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Jarred Thoran

PNPC Charlotte Farnsworth - Technicolor Yawn

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I've never had so much fun reading about somebody throwing up!

------------------------------------------

((Main Engineering, Deck 21, USS Blackwell)) 

Thoran: Nothing so far Commander. If there is a virus in the system, it’s an elusive little thing. It may be this device is related in some way.

Shayne: As much as I hate to simply abandon the computer like this, we have a clear and present danger on the hull of this ship. The Blackwell isn’t getting underway without our collective approval, so the threat of the virus is lessened, as long as we keep an eye on it. Who knows- if it reaches anything more, we might be able to identify it when we return. Something like that can’t hide forever. 

::Charlotte regrettably did not know much about computer viruses. That was more her fiancées speed. Once, aboard the Cardassian freighter Razbu, she had helped isolate a particularly nasty recursive line of code which began making all the replicators speak in fluent Romulan. But the malfunction had been the result of bad programming, not an incursive program. Either way, she could add very little to the moment.:: 

Farnsworth: I suppose I see your point.

::Charlotte turned to notice Yesna’s approach. She could tell that the white haired engineer seemed giddy and excited about something, as was evident from her beaming grin.::

Yesna: I’m Ready!! :: Her smile still ear to ear and her teeth shining white. ::

Shayne: Spacewalk. We’ve got to get whatever it is off the hull. And we’re not splitting up- I assume you are cleared for EVA activity? 

::Charlotte froze in her tracks, turning ghastly pale white on her skin. She had never anticipated during her application to the engineering department, that she might have to one day operate outside the vessel. Outer space EVA work made her sick…very sick. And yet, how could she say no? She responded with a nervous and stuttered half-hearted smile.::

Farnsworth: Sure…?

::Charlotte began to pray as they headed for the airlock that her mag-boots would not demagnetize and have her spiraling out of control into the deep, deep depths of uncharted space.::

((Timeskip))

((Airlock, Deck 13, USS Blackwell))

::Charlotte had never prayed before, and yet, as the airlock began to depressurize, she quickly found herself in touch with the almighty.::

Farnsworth: oO Keep your eyes on the hull… keep your eyes on the hull… Oo

::Following the leader, Charlotte stuck in tight formation with those around her, using them as a sort of anchoring point, so that she might not concentrate on where she was walking. One misstep in space, and one could find themselves floating free and unceremoniously away.:::

Yesna: Don’t worry you’ll be fine.

::Charlotte couldn’t tell if her nauseated state could be so easily seen through the Starfleet issue spacesuit. For a moment, she thought about addressing the statement, until Thoran spoke up instead.::

Thoran: ::Resigned smile.:: I know. Just like to make sure these ::pointing to the boots:: work and aren’t going to suddenly disengage. Especially given the quality of engineers we have on board.

::Charlotte felt somehow at ease with Thoran’s joking statement. She was glad to know she wasn’t the only one with butterflies in her stomach.::

Shayne: Mag boots ready. Oxygen ready. Tools ready.

::The room started to depressurise.::

::The doors parted to reveal the great void.:: 

::Charlotte’s heart began to pump as though she were running a marathon. In the infinite quiet of the internalized world of her own spacesuit, she could hear only her own breathing, the quiet release of marginally warmed oxygen, and deafening beat of her own fearful heart.:: 

::If she suffocated in space, her last thoughts would be of Nate, but the sound she would hear was her own heart drumming out anxiety.::

Shayne: Sound off, please. 

Yesna: Response

Thoran: All good here commander.

::Charlotte separated herself from the hull, allowing the great miasma of nothingness to embrace her. Her stomach released from its grounded perch inside her, and did somersaults. Still she did her best to reply.::

Farnsworth: I…am…. ::fighting queasiness.:: …alive…

::She stayed in focus on the backside of Shayne. He would have to be her focal point. To look anywhere else was to invite still more fear and nausea.::

Shayne: Tricorder readings.

Yesna: Response

::Time slowed to a crawl with every breath. Charlotte imagined herself in her wedding dress, to try and calm herself. The wedding was not far away now. She had something to live for, she would not die in space.::

Shayne: Very well. Let’s head out. 

::Charlotte again responded.::

Farnsworth: Head… ::fighting the tumbling of her ever approaching lunch.:: …heading out….

Thoran: After you. I insist.

::Free floating in space, to Charlotte’s estimation, was not like reentering the womb, as some had so artistically put it. It was more like riding the tilta-whirl cup at Disneyworld, but with no motion suppression system engaged. Charlotte felt woozy, but pressed on.::

Yesna: Response

Farnsworth: We’re not…..::she hiccupped, feeling the acrid taste of her own stomach contents in the back of her throat:: …we’re not…far…from it now… 

::She was becoming disoriented, unfocused, she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.::

Shayne: Response

::Charlotte’s eyes focused on the box. However, all her stomach could focus on was emptying its contents.::

Thoran: ::Looking to the group.:: So uh, now we’ve found it, how do we get rid of it?

::Charlotte did not how to respond. She suddenly hated all of her ambitions. She hated that she had volunteered for this mission, hated her space suit, hated this stupid box and its stupid contents. She hated space. She hated the fact that she had Mexican food for lunch.::

Farnsworth: I… uhm…::choking back her nausea:: I… uhhhhhh….. I’m going to be…. 

::At once, an explosive cavalcade of partially digested materials projected from her mouth and into the helmet of her spacesuit. The sounds of regurgitation filled the commline, and Charlotte could not help but feel intense embarrassment as no doubt every member of the team knew what was happening.:: 

::Lunch had been officially lost.:: 

::Her vision now was obscured, as the material and mess free floated in front of her transparent helmet faceplate. She couldn’t see and how no idea how she might get back to the ship, with reduced vision.::

Yesna/ Response

Shayne: Response 

::Charlotte felt immediate embarrassment. She hoped that Nate would not learn of this fiasco, for he would never let her live it down.:: 

Farnsworth: Sorry… I’m sorry…. ::Now beginning to feel better:: What should I do? Is there a way to clear this out easily? Or am I just going to have to hope it doesn’t float into my hair and eyes??? 

::Charlotte was beyond saving face at this point. There was no aristocratic way to vomit, no stately way to upheave in front of ones coworkers. This was about pure damage control now, in more ways than one.:: 

Shayne: Response 

Thoran: Response 

PNPC Charlotte Farnsworth

as simmed by
Lt. Cmdr. Nate Wilmer 
Helm Officer 
USS Blackwell (NCC-58999) 
E239107NW0
 

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