’s no real harm. Nonetheless, they’d have to get back to work…or at least what she had Nilsen thinking was work. Sherlock: Alright, Lieutenant. That’s enough for now. Bring us into that spot on the hull I showed you. Nilsen: Aye aye captain. He said with a bit of cheekiness. He didn't realise at that point that Sherlock was up to something, this was a fun little trip out. Lhando’s a happy boy…for now. As the shuttle floated just a few meters from the hull, Aine could plainly see the spot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary and she tapped in a few notes on her PADD. Nilsen: Why we out here again? Sherlock: After the simulations, I ran structural and metallurgical analysis. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But seeing things up close, developing context for yourself, it’s important. That way, if anything does go wrong, you can eliminate most possibilities right away. She looked at him, wondering if he was understanding this little lesson, one she hadn’t really planned on. Sherlock: Roll us over and set us down on the hull. Nilsen: On the hull? Sherlock: You heard me. Put the spot a couple meters aft of the shuttle too. Nilsen: No flyby? You doing a trick on me? Lhandon was starting to…doubt is the wrong word but he was starting to wonder what Sherlock was up too. Sherlock: Not a trick. Those are my orders, so you’re in the clear. Nilsen: Alright, I guess. Aine waited patiently as the shuttle rolled over and gently set down on the hull with a dull metallic thud. Nilsen: We're down. ::tapping on the console:: maglocks connected, this shuttle ain't going anywhere. Once it was settled, she stood up and leaned over the console tapping in a few commands. She looked over at Nilsen and grinned then tapped in one last one and the rear hatch to the shuttle suddenly opened, extending into what looked like the vacuum of space but was contained by a forcefield. She pulled a laser scalpel out of her pocket and held it up in front of the Lieutenant. No suit was needed. Sherlock: Shall we? A number of expletives went through Nilsen's mind, some beginning with the letter S, some with the letter F and some with the letter E. Nilsen: Shall we??? I can wait here, keep the engine warm. I'm not…I'm not an EVA person you know. Sherlock: Well, this ship is new. So there is no scorch. But this is the most likely part to become one in the future. And someone has to sign it. And then it dawned on him Nilsen: Oh? We're… Once the Lieutenant had taken the scalpel, she led them out onto the hull of the ship. She took a moment and looked around, taking in the sight, before stepping over the panel soon to be vandalized. Nilsen: …why you? This…you aren’t…I mean we ain't meant to do this. Sherlock: I wasn’t an Ensign for very long. I really didn’t have time to do all the fun stuff you guys do. And I wasn’t a JG long either. And ::beat:: I’m allowed to have fun. Aine stood and watched Nilsen burn his name into the hull of the shiny new Sagan Class ship. When he was finished and handed her the scalpel, she knelt down next to him. Nilsen: So you wanna do all the stuff us junior officers do…we ain’t gonna get caught. Sherlock: Hell no we won’t get caught. ::holding out her PADD:: You see, I did those simulations, I wrote this report, I logged the excursion. I’m hiding in plain sight. Last time, you tried way too hard to hide. And that made it obvious. Aine reached down towards the smooth hull plating and pressed the button on the side of the scalpel and etched her full name, Aine Olive Sherlock, into the ship. Sherlock: Do you get what I’m trying to say here? Nilsen: I think I do, cover our backs right? Sherlock: The game works both ways. And if you want to win, you’re going to have to step it up. She gave him a wink and stood. Sherlock: Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s get back inside. End Lieutenant JG Lhandon Joseph Nilsen HCO USS Octavia E Butler O240007LN1 And LCDR Aine Sherlock Chief of Security U.S.S. Octavia E. Butler R239712AS0

Quips, quotes, advice, it all goes here! What's happening on the Oumuamua? And should we be afraid?

@Bryce Tagren-Quinn is back with some evocative descriptions and some lovely El-Aurian perspective.

@Jo Marshall's lovesick Kero Rix is a delight to read, but more importantly, I have a new life goal of being arrested on Betazed now.

I love the worldbuilding @Vylaa has been doing during shore leave on Andoria, and with Vylaa and her family. This series gave some particular insight into Andorian culture, and Vylaa's feelings about it. Part 1: Public Display of Affection Part 2: Cotton Candy Galaxy Part 3: It Ain't Easy Being Blue

My level of love for the deep this character has, increase with every sim. I love Emzai and how she is the main character of her own story (( OOC - This is a long one, but I wanted to include the flashback scene)) ((Outside the Administration Center, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) Emzai walked towards the Administration Centre and a sense of trepidation fell over her with every step she took. The dust hung in the air, and ash fell on them like snowdrops. She looked to the window of her office and the much smaller one beside it, the room within was where Kipal lay; bound. ((Flashback Scene - Several Months Before, Emzai and Kipal Home, Mountain District, Grus Beta Three)) The house was large and spacious, decorated tastefully with antiques and artefacts from across the galaxy. They had been carefully chosen by Emzai, and placed so that each item caught the eye no matter where you would be located in the house. Maximum enjoyment and commitment to beauty. Of course the house itself was no exception. It occupied a vista in the mountain, with uninterrupted views of Landing City below, each window offered a vestige of wondrous beauty. Emzai stood at one of the windows, as she often liked to do, to watch the sunset over the city. Tonight her thoughts were plagued with a growing concern about Kipal. He had become withdrawn from her, and she found herself wondering about the blackouts she had been experiencing. Kipal would tell her it was due to stress, the Sheliak had placed a significant amount of pressure on them to mine for Maleconite. Kipal: Adun’a* are you well? His voice denied any emotion, as was the way of a Vulcan, although she knew him well enough to hear the subtle inflection of concern in the way in which he spoke. Emzai: I can't remember … Emzai turned to her husband and he moved to stand close to her. She moved towards him and rested her hands on his chest. It was a simple act, something she had done many times before. Kipal: Perhaps you should retire to your chamber early this evening? Emzai: I'm not tired, Kipal :: looks him dead in the eye :: I think you're lying to me. Kipal: :: eyebrow raise :: As you are aware Vulcans cannot lie. Emzai: :: lifts her head to him :: That's a lie. Kipal frowned at that. Emzai: You choose not to, it's a principle, yet you are capable of lying. Vulcans lie just like anyone else. Kipal: What is the meaning of this conversation, Emzai? Emzai: I want to meld with you. Kipal took a step back and surveyed his wife carefully before he nodded. She placed her hands on the sides of his head, and he did the same. Kipal: My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts. Our minds are merging, our minds are becoming one. Emzai inhaled a breath as she felt his thoughts crash into her own. It felt like she was plunged into a deep ocean. There was a flood of memories, dreams, words and thoughts. She felt for him amongst it, and he was there. His arms outstretched. She could feel the pull of his katra, it threatened to dominate her and take over. This time she wouldn't allow it. His mind was powerful and if she wasn't El-Aurian she'd have never been able to resist him. Yet she did. She needed to know. There was a dark cloud that enveloped around them and she could see Kipal call out to her, except no sound came from his mouth. She walked into the cloud and emerged into a memory … It was a discussion between them both. The day she signed the agreement with the Sheliak for the Maleconite contract. Emzai: I'll never sign that agreement, Kipal. You can find another way to continue your experiment. I'm sure there is - Kipal: There is no other way. You are being illogical. You are allowing emotion - Emzai: Emotion! I don't think you understand what you ask? This agreement will give them unfettered access to the mines and … this order … it's too large. We'd be putting every single person on this planet in danger. Maleconite it was only intended to power the cities and the towns, not for this … Kipal: We came to this world for a reason. It was a logical choice. This is the natural evolution of that choice. My work is the most important work in the galaxy and in order for me to continue I need the compound that the Sheliak can provide. It is not logical to turn back. Emzai: We didn't come here to use these people like specimens in a lab. I didn't come here for that. I came here to make a home for us, and the children. After the blight you promised that was the end of it. Kipal pulled her towards him and grabbed her violently into a meld. She watched herself, in the memory, struggle against him. It lasted for seconds. Then. Kipal: Are you feeling better? Emzai: :: confused :: I … yes. My head … What was I saying? Kipal: You were telling me that the agreement with the Sheliak is approved. Emzai: … I was? :: sure :: Yes, I was. It's important. More memories came through, each time that he'd performed this function. How he changed her. Violated her, time and again. With each memory, a fury rose in her and the memories intersected with her own. Screams in green lit chambers of horror. A breath on her neck. Blood on her hands. Snippets of a lifetime of terror. Things she'd needed to do to survive. She screamed, her thoughts became claws that struck out and tore at Kipal. She felt his mind contort, he tried to resist the anger that she pushed into him. It was too powerful and he was consumed in rage. She felt it rush back towards her and she pulled herself away, breaking the meld. Emzai stumbled backwards, she had returned to her home. Kipal lay on the floor, he turned to her and she could see the violence in his eyes. ((End flashback)) Beck: ♫ Do mi sol do do sol mi do! Every truly cultured music stu, dent, knows ♫ Beep beep Beep beep Beep. Went Beck's tricorder. Beck: ♫ You must learn your scales and your arpe, ggi, os ♫ Carpenter: Why that song? Because you're a laaaaady, that's why? Emzai: :: looks to the building:: We're almost there. Perhaps we should behave in an adult-like fashion. Kos: RESPONSE Beck: Everyone's a critic. C'est la vie. ::switching back to active scanning:: Do the tunnels run underneath the entire city? And is there maleconite stored everywhere down there? I'm having some trouble getting clear scans. Carpenter: Same here. It's like we can tell it's hollow, but nothin' else further. Emzai: That's hardly surprising given the situation. Kos: RESPONSE The good doctor, true to his nature decided to interfere some more. Beck: Kos. ::sidling up next to him:: I know you don't have a lot of reason to trust me, but would you allow me to scan you? You said you worked in the mines before, I'd like to check something out… Kos: RESPONSE Emzai crossed her arms in frustration. Emzai: Can't we do this inside? Kos is perfectly healthy. My husband on the other hand … Carpenter: Now, hang on there, Doc Beck might be onto something. Prolonged exposure is no joke… Emzai had just about had it with this human woman. She shot a look to Drisila who stepped inches closer to her. Once they were inside, she would split them up. They'd be able to deal with that way. Beck: RESPONSE Emzai: I'm going inside, how Starfleet gets anything done is beyond me. Emzai walked at a brisk pace into the building. Carpenter: Still right behind ya. Beck/Kos: RESPONSE ((Administrators Office, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) They all gathered in her office again. Where she had initially met them. Perhaps this is where it would end. For all of them. She felt a pang of sympathy for the young officers. Her own children, those she gave birth to, were much older than these and she felt the loss of them so keenly, even now all these hundreds of years later. oO will they have mother's that would mourn them? Oo Emzai: Doctor I'd appreciate it if you come alone to tend to Kipal? :: to Kos :: If you don't mind, I'll call for you once the doctor has finished. Beck/Kos/Carpenter: Response Emzai: Very well :: to Carpenter :: Help yourself to a beverage. Emzai escorted the doctor to the small room adjacent to her office. She opened the door and stepped inside and beckoned the doctor in. Tags/TBC Administrator Emzai Grus Beta Three A240004LL2 -- Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2

Just love this sim from @Evan Ross. Something so realistic and relatable about it. (( Starbase 118 - The Dungeon - Mundok's Bar )) It was great to hear that Russell's family was doing well. Ross didn't find it easy to imagine his stoic Captain in retirement - but Cross would probably find a way to keep busy. Ross wouldn't mind to switch places actually - he adored how driven Russell was in approaching his career, but there was a reason he had never gotten higher than First Officer in one or two shipments. Also there was no family awaiting his pension - he was still on his own. Cross: Nothing wrong with that. You will figure it out in time right? Time is still very much on your side. Ross: ::chuckling:: You tell me. Everybody seemed to talk about his love life today - the topic had come up with Rustyy just an hour ago. Did he radiate acute loneliness or something? Ross took a sip from his ale, but Cross had no intention of changing the subject. Cross: What about Commander McLaren? Is she single? She seems right up your reality with the Intel prowess. Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two. That made him choke on his drink. For a moment Ross simply stared at Russell in disbelief - Ross: She's my boss, pal. Not to mention that he was still deadly afraid of her, and definitely not playing in her league. It took him another second to realise that Russell was only messing with him. When he heard him chuckle, Ross rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair. Cross: You do you my man. I’m just saying, there are plenty of options out there for you buddy. Ross: You had me there for a second. ::lightly punching Russell's shoulder:: Should have told me back in the day you see no problem in dating a superior. I would have taken you out for a drink earlier. Now it was him who was joking - and something in their banter felt so painfully familiar that Ross actually started missing their shared adventures for a moment. Most of their trips had been uneventful deliveries, a lot of waiting and checking boxes - but in between those routines, they had shared a sense of companionship which had left a hole somewhere deep inside him ever since he had left the Centurion behind. There had been a common ground. A sense of belonging. Us against the world, come fleet come engine failure. Cross: ? Ross: I just want you to know - serving under your command, it meant a lot to me. All this, it's... ::hesitating, gesturing vaguely:: It's still strange to me. Doesn't sit quite right. It felt like a dream sometimes - a little too shiny to actually believe it. His smile faded. Cross: ? Ross: I know, I know. It's what I wanted. And it's great. But if you ever get bored with retirement... ::he winked:: Give me a call, promise? Cross: ? They clinked glasses on that. Ross smiled and took a deep breath - the Centurion's arrival had put a lot of things into question this morning and he still wasn't sure if he had answers for them. If anything, Russell's call from the past had reminded him where he was from. A world much less shiny, grim for many parts - a world in which he had envied shiny Starfleet Utopia and despised it at the same time. He still had to find his path through this gleaming new reality - and he still had to figure out how to stop feeling like a stain. But those were problems for another day. When he ordered another drink for them, he knew Cross would erase any doubts for the next few hours. Tomorrow was a new day - and their friendship stood renewed another time. End of Scene for Ross Ensign Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2

Love the introspective narrative in this sim from @Drex0379. ((Hospital Deck 120, Lightside Station)) Thanks to the intervention of the Talarian doctor, the unexpected detention of the three Starfleet officers lasted only a few minutes. A few minutes enough to make it clear, at least to Drex, that the station's crew must not have thought very highly of the Federation or Starfleet, or at least that they were doing fine on their own and did not welcome their visits. As their guide led the way to a more private office, Drex decided to let the lieutenants do the talking. And he was glad when the conversation shifted from himself to the hospital's capabilities and the teams working there. Samar: We’ve got just enough to cover the needs of the station’s usual population, although the hospital staff are often short-handed during busier times. You know how it is. Raimor: I’m sure that it takes a lot of work to get that many scientists pulling in the same direction. Drex followed the three doctors keeping in the rear, a couple of steps behind them. He focused on the Talarian woman, wondering, in curiosity, how she managed to become the Chief Geneticist on the Spike. Was something she fought for herself or was her father who moved away from the tradition giving the daughter the opportunity to improve her condition and success? Either case, Drex was sure she would not be able to return to her homeworld and adapt back to the limitations her culture imposed on females. Vahin: Please lead the way. I must say, your facilities here are quite impressive. Samar simply shrugged and continued to lead the group down the corridors. Raimor: Hopefully, we will have everything that we need. Lost in his thoughts about Talarians, Drex was putting little attention to the talking, but he gazed at Raimor a little bit in confusion. Were they going to use the station facilities to work on the anti-toxin? They moved through the administration wing. There were a lot of staff about as usual, but they all seemed far to busy with their own concerns to pay them any attention. Vahin: I wasn’t expecting to find a geneticist here. I assumed this was just a hospital for treating the station’s population. Is a lot of research carried out on Lightside Station? Samar: You’d be surprised. Raimor: What are you working on right now, if you don’t mind me asking? It looks like your staff is quite busy at the moment. The unusual reaction to our arrival causes me to wonder… Drex slowed his pace and took a look at the medical staff. The place was not so different from any other hospital he had visited. Not that he had visited many, fortunately, just a couple back at home when he was a little bit older than a kid, and the one at the Academy, when Dag’Har ended up in the ER with a broken arm after one of his dummy bets. The Talarian doctor sighed and came to a stop. To Drex, she sounded quite unpleasant when she talked. Samar: I’m sorry, but that’s not something you need to know. This is an independent station, and my clients value their privacy. I’m sure you understand. Raimor: Of course. I don’t mean any offense, Doctor, just wanted to know if there is anything that could interfere with our work. Vahin: Response Clients. She did not say patients. Client was a strange word to indicate someone who needs medical attention. Clients sound more of someone paying for specific research. And she was a geneticist. Drex looked around, half hoping to spot something that would indicate the type of research and experiments were taking place. But there were no guinea pigs or screens with visible data to allow him any guesses. The station and the Talarians were not aligned with the Federation, the rules and ethics of the Federation did not apply here, and Drex could not exclude that the toxin that had arrived on Denali, and which they now feared would affect the Spike, had not actually been created here. Samar: I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. Samar stepped through the cleansing field that guarded the threshold to the Chief Medical Officers private laboratory, before pausing to make sure all the officers had followed her. Samar: This is the Chief Medical Officers private lab. ::pointing at a large partitioned off area:: His office is just over there. Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I hope the Chief Medical Officer is waiting for us :: A slightly smile bond his lips :: oO I would like to avoid ending up in a cage again Oo Samar made a beeline for the office door. Samar: No. I’m afraid he passed away recently. Vahin/ Raimor: Response From the tone she used, it seemed to Drex that the CMO’s death was a sudden and unexpected event. Drex: Sorry to hear about it :: he murmured :: Arriving at the officer door she paused and bent down slightly to swipe her pass on the access panel. After a moment the door unlocked with a barely audible click before sliding open. Samar: ::stepping inside the office:: Food poisoning. He had an allergic reaction to something he purchased at the underground market. Drex: Forgive my curiosity, but what race was the doctor? Vahin/ Raimor: Response Samar lowered herself into the CMO’s chair and gestured that the Starfleet officers were also welcome to sit. Samar: You’d need to speak to station security about that, but I'd recommend you only eat things that have come from a replicator. Now, what is it you want to discuss? Drex waited for the others to sit before getting a chair for himself. He was there to listen and give advice if required. As far as he could see, the hospital was state of the art, but it hadn't been the cure for a man's allergy. And the staff did not want to talk about that. Drex: Maybe we should alert the Commodore about the dangers of the market, what do you think? :: He asked to both the medical officers :: Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I’ll send a message. The Denobulan officer picked up his PADD and typed a short message about the food and the replicator. He sent it to Commander DeVeau, as she was his immediate superior officer. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex recalled the notes on his PADD. He knew them by heart, but the way the doctors presented the facts to Samar gave him a new perspective, and Samar's answers also gave him something new to think about. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex: It's not something to underestimate. We have no certainties, but the most probable hypothesis is that the next attempt is here. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response TAG/TBC ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14

Loving @Araxxu Vahin’s portrayal of Tridiatt Ken (A.K.A. Mr. Fox.) ((Interrogation Room, Federation Penal Ship Hobart)) For a moment Tridiatt Ken was lost in the past. He saw ships bursting in the skies above Caradassia. He saw the bolts from his phase-disrupter killing his enemies. He saw those he loved die beside him. Ton: Of course, we all served. I did what I had to. Fox: I remember those days well. Nothing could stand in our way. We almost had you. ::he sighs:: And then we lost it all. Ton: Lost is probably the key word there. Times change, and you can remain lost in the past - or help yourself. Fox: ::he looks down:: Perhaps I’m getting too old for this. ::he looks up and into Ton’s eyes:: From one old solider to another. Sweeten the deal, and perhaps I can help you out. Ton: Are you aware that some of the cells on this ship have windows? He sat up straighter as Ton spoke and realised he had let himself drift too far into the past. That damn Trill was right. Those days were over and mattered little to the issue at hand. For good or bad he was Mr. Fox now and he needed to ignore the past and make the present better. Fox: A view would be nice. What size are they? Ton: Approximately 50 centimeters by 50 centimeters. He looked down at the offered PADD and took in the schematics. It was always good to have a better idea of what the cage you lived in was like. He tried his best to memorize the schematics in the short time he was able to look at them. One never knew when that kind of information would come in handy. Fox: That is quite an upgrade…for a cage. And how does one go about getting a nicer cage? Ton: I convince the Warden you are not a threat to the order of his ship. Fox: And I suppose I prove this by giving you names? Ton: Response He shook his head and laughed. Mr Fox: Well it is not the first time I was a traitor. Though turning against the Dominion did have a certain chivalry that this act lacks. Yet, I’m sure my new associates would turn against me if they were in my place. oO Which they’re not, because they weren’t foolish enough to get captured.Oo And to be honest he cared very little about those he had hired to smuggle the toxin off of Denali. Dangling them in front of the Federation in order to improve his own situation didn’t bother him much. What did bother him was the target it might paint on his back if his associates knew it was him who had betrayed them. Mr Fox: ::sigh:: What do you need from me? Ton: Response Mr Fox: ::chuckles:: Is that all? You don’t want my first born as well? Ton: Response TAG, TBC <><><><><><><><><><><> Mr Fox as simmed by Lt Jg Araxxu Vahin Medical Denali Station D240006AV3

A true joy is giving out MSNPC assignments with very little in the way of detail and then watching what talented writers decide to go and do with them. @LuxaLorana has been delighting the Ronin with her completely innocent/deeply suspicious colonial administrator for weeks now - we're lucky to have her. Although we may have to shoot this woman at some point. ((Aerodrome, Temporary Medical Outpost, Landing City, Grus Beta Three.)) Emzai resisted a smile as the doctor and the nurse blundered about, she barely acknowledged them. Healers, especially the Starfleet variety, did not pose a threat to her. They'd perform the roles she'd mapped out on her head. She realised that they mistrusted her and that it wouldn't be long before they worked out what had been going on here. And her apparent involvement, and Kipal had ensured that she was involved, at least on paper. The tall human woman, she was one that required consideration. As well as the Andorian, Kos, a constant annoyance. Hardly a threat though. Either of them. Carpenter: Administrator… Carpenter: Finally comin' to render that "full support" you promised us? Emzai: :: indicates the crowd and then the enforcers :: I suggest you unhand our people :: to the crowd :: Starfleet have come here, under the guise of peace. Desperate, on our knees, and they came like they did before, and they brought with them phasers and a battleship. They can't heal our world, or our people. Instead they fire weapons from the skies, they destroyed several of our homes! They brought the fire so they could reclaim our world in their war! They done it before :: to a man:: Jesa, they left your planet to the Cardassians and then to the Dominion. What became of it? Grandstanding always made her feel tacky. It was the lowest form of baiting. It was further evidence that she had now resorted to tactics that were beneath her. It was necessary for her to have an audience for this next part. The results were almost immediate. She observed the ebb of the crowd swell, the rustle of anger spread like a virus. Jesa: Starfleet … they have an outpost there … Emzai: They turned his home to the enemy and then into an outpost for themselves. Emzai ensured that her voice cracked slightly, a display of emotion that she knew would illicit a reaction, as rare as it was for her to appear weak. She needed them to see her falter. They needed weakness from her now, and she'd give them that. She'd become the tireless leader, the woman under pressure. Out of her depth. Emotional. Clairis stepped forward and spat at them. Emzai was impressed by the sheer force of it, and raised a hand as if she meant to stop her. The good doctor took it on the face, without flinching. Emzai made a display of crying out in shock and pulled Clairis back. A show for the crowd and for the officers. Kos: That's enough Emzai you ridiculous klahz**. ::surveying the crowd:: Every one of you knows Emzai would sell you out for a song. Emzai raised a hand to her mouth, and looked to the crowd. She allowed a faux tear to fall. Their resolve faltered, the situation wasn't as solid as she'd anticipated and now a little fear crept into her own demeanour. Emzai: :: pathetic faux whine :: That's not true! :: turns to face the crowd :: I've always been here have I not? :: looks to Clairis :: Didn't I baptise your child in the springs? :: allows her voice to croak :: I danced with you all at the harvest festival not a season ago! Carpenter: T-thank you, sir. And despite our...disagreement earlier. I've played straight with you. ::she shouts toward Crowd:: Toward everyone! ::she whirls on Emzai and her party:: Can your Administrator say the same? The Andorian snorted deeply. Emzai felt Clairis hand on her shoulder, it appeared to be turning around again in her favour. Starfleet's obstinate declarations only turned them in her favour, although she knew that she needed the tide to remain balance. She needed their help. Kos: ::batting his eyes at Carpenter:: Don't flatter yourself darlin'. You're a tall drink of water, but I don't like Starfleet any better than saggy butt here ::pause:: In this case I'll take the devil with the better assets. She heard the crowd mutter. Annoyed with Kos as much as she was. Beck: Not to belabor the point, guys, but uh… we're rapidly running out of time to help treat any of you, let alone evacuate you so you don't… y'know… die in the fire. I don't know what's going on between you all, but personally I think we could all stand to put our differences aside at least long enough to stay alive. Good. The Doctor had his uses. She moved towards him and grabbed his arms, her eyes pierced into his own. Her true nature hidden by the guise of a desperate woman. Emzai: :: panicked :: Why would you fire on us?! What have we done to you? :: desperate :: We just wanted you to help us?! Carpenter: Then WHY are you making this harder?! Showing up to a TRIAGE CENTER with drawn weapons?! Setting containers of unstable and psychoactive ore around CIVILIANS?! Just what's your game, lady?! Emzai wanted to smile, the chief was moving into the exact position she wanted her in. Instead she cowered, and raised a frightened arm.. Drisila stepped forward as if to care for her. The crowd tensed, their was jibes and insults thrown. The Andorian had one other comment himself. Kos: ::Narrowing his eyes:: Keep this in mind Drisila. You can't wake the bear and not expect to tango. Drisila shot him a look. Emzai squeezed her arm to keep her focused on the task at hand. He seemed to narrow his eyes in confusion. But he left the comment as it laid. Emzai: :: looks to Beck :: Please, don't hurt us anymore. Then she allowed herself to cry, she gave them the performance the crowd needed. A woman broken. Defeated. She fell to her knees. Something she never thought she'd do. Their was gasps behind her. Carpenter: It's not just here. It's inside the planet itself. But then again, you probably knew that already, didn't you? Emzai shook her head violently, her hair fell from its perfectly styled chignon and tumbled around her shoulders. The more belligerent the Chief was the more the crowd sympathised with Emzai. She seemed at the Chiefs feet. Beck indicated toward the blown out tunnel in the Aerodrome alcove. Beck: That there is the danger right now - that maleconite you've all been mining, it's not just a mineral. It's reactive, it's dangerous, and it's poisonous. I don't know how long you've been mining it, but I would stake my life and my commission that it's been having some long-term effects on… all of you. Perfect. The crowd cried out. This was their life, the Maleconite had given them freedom and prosperity. They all had their hand in it. Emzai had believed it was a blessing, a rarity that they were able to refine it and it granted them freedom. Freedom from the Federation, and the rest. Except when it became a trap. A trap that none of them knew they were in. Laid out perfectly by Kipal, Droz and the Lattice Alliance. She suspected many others. Emzai had tried to stop them, she truly had. Yet, it was too late. The damage had been done. Starfleet would be next, and Emzai just needed to get as far away from it all as possible. One of those Starfleet runabouts would do the trick. Emzai: :: sobs :: Save us Doctor, please. Kos: Response Carpenter: Oh, for-...Nurse Rox, please recruit some of my people and start setting up air scrubbers throughout the parameter. If we can't clean the air out there, let's at least try and clean some up in here. Rox: RESPONSE Kirsty clomped back toward the alcove, drawing once more her tricorder and shooting a quieting finger (but not the one she REALLY wanted) toward the sputtering Emzai. She took some cursory scans of the inside of the blown out entryway. Higher ambient temperature for sure. Direction was right too. The tunnel wound away toward the range of Kite Springs. Emzai: :: stifling tears :: That's the storage, for the ore. There's an emergency release, it would nullify the Maleconite by burying it under the Earth. I can take you and show you how? Emzai had no intention of going into those tunnels. Truth was she'd never set foot in one of them. Dirty, dark and miserable places. Carpenter: Here's what's REALLY going to happen. Nurse Rox and her medics are going to continue to help those that need it here, with or without your help. Meanwhile, me and Beck are gonna go help the rest of our crew save your frakkin' planet an' people from the FIRE currently eating through it from the inside out. Perfect. The woman turned forward slightly, squaring up her shoulders (fully aware and hopeful in Crowd's rapt silence). Carpenter: Are you goin' to stop us? Emzai: :: to the crowd:: Do as she says. We have no choice. They've made that clear. :: cries :: I just hope it's not too late. The crowd rumbled at this, there were cries of protest from those that held a deeper mistrust of Starfleet. No doubt visions of uniformed officers forcibly removing them from the DMZ. To them it must seem it's all happening again. Kos/Beck/RoxCarpenter: RESPONSE Emzai: :: to a random child :: Go on little one. We must leave, Starfleet demands it of us :: to Carpenter :: I must retrieve Kipal. Kos/Beck/Rox/Carpenter: RESPONSE Emzai: What? For a split second the facade dropped, the steel returned to her eyes. Kos/Beck/Rox/Carpenter: RESPONSE Emzai: Uhm sure I can show you … of course. -- Lt JG Luxa Lorana Science Officer USS Ronin A240004LL2

@VLen Kel knocked it out of the park with all of this

The way @Kali Nicholotti weaves together our current mission briefing and the Adyr symbiont's past life is masterful, and a joy to read. I'm on the edge of my seat in anticipation of the next installment!

So many great shore leave scenes happening on Ops at the moment, but as a fan of the Film Noir genre, this one between @Evan Ross and @Corey Wethern has especially got me hooked! ((Holosuite - Flamingo Club)) Thick, heavy drops of water dripping from every roof and canopy - the weather was incredibly atmospheric. Perfectly fitting for a noir crime story. But the thing with rain was also this: it crept under your collar and made you shiver, no matter if holo or real. Ross shrugged and buried his chin deeply into his collar while listening to Corey's plan. Maybe it wasn't too bad after all to live on a station with artificial weather. He regretted not taking a hat. Wethern: Hmm maybe I can cause a distraction let you do a little bit of digging with the high class clientele. Ross: Remember tonight's the night. All the big names from town are in for the annual Poker. If her husband is really such a gambler, he wouldn't miss this for sure. Wethern: You think he has just skipped the broad to win his hand at cards? Ross: All I'm saying is - if he doesn't show, something's wrong. But maybe his wife's just overly worried and we'll meet him at the big table. Wethern: I don't know, she seemed pretty sure. Anyway slick lets go inside, this rain is making me more slippery than a Ferengi. Ross chuckled and shook his head at that remark - and then decided to stay in character. Ross: You're speaking in riddles, my friend. Corey approached the door as the bouncer nodded obviously recognising Ross. Bouncer: You here to lose more money Ross? Ross: ::grimacing:: You bet. I see you more than my wife these days. The bouncer laughed and Corey slipped some cash in his pocket as he dutifully opened the red velvet rope. The Down Under Club greeted them with the usual smokey air - the sombre voice from the lonely singer lulled them into a perfume fuelled trance and Ross immediately took a deep breath as if he was about to drown. Wethern: ::to a waitress:: Scotch neat please, and make it a double. ::Turning back to Ross:: What now slick? We are in your world. Ross: ::gazing through the room:: You should keep your head down. Once they take you for a cop they will think you're patrolling or something. Maybe stay at the bar, keep an eye on the ladies. He winked, but was only half-joking - at the other side of the counter, two younger women were sitting and sticking their heads together. No matter how bored they looked - he was sure they knew exactly what was going on in the room. Wethern: ? Ross: Please try to stay low, pal. Wethern: ? Ross tipped his head, straightened his wet hair and turned towards one of the smaller Poker tables, by now buzzing with excitement. ((Short Timeskip)) A little while later he was deep into a round of Poker, his hand not looking particularly good - but he wasn't here for the game anyways, or at least he tried to tell himself that. Next to him sat a sturdy man with a moustache that didn't seem much happier. Ross: No luck? Grisham: Eh. Bleeding. Bet those cards are rigged anyways. Ross: You think so? Grisham: Club isn't the same anymore. Can't trust these crooks nowadays. Ross sank back into his chair, waving lightly in order to call the bet. He was almost out of his self-set limits. Always the same. Ross: A lot of trouble lately, I hear. Haven't seen Horace in a while. Grisham: Ha! ::chuffing:: Horace, you say? Ross: Heard anything? Grisham: You haven't? Big trouble. With them guys from the backdoors. Wait - ::narrowing his eyes:: You're not with the cops, are ya, son? Ross: Come on. He chuckled, but it was time to end this conversation. He was on thin ice already - and his chips were nearly gone. The ante was way too high - in various ways. He slid a few chips over the table towards his new friend, pocketing what was left, and turned to return to Corey at the bar. Ross: So? What do you make of this? Wethern: ? Ensign Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2

((The Starboard Bow, Deck 6, USS Arrow)) Lieutenant Hobart let go of Lieutenant Ohnari's hand and gestured towards the window of the Starboard Bow, sloping up and out along the Arrow’s belly. Without any significant atmosphere between their eyes and the stars, there was no twinkle. They simply burned mercilessly bright pinholes of light, steady and unyielding, through a pitch black canvas. Hobart: There’s a war coming. Could be here any day. We’re not on the frontline, we are the frontline. The Sheliak are coming with their new friends, and they view us all as vermin. You’re our Chief Medical Officer—"Acting" or otherwise—and you’re about to be elbow-deep in blood. ::beat:: You’re going to need to remember those puppies on that beach, but for me that doesn’t work. You didn’t offend me. ::placing both hands on her shoulders:: I’m working on a project with Connor, and whether it ever actually helps win the war or not, it helps me. That’s why I left the holodeck. I was getting ready. ::beat:: For what's coming. So... I'm sorry for makin' you worry. When he finished speaking, Nolen sensed the bouquet of emotions competing for the spotlight in Ohnari's mind. He couldn't be sure which of them won out, but an instant later she had wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. He felt, through the shoulder of his dress uniform, the gentle tug of air pulled past his neck as she inhaled, and the warm gust as her lungs let go again. He couldn't imagine what it looked like to the rest of the Starboard Bow, but, then again, he didn't care to try. Whether it be relief that she was wrong about him, or anticipatory grief for the days, weeks, months, or even years to come, Talia needed the hug, and as much a trickster as he could be, Hobart couldn't deny it to her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and the other up across her shoulders, his fingers weaving between her raven locks, his palm cradling the back of her head. Ohnari: ::muffled:: I think we're both a little weird sometimes... Hobart: ::chuckling:: We're weird a lot of the time… ::sigh:: but only weirdos join Starfleet. He'd said it before. In a post-scarcity society, where you could do and be anything you want and never have to worry about the necessities of life, it took a special kind of misfit to volunteer for service in Starfleet. Even on a barren backwater like Relva VIII, Nolen could have gone anywhere else. But he'd never have fit in anywhere else. At least here, they were all not fitting in together. Ohnari: ::turning her face so she wasn't muffled:: And whatever is coming… ::unconsciously squeezing tighter for a moment:: We'll face it. Hobart: ::softly, looking around at the celebration:: Call me the fly in the ointment, I guess. Didn't mean to ruin your big night. Ohnari: No… it makes sense. In a twisted, "Of course this is happening" sort of way. ::taking a deep breath:: Sickbay will be ready. And if you and Connor have anything to do with it, the Arrow will be running like she's brand new. Without realizing it, they'd started rocking. If they were clever, they could probably play it off as dancing. Of course, given the set list for the night, they'd have to each pretend to be rhythm-impaired. And if Nolen wasn't transferred, that would be a charade they'd have to carry on for a conceivably long time. But apparently neither one of them was feeling especially clever, because rather than lean into it, they simultaneously froze, in realization. The comforting hug had started to transform into something different and regardless of whether they were prepared to acknowledge it to themselves and each other, they were certainly unprepared to acknowledge it to the crowded room they edged. Hobart: Uh… Wubber? Ohnari: ::smallishly:: We're still hugging, aren't we? Hobart: Technically. Ohnari: It's getting weird, isn't it? He twisted his head to the side in consideration. "Weird" was a relative thing, and given that it was the two of them tangled in each other's arms… Hobart: In fairness, it started weird. Ohnari: Count of three, we break and never speak of it again. Before he could get in another quip, she pushed off him, winding up nearly a pandemic’s spacing apart. He instinctively straightened out his white jacket as he watched her fall away. Ohnari: ::stern parting nod:: Lieutenant Hobart. And with that, she turned and headed straight for the bar. Heaven help anyone in her way, thought the Betazoid hybrid. He watched her go, hips swaying beneath her dark gown, delicate chains across her back still twinkling. Hobart: ::slow nod, softly to self:: Talia. “Never speak of it again.” Yeah, that was probably for the best. NT/End for Hobart ——— Lieutenant Nolen Hobart Engineering Officer USS Arrow (NCC-69829) A240001NH3

Illogical Space Girlfriend Alert! Fun, short JP with @Zenno, @Talia Ohnari, and a cameo by @Kali Nicholotti:

There are too many reason for this to be appreciated. From @Addison MacKenzie description, to @Gila Sadar reaction it really is a great reading. But honestly it is the opportunity to tease @Gila Sadar who secretly aspired to be in the Harry Kim Club (or Ensigns Forever Group) and again tell you: Hit the Sickbay Doc You ain't an Ensign no more, no more, no more

Meant to post this a few days ago. Another brilliant shore leave scene between @Vitor S. Silveira and @Sal Taybrim. ((StarBase 118, Promenade, Donut Worry )) Tito had ended up in, of all places, in a donut shop. To his surprise, considering how early in the early morning it was, Sal joined him. Tito told him about his recent visit to Sil and how it was affecting him. Tito leaned back. He tipped his head, as he avoided Sal's eyes. Besides the guilt and the fear, now he was also ashamed. Tito: I feel… Guilty. I mean, my life isn't perfect but… Even if we are a quadrant apart my relationship with Taisa is strong. I miss Arys, and Egil, but I am getting along much better with others… ::he smirked looking back at Sal:: At least that's what it feels like. I am on a department a little clear from the action and the field I always loved since I was a kid… He paused, opening his arms, shrugging. Tito: My life got back on track. Why did Sil's have to take that down turn? I couldn't… I didn't even tell him about Taisa. It felt wrong after what he's been through. Sal leaned forward. Taybrim: Your good fortune doesn’t mean Sil’s ill fortune. There is enough good fortune in the universe for everyone, especially the both of you. And I would emphasize that you are part of Sil’s good fortune, despite his bad times. You were there for him and came through for him. As for why? I ask that of the universe myself. And I don’t have an answer on why the universe is cruel. Only that it’s not your fault. Or my fault. Or Sil’s fault. It just exists and we have to endure it. Tito nodded. Sal proved himself again. Not only was he a caring friend and CO, he was also wise and pondered. He smiled, leaning forward, taking his half eaten donut in his fingers. Tito: However, in all this I came to realise something. I have a very scientific approach to donuts now. Taybrim: Oh? Do tell. Tito: Donuts are simple. Just cake around a hole. Sal smiled. Taybrim: I think that’s a philosophical approach rather than a scientific one. Tito frowned even if he was still smiling. Tito: Really? In Human Classical culture Philosophy was considered the Science of Sciences. But do you think my observation can be extrapolated in such a matter? Taybrim: The philosophy of donuts? Hm. I suppose we could find some truth in that. Tito: That is one of the goals of philosophy, but go on. Sal raised his doughnut, as if he was observing it. Tito was curious to see what would be his reply. He took a bit from his own donut as he listened to Sal. Taybrim: Alright, here’s mine. I think the smooth frosted donuts are fine, but the imperfect ones, the rough ones are all the more delicious for their texture. Tito finished chewing and nodded. Tito: Now that to me is a scientific observation. Although, like my observation, it can have a deeper meaning. Taybrim: Aright, what’s yours? Tito raised an eyebrow and tipped his head. Tito: Mine? I don’t think I can make a correct dissertation. Sal leaned forward with a soft smile. Taybrim: I don’t think there’s any right or wrong answers in philosophy. Just an attempt to reach some sort of realization that helps you move forward with your day. Tito: I might have to make a revelation first. Taybrim: Response Tito leaned back, making himself more comfortable. Curiously speaking with Sal was making him move forward from his early feelings. Nothing like metaphorically picking donuts, in the earliest hours of the day, with the Sun barely on the horizon, to smooth the emotions that troubled him. Tito: I don’t even like donuts. But to give it a try, I think the most important part of the donut is the most overlooked. Taybrim: Response Tito pointed to Sal’s donut, since his was almost all gone. Tito: The hole. There resides the key to the true nature. Because if it isn’t there the donut is just another pastry. It’s what gives its identity and what gives it… Lets say, meaning. Taybrim: Response Tito opened his arms. This wasn’t certainly his field, nor a theme he ever particularly wondered about. But Sal was easy to talk to, and as they kept on the conversation became more interesting. Tito: I hope you don’t think it's an ambiguous answer, but to me that hole means nothing. ::Tito smiled as he took a longer pause before finishing.:: And everything. It permits us to think, and consider, over what is and is not. In a practical, scientific observation, it’s like matter and antimatter. Taybrim: Response TAG/TBC Lt. Vitor R.S.Tito Science Officer Starbase 118 O238907VS0

Great JP from Lieutenant Vanlith and Ensign Moore to help end our Malon toxic freighter mission... along with the toxic waste, is there also love in the air?

((Holosuite 1, Deck 5, Holosuite 1) Josh wasn’t exactly sure that this was the best use of his time; this had been his first break in several days of double trying to hobble the Oumuamua back into serviceable shape after the encounter with Alpha Brenkelvi II’s moon. Now that they were docked at DS9, and supplemental engineers from Starfleet were coming on board, he had a sliver of time to himself. And he’d spent the last 10 hours in the Holosuite, getting it ready. JOPA had already turned over quite a number of members since he’d joined, and he didn’t want to be the second person in history to have not pulled a prank before getting ‘kicked out’. But there wasn’t really a guideline around limits, probably just common sense, Josh thought to himself. But then again, common sense wasn’t so common. He placed the finishing touches and informed the computer to save the program. When it activated, which would be on Commander Etan’s off day, with no one around him, he would be transported here to Holosuite 1 and it would start. The engineer had banked up quite a bit of holotime so that he could book the full day. You couldn’t really expect others to align to a desired schedule they didn’t know about. --- (( USS ‘Oumuamua )) Etan Iljor did not take ‘days off’. As the Executive Officer of a state-of-the-art Luna-class Long Range Explorer, there was an endless stream of paperwork and minutiae that occupied his time, even on those days when he vowed to do nothing but relax… not that he made such plans. No, he was something humans often referred to as a ‘workaholic’ and that suited him down to the ground. He loved his work, he loved his ship and he loved the crew under his command (although he was still decidedly cool on Lhandon Nilsen). But after four sixteen-hour duty shifts supervising Deep Space 9’s repair technicians were completing their assignments to his standards (much to the chagrin of the station’s Chief Operations Officer), even the Bajoran had to admit he needed some R&R. That meant he needed to get off the ‘Oumumua and off Deep Space 9. There was little left for him on Bajor now that his parents were in a penal colony on Prophet’s Landing, so he had decided to take a day trip to Sefalla Prime to see the famed Crystal Waterfalls of Chonakra Wept. A twenty-six-hour round trip aboard a Kressari Liner with a complimentary buffet, guided tour of the falls- including an hour in a seventeen-storey gift shop!- and a performance by a Lady Shadonna tribute drag act. He would probably skip the concert since Lady Shadonna was not really to his taste, but Iljor could not deny that he was excited by the prospect of seeing one of the Bajor Sector’s most beautiful sights. He had packed a bag with the usual essentials and had double (and triple) checked that his vaccinations were up to date since the Kressari were unusually stringent about that particular demand. When he was content that he had everything he needed, he made a beeline for the docking port that would take him to DS9’s Promenade. He was less than twenty metres from the Cardassian-design gateway when the world around him suddenly began to shimmer with blue and white energy. With a sigh, he realised the moment right before he dematerialised that he was never going to get a chance to see the Crystal Waterfalls. He sighed inwardly. --- ((Deck 4, Holosuite 1) Josh had taken a higher vantage point at the top of the barn. He thought about leaving it on autopilot, but he was unsure exactly how the Commander would react and wanted to be able to step in if needed. As the commander shimmered in, he was placed directly in the centre of the farm field. Circling him were 20 cows, grazing casually around him, seemingly unbothered by his appearance. As the commander looked around, a slightly modified Terran song blared out over the intercom. Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there Here a moo, there an moo, everywhere a moo-moo Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O Standing in the middle of a large field, Iljor squinted as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright sunlight. filled with confusion and mounting irritation, he listened to the strange, twangy tune. He looked around through half-opened eyes and tried to figure out what was going on. He recognised the bovine creatures as cows, Earth creatures that had been brought to Bajor in the wake of the Occupation’s end. Pa and Ma had never had them on their homestead, but he knew enough to know their manure was a potent fertiliser. He looked down instinctively and hoped that he was not standing in some. It was clear, the first officer was bewildered. Josh smirked; that was the reaction he was going for. Something so bizarre you weren’t even sure you were awake. Etan: What the- :: he pinched the bridge of his ridged nose. :: Computer, arch! As he called for the exit, large mooing erupted from the bovines and they shook their head. Instead, a stand appeared in front of him, with a microphone, and a copy of the rhyme. Iljor pursed his lips, realising what he needed to do. He was also beginning to realise that this entire situation was likely the work of junior officers. This had JOPA written all over it. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. Etan: Somebody is getting a court marshal for this. :: he muttered, before huffing out a sigh.:: Iljor picked up the card and stumped to the microphone. Determined to get this over and done with, he quickly and without any intonation read aloud the rhyme. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. :: he paused and then spoke again. :: Are we done? It was clear to Josh that the Commander was less than amused at the prank — Josh didn’t really have enough exposure in this area to know if that was an issue, or if it was a typical reaction. He was sure T’Larn would be having a field day herself if she was here. Perhaps it was an oversight to not have them here giving the unique look into humour — but he wasn’t sure the Vulcan wouldn’t have reported him. Sure the card was read, line for line, but it was all in the performance. After Etan read out the final line, the computer bleeped at him with a rather unimpressed tone. Computer: Talent score calculated. Result: Needs Improvement. Adding ambiance. The holo emitters overlaid the man’s clothing with a checkered shirt, denim overalls, and cowboy boots. Etan: Oh for Prophets sake!. Computer: Once again, with feeling! Etan: You have got to be kidding me! :: he said under his breath. :: Iljor looked around the simulation again and thought he saw movement atop the large wooden barn at one end of the pasture. He was sure he saw a person there, but given the distance, he could not make out who it was. Etan: Do you want me to sing for my supper? :: he asked, speaking into the microphone. :: Am I supposed to put on a show? The computer bleeped at Etan, indicating that this was indeed what Josh had wanted from him. Etan: Fine. But once I do this, I’m getting out of here. :: he sighed. :: Computer, top hat and tails… and a really jazzy cane. If the junior officer wanted a show, then he would give them a show. The country attire that had appeared just a minute ago was replaced with an elegant suit. Interestingly, the computer had also decided to add a bit of Bajoran flair to each piece of clothing. A ribbon around the base of the ‘top hat chimney’ and the same pattern adorned the lapels Josh wondered if it was a modern take on the classic Terran outfit, or if it was a typical Bajoran outfit. Given this was his second attempt, Josh had programmed the words to appear mid-air and change colour to help the commander keep pace. The LCARS had mentioned this ‘karaoke’ and the earthlings stole the idea. And so Etan Iljor strutted and twirled as though he were performing on the one of the stages of Ashalla’s theatre district. As he threw the cane and twirled it behind his back, he hoped and prayed that there would be no recorded footage uploaded. He didn’t think he could handle the shame. Etan: Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O / And on this farm, he had a cow, E-I-E-I-O / With a moo-moo here and an moo-moo there / Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo / Old Oumuamua had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. It was clear that the commander had decided to put more energy and chutzpah into this round. The cheng was trying to convince himself that the first officer was now enjoying himself, but he could have easily been just trying to escape. Etan finished the round and the computer bleeped cheerfully. Computer: Talent score calculated. Adding ambiance. Etan: Oh no you don’t! :: he snapped, before realising what was happening. :: Wait a minute- The holodeck then populated with 50 farmers and cowboys, rowdily applauding. Computer: Congratulations. You have been awarded ‘Rockstar of the Mississippi'. The imagery in the holodeck faded into the familiar black and yellow lines, with a gold trophy hovering in front of the commander. As the barn dissipated from underneath Josh, he was gently swept into a standing position from by the finely-tuned force fields. Herrick: Commander! ::smirking:: I’ve come to rescue you! Iljor whirled around to see the Chief Engineer smirking at him. His mouth dropped open. Herrick had planned all of this? He didn’t seem the sort. He pursed his lips and favoured the officer with a thoroughly unimpressed stare. Etan: Rescue, my eye! This was your doing, wasn’t it?! :: he jabbed a finger towards the man. :: Josh wasn’t exactly sure how to take the man’s response. Was he angry, was he playing along? He shifted a bit awkwardly and only a single sound escaped his mouth. Herrick: Uh… Iljor folded his arms and decided that retribution would be a matter of when, not if. JOPA had been tolerated for too long in his eyes, and he thought that it was high-time for a crackdown. Etan: Just a thought, Josh… isn’t your performance review coming up in the next couple of weeks? :: he raised an eyebrow in mischief. :: I could think of several… shall we say, cruel and unusual scenarios that could happen before then? Herrick: oO He must be playing along? Oo He wondered what a safe response could be. Herrick: Not from saving the first officer…surely. ::a playful smile turning up in the corner of his mouth:: As Iljor headed for the door, he stopped and turned back to the Chief Engineer. Etan: I’d sleep with one eye open tonight, Lieutenant. :: he said with a chuckle, his mind whirring with plots and schemes. :: And with that, the ship’s executive officer turned about and walked out of the recently revealed arch. Josh pondered the implications of the Bajoran’s words; he was now more worried at the reprisal than he had been of a reprimand. He noticed that the trophy was still spinning mid-air. Herrick: Computer, replicate and transport a 6 foot version of the rockstar trophy and place it in front of the doors of Commander Etan’s quarters. Computer: Requested operation will take 5 minutes to complete, industrial replicator in use. Herrick: Do it. He noticed even his interactions were getting a bit more casual with the Oumuamua; this was becoming his home. --- Commander Etan Iljor Executive Officer USS ‘Oumuamua NCC - 81226 C239203TW0 & Lieutenant JG Josh Herrick Acting Chief Engineer USS ‘Oumuamua O240005JH3