Jump to content

Lt. Cmdr. Katy Orman

  • Posts

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won


Lt. Cmdr. Katy Orman last won the day on June 26 2014

Lt. Cmdr. Katy Orman had the most liked content!

About Lt. Cmdr. Katy Orman

  • Birthday 08/01/1974

Fleet information

  • Current Vessel
    USS Excalibur
  • Current Post

Personal information

  • Location
    Austin, TX, US

Recent Profile Visitors

1,082 profile views

Lt. Cmdr. Katy Orman's Achievements

Sci-Fi Groupie

Sci-Fi Groupie (15/28)



  1. ((USS Excalibur-A, Main Engineering)) :: Murphy was not her friend. Neither was irony. Apparently, this was manifesting as a lot of things going wrong, all of which was definitely forcing engineering to work like mad. It made it worse that she had to keep in the corner of her mind whether one of the engineers was causing any of the problems. The only blessing so far was she'd not found anyone responsible. Oh, and that the ship was still semi-functioning and in one piece.. there was that too. While she waited for a response from the bridge, hoping that Livingston or someone up there still remembered some base level diagnostic coding, she tried to trace back the blocks on internal sensors and communications. It was like the computer was auto-acknowledging everything. So messages were being sent, but prior to receipt the acknowledge code would go out. So, as far as the computer was concerned, things were working normally. The ship rocked from a hit, leaving her if anything more frustrated. :: L.Walker: Phillips! Get more power to the forward shields! Not sure what's hitting us, but it's doing it often enough. Phillips: On it... Chief! :: She rolled her eyes briefly at the response. She was still being "hazed" by the other engineers about being put in charge. Something that she was sure every engineer went through at some point. Looking back at the panel, she saw that someone up there still liked her... well as long as "up there" counted as the bridge. :: >> MAIN ENGINEERING I: DIAGONOSTIC ERROR. MESSAGE UNDERSTOOD. SHUT DOWN ALL HOLODECKS AND TRACE ACCESS REQUESTS. :: She nodded to herself, bringing up the power flows to verify that her command had been completed... only to see that there was a secondary flow to the holodeck that had kicked on when she'd shutoff primary power. :: L.Walker: :: softly to herself:: Why you little... :: In response to her remarks, her opponent decided to blow stuff up. Which included the power to her station and from yells around her, to others as well. She cursed again, mostly to herself before raising her voice. :: L.Walker: Ok, people... Get to damage control or the engineering labs. Move! :: Thankfully engineering had a number of separately powered areas, specifically designed that if there were power failures they could continue repairing. She moved to the engineering holodeck as a slow smile crept onto her face. Likely the person had given engineering commands, changed the settings on something... then erased the commands. Which meant her logging program would capture it as differences to the logs. Unless, of course, that person had read all of her commands and countered it. :: ((USS Excalibur - A, Engineering holosuite)) :: Luna hadn't used this yet, but with her other options out... she brought up the suite, tying it to what information she could pull from engineering systems. She brought up several screens, one of which compared the commands given to the log that she'd pulled separately. Around her she brought up the ship as a three dimensional map. Immediately she could see blacked out areas between decks 13 and 14, as well as between 15 and 16. Whoever had done it had taken out both the primary and auxillary power to engineering and the Intel area. But she could already see that whoever it was had already left the holodeck. The door lock had been removed. The problem was, she couldn't send messages to the bridge anymore. Her consoles were dead, and the interface used higher functions that wouldn't allow the diagnostic messages. Not without shutting it down.. What she needed was a computer system that wasn't directly tied to the main computer. Which of course there were a ton just lying around. Suddenly she started chuckling... then laughing out loud. Just a couple decks above her.. there were in fact tons of computers just lying around. She just needed to get to the hangar. She heard a chime behind her and turned to look through the results. Her face fell, her jaw dropping as she read the logs. That whoever had done it was an expert was obvious, and had Luna not already been logging any changes to compare... she wasn't sure that she'd be any farther for finding out what she had. Her expected moment of triumph turned to ashes in her mouth. If she was right, she needed to tell Commander Livingston. And everything fit, so she was fairly sure. But... she wasn't sure that announcing it was going to help anything either. If Katy had actually done this... then there was no way to know how security would react. Would they support Katy, who would likely claim that Luna was the traitor? And worse, what if she WAS wrong? Accusing Katy would only make matters worse. Though doing nothing would leave her able to wreck (literally) more havoc. This of course presumed she'd have a way to send that message, without revealing more than she should. Somehow Katy appeared to be able to access the computer at the root level. Higher than the Captain technically, and worse she obviously had the skills and knowledge to work around any obvious roadblocks Luna knew how to put up. She forced herself to stop and take a breath. Moaning about what she couldn't do wouldn't help. She just had to think like a thief. If Katy controlled the place, she couldn't be overt, but she could work around her. She created a platform and tried sending a signal to one of the shuttles, and was gratified by a response. Then she setup a firewall around the shuttle, no one else could access it but her for now, any other signal would receive that the system was offline. She then reconfigured the communication protocols to send to specific locations on the ship using the transmitters and receivers there for those without badges. Since she was using the base locations, it would act as an old time switchboard. She could connect people together or at least locations. :: L.Walker: =/\= Lt. Walker to Bridge. Over.=/\= :: The sound and quality was terrible, but something that could at least be understood :: Silveira: =^= Sil here, we are listening, what happened? =^= L.Walker: =/\= Our friend took out power to the engineering stations as well as Intelligence suite. We are using the damage control stations, but more limited. On the plus side, I'm using a computer not attached to the ship to partially restore communications. =/\= :: The obscure reference wouldn't take too long for anyone to determine, though at least she would avoid immediately announcing her method to any potential plotters. :: Livingston: =/\= The sooner we get a system back, the better. Do you have any news on who was behind the sabotage? =/\= :: She swallowed, not wanting to share the news she'd discovered. :: L.Walker: =/\= Whoever it is, they appear to have the same access as the Captain, possilbly more. And they are very skilled, they were able to reroute my power commands on the fly, delaying them long enough to shoot back. =/\= Livingston: =/\= Whoever it is, have you locked them out? =/\= :: She shook inside, the thought reminding her far too much of what she'd been through before being rescued. Especially if it was Katy, one of the few people on the ship she still knew. Game or no, it was a shock. :: L.Walker: =/\= Hard to say. I have a name that's called out, but it could easily be another false lead. Especially with the access they have. =/\= :: She couldn't make herself believe she was wrong. Too much made sense for it not to be her. :: =/\= The logs I generated show that the updates were made by Commander Orman. System traces were immediately erased and electronically muddied. =/\= Livingston: =/\= We’ll deal with her. Thank you, Mister Walker. Please continue repairs. =/\=
  2. ((Folds' Quarters, Starbase 118 Habitat Ring)) ::He had only seen his new home on a map of the station's layout, and a generic picture of an empty, apartment-style quarters he had pulled up, quickly, in one of his few free moments between receiving his assignment and checking in. When the doors opened, they revealed a stark, empty, grey room -- not entirely unlike what any other small, one-person apartment might look like in between residents.:: ::Folds stepped inside and poked his head around. His duffel bag and trunk had already been delivered here, and sat next to a small table in the middle of the living area. Turning to his right, he found a doorway and a small bedroom. He slung the duffel over his shoulder, took three steps, and dropped it at the foot of the bed. The mattress was even a little softer than he had expected (or that he was used to from the Academy). But the pillows... He felt one, then lined the two provided up and punched them lightly. He would need to find better pillows.:: Folds: ::with a sigh that turns into a yawn:: Home sweet home... ::He sat on the bed and, keeping both feet on the floor, leaned back and closed his eyes. He didn't want to take a nap, or go to sleep, not just yet. He only wanted a moment or two of rest...:: ::The medical rounds had been fairly uneventful; MacLaren had been right that many of the patients would probably be ready to be discharged in the morning. Still... he should review what had happened before coming in. And Captain Dubeau's files, if he had access to them. Would he have access to the records of patients he wasn't assigned to? This must have been covered in the Academy, but he was too tired right now to remember.:: Folds: ::eyes still closed:: In the morning, Folds. You can take a little time off, get acclimated. :: 'You can take a little time off.' He remembered his sister telling him that, many years before. It wasn't long after she had left the Academy -- so he couldn't have been more than twelve.:: ((Flashback -- Folds Household, Savannah, Georgia -- 2374)) ::Anscom was sitting in his bedroom -- it had been his since Fiona had moved out to go to the Academy and Cyril had been allowed to take over her old room -- poring over work at his desk, the only piece of furniture other than a twin bed and a dresser. Fiona, eight years older than he, had come in to check on him. And offer to take him on a walk, to get ice cream, a soda, anything.:: Folds (age 12): ::excitedly and hurriedly:: Well, you see, I've got to finish my homework, and then finish these extra assignments Mum and Dad have me doing, and then Mum wants me to help review some of the data that she's brought in -- it'll be really exciting, she's finally letting me help her! -- and *then* once I'm done with all that, I get some time to myself to read, or maybe to get ahead on tomorrow's work. Mum and Dad say it's best to stay a day or two ahead of your teachers, if you can. Fiona: ::smiling lightly:: You know, Ani, you can take a little time off sometimes. Folds: Don't call me that. Fiona: Sorry. ::She left him to his work then, lowering a hand to rumple his hair in apology for the nickname before leaving.:: ::Later that evening, the entire family was together around the dinner table for the first time in over a year: Anscom, Fiona, the middle sibling, Cyril, and their parents, Rolan and Stella. In the background, however, voices from the news station Fiona had left on were filtering into their table talk. Dominion forces on Betazed ... Planetary defenses failing ... Casualty reports ... Ships missing or destroyed ... Federation and Starfleet insist on the security of Earth and Sector 001...:: Rolan: Will you turn that off? Fiona: No. They ought to know what's going on. And I *need* to know. You should want to, also. ::Some earlier tension Anscom hadn't noticed boiled over the moment Fiona turned to their father and addressed him directly.:: Rolan: You care so much but you can't bother not to flunk out in near-record time! Fiona: Record time isn't three semesters. It's the guys who pee their pants when the upperclassmen come around to "welcome" with Academy "traditions." ::pauses, looking at her food and then at both of her parents:: And it's not for lack of trying. I tried. You'd know that if you listened to anything other than your own failed aspirations. Stella: Fiona! Rolan: You'll not talk like that at this table. Fiona: I just believe in letting Cyr and Ani ::she winked at Anscom here, he thought:: know the truth: I just wasn't good enough. Like you just weren't good enough. And there's nothing shameful in that. It's not like I was doing anything worthwhile, sitting around in a classroom by the Bay with a stack of textbooks and simulations while Betazed's in flames and the NOOSE -- KEEPS -- TIGHTENING! ::Her face had turned, quite suddenly, red as her voice rose and she banged the table with a fist to punctuate each of the last three words. The rest of the table was silent and looked at her; she had risen halfway out of her seat and no one knew whether she was going to return to it or leave it. Even Fiona, taking a deep breath and pushing hair out of her face, seemed surprised to find she was no longer sitting down.:: Fiona: I'm going to actually go do something now. ::looking at her father:: And if actually cared about making a difference, like you say in all your speeches, you'd get up and go do something, too. Rolan: ::gruffly:: If they didn't want my help twenty-five years ago they wouldn't want me now. ::But Fiona was already on her way out of the dining room. As she passed by Anscom's chair, she reached over and pinched his back. He flinched, instinctively, then turned to look after her, but she was almost gone. They didn't hear from her for almost six months -- had no idea where she was or what she had done. A message came in one day letting them know that she was serving aboard a freighter, that they were in between runs and far enough from combat zones that she was allowed to send subspace messages home again.::
  3. OMG this is exciting! So many strong sims!
  4. ((Celes II, Ruin of Abandoned Machinery Storage Warehouse)) ::Consciousness came slowly, and with some reluctance. She swam in and out of it without being sure she was doing so. The sensation of the biobed, the odd tingling in her extremities, snatches of speech--these were all she caught of the waking world before drifting under again. Small wonder, perhaps, that she felt no urgency to surface.:: ::Eventually, though, her mind moored itself more firmly to the docks of consciousness. She took in the sensations, and after a few blurry moments of reaching for the memory trail to connect them to, she placed herself.:: oO Biobed. Yeah. I was injured... oh wow, by the Thousand Gods, I was injured a *lot*, wasn't I? ...I was really in the zone in there. How the cruk did I get to that state? ...He still beat me, though. I was as good as I've ever imagined being, and he still beat me. Oo ::She ran through the bout in her mind, several times, going over it analytically. She hadn't exactly been doing a lot of thinking at the time; now, she caught up on that.:: oO Sakkath, you clever, clever [...]. Barely had to fight, didn't you? Just hid until the right moment, then sprang your trap. Bet it was you who led Hard Hat Guy my way... still. Well played. Oo ::Opening her eyes was a bit painful, but she took her time at it, and eventually she was squinting steadily up at the dim overhead lighting. She risked a glance about, and was pleased to find her head did not throb or fall off. She gingerly tested out moving her various extremities, and found that both hands were immobilised by her sides, and both legs as well. She couldn't feel her legs, so she figured some sort of nerve block going on there, but her hands felt fine.:: ::She lifted her head a bit to get a better look. She was in a smallish alcove, made with the same prefab room dividers that had delineated her 'bedroom' before. Low tables lined the walls, many of them full of medical equipment. To one side there was a single chair.:: ::In that chair sat Sakkath.:: ::Katy blinked several times, as though reassuring herself that she wasn't seeing things. The Vulcan continued to not be an artifact of her recently-conscious brain, however. As she stared, a decidedly moronic look on her face, he stood and gracefully walked to her bedside.:: Sakkath: Hello, Katherine. Your vital signs are good. Some of your bone injuries have yet to heal fully, but according to the doctors they will heal perfectly. ::Katy's mind was full of several ideas, each competing to befuddle her the most. Would it be the fact he'd been sitting by her bed? That he'd addressed her by name? Or that he appeared to be concerned with her health?:: Orman: ...buh? oO Well, that was smooth. Oo Sakkath: I am here to congratulate you. ::All the previous competitors surrendered to the strength of the new challenger.:: Orman: ...Guh? oO Oh, yeah. Nice save, there, Katy. Oo ::The Vulcan glanced over at a readout for several seconds, then looked back.:: Sakkath: Your speech seems impeded, yet your neurological readings appear normal. Are you experiencing psychosomatic distress? ::She blinked some more, attempting to herd her thoughts into some semblance of verbiage.:: ::He appeared to reach a decision.:: Sakkath: I will summon a doctor. ::He turned to walk out.:: Orman: Gah... uh. No! ::He stopped where he was, turned his head back to regard her.:: Orman: I, umm, can speak. I... I just wasn't sure how to respond. ::He turned back towards her. He appeared to consider the idea for a moment, then nodded.:: Sakkath: Understandable. You have been unconscious for some hours, and my behaviour is no doubt puzzling given your point of view. ::She thought that over for a moment.:: Orman: Yeah. ::It seemed a safe response.:: Sakkath: Very well, I will elucidate. You have-- ::She held up her hand--or, tried to before remembering she couldn't move them.:: Orman: Stop. Umm. I think this may be easier if I ask questions. How long have you been sitting there? Sakkath: Discounting breaks for biological necessities, approximately nine and a quarter hours. ::She blinked, again. Twice.:: oO Somehow the dispassionate voice just makes it all the more surreal. OO ::But in the interest of keeping a handle on the conversation, she pushed past that and continued her questions.:: Orman: OK. You've been waiting here for me to wake up. Why? Sakkath: I was curious. And I wished to congratulate you. ::he paused for a moment:: And there was very little else to do. ::She narrowed her eyes:: Orman: Did... did you just make a joke, Sakkath? ::He raised an eyebrow:: Orman: ...Alright, never mind. What's this about congratulations? Sakkath: ::tilting his head to one side:: Congratulations are appropriate for a victory, are they not? ::Katy spoke slowly; this conversation was already going too fast for her liking, so slowing any part of it down was a comfort.:: Orman: Umm. Now you *have* to be making a joke. I know I've been knocked on the head a bit, but I'm pretty sure I remember *you* winning, back there. I present your general lack of bruising juxtaposed with my being unable to move my legs as my first piece of evidence. ::He nodded. His motions, she noticed, always seemed very bold, even dramatic. She assumed it was because he was so still most of the time; very few unnecessary movements.:: Sakkath: I won the game. ::She felt like there was a trace of contempt in his voice on that last word, but she was probably imagining it.:: Sakkath: However, I made a mistake. I wrongly thought that the best attitude would be to focus on winning. As such, I won with tactics, but I won no fights. You, on the other hand, won all of your fights. You surrendered because you recognised that your situation made further action pointless. And you also made the greatest impression. I am told that holograms of your fighting are already selling for very large sums. Orman: ::wryly:: The leotard they put us in might have something to do with that. ::He continued as though she had not spoken.:: Sakkath: As such, it seemed only reasonable to abdicate my position in favour of you. Orman: ....guh? ::That eyebrow again.:: Sakkath: I refused the honour. It belonged to you, so now it is yours. I believe the organisers are enthusiastic about this. Since no one has ever done it before, it will add to both of our reputations. I chose poorly, and fought no one. I gained nothing. ::pausing:: except... Orman: ...umm. Except? Sakkath: I saw you take a leap in ability far in excess of what I thought to be possible. ::Then the Vulcan did something that threw Katy more than the rest of the conversation combined. He smiled.:: Sakkath: I look forward to learning how you did that. ::quick as a flash, the smile was gone as though it had never been:: Now I must go prepare for my flight. Goodbye, Katherine. ::He walked off without waiting for a response, leaving her lying there completely confounded.:: Orman: ::quietly:: Bye... I... if I figure it out myself, I'll let you know... ::She resolved to go back to sleep for a bit. The waking world was just too much to handle, right now.:: TBC Lieutenant Commander Katy Orman Chief of Security Starbase 118 On Leave And Very Overwhelmed
  5. ((Celes II, Ruin of Abandoned Machinery Storage Warehouse)) ::The final bout of The Clashing was about to start; the bout in which, unlike in previous fights, all four finalists were placed in together to fight it out:: ::The fight was to take place in a large chamber, around fifty metres to a side. Unlike the rest of the warehouse, this area had not been cleared of machinery. Instead, equipment and junk from other areas had been moved in to further clutter it up. There were therefore various terrains created; piles of wreckage, clear aisles between large machines, random obstacle courses of assorted pieces and parts. There were enough large items around that the fighters couldn't generally see each other until they were close, and each competitor was let in through a different door, one on each wall.:: ::When Katy's door opened she stepped through immediately and was faced with a wall made from a large overturned conveyor of some sort. She did not stop to take stock but immediately turned to her left and continued moving.:: ::She was on the lookout for a good, defensible position. Despite being somehow completely ready for this--indeed, she was more fully embodying the principles of Shiji more than she could recall having ever done--there were still ways that she knew she could be overcome. One of those, the most likely, was being taken by surprise by a fight with two of the others at once. The best way to avoid that was to pick appropriate terrain.:: ::It is worth noting that she wasn't really *thinking* these things, or leastways not in the way one might normally conceptualise thought. She was conscious of them, and acting appropriately. This is not to say that she had no thoughts of the normal sort going on; she was cognising the occasional note or narrative. It simply wasn't where her attention was. But nonetheless the thoughts occurred.:: oO Concept is not truth. It can only model it. Therefore, focus on truth, not concept. Oo ::She rounded a corner into a more open area. Less than a second later, Sakath came into view, moving extremely fast. He spotted her and made for her, leaping over obstacles as needed.:: ::Without any reaction time between, Katy was moving into the most appropriate position to respond, a small platform that allowed her the greatest advantage when meeting the attack along the path he was clearly intending to launch it from.:: ::He stopped in his course having crossed just over half the distance. Despite the inhuman speed at which he'd been moving, he showed no signs of exertion. He tilted his head in curious inquiry, then shifted his weight to change to a different line of attack.:: ::She shifted in response at the same time.:: ::Sakath raised an eyebrow, nodded, and with a graceful pivot he dashed off on a different path.:: oO What we call separation is merely a form of distinction. Distinction does not divide reality, it only divides concept. Oo ::She took in the area around her, determined it was favourable enough to use. A large metal bar caught her attention; the arm of some sort of digging machinery. She squatted down next to it, got a grip, and lifted. Then she heaved it into a new position, lying flat just next to a pile of twisted metal plates. The noise, like a clamorous giant bell, rang through the chamber, reverberating from the walls and ceiling, and putting a ringing into her ears. She stepped back to wait.:: ::Just moments later, a man came into view, his bright green eyes locking onto her position quickly. Like his eyes, his long, braided hair was bright green. His ears were pointed, but he wasn't any sort of vulcanoid she recognised. He wasn't showing any particular speed, but he was distinguished by an extremely controlled grace. He made his way towards her cautiously.:: ::When he reached the pile of twisted metal he leaped over it--only to come down with his foot partially on the bar she'd tossed. It was only a moment's worth of catching himself from falling, but she'd already started moving when he was in the air, and she was there to aid his fall and direct it onto her upraised knee.:: oO It is important to understand what is context and what is content. Now is not a part of the context of time. Time is a part of the context of now. Oo ::She heard and felt ribs cracking on her knee, and let him roll off of her leg and onto the metal floor, struggling to draw breath; whatever species he was had a celiac plexus. He also had a carotid artery, which she reached down and put pressure on. After a few seconds, there was a noise and he was enveloped by the shimmer of a transporter field, taken away to an intensive care biobed in another part of the building.:: ::Two left.:: ::Katy had dispatched one opponent by arranging to make him ungrounded and vulnerable, then taking advantage of that situation. But two opponents were left to fight, one of whom she'd not taken the measure of.:: ::She stepped back again towards the row of what looked like long-outdated computer banks, moved to settle in against an unidentified piece of equipment--maybe a storage cabinet at one time, it was hard to tell--where she could view most of the potential field of attack, but was concealed from a large part of it. She took position and waited.:: ::Nearly ten minutes passed with no movement. Probably one or both of the others were also laying in wait somewhere. It didn't matter.:: oO Emotion, be it joy, fear, anger, love, frustration, impatience, or any other, is an activity, an attempt at self-manipulation, nothing more. See it for what it is and cease the activity, and the emotion is gone. Oo ::Soon after, she began to hear the occasional noise. The noises were indistinct, hushed, and probably relatively close, though it was difficult to be sure in the acoustics of this place. The likelihood that they were coming from her quarter of the room was high, however.:: ::Yet no one emerged. The noises, which had never become distinct enough to be identifiable, ceased, and nothing occurred.:: ::Another fifteen minutes passed. She heard more noises. This time, someone entered her vision.:: ::He was Terran, or one of the races that was outwardly difficult to distinguish from Terran. Short, full of nervous energy, and with a day or so worth of beard growth, wearing a hard hat and a stained workman's jacket with bulging pockets. They had all been sent in wearing identical outfits, so he'd probably picked those up somewhere on the battlefield.:: ::He gave the area a quick once-over, but she was blocked from his view by the probably-a-cabinet. As she watched through the small gap between cabinet and wall, he stopped, frowned, and looked the place over again. The actions of someone who expected their prey to be there. He had either narrowed the possibilities down to here, which seemed unlikely--he would have been found by Sakkath at some point during his search, and this man showed no signs of recent battle--or he'd been directed here to find her. In either case, hiding would not help her.:: ::She stepped out of concealment, and was noticed very quickly. So quickly that the average observer would have called the snapping of his gaze towards her, and the resultant reaching into the bulky pockets of the jacket and hurling a series of several small objects at her head, instantaneous.:: ::She was already moving, stepping out of the way of all of the projectiles. It didn't look like dodging, because there was no reaction involved; it looked more like she was doing an intricate dance that just happened to take her out of the flight paths, moving closer to him.:: oO If one is at the effect of other, one is not truly experiencing other. If one is experiencing other, one is not at the effect of it, and one is therefore free to act appropriately. Oo ::He was closing the distance as well, and when they were within eight metres, the projectiles he was throwing now came from another pocket. Now he thew handfulls of 2cm ball bearings, and she was unable to continue moving forward. In order to dodge all of the metal spheres, which the man was throwing with a force that could do terrible damage, she had to change her direction, ducking and rolling away, back towards the wall of tall computer consoles. It was not quite possible to dodge them all, and she was hit in a few places, gaining some tissue damage and at least one broken finger in the process.:: ::Nearing the wall, she dove and rolled behind the same cabinet she'd been concealed behind before. It would not offer that protection any longer, but it was still a useful resource. One of the doors was hanging off, only attached by part of one rusty hinge. She tore it off of the cabinet, cutting her right hand up badly in the process, then emerged with the door held in front of her. Another barrage of ball bearings hit, but she deflected them all effectively, gaining only dents to her makeshift shield and one crushed finger in the process.:: oO Pain does not exist. Sensation exists. Pain is a label, an attitude, an action. Accept the sensation and it cannot be pain. Oo ::The barrage no longer serving its purpose, it was ended. Instead, he leapt for her, deflecting the swung cabinet door with an upraised arm. At the same time, she got a strong sense that being in this spot was inappropriate, but moving away and avoiding her opponent's attacks at the same time was not possible in the immediate moment. She took the optimal available path, allowing his knee strike to connect and swinging him around behind her...:: ::So when the massive console came down, she was only caught up to her hips. The man she'd been fighting didn't fare quite so well; he was completely underneath the bulk, and not moving.:: ::Katy attempted to wiggle out. One of her legs was tangled up with her opponent's shoulder and arm. She couldn't feel it very well, which probably meant some nerve damage at the very least. And she was unable to extricate it.:: ::The antiquated computer console was, by her reckoning, too heavy for Sakkath to have pushed over. However, if he used a lever and fulcrum, it would be possible.:: ::The Vulcan in question stepped into view, his shadow falling over her. In his hands he held a thick metal bar perhaps a metre and a half in length. The lever.:: ::The metal bar whipped down towards her head.:: ::The speed it moved at was tremendous--and irrelevant. Timing and awareness were more important than speed, by far.:: oO Presence is that which naturally occurs when we stop doing the activities we do to cover it up. Oo ::The Vulcan's stance showed that he did not intend to crush her skull, only concuss her. That made all the difference as to the strike, and the response.:: ::At the last moment, she turned her head; not moving it out of the way, simply turning her profile towards the strike rather than facing it squarely. This made the difference of several inches, and the pulled strike barely clipped her, an inch or so above her temple. At the same time, she was moving her arm, relaxed, as fast as she was capable. She wasn't as fast as Sakkath, but at the right point, when his pulled strike was missing its target, he wasn't as fast either.:: ::She got ahold of the bar, and pulled in the most effective direction--but her hand was slick with blood, and her thumb was too damaged to apply the grip she needed. It was enough to pull the bar closer, but not enough to take it from the Vulcan's grasp. She used the opportunity to strike with her other hand at his gripping fingers, but at the last moment he twisted, and her fist struck iron instead. Sakkath used that moment to pull, trying to take the weapon from her weakened grasp.:: ::It would have worked, if not for two fortuitous (for Katy, anyway) circumstances. First, Sakkath's back foot came down on a ball bearing, causing him a moment of stumbling, which spoiled his pull more than a little. Second, the other fighter's brainwaves chose that moment to dip into full unconsciousness, and he was transported out, giving Katy the briefest moment of freedom. She used that moment to leap forward and twist, and successfully pulled the bar away from her opponent's grip. This further unbalanced him, and he fell.:: ::Sakkath was not the only falling object, though, and Katy was not able to get clear of the console in that brief time allotted; it came down on her lower legs and feet. She distinctly felt her right ankle snap; it had not been in the most favourable position. As a result, she was not able to follow up on her successful disarming with a strike before her opponent sprang back to his feet and up out of her reach.:: ::The two fighters made eye contact for several seconds. Katy saw his gaze flick briefly towards an area of the floor upon which lay several ball bearings.:: oO There is no such thing as a 'fight,' and there never was. Oo ::Katy dropped the bar onto the ground with a loud clang. Still holding the Vulcan's gaze, she flattened her less-injured hand, palm down, and tapped the floor twice.:: ::Moments later, she was transported away to an intensive-care biobed. Seconds afterwards, she passed out from the pain.:: Lieutenant Commander Katy Orman Chief of Security This is what she does with her free time
  6. Yay! regarding 2. Regarding 1, here's what I'm referring to. I did a single narrative in three parts, posted several days apart, each one picking up where the last one left off, labeled parts 1, 2, and 3. I like them enough to overcome my aversion to vanity and submit them, but they work better as a single sim rather than as 3 separate ones. Not to mention it would be weird to have them competing against each other. So what I'm asking is, is it alright to submit them as one?
  7. Is it alright to aggregate a sim before submission? I guess this is actually two questions: 1. Is it alright to submit a sim as a single entry, that was initially posted in several pieces (assuming they all were posted in the relevant timeframe?) and, 2. Is it alright to submit a sim that was posted with open tags, but filling in the tags with the responses that were posted in a different post?
  8. ((Kevin Breeman's Bedroom, Breeman Residence - Earth - Several Weeks After our Current Time on SB118)) ::Patri hugged her knees as she sat on the bed. Seated in the chair near Kevin's desk Jan watched her quietly as they discussed what had happened on what turned out to be Odyssey Station, located far outside of the Milky Way Galaxy.:: Patri: I don't know. I... Just didn't want to have to deal with them anymore. ::Jan nodded thoughtfully and smiled.:: Jan Breeman: That's understandable. I think you've had a very unique experience with computers. Computers aren't monsters. I'm sure you've been told that enough times. And I can understand why for you they are. ::Patri nodded.:: Patri: I was a real asset to a lot of people. I could feel what computers were doing, sense it when they were about to perform tasks. I could command them. But there was always so much noise. It was like constant screaming in my head. I couldn't recognize anyone any more. And that was why I found God. ::Jan nodded. A side effect of the slave tag had been a kind of prosopagnosia. Patri had effectively lost her biological parents.:: Jan Breeman: You saw religion as a way to calm your mind? Patri: Yeah.. In jail I'd practice it. There were less computers there. It was more peaceful. And I'd feel him there with me. Like Jesus Christ was someone I was friends with. He understood everything I was going through. It was like he had his own slave tag inside his brain. It jacked him into all the crap people had ever done. So God could obliterate it all just by killing him. ::Across the room Jan smiled slightly. It was understandable. The Christian narrative tended to emphasize the projection of all of human sin into the body of Jesus Christ. The crucifixion then became a kind of final purging.:: Patri: I learned to meditate. I even taught other inmates. I learned labyrinths inside the common prayer room. It was a holosuite devoted to running religious programs for inmates. We'd... Walk through the labyrinths together. It was like nothing else in the world mattered but you, the pattern on the floor, and God. Jan Breeman: I'm glad you did that. I wouldn't be surprised if you helped a lot of those people turn their lives around. Patri: I guess so. But then... This doctor named Emma finally figured out how to take out the slave tag. ::Jan nodded, remembering the lengthy correspondences she'd had with Emma Fengjian about the excision operation. The research that had led up to it had been revolutionary to say the least. And her follow through had been an astounding success.:: ::And yet, there had been something sinister in it all. As though in removing the device Emma had robbed Patri of a part of herself. She'd often brought that up. "Did I do the right thing?" she would ask sometimes during late night chats.:: ::Patri remembered what had turned out to be a kind of surgery.:: ((Flashback - Holodeck - Pamos Prison Colony)) Anger blossomed inside of her, a dagger sprouting in her hand. The throbbing beat harder, a rhythmic pounding driving her forward. She lunged at the creature, pressing her small by comparison form into the monster's midsection, and drove the knife into his stomach. There was a groaning sound from everywhere inside of him as she felt the dog's muzzle fall on top of her head. She smelled the stench of his wheezing breaths as the side of his opened mouth showered her hair with saliva and then blood. “Patri!” Emma, desperate and shocked. She grabbed at the dog and felt herself lifting him over her shoulder. This was instinct, a raw need that gnawed at her for satisfaction. “Patri I need you to talk to me. What are you feeling? I can't be sure this is working if--” How could Emma ever understand? Patri was doing what she'd wanted to do all her life. She was liberating herself finally, trekking into a new life. The ground in the forest in which they stood sloped gently upward, fog parting in front of them and obscuring their path behind. She could still see Emma in the corner of her eye, walking beside her, a pleading look in her eyes. Patri carried the limp Grendellai over her shoulder to... where? “Patri, I need you to talk to me. I'm here to help you.” She wasn't. She was just like all the others, singing a chorus of empty jargon to accompany the arc of Patri's life. Soon it was raining. As they reached the top of the hill Patri saw what she wanted. She set the dog down on the stony structure as a torrent of rain drenched his wound. She could see Emma staring at her, forlorn bewilderment pressed down by a soaked matt of hair, shaking her head in disbelief. Patri still held her knife. She wanted to cut at this dying Grendellai. She wanted to gouge its eyes out. She wanted to slice at its nose and draw blood from the vulnerable moist black skin. But something was wrong. There was a choked sound coming from his throat then a squeak and then a ruff and a bark. She couldn't believe it. The thing was a dog now. He was just a dog. ((Present)) ::At first she'd hated Emma for what she'd done. She'd wanted to kill herself after it, feeling as though she were just a husk and not a human any more. God had left her.:: Jan Breeman: ::Quietly she said,:: I know. Patri: So... When I saw that floor and those Binars told me what they thought it was, I just froze... What if I somehow wrecked it? Or caused it to do something that would damage the station? Jan Breeman: Because computers have always been trouble for you. ::Patri nodded.:: Jan Breeman: Patri... You must have been very scared. Patri: ::Quickly:: I was! Jan Breeman: And I want you to know that I'm very proud of you. Patri: Why? ::Jan got up from the chair she was sitting in and sat down on the bed beside Patri.:: Jan Breeman: Because you didn't want to do anything wrong. You would do anything to prevent yourself from doing something wrong. You're a good kid. And I want you to know that what Emma did to you back there... I know it hurt. I have known Doctor Emma Fengjian a very long time. And I know there isn't a day she doesn't think about how she hurt you. ::Patri burst into tears.:: Patri: What? Why?? Jan: Because, honey... She knew what it was she was taking from you when she extracted that slave tag. She knew you were too smart to let something bad in your life stay bad. You turned it into a part of who you were. And Emma took away that part. ((Flashback - Holodeck - Pamos Prison Colony)) The yellow grid was back, an empty room. Its lone occupant stood soaked in water that slowly faded as the emitters de-integrated the holographic substance from her body, until all that was left was Patri, staring out into a blank room, her real water still soaking her shirt, non-human elements gone. She stared at the flakes of dried mud scattered senselessly everywhere. Her mind, for the first time in her life, was an abyss that could never stare back. She slowly dropped to her knees and held out her hand wanting to clasp the god she'd conjured to get her through life. But the knocking at the door to her heart never came. She couldn't dream up peace beyond understanding or scandalous penetrations of her reality by an eternal divine other. Seated on the floor, dirt all around her, she held her head in her hands and wept. ((Present)) ::Jan calculated her next words, believing Patri would be mature enough to understand them.:: Jan Breeman: She wanted you to have your humanity back. ::Patri continued to cry softly as Jan wrapped her arms around her.:: Jan Breeman: And I think what you can learn from all of this is that people usually try to be good. Just like Emma did. Just like Kevin did. Just like you did. ::Patri wiped a tear from her cheak and said,:: Patri: Okay. Jan Breeman: You're a human being. You can start to trust yourself again. I know it'll be hard. But we're here for you. ::Later that night when Patri finally did fall asleep her dreams returned to being just scattered remnants of the days and weeks before, strung together with a logic all their own by the whims of her entirely human brain.:: Patri Jia Kom Former Computer Hacker as simmed by Lt. Cmdr. Kevin Breeman Chief Engineer Starbase 118
  9. I'm glad someone finds Liam's on-duty attitude somewhat insufferable, I purposefully wrote him that way knowing it's happen eventually.

  10. Ahh, the joy of overlapping geekinesses. :)

  11. Nah, just an astonishing series of coincidences. including the fact that she and I are in the same company as well.

  12. Aww, see, here I was hoping for drama! :)

  13. It's somewhat anti-climactic. One of my close friends, who write on the Aurora, is also friends with a bunch of the guys in Nick's company, Omega. Not sure how it came up between them, but i thought it was an amusing connection.

  14. Yep, I was Nick's Squire. I'm very curious about the story of how you made that connection.

  15. So, I hear you used to be squired to Syr Sanchez.

  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.