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The Gorkon away teams are currently navigating a secretive station laced with hidden traps here there and everywhere, and in this really fun sim from Vylaa we get to see some of that action in a whole load of cool descriptions and dialogue 👏 Lt Vylaa zh'Tisav: Bada Boom. Big Bada Boom (google.com)

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

@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

Another great sim opening our latest mission. I love the way this sim flows and how it instantly mashes together the often juxtaposed subjects of science and faith. That and we get a stream of thoughts pouring out from Sevo, who wonders during the journey what it must be like from the Prophets point of view, which I thought was a really interesting point to make. Brava! 👏 Lt. Commander Ayiana Sevo - Rite of Passage (google.com)

An amazing sim from our newly minted Lieutenant Commander @Tahna Meru! I love the style, the delivery, the tone. All of it. So well done and a perfect introduction to our new mission. Setting the scene but doing so entirely from the characters perspective. I'm taking notes! ✍️ Lt. Commander Tahna Meru - Fear and Wisdom Are Brothers (google.com)

This is a two-parter sim from our amazing @Tahna Meru! Making the most out of a rare opportunity in which her Bajoran character gets to visit Deep Space Nine, this sim threads together Meru and her mother Yavarel, with beautifully written narration and tension filled dialogue. I know this has been a labour of love for @Tahna Meru, so a huge well done for getting it out and giving us more of Meru! Lt. Tahna Meru - We’ll All Be Here Forever (Part I) (google.com) And part ll Lt. Tahna Meru - We'll All Be Here Forever (Part II) (google.com)

@Doz Finch has a gift for dialogue and is such a fantastic storyteller. I can't wait to read more! Fantastic work! 👏

The tension, the yearning, the stifling of emotions. A brilliant sim from @Bryce Tagren-Quinn in what has been a fascinating story to read during this shore leave. Also kudos to @Tahna Meru too! I'm hanging on by a thread in every sim. 👏 Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn - Of Realities (google.com)

Since we’ve been on shore leave, @Vylaa has graced us with many sims where we get a glimpse of the Andorian life and their extended/complicated family life. Like the three-parter where Vylaa met her partners. This one is just another amazing sim with more of that and the usual humorous tone that Andrew always adds in his sims. ((Vylaa’s Rented House, Lortos City, Bajor)) The big house was quiet for once. Vylaa walked down the staircase and paused at the bottom, thinking. Her mates were out; it was still hours before they had planned to meet at a local lake for a family picnic. Vylaa and her sisters were taking the children early for a fun day. And her children were what had given the zhen pause. If the house was quiet, they must be up to something. She checked the large family room, and the kitchen just beyond. But no, she found no tiny blue people. She even looked inside the lower cabinets in the kitchen, and under the couches. She moved on to the houses small library, where her sisters were engrossed in some of the musty old books that lined the shelves. Sataa: ::Looking up.:: Are you ready to go? zh’Tisav: Yeah… Once I find the children. Where are they? They were down here playing. Thyssa: Oh, uh, they said something about the back garden. zh’Tisav: And you just let them go back there? You were supposed to be watching them. They could be doing anything! Sataa shared an awkward look with Thyssa. Sataa: Well… They kind of…. Snuck off. Vylaa grumbled a few words she wouldn’t want her children to hear as she turned and stormed out the back door. The back garden was, well, impressive, and it offered many hiding places for three small Andorians. The huge walled in space was packed with flora from all over Bajor, to the point where one could argue that they weren’t inside a large bustling city. The foliage of the trees even dampened the sounds from beyond the walls, allowing Vylaa to take a moment to listen, her antennae drifting in gentle arcs searching for the mildest chatter, the quietest giggle to tell her were to look. zh’Tisav: Hmmm… The giggling really wasn’t all that quiet. The trio of siblings had yet to learn how to hide effectively, they were simply terrible at the Terran game hide and seek. She turned her head to the right, the densest side of the garden. zh’Tisav: I hear you… Giggles erupted from a clump of ferns. zh’Tisav: Thought so. She made her way down a pebble-lined path, pretending she was looking for them. She even made a show of peeking behind flowerbeds and shrubs, all the while heading directly to the ferns. The zhen stopped beside the big green clump and looked about the garden one last time, all while the fronds of amazing Bajoran Giggling Fern waved gently in the breeze She reached out and pushed the fronds aside. zh’Tisav: Ah… ha? There, in a small open space between the ferns, were her children. Athyn and Sivaa were sitting opposite each other, their hands and clothes covered with a muddied mixture of fingerpaints. Between them stood their little brother, wearing nothing but about 8 hues of paint and a smile. zh’Tisav: Why did you paint your thi?! Sivaa: Um, amdanalnar? zh’Tisav: Try again. The paint’s supposed to be white. Athyn: ::To Siyaa.:: I told you! zh’Tisav: Again, why? Athyn: Becuse he likes it. zh’Tisav: He’s a toddler, he’d laugh if you rubbed dirt in his face. Don’t! She had seen the glint in her daughters’ eyes as tiny blue hands began edging toward the dirt, so much were they like she and her sisters when they’d been that age. Vylaa groaned with frustration. Any other time, she would not have cared. In fact, she probably would have encouraged it. But now the spanner was firmly lodged in the days plans, and made worse when Thyl ran forward and wrapped his arms firmly around her legs in the biggest hug he could give, leaving a child-sized smear of paint all over her clothes. zh’Tisav: ::sighs:: You knew we were going to the lake… You could have done it there, I would have let you go swimming to clean off! Now you’re trading the time you would have had there for the fun you had here. Thyl needs a bath, and all of us need clean clothes. She stepped back and held the ferns aside while pointing to the door. As they filed by, their feet leaving tiny paint prints on the ground, Athyn looked up to her zhavey and asked with a straight face… Athyn: Can we take our paints to the lake? zh’Tisav: Not now you can’t. Go tell your aunts they have to help you get cleaned up. They let you run wild, so they get to help with the clean up while I give Thyl a bath. They entered the cool darkness of the house, eyes blinking to adjust. There they found Vylaa’s sisters, whose own eyes were wide with shock as they drank in the carnage. The twins marched u to their aunts and stopped, arms held out with palms up, and gazed into their eyes. Athyn: Zhavey said… Sivaa: ...clean us up. Sataa and Thysaa each shrugged a shoulder, opposite shoulders, and took a paint smeared hand and lead the girls upstairs. Vylaa, meanwhile, herded Thyl to the bathroom, doing her best to keep him from touching any walls. He jumped straight into the tub as Vylaa peeled off her paint soaked garments before kneeling beside the tub. She turned the water to a comfortable temperature as she upended a bottle of baby soap over Thyl. zh’Tisav: Seriously, and we’re having another? Lt JG Vylaa zh'Tisav Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

Welp, there's two of them! Just kidding. 😁 Here's another amazing read from @Doz Finch. How dare you to leave us in suspense like that. ((The Apa Farm, Bajor)) The Apa Farm was a towering sage spectacle; fields upon fields of the curious crops stretched for miles in the middle of nowhere, bleached by their warm and life-giving sun and touched ever so gently by a breeze that dared not blow too hard for fear of disturbing the peace. The smell in the air was just as dreamy, just as invigorating, with bits of the green stuff floating within it in tiny speckles—no doubt distempering the walls of her lungs with its natural tinge. It was ironic therefore that the reason she had found herself out there alone was not to volunteer herself to the efforts of the local agriculture, or even to sample and procure a basket of the farm's freshest corn, but instead to return a mischief-making robotic dog that she had, only half accidentally, temporarily adopted. Apa: Remarkable. Finch: It is, isn’t it? Apa: And it was found where, again? Finch: Toppling tourists on Deep Space Nine! I wound up on a goosechase with this stranger who claimed he bought it from you. Apa: I see. And he left it with you? Finch: Forced it on me! He said he couldn’t cope with it anymore. Said it was the single worst investment he had ever made. I mean, if I’m being honest with you, it isn’t hard to see why. Apa: It isn’t? Finch: Well, you tell me! The robotic dog chased after its metallic tail at high speeds, circling on the spot with just enough momentum to suck in any wandering insects that happened to glide idly by. Its head was a simple square, and its eyes a vestigial remnant of what was once a set of eyes, now instead a muddied screen of stains and scratches—and a mechanical panting also emanated out of hidden speakers, almost gurgly, as if it had at some point in the past taken a deep dive into a local riverbed, as would any adventuring dog. In the distance, hovering over the fields, she could see a drone sprinkling water in precise lines, cylindrical and silent, and moving along a dirt path between crops further along was another machine, almost humanoid, brushing and clearing the ground beneath its wheels. A brilliant blend of glistering silvers, browns and greens. Apa: No… I suppose it isn’t. Finch: Returning it to you seemed the only right thing to do. Apa: ::Hesitantly:: You can't take him? Finch: I would if I could. But I’m a visiting Starfleet Officer. ::She looked down at the dog, biting her bottom lip in thought:: I think it would be better off here, on the farm, where it can run and really, you know, ::waving her arms:: be a dog! Apa: ::Scratching his head:: I see. As the three of them stood there, momentarily in silence with only the sounds of the benign winds tickling the tall stalks of the sage coloured crops, Doz did all she could to suppress another memory resurfacing. Try as she might, though, it had become immensely difficult not to dwell on the past. It was as if her mind had become a boundless filigree of memories; an endless spider's web that she, quite like a little vibrating bee, constantly found herself entangled in. She thanked god that most of her memories were, however, very joyous. Memories such as the image of Murphy’s infectious smile, and the fragmented echoes of his laugh irradiating her thoughts, brightening her eyes from within. Or the better days of her childhood, when her home was a jungle of machines and contraptions thrown together by her brothers who all believed they were going to be the next greatest inventor, even though half of their inventions spewed sparks and had the tendency to spiral out of control. She had only ever seen her friend Murphy cry once in all of the years that she had known him, and it had been when the robotic dog that she and he had helped to repair was unfairly seized by another officer, and destroyed. A cruel act by a cruel woman—Gepe Grasa. That was the memory she so carefully tried to ignore. Apa: Follow me, would you? Finch: Right you are. Come along, you! ::she said, clapping her hands to the robotic dog:: Apa: I’m not optimistic. It looks quite broken. I think it may be the end of the road for it, but we’ll see what can be done. Finch: I’m an engineer myself, so I’ll help you however I can. Apa: Oh, you won't be helping me. I’m just a farmer. It’s my friend who designs the robots and the machines—he’s on the other side of the house, in his little scrapyard. Finch: In his little scrapyard, eh? Sounds promising! Apa: Yes. ::A curious look on his face:: Come to think of it… you're quite alike. That “accent”... strange. As Apa walked around the outside of his farmhouse, made entirely of wood, and decorated with bits of reflective metal and mirror along its beige panels, coruscating under the brilliant light of the sun, Doz and the dog followed behind him, both with quick steps due to their shortness. She smiled at the sights that came into view as soon as they turned the corner; piles upon piles of steel and metal were scattered around a yard, as well as bits of dismantled machinery, bolts and tools, a roofless shuttle and a handful more of the hovering drone she had seen earlier on, some with busied arms and one, even more obscurely, with an umbrella fixed on top of it. A smile instantly filled her wrinkled face. It truly was a marvel. The Bajoran farmer stepped over a box of wires, and looked back to Doz with a nervous laugh, as the two of them approached a table, upon which a half-balding man wearing a welding helmet was hard at work, fusing together two components, his back to them both. Apa: We’ve got a visitor. The half-balding man didn’t respond, but continued on with his work. Apa: I said, ::poking the man in his back:: we have a visitor! The man instantly stopped and turned around, his voice muffled under his mask. Doz tried to contain a laugh. Apa: We can’t hear you, you old fool! W. Finch: ::Removing the mask:: I said, you shouldn’t sneak up on an old man like that! I’ll end up having a heart attack, and then you’ll be sorry. As if she had been winded, air rushed out of her mouth with a gasp, her body stumbling back a touch. It was impossible, improbable, and yet it was true. She squinted her eyes at him, her heart racing in her chest at the unlikely coincidence. It was her brother Wallace. TBC -- Ens. Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

@Quinn Reynolds Just because this is an awesome read. ((Holodeck, USS Gorkon)) A ribbon of crystal water weaved through rolling hills which stretched toward the horizon, finally flowing into sea waters which glittered in the sun like liquid sapphire. Ancient trees reached for the sky, their lush boughs swaying in a summer breeze. Flowers bloomed among the long grasses, their colourful faces turned toward the light. Their fragrance drifted through the air, sweet and perfumed, mixing with the rich scent of warm soil and wood. A paradise. Lost. A Romulan walked among the wildflowers and long grasses she played among as a child. Her short hair framed a face with high cheekbones and striking green eyes, pale skin which probably hadn’t bathed in the rays of a real sun in quite some time. She moved with the feline grace of a predator, a sinuous mix of lethality and artistry, the figure of a martial artist who fell in love with dance. In her arms, she carried a baby nearing the celebration of her first year. Hazel green eyes, a subtle echo of her mother’s forehead ridges, and her father’s luxurious mahogany hair. Sienelis: This, Rybka, is where Mama was born. ch’Rihan, although the Federation called it Romulus. Isn't it—::she paused, correcting herself::—wasn’t it beautiful? Llaira looked around with a curious gaze, drinking in this new experience with the innocent wonder only children had. Valesha smiled, but the expression wavered at the corners, unable to quite shake the hot coal which had burned in at the bottom of her ribs since waking from the Skarbek. Sienelis: This is where our people settled at the end of our long journey through the stars, after the Vulcans forced us from our home. Two thousand years later, they preach Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations—but only if you’re not Romulan. Then you can only be a liar, a spy, or happy to murder your own family for reasons they cannot explain. Her dark, straight brows pulled into a frown, and Valesha took a deep breath. The ship’s new counsellor had cast herself into the role of Romulan spy in Skarbek, and it cut the scientist to the quick. Another Vulcan who looked at her people and saw only deception and menace. The meal at the tea room in Japan with Alieth still ricocheted through her mind, every humiliation engraved in her memories. Vorin’s accusations, and the accompanying investigation, still hung over Valesha’s head. Now T’Lar, whose Skarbek persona—the worst version of herself she could imagine—had been a Romulan spy. Because a Vulcan simply couldn’t imagine being deceiving everyone around her without being Romulan. Sienelis: Pay no mind to Mama. Things will change. It will be better for you. She grimaced, trying to ignore the barbs twisted deep in her heart. Was that hope, or foolishness? Her greatest fear was that her daughter was going to suffer through the same sort of prejudice as she did. It was exhausting, fighting every day for what so many others took for granted. To have her integrity assessed on the basis of her actions, not her genes or birthplace. To have her work judged on its merits, and not the author. Sienelis: That isn’t why I brought you here. ::Valesha took a deep breath, trying to push away the hurt, and gestured ahead of her.::This is the Jhianhre province. Do you see that cottage and the building next to it? That’s where Mama grew up. A solitary cottage in white stone stood not far from the treeline, windows sparkling in the bright sunlight. A garden bloomed behind it, filled with brilliant colour and life, clearly the result of a dedicated steward. Smoke rose from the tall chimney beside it, and light glowed inside. Sienelis: That was your uncle’s garden. ::She smiled, melancholy threading through.:: Taeval had such a way with plants and flowers. Now he cares for people the same way he tended to his garden. If you ever have a problem and Mama and Papa can’t be there, you go to your dinam-ri'ranai.¹ He’ll take care of you. Few moments in Valesha’s life compared to the rare joy of finding her twin again. Thought dead in the supernova, discovered alive via a chance meeting during the Warp XV tests, and finally reunited on Ketar V. It had been like finding the lost piece of her soul, though she still wasn’t sure how he felt about having to leave his home shortly thereafter. They had both changed in the intervening years, and he was no longer a teenager too easy for his sister to read. Sienelis: That, ::she gestured to the building with the smoking chimney,:: was our forge. The House-Clan of t’Sienelis is very old, one of artists and craftsmen. Your grandmama, your hru'nanov, she was one of the finest smiths on Romulus. She made dathe'anofv-sen² for the high houses, and tan qalanq³ for the Qowat Milat. People used to travel from across the Empire to beg for her work. It’s how she met your grandpapa, your hru'diranov. She paused at the mention of her father. Valesha had no idea what he thought of her current situation, though she didn’t doubt he knew of it. Things had been quiet of late, no more attempts to cajole, push, or physically drag her home. Maybe he had accepted she was where she wanted to be. More likely he was simply being patient. What were a few years, or even decades, to a Romulan? Sienelis: That’s a... complicated story. ::She smiled ruefully, and shook her head.:: Not one for today. Today, we are going swimming. Perhaps in response to the smile and the shift in her mother’s tone, Llaira excitedly babbled, clapping her tiny hands together. Her mother’s heart grew several sizes, still finding ways to be amazed at how her daughter could both wrench her heart and soothe her soul simultaneously. Sienelis: My little fish likes the sound of that, hmm? ::She laughed.:: Swimming in the same river Mama learned to swim in? Maybe we’ll teach you to dive when you’re older, too. There’s magic in the sea, Rybka, and don’t let anyone tell you different. The happy chattering from her babe in arms confirmed that Llaira would, indeed, refuse to stand for any contrary opinions on the matter. If she had even a gram of her parents’ stubbornness, that would be a battle she wouldn’t lose. Feeling a little lighter, with the grass and wildflowers tickling bare dancer’s legs beneath her skirt, Valesha picked up the pace. Sienelis: Come on then. Papa will be here soon. ::She shared an impish grin with her daughter, mischief reflected back toward her.:: Let’s see if we can get in the water and splash him first. ¹ Romulan: Uncle, maternal. ² Romulan: A traditional weapon which translates as “honour blade”, passed down through Romulan families and ritually sharpened. ³ Romulan: A straight, singled edged sword preferred by the Qowat Milat. -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Assistant Chief Science Officer USS Gorkon simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

I absolutely loved this sim, @Doz Finch. The dialogue ("All I’ll say is that I’ll be sleeping with my eyes open from now on."), the descriptions, and present events and how they relate to the past. There is so much I adore about this and if I listed them all... I would just end up rewriting your entire piece here, haha. 👏 Nicely done!!

All I did was laugh from start to finish, reading this sim. Cain is so playfully and deliciously satirical, from the narration right through to the dialogue. Just brilliant 👏 Ens. Xandria Cain - The Enthusiastic Diplomat Special (google.com)

@Vylaa - absolutely loved this sim! Seeing her reconnect with family after the lovely adventure that was Skarbek, and the news!! I always enjoy how you bring Andorians to life in sim. Great work! 👏

A few days later than I had intended—but I loved this sim, Bryce. There is such a flow to the words that makes it so easy and fun to read. We go from moment to moment with Tagren-Quinn as he tackles with the differences between what is real, and what was a dream, identifying things in his environment, such as the cat that he hadn't even wanted, now an anchor to the real world. Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn - Anchored in Reality (google.com)

We've had some amazing sims written at the end of our mission. @Doz Finch you already had me with the suspense of who the stranger was but honestly those pyjamas..., imagine the looks Doz will receive when wandering outside her quarters like that. 😁 ((Niu Hotel, Borrel District, Witherington Indre III)) The three of them—Finch, Lark and Seva—had awkwardly began an escape route through the vents of the Niu Hotel, as the communications centre succumbed to fiery oblivion behind them, the guards that had entered it now undoubtedly a melting pot of flesh, metal and incomprehension. Incomprehension for a situation that they had likely believed impossible. That somehow, through some unexpected twist of fate, their deaths had been sealed by three women whose appearance did not resemble anything like that they were taught to worship; grandeur in height, in muscle. Wide shoulders, and even wider necks, painted by mother nature with solid strokes of greyish-white, clad in armour. Instead they had been masterfully hoodwinked by two women and their old grandmother, and left behind to simmer and stew, like a crucible of etiolated losers. Tahna: Just…crawl faster. Finch: Don't you think I am!? ::she barked:: They moved as would a caterpillar, the differing sections of its long body undulating with each movement, connected by a common purpose, to keep on going until the head had reached its target location. In this case, Lark was their head, blocking the view in front, as if she could see much at all anyway through the thickening smoke that threatened to fill and turn their lungs to bags of ash. Then, as they turned a corner, a familiar cold wetness greeted them. It was the end of the vents; Seva: Kick the vent open, Tahna! Now! The woman tried with all her might to do it, but like a mole in foreign tunnels, their “hill” simply would not budge. The idea of this being the way she died sat inside her throat, like a clump of hair, difficult to swallow, teasing at the inner lining of her esophagus. Of all the ways to go out, it had to be through suffocation inside a vent, didn't it? after everything they had gone through. Finch: Use your hands, Lark, ::she choked:: unscrew the— ::coughing:: Moments later, it was opened, and the three of them climbed out of there, the icy breath of the storm reaching down into her throat like an angel sent from heaven, and with a heave, dislodging that which had caused her to nearly suffocate. She tumbled forwards, her eyes bloodshot, everything blurry, her muscles squeezing themselves desperate to inhale the oxygen that her mouth now syphoned with vigour. She could feel Lark beside her also spinning in her own typhoon of pain, the sounds of her feet splashing tempestuously against the floor of the rooftop. Or was it Seva's footsteps? She couldn't make it out in the frenzy. In that moment they had no organised movement, no clarity, just sharp inhales and exhales, as the hammering rain that they had grown to detest fed them with everything that the hotel had tried to steal. Forgiving them for their bitterness towards its plight, bearing no resentment, no judgement, just simply doing what it had been artificially forced to do. And what an irony it was that in her emergence onto that rooftop, away from the fiery pits of the Niu Hotel, she would come to finally appreciate the rain for what good it could do. Tahna: Clear. Let’s get out of here. Finch: Get in the shuttle— As her senses regained themselves, she pointed with a croak to the shuttle that had marvellously gone untouched, ready for them to climb into and soar off, just as she had pictured she would. Only now the picture had two more people in it, who despite her best intentions, she now felt a great deal of care for. But then a figure appeared on her periphery, clad in black, face cold but eyes malefic… his appearance marked by the shooting of his phaser, that soared past Seva’s body and missed her own by a few inches. Seva: Time to go! ::Shouted as she ducks under a phaser blast:: Finch: Get inside! As the other two disappeared behind her, she stopped, her stature small, and her posture weakened by her knees, but her spirit fighting with defiance to be just the opposite. Her beady eyes, the shape of almonds, and the colour of cedar, squinted hard together to get a clearer look at him. He wasn’t firing at her, despite her stillness, yet watched her from his position, the rain crashing hard against the lapels of his coat, and a breeze flicking at its tails. Finch: Who… who is that? Her heart banged violently at the inner walls of her ribs, as if wishing to leave and never come back, made uncomfortable by the space taken up by her heaving lungs, that pulled more air inside of them than they could really hold. Her legs started to tremble first, and then her arms down through to her hands, followed so very quickly by her jaw, clattering the tombstones within them. Everything inside of her screamed, from the tiniest cells to the goosebumps that lifted the pinprick hairs of her skin, along which droplets of rain swerved like miniature racers. Everything except her mouth—whether stubbornness, or shock, or exhaustion, or all of it mixed into one, no scream left her body. And yet everything in her told her she should. Finch: Touch that shuttle and condemn those women and I will kill you— The figure: Oh, Doz. Is that how you greet an old friend? She stumbled. As if she had been putting all of her weight in her tiptoes. A breath fell out of her mouth, its release accompanied by a short sound, like a punctured tire. All of the colour drained from her face, its bumpy surface now a cordillera of distempered white. The voice from the figure in front of her pierced her soul like a rose, its tone tender like its petals, but its arrival sharp like its thorny stem. The only voice in the universe that could turn her own upside down in an instant. But it couldn’t have been… not there. Not now... when she had just started to find purpose again. Finch: No… no it can’t be… She whipped her head around to the shuttle, and through the misty, swirling air, the image of it began to stutter, with harsh thumps. Her breath catching on something, her body now difficult to move, and her clarity tapering away. Like being punched in the face, each head movement felt like a jolt, the vision in front of her snapping between moments like a video tape out of sync, three seconds forwards, three seconds backwards, repeating the man's words back to her. Doz...Old friend... His face flashing before her, zipping forwards and backwards with each blink, revealing more and more of it with each static welt, until she was sure of it. The eyes a shade of stone blue, the hair a wispy cotton. It was him. Finch: M…Mu… Her eyes filled with water, the vision before her zipping in and out of sequence, and then… ((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon)) …Ensign Doz Finch woke up with a sharp gasp, body flung upwards with a start. Finch: Murphy. She swallowed, her mouth as dry as sandpaper, her lips chapped and split in places. Her hand instinctively reached for her throat, feeling its tough exterior, hard as if it was full of sediments of rock. A bit of sweat dripped down off of her chin and landed on her slightly leathery hand, slowly returning to her that sense of reality, while still stirring within her a bit of disorientation about whether or not she was still on that rooftop, fresh from the sweltering vents that nearly took her life. Finch: Computer ::she said through a gravelly voice:: What time is it, love? The computer’s familiar and factual voice gave her the time, as the lights in her quarters began to slowly increase the visibility of everything around her. Her pyjamas, thick and soft and with the pattern of hundreds of ducks on them, were saturated through to the skin, which explained the dryness of her mouth. She heaved herself to the side, legs dangling below her, and waited just a moment before stepping down and into her slippers. With small and awkward movements, she found her way into her bathroom, eyes squinting, and leaned in to get a look at herself, instantly recoiling at the sight. Her hair wasn’t long, but short and strewn, as if she had been mercilessly beat up through the night. Her eyes were also wet, as if tears had filled them, or sweat. Smacking her dry lips together for a moment, the realisation began to dawn on her that she had been dreaming… and that it wasn’t just any old dream, but a bloody nightmare of epic proportions. Faces and names drifted in her mind like swirls of dust. The girl, Lark… no, Tahna…And Seva… and Mister…Imul? Doz stared at herself in the mirror… in disbelief. Finch: Computer…what date is it? When the computer returned the information, all Doz could do was stand there in shock, looking around at the objects in the bathroom, glancing up at her face in the mirror again, her hands now clasped over half of it. Finch: Computer, love…is this real? Am I alive? Computer: Please restate question. A relieved smile lifted the corners of her mouth, bringing with it a small chortle, and a shake of her head. Finch: Oh, I’m definitely alive. Suppose I should get ready and find out what’s gone on here… but first things first…I need a bloody good cup of tea. fin -- Doz "Gramma" Finch Associate Skarbek Fixer The Maquis & Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

How @Vylaa let us go through a train of emotions with her latest sim is amazing. ((Stolen Hideki Ship, Indre III High Orbit)) It was all over. The Cardassian ships had been thoroughly smacked down, ripped to shreds by their own exploding ships. For the first time, the Bridge of the stolen Spoon ship was still. Quinn huffed a breath and leaned back into the pilots seat. Vylaa’s sharp eye caught a ghost of a wince pass across the humans face. The pain from her leg must be terrible, and a tiny whiff of necrosis reached her nose and antennae. She stepped back over to the Engineering station as Quinn turned to look at the Vulcan and Andorian. Reynolds: I’ll call that a win. ::She smiled faintly.:: Let’s hope the rest of our lot can say the same about their corner of the liberation. zh’Tisav: I’m restoring full life support to the rest of the ship. Then, I’m going to find the transporter room and beam these dead bodies into space before they really stink up the place. Then I’m going to see if this crate has a med bay. ::She turned to Quinn.:: And see if they have any good painkillers and antibiotics onboard. The zhen turned and walked toward the door they had so recently burst through with guns blazing. Her bruised tuchus made her limp a bit, but she kept her back straight. There would be time to rest and release all of the stress of this mission later, with the aid of lots of alcohol. She raised a hand to wave to the other two. zh’Tisav: ::She raised her hand.:: Failing finding a med bay, I’ll be in the cargo bay having a smoke. T’Lar waved back at her, and… smiled. Vylaa’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline. Something felt… wrong. Reynolds: ::Quietly,:: There isn’t a med bay. There’s no room for it with all the modifications they did. T'Lar: Where is the music coming from? Vylaa stopped at the door. The most nagging feeling tugged at her gut, like a heavy weight had been dropped into it. Had T’Lar really just said that? And that smile… The only time she’d smiled was when she’d had the concussion, and was ogling Caeden like an animal in heat. Reynolds: ::Quieter still.:: There’s no music. zh’Tisav: T’Lar? Then the strangest thing happened. The Vulcan began to sing. Vylaa shared a glance with Quinn, who pushed herself up. The zhen approached T’Lar cautiously, not wanting to get too close lest she make the wrong move. T'Lar: Street lights... People oh oh ahhhhhhhh... zh’Tisav: Hey, T’Lar. Tell us what’s wrong. Now that she was closer, she could see a dab of green under the Vulcan’s nose. The nagging feeling turned into a vice grip on her soul. T'Lar: Don't— And then, she just dropped. Like a scarf dropped onto the floor, the Vulcan crumpled up into a pile. A very still pile. Too still. The zhen dropped to the floor at almost the same time as Quinn and knelt across from her, T’Lar lying still between them. While the human fished out a tricorder and started a scan, the Andorian grabbed T’Lar’s hand and squeezed, hard. Hard enough to draw a response. But there was none. Reynolds: She’s dead. ::She shook her head.:: Looks like a massive brain bleed. Vylaa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It couldn’t be true. They had been through too much together, and now, at the very end? They had won. Winners weren’t supposed to die... zh’Tisav: How the hell did that happen?! She was fine! Reynolds: The doctors cleared her back at the clinic, so it must have happened some time after we left. ::She sighed, message sent, and put away the PADD.:: I don’t know. Could have been anything. We’ve had explosions, firefights, space combat... The Andorian waited. That wasn’t a good enough explanation for her. It was half-a**ed at best. They’d all been through the same hell. There was no reason why a Vulcan, even an injured one, would have succumbed and they didn’t. Reynolds: My guess is whatever the Romulans did to her brain made it particularly susceptible to injury. Or—::she frowned, darkly:: —or they’d built in a kill switch. zh’Tisav: What the **** are you talking about? Reynolds: She was a spy for the Romulans, Vylaa. ::Quinn looked up at the Andorian.:: Valesha had reason to be suspicious, and then... well. There were so many things which pointed to it. The V'Kor are police officers on a planet free of violent crime. The V’Shar is Vulcan intelligence, but they’re primarily analysts, and they prefer to leave fieldwork to Starfleet. ::Her gaze fell back onto the fallen woman.:: Her skills didn’t match her background. Parts of her story kept changing. Vylaa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had Quinn hit her head? A Romulan spy, here? Vylaa was about to tell the human exactly what she thought of the idea, when she continued. Reynolds: And I’m a touch telepath. I picked up some... things when I was dragging her around in the council building. Suppressed memories, where her handlers talked about a constructed personality to hide the spy, and why she was being sent to the Maquis. That mistake with the shields; my guess is the Vulcan and the Romulan were getting mixed up in her head, and she briefly confused shields with cloaks. Vylaa frowned, tears beginning to drift down her face, a feeling of betrayal creeping across her soul. Not just at T’Lar, or whatever her real name was. Someone she had, reluctantly, begun to consider a friend. But Quinn as well. She hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her that she was working side by side with a potentially dangerous individual. Hell, she’d even been alone with her a couple of times, she could have been killed. She suddenly no longer regretted the words she’d said back in the tunnel. zh’Tisav: Gee, thanks for letting me know… She sat back and scooted away, away from living and dead. Reynolds: She has a daughter. They’re grooming her to infiltrate Starfleet. ::Quinn heaved out a deep sigh.:: I’ve still got some contacts there. I’ll reach out to them, make sure she doesn’t suffer the same fate as her mother. If T'Lar was ever real, I imagine she'd want that more than anything else. zh’Tisav: I suppose… And when we get back, I think I need to take a break. I don’t like being lied to, and I like being kept in the dark even less. I need to figure out where I belong. She stood, and dug the crumpled cigarette pack out of her pocket. Her last smoke in the pack was slightly bowed, but still intact. She lit it as she made for the bridge door, not caring who the smoke bothered. zh’Tisav: Don’t follow me. Reynolds: We should— ((Vylaa’s Quarters, USS Gorkon)) Vylaa’s eyes snapped open. Cobalt irises darted about, trying to sus out her surroundings in the dark. She was in her bed, the air of her quarters refreshing and cool, not the stifling heat of a Cardassian bridge. Cardassian bridge…? The blanket slid off her bare shoulder as she bolted upright, her bare feet landing on soft carpet, not booted feet on hard deck plates. zh’Tisav: oO Was that a dream? Oo It had felt so real. She rose, confusion ruling her mind, and cast a foot about the floor to find where she’d dropped her robe when going to bed. Upon finding it, she slid into it, and shivered when the soft fabric touched her bare neck. Hadn’t her hair just been long? She wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. Was this the dream? She shuffled across the floor, trying to remember more of the dream. She seemed to remember a tunnel, and being terrified to be underground. She’d never felt that way before… The deep dark had always been a friend. She stopped at the bathroom door and turned on the light. She stared at her face in the mirror. zh’Tisav: oO Has my hair always been this short? Oo And black. She could have sworn it had just been her natural white, and much longer, down to her shoulder blades. She leaned closer, trying to see beyond the edges of the mirrored glass, half expecting another version of herself to peek around the edge. The motion sent her shapla swinging out the open front of her robe. She reached for the lucite pendant, glanced at the four twisted hairs buried in the acrylic. She smiled at the soft warmth radiating from the material.. It was as if a knife suddenly cut through the confusion. Her mates were her anchor, the dream feeling less real now. And her… She spun and ran across the dark bedroom, to the front room, stopped at her sofa and grabbed at two photo frames on the end table. There they were, her mates. And in the other, her children. She sighed in relief, feeling guilty for not remembering them. And her sisters... She grabbed a third frame, one of the three of them together at her bonding ceremony. Sataa was alive. Alive and well on Andoria. Happy at her forge, turning Tharan blade steel into weapons. The tall Andorian collapsed into a chair, the relief washing over her like a wave, the pictures clutched close. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been a nightmare. Vylaa "Cable" zh'Tisav Computer Specialist Skarbek Simmed By Lt JG Vylaa zh'Tisav Engineering Officer USS Gorkon

@Genkos Adea - I absolutely adored this sim. Very moving, and beautifully written!

@Samira Neathler ...so I'm never gonna emotionally recover from this.

Exploring the Skarbek world has been exciting and a great way to explore different facets of our characters, taking them to places we haven't thought of before, and scrambling maybe existing parts of their "regular" versions. @Doz Finch - I have truly enjoyed reading about SkarDoz ("Gramma"), and seeing the world through her eyes, and the transformation she's undergone along the way. I love the introspection, particularly at the beginning of this sim, and how she relates to her companions. Very well done! Kudos to all of you, @SevaReeshe, and @Tahna Meru for bringing forth such an enjoyable and amazing scene!

I loved this sim from our newest recruit @SevaReeshe! It's so witty, she had me giggling throughout while still maintaining the seriousness of the characters' situation. And the way she carefully incorporated Seva's backstory and skill set, comparing their situation to a final exam and referencing her father's stories, it's all so well done. Fabulous work, keep it up!

I really love this farmer turned resistance fighter character that @Samira Neathler has so wonderfully written. Throughout his journey, with meeting the Marquis, and wrestling with fighting for his home, but feeling very much like a farmer... it really has been subtle, powerful, and incredible to read. ❤️

Another beautifully written sim by Bryce. I really enjoyed how you threaded together Bryce's inner thoughts with the things happening around him (and to him, psychologically) by mentioning other members of the Skarbek, It was done in such a subtle and nuanced way, and I could picture it so clearly and cinematically. I imagined the camera panning slowly away from Bryce and dissolving into other scenes, showing each character as they are mentioned, before going back to him. Amazingly done! ✍️🎥 Bryce "Croaker" Tagren-Quinn - Life, uh, Finds a Way (google.com)