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Several interrelated sims from the Arrow to absolutely break your heart: Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - What a Way to End a Night, Cmdr Traenor - A Grave and Important Responsibility, and Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - The Mirror of a Man


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 ((Atlas Base - Main Gathering Hall))
 
Having finished embarrassing himself at karaoke, Regan actually felt really good. He didn't realise how much steam he needed to let off, and anyway what's the harm in having a little fun. The crew were mixing well, and Regan noticed R'Ariel dancing a little during his song. He got down from his stage, well - table, and returned to the little group of junior officers.
 
Sival/Nakada/R'Ariel/Caden/Waters: Response
 
Wilde: Ha! Well, we Wilde's don't do anything by half...
 
Responses
 
Wilde: Although the Captain was right about one thing. R'Ariel is out of uniform. ::He pointed a finger at her and bobbed his head in time with the softer, less rock'n'roll music playing.:: She wore her dancing shoes instead of her dress boots!
 
R'Ariel: Response
 
He chuckled. The little group dispersed a little, Ensign Caden was talking with her new head of science, Lt. Serinus stood ever watchful by the door, though he did seem to be sporting a glass of wine, even if it did seem smaller in his large hands. 
 
Regan planned to make his exeunt, and he turned to make his polite protestations again, when a crewman passed him to get to the table where Keneth had placed his food. The crewman was a little merry, given away by his light swaying and awkward steps. Regan remembered those days, and he stepped aside gracefully to let the man pass. The tipsy crewman picked up a forkful of the food and guzzled it down in his drunken hunger, before his eyes bulged out.
 
This did not look good. Turning, the crewman looked around frantically. Something - either the drink or the food - did not sit well and Regan could guess they didn't make a good mix. Something had smelled off with that platter all night. The intoxicated crewman did what he had to do and vomited all over the floor by the table. Regan sighed and shook his head.
 
 

Wilde: Ensign Sival, if you have a moment.

 

Sival: Response

 

Wilde: It seems a medical situation has arisen.

 

Sival/R'Ariel/Anyone: Response

 

Wilde: I don't know if it's just intoxication, or if he's the latest victim of the Alpha Isles Poisoner. ::He motioned with his thumb over to Lt. Nakada.:: 

 

Sival/Nakada: Response

 

While Sival stepped aside, Regan patted Keneth on the shoulder.

 

Wilde: Lieutenant, I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you for wilful bodily harm.

 

Nakada: Response

 

Wilde: ::Chuckling:: Relax, Jack the Ripper. I'm kidding. But seriously ::He motioned to the food.:: There are Targ Breeding Kennels on the planet Qo'noS that don't smell as bad as that. Sort it out, ok?

 

Nakada/Sival/Anyone: Response

 

Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc?

 

He looked sorrowfully at the inebriated crewman. He wasn't that drunk to everyone else's eyes, but to Regan he may have been stark raving plastered and incapable of taking care of himself. Regan wanted to make sure he had a safe place to sleep tonight, for his protection. Who knows what could happen if he passed out in the open... A dark chill ran down his back.

 

Sival/Nakada/Anyone: Response

 

Someone was talking to him. He had almost let his memory take him back to dark days and darker places. He snapped out of it.

 

Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters...

Responses
 
 
TAG
 
Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde
Security
USS Arrow
C237708DW0
 
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((Main Hall - Atlas Base))

 

There was a small gaggle of officers in the corner near the food tables, and there was a prone person they were surrounding. Some extrasensory feeling washed over Maxwell Traenor, leading him to an overwhelming sense of concern. As he strode up to the group and saw the prone individual, his heart fell. He could smell the waves of alcohol vapors and bile emanating off the man, and felt both understanding and responsibility. It was a blessing of the fates that the others around likely hadn't recognized the individual yet.

 

Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc?

Traenor: I'd rather take care of him myself, if you don't mind, Mr Wilde. He doesn't need to spend any more time in the brig. With assistance, I can escort him back to the ship.

 

It was obvious that the sudden presence and interjection of a senior officer had startled Regan, and possibly the others present as well. Maxwell only had eyes for the inebriated crewman, with a quick pleading glance to Regan as well.


Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters...

Traenor: Excellent. If you'll help me support him?  ::pleading glance again to Wilde before turning to the Arrow's newest medical officer::  I'll administer an anti-intoxicant hypospray once he's back aboard, Doctor. If there's anything else amiss, I'll let you know immediately. Is that okay?

 

Sival: response

 

A wave of relief and appreciation swept over Maxwell, though if Sival was a true blood Vulcan, he would likely look on such an emotional response with disdain. He wouldn't spare his smile for the doctor for his assent, though.

 

Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him?

 

All Starfleet officers had basic triage training, so Maxwell knew to make sure that the man was left in a recovery position for the night. Besides, once the anti-intoxicant was administered, the man's regrets would likely be more emotional than physical. Still, Maxwell would always defer to the judgement of a medical professional.

Sival: response

 

Traenor: Alright, Doc.  ::to all the rest of the assembled crew:: Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll ensure this poor man is taken care of.  ::to Wilde, who had the prone man's other arm over his shoulders opposite Traenor:: Are you ready, Mr Wilde?

 

Wilde/Any: response

 

Trying to avoid as much of the crowd as possible, both for the comfort of the guests as well as for the dignity of the ill man, Traenor and Wilde maneuvered their intoxicated charge out of the hall and towards the designated beamout point.

 

Traenor: Mr Wilde... Regan. Thank you for your discretion in this matter, not to mention your assistance.

 

Wilde: response

 

Traenor: ::incredulously:: You don't recognize him?  ::more softly::  Of course not, I barely recognize him lately. He's taken everything very hard, understandably so, and let himself go. This is Crewman Thomson.

 

Crewman Thomson, who had killed his good friend and colleague Crewman Gonzalez while under the control of an alien entity. The man was unkempt, sunken eyes, lost weight - the whole nine yards. Maxwell had a responsibility for Thomson insofar that he was part of the Science department, but he had been at a loss as to how to help the man. He couldn't be the man's friend, that wasn't his role. He could order counseling, indeed had done so, but couldn't force the man to attend sessions at phaserpoint. He could relieve the man of duty, but he was certain that would do more harm than good. He had heard rumors that abuse of alcohol was a new crutch for Thomson, but so bad and so publicly was a shock to him. He felt helpless to assist Thomson most days. But this? This he could do. He could lead the man back to his quarters, clean him up, and make sure that he was safe, at least for one night.

 

Wilde: response

 

TAGS/TBC

 

 

 

--

Commander Maxwell Traenor

Chief Science Officer, USS Arrow

Link to post
((Atlas Base - Main Gathering Hall))
 
The crew were gathering around the food table, but things soon were awry when a drunken crewman ended up embarrassing himself. Regan was not particularly amused and was going to escort him to the brig to cool off. No one else seemed to interject, until Commander Traenor approached sympathetically.

Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc?

Traenor: I'd rather take care of him myself, if you don't mind, Mr Wilde. He doesn't need to spend any more time in the brig. With assistance, I can escort him back to the ship.

The older voice startled him back to the moment. An older voice, but one not stern with authority, rather a wiser, less assuming tone.

Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters...

Traenor: Excellent. If you'll help me support him?  ::pleading glance again to Wilde before turning to the Arrow's newest medical officer::  I'll administer an anti-intoxicant hypospray once he's back aboard, Doctor. If there's anything else amiss, I'll let you know immediately. Is that okay?

Sival: Response

Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him?
 
Sival: Response

Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him?

Sival: Response

Traenor: Alright, Doc.  ::to all the rest of the assembled crew:: Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll ensure this poor man is taken care of.  ::to Wilde, who had the prone man's other arm over his shoulders opposite Traenor:: Are you ready, Mr Wilde?

Wilde: Aye sir.

Regan managed to hook the man's free arm around his neck and prop him upright. He wasn't heavy, but it was awkward to move him through the gathering of crew whilst trying to be as discreet as possible. All Regan had to do was focus on his footsteps and coordinate them with Commander Traenors. The smell of alcohol coming from the man blasted his senses, making him take longer breaths of air to try and dilute the aroma. Oh God how did he end up in this situation. He'd told himself tonight was going to be easy. Of course there'd be drinks. It was a party, but carrying out an inebriated man like this, who only six years ago could have been Regan himself was too much. He felt his eyes sting.

Traenor: Mr Wilde... Regan. Thank you for your discretion in this matter, not to mention your assistance.
 
Regan nodded. A courteous nod, one grateful that Commander Traenor had used his name. He hated 'Mr. Wilde'.

Wilde: Oh. You're welcome, sir. I wasn't going to charge him with anything back on board, Commander. I... know how important it is to keep him safe. I thought the brig was the best place. Forcefields, you see. ::Beat.:: Oh he's going to hate himself in the morning that's for sure. Poor chap.

Traenor: ::incredulously:: You don't recognize him?  ::more softly::  Of course not, I barely recognize him lately. He's taken everything very hard, understandably so, and let himself go. This is Crewman Thomson.
 
Wilde: What!? But... how?
 
Traenor: Response
 
  ((USS Arrow - Sickbay))
 
They signalled the ship for a beam out directly to Sickbay, and soon they were deposited in the sterile confines of the Arrows medical bay. They placed him directly onto a biobed and Regan hurriedly took a few steps back instinctively, as if Thomson had a contagious disease. He didn't, of course. Even if he did Regan would be immune by now, but still the thought, or the association left him feeling contaminated and ashamed. 
 
Maxwell and another member of the medical team oversaw him, but Regan just stood there, fixated on the man. This was him. This was Regan all those years ago. Smashed out of his face not knowing where he was, or what planet he was on or what his own name was. He didn't care anyway. He didn't care about anything. Caring only hurt him and he drank to stop the hurt.
 
Out of curiosity he picked up a hypospray of the anti-intoxicant used to effectively dissolve the alcohol in the man's blood stream. Anti-intox. The cure? The magic potion? Could he take it and not suffer the effects of the drink. No. He'd confided in Counselor R'Ariel his fear of the drug. What if it didn't work. He threw it with distaste back onto the medical tray by the biobed. The nurse administered a sleeping agent too, to let the poor man rest. They'd beam him to his quarters later.
 
Traenor: Response
 
Wilde: Slipped. Sorry.
 
Traenor: Response
 
Wilde: How did this happen? ::His voice was emotionless.:: Who let it get this far?
 
The answer was obvious really. Thomson himself had let it go on. Regan knew the ways of lying to people. To hide it until it reached boiling point.
 
Traenor: Response
 
Wilde: Check his shoes.
 
 
Traenor: Response
 
Wilde: I know what I'm talking about! Check his shoes. He's alone. Alone on a ship of forty people, his friends and his colleagues have abandoned him. He needs safety. He needs protection.
 
Regan stepped forward forcefully and pulled the crewmans boots off. A shrill metallic clang hit the floor and Regan closed his eyes. It had gotten that bad. He carefully picked up the makeshift blade in his hands and securely put it on the tray beside the hypospray. Alone and scared, not knowing what would happen next makes you edgy. You see enemies everywhere. Danger. A knife is discreet, can be hidden. 
 
Traenor: Response
 
Wilde: This man was me, Commander. Only this is just starting. How long has it been since Gonzalez died? A few weeks? I was in a worse state than this for nearly three years! Lost, alone and desperate, I lived on the rotten streets doing just about anything to keep myself numb! I didn't care. I'd steal it if I had to. You learn to adapt. So many beatings from the street gangs makes you a little wise.
 
Slowly, deliberately, Regan knelt down and took a deep breath. Bad habits are hard to break. He'd been clean for 6 years. Sent to all the best hospitals and seen the best counselors in the Federation thanks to his mummy and daddy. But he was still alone, still struggling like on the streets all those years ago. He took the blade out of his own boot, and felt the cold steel in his hands. His was not a makeshift weapon, forged from a scrap bit of wall panelling he'd forced off. It was gilded, Reman steel. It was in typical Regan style - the best. Dangerous. Effective. 
 
He held it in his hand as he showed it to Commander Traenor before placing it beside Thomsons on the tray. Proof that he'd live that horror, and in a way was still living it. He always carried a weapon in his boot, in case he ever fell off the wagon and ended up back on those terrifying streets, or these lonely decks of the Arrow. Regan looked to Maxwell, and did what he hadn't done in many years. What he swore he'd never let anyone else ever see of him in public. He cried.
 
Traenor: Response
 
TAG
 
Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde
Security
USS Arrow
C237708DW0
Edited by Artinus Serinus
  • Sad 2
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