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Kali Nicholotti

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Kali Nicholotti last won the day on October 6

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About Kali Nicholotti

  • Birthday 12/29/1982

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  1. Also in September, congrats to Aine Sherlock for her promotion to full Lieutenant and Yogan Yalu for his promotion to Lieutenant Commander!
  2. OOC – This is a flashback from Ar’Gorvalei’s Academy days. Just wanted to share. IC - ((Earth, San Francisco, The Fab Floor, 3 years previously )) Natalie Tomassen, her brown ponytail swaying behind her, led her fellow second-year cadets down the nightclub’s winding staircase. Tomassen: I learned about this place from some upperclassmen. It’s sort of a hidden gem. Her roommate Mysa zh’Drinnel, a tall, lithe Andorian woman with cobalt blue skin and her white hair in many tiny braids, navigated her way down the staircase holding a glass of blue Andorian Ale she’d picked up at the bar. Zh’Drinnel: A ‘gem’? Right… Behind the two women, Ar’Gorvalei and Gabriel “Bing” Reyes, Natalie’s boyfriend, followed. The downstairs room of the bar was lit by colored strobe lights. Tables, couches and pillows were scattered about the room. Patrons, mostly human, and mostly Starfleet cadets, clustered in small groups around the room. Reyes: The real gem is over there. ::Points with his drink at a large, squat, rectangular machine with a glass front and several buttons:: That, my friends, is an authentic, Seeburg Model ESE 100 Jukebox, circa Earth Year 1970. Tomassen: Authentic? ::Snorts :: If it were really authentic, it would be in a museum. Reyes: No, really, it is. I talked to the owner. They’ve had to replicate replacement parts over the years, but the replicated parts have all been true to the original. Tomassen: Now there’s a philosophical question. :: Takes a sip of her beer and looks at Ar’Gorvalei:: How many parts do you have to replace before something is no longer the original? You replace one worn part here, one worn part there; after a century or two just about every part has been replaced, one at a time. Is it still the original, or a replication? Ar’Gorvalei met Natalie’s eyes. The two were both specializing in medicine at the Academy, and had connected over their shared studies in xenobiology. Ar’Gorvalei: Humans and Efrosians – and Andorians too, I imagine… ::Glances at zh’Drinnel:: … constantly grow new cells as old cells die off. Skin cells, hair cells, everything but neurons, die off and are replaced. Yet are we not our ‘original’ selves? Would you argue that you are a replica of Natalie because you are not composed of the ‘original’ Natalie cells you were born with? Tomassen: ::Raises her drink and smiles at Ar’Gorvalei:: Touche. Mysa peered into the jukebox’s glass front. Zh’Drinnel: That’s all well and good, but what does this thing actually do? Assuming it does anything. Bing leaned on the left side of the jukebox. Reyes: Oh, well, that’s the real beauty. You see, it plays … Tomassen: Let’s just show them. Natalie walked up to the machine and took a small, round disk out of a cup attached to the wall next to the machine. She slipped the disk into a hole in the side of the machine. She looked inside it, and pressed a letter and number combination on the buttons on the machine’s front. Tomassen: ::Snickering:: You’ll like this one. Mysa jumped back as the sound of an electric piano echoed from the box, followed by the strumming of an electric guitar and a man’s voice: . “Seventy-three men sailed up From the San Francisco Bay Rolled off of their ship, and here's what they had to say "We're callin' everyone to ride along to another shore We can laugh our lives away and be free once more" Ar’Gorvalei: :: Is this a library? Reyes: No, no. It just plays music, classical music. ::Shakes head and smiles.:: Ar’Gorvalei: Are these not the songs of your people? Meanwhile, Natalie began dancing with Mysa and pumping her fist in the air to the beat of the song’s chorus as she sang along: “Ride, captain ride upon your mystery ship Be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip Ride captain ride upon your mystery ship On your way to a world that others might have missed…” Ar’Gorvalei: ::Looking confused:: Is this an account of early space exploration? Jonathan Archer’s voyages? Or later? Tomassen: Naw, this was written 200 years before Archer, more or less. Ar’Gorvalei: Prophesy, then? Reyes: More likely drugs. I heard they were doing a lot of LDS around that time. ::Looks at the jukebox again:: I’d love to take this baby apart. Tomassen: Don’t you dare. We’d get banned. Reyes: I’d put it back together again. Tomassen: The old thing’s probably held together with baling wire and duct tape. You pick the next song. Reyes: ::Flipping through the song selections:: Ah-ha! Keeping to the theme of nautical nonsense. Natalie dragged Bing away from the jukebox and onto the dance floor, as a strangely accented song about a “yellow submarine” began playing. Mysa raised an eyebrow at Ar’Gorvalei. He smiled, took her hands, and joined her on the dance floor. (( Present – USS Arrow, Deck 2, Officer’s Mess )) Ar’Gorvalei looked at the holopic he held in his hands, taken at the Academy, of himself, Mysa, Natalie and Bing, arms around each other, the latter two half drunk. He pushed the button to turn it off and slipped it inside his pocket, and gazed off into space. They had been good friends, for a time. Then Bing had slept with the wrong person, Natalie slept with Ar’Gorvalei in retaliation, and Mysa became furious at both of them. Ar’Gorvalei was left stunned at how quickly his closest friendships had imploded. oO It seemed like such a small thing to throw away friendships over. I will never understand humans. Or Andorians. Oo Ar’Gorvalei shook his head. Bing had dropped out of the Academy; Ar’Gorvalei never heard all of the details, but there was some sort of scandal connected to his departure. Mysa was recently posted to a ship serving on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant. They still kept in touch, although they were no longer as close as they once were. As for Natalie… Ar’Gorvalei walked up to the jukebox in the officer’s mess. It was a different model, but the principles were the same. He scanned through the tabs listing the available songs. oO Yes, they have it. Oo His fingers hovered over the buttons, just lightly touching them. Then he pulled his fingers back, as if the keys burned him. oO No, not yet. It’s too soon. Oo Still, the words echoed in his head, and Ar’Gorvalei smiled. “Ride, captain ride upon your mystery ship Be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip Ride captain ride upon your mystery ship On your way to a world that others might have missed…” END Ensign Ar'Gorvalei Medical Officer U.S.S. Arrow A239809A11
  3. Only if they promise not to call my boat a 'bathtub toy' ever again. ::Grumbles.::
  4. And now, for an entirely different kind of Sandwich... (( Hamsan & Sirin’s Quarters, Deck 4, USS Resolution )) Dwich hated the chair he was sitting in. It was awkward and made him feel like he was leaning halfway back to the floor, with nowhere to put his legs or rest his arms. After Dr. Genkos Adea’s experimental treatment failed to produce any results, he had taken some additional scans and sent Dwich home. Home. These quarters, which he’d never seen before today, were his. And Meidra’s. He felt like an interloper, having been given access to a stranger’s residence. The idea that he’d be sent back to the quarters he shared with a woman he’d never met before today struck him as a tad inappropriate, for both of them. He wondered whether the familiar setting was by design, to shock his system with the comforts of home and “fix” him. He didn’t like it. Everyone he had encountered on this ship so far made it seem like it was just a failure of memory, an amnesia from which he would one day awaken. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t the person they were looking for. He wasn’t their Hamsan Dwich. But, he did have their Hamsan Dwich’s DNA and voiceprint, which gave him access to the library computer and allowed him to read up on himself. It was fascinating reading, and after scanning his biography in detail, Dwich was able to pinpoint the exact moment when they went from being the same person, to diverging. In the summer of 2388, Dwich was just 19 years old, spending his fifth summer in a row living and working with the ranjens at Kaiett Monastery. At the end of his stay, he was told that his pagh was meant to walk this path, and he was welcomed into the brotherhood of the faithful. He had remained on the property ever since, a decade of study and meditation and prayer, of devoting his life to the service of the Prophets. The other Dwich had not been so lucky. Evidently, even though they were the same person, the other Dwich’s pagh was not meant for a life of religious contemplation, and he was sent away from the Monastery, never to return. After a period of drifting, working various odd jobs in tourist traps all across the Quadrant, he had somehow ended up on Earth’s moon, working at a hospital before beginning a career in Starfleet. After arriving on Resolution, he met Meidra Sirin and the two began a relationship. They dated, they fell in love, they moved in together. She even broke his arm once. Dwich was processing all of this when the doors opened and Meidra entered their shared living space. He had helped many people deal with their grief, and he could tell that Meidra was still in the “not handling it well” phase. She put on a smile and greeted him, her pleasant tone of voice an ill-fitting mask. Sirin: How are you feeling? Hamsan: As well as can be expected. ::beat:: I know this must be difficult for you. Dr. Adea sent me here, but I can easily go somewhere else if–– Sirin: No, these are still your quarters unless you intend to see Lieutenant Yalu to be reassigned. There is another bedroom on the other side of our bathroom. I can move into that one and you’ll have your privacy. Dwich resisted the urge to shake his head. These are still your quarters. Everyone was still expecting him to awaken from this ordeal, as if it were a dream. It was more like a nightmare. Dwich had spent his entire adult life studying the words of the Prophets, but there was nothing he could think of that would soothe the pain she was feeling. The silence needed to be filled with something, and Dwich could only form an apology. Hamsan: Meidra, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t know you. And I’m sorry that Dwich, your Dwich, isn’t here. Dwich’s apology was sincere, but it also served a secondary, more calculated purpose: he felt a responsibility to himself not to be bound by the expectation to be everyone else’s Hamsan Dwich. Yes, they had been the same person up to a point, but after a decade of diverging paths and paghs, they were completely different individuals. Even if he tried, every day for the rest of his life, he could never be Meidra’s Hamsan Dwich. Sirin: I’ll be around if you would like to talk, but forgive me. I need to meditate before this headache makes me ill. Meidra moved quickly away, saying nothing more, and Dwich knelt on the floor to pray for guidance as the soft sounds of a stranger crying in the next room carried over the stale, recycled air. End scene for Hamsan PNPC Vedek Hamsan Dwich Vedek, Kaiett Monastery Dakhur Province, Bajor simmed by Lieutenant Yogan Yalu Helm Officer USS Resolution NCC-78145
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