Alleran Tan

[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part XIII) ((Memorial Square, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) The plaza looked slick under the coat of rainwater, shimmering in the sunlight. Plants in bedding boxes all around glistened with the fresh watering, the soil greedily soaking it in as two tiny birds that could fit into the palm of a hand flit back and forth, fighting over the nectar from one budding flower, creating a twirling pirouette in midair. In the middle of the morning, it was busier than it had been at night; older Romulans sat on the benches conversing in Rihan, children ran around the large mosaic bird on the floor dodging the lines of the wings in some game as children do while parents stood in doorways or sat on bistro tables talking, watching, waiting. Little Ki Baratan in the autumn was a little lovely. Back on Esperance Station, Bear had made the observation that the four of them resembled an Andorian family on a tourist visa, heading out to see all the sights and sounds of the four corners of the Federation. Sat at one of the bistro tables, they did. A tall glass of citrus carallun in hand, all the blond needed to complete the breakfast was a sandwich. Chris nursed a cup of tarka — a Romulan drink served hot, tasting a little like cinnamon and cloves with a hint of rose, though not as woody — glancing to Valesha with a slight smile at the phrases he could just about understand in Low Rihan from the couple sat across from them. She barely noticed, sat in pensive stillness, her gaze darting around the edges of the square and then back to the middle, where children played and their elders conversed. A flip of a coin and this could have been her life. The sight seized her heart more than Væron had. That was a sleepy Romulan colony, stirring from a long slumber by fights over mining rights. But it was, mostly, as it always had been. Quiet, provincial, its population the same as before — give or take the natural march of births and deaths, and the influx of Federation miners. A familiar slice of Romulan life, but somehow distant at the same time. The Romulans in the square were her people. From the same place, she'd called home, who'd lived through the same losses, who'd had to make their homes in places they weren't welcome among people who didn't want them there. United by a shared, terrible event and the struggle to find themselves in the wake. There was a kinship between them, if a grim one. Her knee bounced in agitation and she leaned back in the chair. Sienelis: What time is it? Johns: Just after ten, I think. ::He waved his hand over the screen of the small PADD and nodded through a pull of tarka.:: Just after ten. O. Marshall: He’ll be here. Somewhere. Watching. It’s what we’d do. Placing one hand on her thigh and pressing down to still it, Valesha nodded. He was right, much as she always hated to admit it. Even with everything she knew, each question answered only as she could. There had to be a niggle of doubt in his mind. Why now, after ten years? Where had she been? What was she doing with her life? Each question had the possibility of answers he wouldn't want. The question was, would seeing her sat there with two humans and a Bajoran-Cardassian hybrid ease that doubt, or intensify it? Sienelis: It's been ten years, right? What's a few more minutes. Under the table, Chris reached for her hand on her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. Quietly reassuring in his way. He placed the tarka mug in front of her and stole Bear’s last mouthful of the orange and yellow swirling liquid in his glass to wash it down with, much to the indignation of the blond who rolled his eyes and looked for the server. Johns: We’ve got nowhere else to be. He’s who we came for. If we need to, we’ll wait all day for him to appear. O. Marshall: I wonder if he thinks you’re a clever clone, setting a trap. Josett: Or working for someone he'd rather you weren't. That earned the hybrid a sharp look and determined scowl, which she naturally answered with a sunny smile and a sip from her mug. An educated guess. Probably. Still, it hit uncomfortably close to the mark — there was a very distinct possibility that Taeval was worried she was under their father's thumb, looking to bring him home. Johns: You know one another better than that. ::He sat back in his chair and inhaled the sweet air of the town; bread, flowers, tarka he was becoming fond of…:: Appropriate caution can’t be a bad thing. Besides, ::he glanced over his shoulder to Lena,:: you’re the only one of us who looks remotely villainous. Josett: I can't help it, it's the spoon. ::She ran her fingers over the raised oval of bone on her forehead.:: It says, "I'm going to conquer your planet and sneer while I'm doing it." She grinned at Chris and shrugged, the brilliant smile and soft chuckle going a long way to hide the dampened sparkle in amber eyes. Chris shook his head as a small set'leth kitten strode past, much tail swinging going on and not a care in the world. It brought back a sliver of memory from the first time he’d seen one, scavenging for food on Vaeron. Johns: No, it’s the swagger that says “I’m going to steal your loot and have a jolly good time doing it.” O. Marshall: There’s a booty joke I could make here. ::His lips twitched near imperceptibly.:: But I won’t. Valesha's chair scraped across the stone paving, the repartee falling on deaf ears. She stood, staring across the square and over the heads of the children skipping across the mosaic. On the other side of the memorial, a tall young man had stepped into view, staring right back at her. Wrapped in a long, thick coat, collar pulled high against the weather, he shared the same high cheekbones and sculpted jaw of his sister, his head a mop of rain-soaked curls. Chuckling at Bear’s non-joke, Chris didn’t realise until Valesha was on her feet. He followed her eye line across the square to the likeness of her in the cut of his face and eyes, and it prompted a long inhale with a whoosh of an exhale. There he was, after a year of looking and searching, standing across from them like coming for breakfast. Bear did the same, turning slightly to look across the expansive town centre to the figure. O. Marshall: Is that him? She nodded, unable to catch her breath as her heart slammed against her ribcage. Unable to tear her gaze away, head spinning and pulse pounding in her ears, Valesha willed herself forward. But her muscles locked in place, unwilling to comply, fight-or-flight instincts misfiring amidst the surge of hormones pouring into her veins. He made no move either, two statues staring at each other in hopeful, anxious disbelief. Beside her, Chris stood up, a healthy dose of caution being drowned out by surprise. It was undeniable how much they looked like one another, both looking like their mother, with the interweaving influence of a father somewhere in there. Gently, the Russian slipped his hand to the small of Valesha’s back, his grin cracking through. Johns: Maybe one of you should make the first move. Valesha nodded again, and with a clumsy, blind touch to Chris' shoulder she stepped forward. Taeval didn't move, watching her, and she walked toward him, numb despite the firestorm raging through her flesh and bones. Dissociated, a distant observer, as though she was watching a touching interest story about refugees reuniting on the tenth anniversary of the disaster. Children darted around her as she crossed the mosaic, laughing and calling out to each other, unaware that the world of the two adults among them was shifting on its foundations. She stopped in front of him, a matched pair of mossy eyes meeting in the middle; uncertainty, hope and disbelief mirrored and echoing. Valesha planted her hands on his chest, fingers splayed, pushing against him. The gentlest of pressure, only enough to reassure herself that there was resistance and he wasn't merely a phantom of a heartsore dream. The notch in his throat bobbed with a swallow, and he covered her hands with his, his fingers curling around her palms. His voice was low and soft, a raw, gravelled whisper. Taeval: Y'hhau, rinam lhhea. The [...] broke. A bittersweet ache rolled like thunder through both Romulans, the storm crackling through bone, blood and sinew, out to the tips of fingers and back again, striking at the throat and eyes and chest. Valesha choked out a sob and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, and he wrapped his arms around her, each burying their face in the other's shoulder, a decade of hope and heartache falling in hot tears. Across the plaza, her young Russia’s grin only grew wider. Yet to sit down, he slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched the meeting of a decade, of a fundamental shift in their universe, as though this were any normal day, in any normal place. His heart thumped hard in his chest, a warmth spreading like a wildfire, and he wiped away an escaping tear with the back of his hand. The server came and went unnoticed, while Bear, sitting and watching, smiled as he inwardly marvelled at how different things seemed to be from a year ago, and reached over the table for Lena’s hand. Sienelis: Y'hhau, dinam khiilal. Smiling through misty eyes and damp cheeks, Valesha leaned back to look at him again, cradling his face in her palms, then dropping her hands to his shoulders. A tight knot pulled at her stomach; shadowed eyes and pallid skin, gaunter than she remembered, the look of someone who'd been ground down by time. But he was beaming at her then, eyes sparkling like emeralds in sunlight, handsome and boyish. Sienelis: We have so much to talk about. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis Lt. Marshall & Lt. JG Josett - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part XII) ((Next Morning: Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) The light through the window didn't change all that much from the night before; the street lamps dimmed, the rain continued, creating a sheen of water against the pane. Another glorious morning in the Romulan town of Little Ki Baratan, where the only thing working harder than the dockers was the weather system. Underneath quilts, snuggled into the mattress and pillows, Bear lay on his side, enjoying the slow, rhythmic sound of Lena snoozing. Dark curls sprawled on her pillow, Bajoran nose twitching as she slept leading up into olive-skinned ridges of Cardassian heritage marking her forehead; each marking distinctively hers and beautifully so. He inhaled a soft breath as he watched her sleep, amber eyes flickering under her eyelids, the twitch of a smile ever-present on her lips even while wading through dreams, and a deliciously slow ache crept up around his heart. His arm slipped beneath her pillow, tangling his fingers in hers on the other side, and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her lips. O. Marshall: ::Quietly,:: I missed you. She drew in the slow, deep breath of the dreamer, barely disturbed, a small turn of her head on the pillow and little else. There was no sign that she'd heard him, slumbering on, until she gave his fingers the lightest of squeezes and breathed out a quiet, dozy mumble. Josett: ...missed you, too. He smiled, the spread of feeling through his chest, warming beneath his collarbone and sternum. Nuzzling his nose into her dark curls, Bear’s eyes closed as he kissed her temple, and settled in to enjoy a lazy morning together with the hiss of rain accompanying. ...Until a chime of the door echoed around the room. Relaxed morning broke. O. Marshall: Go away, Sienelis. For a few, sweet moments, it looked like she had. Then the chime sounded again, this time accompanied by a Romulan fist beating heel first into the door, in a knock that would have forced lesser doors from their hinges. Had said door possessed hinges. Bear exhaled a terse breath from his nose and rolled to his side. Legs dropped off the edge of the bed and stared at the other side of the door with the intensity of a dying star. As perpetual banging continued, he pushed up to his feet and slapped his hand onto the door controls. Setting his jaw, Bear growled as the door slid back into the recess. O. Marshall: WHAT? Are you dying again? She sucked in a sharp breath to retort, then the vast expanse of completely exposed flesh sent an olive flush running to her cheeks and her eyes toward the heavens. Sarcastic comeback lost to the aether, she instead raised her hands in a frustrated, expansive gesture. Sienelis: For the love of— Are you allergic to clothes, or what? The blond stared at her for a minute with the weight of his brow in full force. She scowled back with equal determination, chin and eyes determinedly elevated. She wasn't a prude, but there were just some parts of Bear she didn't want to see. O. Marshall: You got me out of bed to ask me that? Sienelis: No. ::She fired back, annoyance flaring.:: We're meeting Taeval in an hour. He yawned loudly, crooked elbow leaning against the doorframe as his hand scratched through his hair. The very picture of a man who could happily go back to bed and remain there. O. Marshall: You’re sure it’s him and not some random Star Empire agent this time? Sienelis: What do you mean "this time"? O. Marshall: Wasn’t exactly the Orion Syndicate I was dealing with, was it? ::His fingers rubbed into his eye sockets as he looked at her and frowned.:: You coming in or what? Sienelis: I've already seen more of you than I ever wanted to, I don't want to get an eyeful of Lena as well. Josett: Your loss! Valesha grimaced as Lena's voice echoed around the bedroom walls, taking a step back at the sound of the bed sheets rustling. Bear glanced over his shoulder to his wife, a chuckle there somewhere in the back of his mind, the rest of him too tired to show it. O. Marshall: An hour. Where? Sienelis: Memorial Square. He nodded and pushed off his elbow from the frame, resting his hand there instead. An hour gave them enough time to shower, dress, and get out of there, taking perhaps a long route around should they be followed. O. Marshall: We’ll meet you outside in half an hour, then. Try not to let Chris get kidnapped this time. Sienelis: Plan is to let them have you. O. Marshall: And here I thought we were best friends. ::He held his arms out to her.:: Come on, haircut. Bring it in. Sienelis: One day, I'll call your bluff. ::She stared back at him, trying to summon the courage to beat him at his own game. But her eyebrows pulled into that familiar scowl, her lips thinned and she wagged a finger in his direction.:: Today is not that day. O. Marshall: There’s that legendary Romulan bravery I’ve heard so much about. ::His eyebrow curved upwards and, despite the back and forth between the two, Bear sighed with a slight grin on his features.:: Are you excited? The scowl dropped away from her features in the span of a Romulan heartbeat, a deep inhale as the distraction ended and thoughts of the meeting ramped up her pulse. Excited, apprehensive, elated, terrified; it was a potent mix of emotions coursing through her veins, her blood electric and her muscles charged. A small, anxious grin echoed back at him, and she nodded. Sienelis: Yeah. It doesn't seem real. Her expression teased out his grin a little more, infectious as it was. A meeting a decade in the making, a sister finding her brother after so long apart and so much had changed in the interim. It curled like a little hook into his heart — that the wedge driven between Bear and Jo felt a little lessened. O. Marshall: We'd better not be late, ey? I’d rather not suffer those consequences before breakfast. Sienelis: Go. ::She wafted a hand toward him.:: Feast. Caffeinate. Locate your pants. I'll see you in half an hour. O. Marshall: You are as gracious as ever. He reached out to ruffle his hand through her hair as the door closed, narrowly missing the sprightly Romulan by an inch. The door closed, Bear frowned a little. Apprehension twirled around his internals. They were definitely going into this with some kind of armament. Hearing the hiss of water other than rain, and with a cheeky grin beneath the blond beard, Bear darted into the bathroom to sneak into Lena’s shower. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part XI) ((Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) She grinned at him, affection sparkling in green eyes, a marked difference from the fire and brimstone of a few hours ago. Sipping from her cup, she shook her head, seeing the distraction for what it was and welcoming it all the same. Sienelis: Frequently. Johns: You do the same thing when you finish your en dedans pirouette. ::The top of his foot ran under the bottom of hers as he explained it.:: Heel down in plié, ready to use the whole foot to control the turn. Sienelis: I only do what you taught me to. Johns: Yes, but you actually do it. Yacht boy didn’t. She breathed out a quiet groan, downing another mouthful of tea, shaking her head. The less said about that man, the better. The devastation he'd wrought in such a short time was remarkable — every bit the spoilt, entitled narcissist she'd marked him for — and while Caedan had cheered up in the months since, the damage still lingered beneath. He avoided Adea where he could, and his smile pulled thin if the conversation wandered anywhere near a bizarre mix of topics; Japanese cuisine, tequila, the houses of Betazed, German castles, and anything else that reminded him of an evening he wished he could do over or the man he should have stayed away from. Sienelis: I maintain he wasn't there for the ballet. Chris laughed through his mouthful of coffee, swallowing in time before he choked to death. Valesha made the observation after the first ballet session where the noble had hardly listened to a word, and even weeks later, had made slow progress. However, there was an undercurrent of jealousy all the time, radiating from him whenever Valesha came up in conversation, or the two were in proximity. Grinning up at Vee, Chris flicked a cheeky eyebrow, and she shot a sly smile right back. Johns: He was always so obsessed with how my dance belt sat. About to take a sip, she snorted into her cup, the exhale splattering her face with tiny droplets of warm tea. Chuckling quietly, she blotted it away with a swipe of the hand, drying it on the quilt. Then, with an inhale and a sly twinkle, she summoned the very essence of arch Romulan haughtiness. Sienelis: Whereas I'm only in it for the art. Johns: Of course, I expect nothing less. Not there to watch me prance around in stirrup’d tights, and I am absolutely not there for your leotards. Sienelis: Merely an added bonus. Johns: I’m glad you approve. I aim to please all my students. He finished the dregs in his mug and leaned over to slip it on the nightstand, avoiding rolling onto the small PADD lying on the bed with them. Valesha watched him, fingers curled around her cup, wondering if he had any idea of her motivations for learning to dance. Because he loved it, and that love was infectious, true — but there was more to it than that. Sienelis: I shall take the high road, ::she arched a sly eyebrow, a twinkle in her eyes,:: and simply say I am very content with my teacher. Johns: I have been thinking of a pas de deux we could design together. Choreographing it in my head. ::Turning back to her, he lay sideways, settling his head on her thigh, and her fingers snaked back into his hair again.:: Make it a blend of Russian and Romulan. Sienelis: Maybe there's a Romulan dance troupe here we could go and see for inspiration before we leave. With gentle affection swimming in hazel, her Russian looked up at her and smiled, moving his head in time with her fingers and breathing contentedly. They’d started this routine “years” earlier in a dream, with repeated requests from a friend to dance with a friend, so to lie there as Valesha shared in something he’d loved since he was a child never failed to bring a gentle thud behind his breastbone. Johns: Or at least some research material we could get our hands-on. I like the thought of it; whether the two would mesh together is something else. ::He sighed, deflating his chest.:: We’ll just have to practise. Sienelis: I promise to try and not break any more shoes in the endeavour. ::A mischievous glint shimmered in green.:: Emphasis on try. Johns: I don’t know, ::he looked up at the ceiling with a dreamy expression, remembering the day fondly,:: it turned out well for us. And angry Valesha is pretty sexy. Ballet shoes have paid the ultimate price for worse reasons. She finished the last of her tea, resisting the temptation to pick up the PADD and stare at it. It would sound where there was something to see, and not before. Putting the cup to the side on the table, she looked back to Chris and found a grin, raising her eyebrows in amusement. Sienelis: Permission to lose my temper. You might regret that. Johns: In the most delightful ways, I’m sure. He reached up to brush the back of his fingers over her olive-skinned cheek and smiled at the playfulness in emerald. It brought with it a gentle flare of fireworks in his chest; all the love in muscle and bone reflected right back. The soft smile turned at the corners into a wry, half-[...]ed grin and he turned his head to kiss her thigh. Johns: Fancy eloping? Sienelis: What do you mean? Johns: I... ::He started and stopped, unsure of how to put it into words.:: Do you ever want to just run away and get married? Take Caedan with us, Taeval when we turn over the stone where he is, Vorin when he's stopped being an [...]... ::Taking a breath, he looked up at her and dropped his hand to his stomach.:: Just our family. Still combing her fingers through his hair, Valesha looked back with a faint smile. Sienelis: Is that what you'd like to do? Johns: Sometimes, but I don’t think I’m going to escape having to steal you back from Brunsig, then I want it to be us on Vaeron, with everyone, and Nyura dragging you through all the Russian traditions. Swinging like a pendulum between their varied options, they had so many. His mother would forgive him; she adored Valesha. His father was another matter. With a deep sigh, his hand dropped onto her foot, the back of his fingers moving over the delicate skin of her ankle lazily, down to thread his fingertips between her toes. Theirs wasn’t the most forgiving of passions to indulge in, producing aches and pains all over, but especially where all the force drove down into the floor. Johns: What do you want to do? Sienelis: I just want to marry you, Chris. In a holodeck on the Gorkon, in a field on Vaeron, a civic hall ten minutes from here... Whatever the shape of it, I get you at the end. Johns: Flattery won’t make me make this decision, you realise. Sienelis: Worth a try. She was quiet for a moment, combing her fingers back and forth, soft strands of hair tickling the delicate skin between her fingers. Her wedding was never going to be the one she imagined or expected — and that, as far as Valesha was concerned, was a good thing. Warmth slipped between her ribs, wrapping her heart in velvet, and she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Sienelis: I mean it, though. Johns: Then we do what feels right when we get back. If that's a lavish affair with twenty courses, that's what it is. He smiled looking up at her and reached up to slip his fingers into her dark hair. Right there, in the emerald depth of her eyes, was the only place he needed to be. Lifting his head from her thigh, he caught her lips again, slow and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. Johns: You've already got me. Across two lifetimes. Sienelis: I— Her gaze darted away from him, the PADD chirping a desire for attention once again. Stealing a hurried kiss, she pulled away and grabbed for the device; her gaze intent on the screen. Another question, even more obscure than the last. She couldn't blame her brother for being cautious — if their situations were reversed, she'd suspect some plot of unwanted origin, the chance of a missing twin appearing after ten years too fantastic to be true. Sienelis: You've got a choice, more coffee or sleep. ::She glanced around the screen, apologetic and resigned in one.:: Taeval's being as paranoid as I would be. I think we might be at this a while. Johns: I could go for another hour or two. Who knows what lies in store for us tomorrow. As if on cue, a yawn rumbled through and he stretched his arms out to the sides, fists balled, the momentary tensing of tired muscles and the delicious relief of relaxing, all observed by the admiring eye of his fiancée. Forcing movement into protesting limbs, Chris sat up and dropped his legs off the edge of the bed, rubbing his eye with the ball of his hand. Johns: Do you want some tea before I do? Sienelis: I'm all right. ::There was a pause, then she dropped her hand holding the PADD to the sheets to add, softly, :: Thank you. Her Russian grinned as his hand ruffled through his hair, and he leaned back on his elbow, resting it on the mattress, close enough to kiss her bare shoulder. A low thrum of love spread through his ribs as the warmth and scent of her skin wrapped around him like a blanket. Johns: Wake me up if you need distracting? I'm sure I can think of ways. Sienelis: I'm sure you can. Her lips twitched, eyebrows raised, accompanying the wry tone of voice. With a deep inhale and exhale, she sank back down onto the pillows and shuffled across the mattress. Just a little, enough to feel him there beside her as she began her vigil. Chris settled into bed on his side, oddly the same as they were back on the Gorkon, pillow fluffed into compliance, and closing whatever gap Valesha had left, he slipped his leg beneath hers. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part X) ((Sometime Later: Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) Lay sprawled on his back, Chris snored lightly through an exhausted sleep. One arm beneath Valesha’s pillow, his other hand on his bare stomach, his legs in the position familiar to both of the bed occupants now. The whispering hiss of rain outside accompanied his faint noise; thin raindrops hitting the brick and glass, a town perpetually drowning. Stretching a long leg out of passe, he turned in his midnight slumbering to wrap an arm around Valesha’s waist and resumed his deep sleep. Through sheer habit, he kissed the skin between her shoulder blades as he snuggled into warm olive skin and dark hair, and whispered softly through vocal cords still under the serenity of snoozing. Johns: ::Quietly,:: Your alarm is going off. Sienelis: ::Mumbled.:: Why..? The plaintive cry of a half-asleep Romulan, far more of a tired complaint than an actual question, she stretched out an arm and fumbled for the offending PADD. Blindly smacking the screen with her fingers didn't get her anywhere, and she pulled the device toward her with a low grumble of discontent. The sound stopped, the room slid back into the still quiet of the night, only the soft sound of breathing and the gentle rustle of sheets. And then Valesha sat bolt upright in the bed, the PADD gripped in her fingers, the light from the screen painting her face in a pastel rainbow. So quick and so fast, she threw Chris off onto his back, wide awake by the force of a pillow to the back of his head and fumbled for the bedroom light touch switch beside the bed. Johns: What? ::A mild panicked yawn overtook his face, and he didn’t try to hide it.:: What is it? Sienelis: I think it's Taeval. Disbelief, hope, and fear hummed through her voice; a decade of hope and heartache culminating in that moment. Words curled across the screen. Rihan. Not romanised into the common Federation alphabet, but the curved geometric shapes of the Romulan language. It was a single question, obscure, absent any context — and that was the point. Only three people in the universe could know the answer to it. One held the PADD in her hands, one had sent the message... and the other had been dead for ten years. Three centurions: Khiarra, Khaveir and who? Valesha stared, unblinking, not breathing, pulse thumping in her head. By her side, Chris rubbed his tired eyes and yawned widely, his hand sliding up and down her lower back. Squinting through the haze of sleep, he attempted to recall his limited knowledge of Romulan cursive script, but it always looked a little Vulcan. Johns: What does it say? The question broke her best imitation of a statue, if only because she had to breathe in to answer. Sienelis: "Three centurions: Valesha, Taeval and who?" Johns: Is that code, or…? His dark eyebrow arched upwards over a sleepy hazel eye as the words filtered into his head, but no discernable answer returned. Likely to be names, if they were centurions. Chris leaned back against the pillows and tucked an arm behind his head. Sienelis: In a way? ::She chewed her lip, tapping out a response, her thumb hovering over send.:: Three centurions: me, Taeval and our pet ehlu, Khaeus. We used to dress up, have adventures in the garden, that sort of thing. The metal image of it caught on Chris’ mind and it brought a grin; the thought of a smaller Valesha — haircut no less severe — and accompanying twin pretending to command the legions of the Romulan Star Empire from the long grasses of their garden home. Long grasses and gardens he and Valesha walked through, got engaged in, even if they only looked alike in spirit. The smile twitched at his lips as he poked his wife-to-be in the kidney. Johns: A centurion? And here you are, cavorting with a Uhlan. Sienelis: Slumming it, I know. She shot him a thin smile, took a deep breath and sent the message, flopping back on the pillow with the PADD held up in front of her, waiting for a reply. Chris leaned closer to her, watching the screen with similar intent for a moment or two. The cursive Romulan script disappeared, then the replicator behind came into focus. Kissing her temple, he kicked off the covers to get up. Johns: Coffee? Tea? Anxious waiting isn’t a flavour. Sienelis: Tea. ::Valesha sat up again, restlessness curling its talons in, and ran a hand over her face. A moment later, she belatedly added,:: Thank you. He shook his head as he yawned again, stabbing the tip of his finger into the controls for the replicator until it produced coffee and tea. Setting hers on her nightstand, he leaned over and kissed the side of her head through dark hair and she leaned into it, closing her eyes for a moment. Johns: It might come through quicker if you don’t watch it. Sienelis: Johns' Rule of Anxious Relativity? Johns: Einstein’s parable of quantum insanity. If you want to change the outcome, you need to do something different. ::A kiss planted on her cheek saw him retreat to the bathroom, shouting back through as he did so.:: Really, you’re the scientist here. Sienelis: You're the only one who thinks so! His voice travelled through from the bathroom, the hiss of rain outside growing louder. Valesha looked at the PADD again and breathed out a sigh, tossing it onto the blankets and reaching for the tea. The spiced, nutty scent of aesollh wafted under her nose, and it conjured a small smile. Chris knew her well. Johns: Even scientists have to have hobbies, right? Days spent on theories by night, she’s an interstellar starship thief. Sienelis: That's not all that far off what happened. Her Russian returned moments later, scratching at his bare stomach and hip in his sleepy way. He picked up his mug of coffee from the replicator and lay on his side on the bed. Close enough to nudge her knee with his forehead, he leaned on a bent elbow, bearded cheek resting on his fingers as he took a drink. Johns: Might take your mind off things to tell me about the first time you saved my life, all those many moons ago. ::He looked up at her with a small grin.:: You don’t talk about it much. She answered with a muted smile, running her hand through his hair. His locks were not quite as long as when they'd first "met", far longer than when she'd returned from the Labyrinth's Scream. Irresistible to hearts and fingers, then and now. Sienelis: It feels... I don't know. Crass? Like I would be trying to remind people they owe their lives to me. You do something like that because it's the right thing to do, not to keep a tally. Johns: I don't think of it like that. ::His eyebrow flicked upwards slowly, glancing up into emerald eyes as he relished the feel of her fingers on his scalp.:: You did an incredibly brave thing, at considerable risk, not just to your career but your life, and Walter's and Petra's, and asked nothing for it. ::His hazel eyes softened, and he chewed his bottom lip a little before continuing.:: I wouldn't be here if you hadn't, and rather selfishly, I like that I am. Sienelis: Me too. Valesha's heart thumped against her ribs, marvelling at how lives could be intertwined without people ever realising. She hadn't even known Chris existed when she'd set out to rescue the Gorkon, no clue that her actions would save the life of a man she'd fall in love with years later. And yet here they were and there he was, her husband-to-be helping her on her fool's quest to find her brother. Sienelis: Do you want to talk about it? I don't want to dredge up bad memories in the name of a distraction. I only spent a few days Over There, and that was enough. ::She leaned her head toward him, one corner of her mouth ticking up.:: We can always default to Who Danced It Better: Nureyev or Miyazaki? He grinned at her half-smile, hazel eyes flicking from lips to emerald; Valesha knowing the right buttons to push in their mutual love of the old-style ballet, and a soft sigh escaped him as he thought about being back home on the Gorkon, snuggled up on their sofa, arguing about who did the pas de deux in La Esmeralda better. He didn’t begrudge being there at all. Finding Taeval had followed them since Juneau, now coming to fruition. Johns: I always want to talk about how heroic and self-sacrificing my future ailhun is; it’ll make for a fantastic speech. “Saved my backside thrice over, naturally I couldn’t help but fall hopelessly in love with her.” ::He took a pull from his mug and found her feet with his.:: And you know, as well I do, Miyazaki’s en dedans pirouette after the tour in à la seconde was ballet perfection. Sienelis: Yes, but one good pirouette does not a better performance make. Johns: You’d argue otherwise, I take it? TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part IX) ((Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) The momentum of the argument spurred her to inhale and continue — but nothing came out. Instead, she recoiled, taking a step back while a scalpel slipped between her ribs. Like blood in the water, an ache of doubt billowed out from the bottom of her chest. It wasn't the first time he'd brought up an ending to what they had framed as her choice or for her own good. Valesha knew she was hard to like, too full of sarcasm and soreness, and Chris deserved better. Maybe he'd finally realised that, too kind to spell it out, cushioning it the only way he could. Sienelis: If you're having second thoughts about us, just get it over with. ::It wasn't anger humming through her words anymore, but something even more raw, her voice scratching against her throat.:: I'm not the one who keeps having doubts about our future. Expecting the hard and angry tone to continue, the change in Valesha's voice cut through Chris like ice. Where anger thrummed before, the cold seep of an ache crept instead, winding through veins alive with adrenaline and coating them in layers of hurt. They’d had this conversation before, danced those steps, only this time someone else was playing the music. Johns: Of course I'm not, I love you with every fibre of me, and I'm not having doubts about who I want to spend my life with. It's always been you. His hazel eyes softened as he looked at her, the internal motion wanting to cross the invisible boundary they'd created. Instead, his hands dropped to his hips. Johns: But everyone seems so preoccupied with this idea that we're going to be unhappy because you'll live longer, or you're using me to get into the Federation, or, ::his hand raised and lowered helplessly, finding the back of his neck.:: We postponed getting married to come here and find Taeval, and it's turned into a monkey circus of evading him, ::a tilt of the head toward the wall this time,:: being captured by people he's [...]ed off. Her eyes closed in a tired wince at the mention of her using him. Another item to add to the ever-growing list of imagined schemes she supposedly ran. She didn't attempt to guess who'd suggested that to him — the list was too long, each name another flay of the whip — and instead she rubbed the heel of her palm against her forehead. Slim ridges of bone rubbed against her hand, a reminder of the heritage she'd been raised to be proud of, but one that seemed to earn her little else but scorn and trouble as an adult. Sienelis: I don't know what you want me to do. A deep sigh released from the Russian as his hand moved from the back of his neck through his hair, down to scratch at his warm stomach. He didn't like feeling vulnerable, never had, and it bled into those insecurities like a bird of prey digging those claws into supple flesh. Johns: Tell me you love me, and we'll talk about this again in a century. Sienelis: You know that I love you. ::She looked back toward him and her shoulders sagged. Suddenly self-conscious, she stepped toward the end of the bed, scooping up her underwear and pulling it on under the towel.:: I'm not trying to defend him, I just... ::The Romulan shook her head, veering away from the subject.:: Nevermind. Johns: I don’t mean to be an [...] about him. He’s your friend, I get that; I do. I don’t have to like him; he doesn’t have to like me, but we both care about you, and that should be enough. ::He scratched at his chest, anger abated, feeling a chill in the air where none existed.:: But what Vorin said, then what Marshall said… it just got under my skin. Sienelis: That's probably going to be a feature of life with me, Chris. And that quiet, deflated sentiment hooked into her heart, carving through the wounds they'd both inflicted. Valesha wouldn't go so far as to say she was used to people assuming she had suspect motivations or malicious intentions, but it was somewhat expected at this point. Pulling on her vest, discarding the towel over the back of the chair. Heat [...]led at her eyes with the realisation that it affected him, too. A hand running through his dark hair, Chris dropped onto the edge of the bed. He exhaled with a long stream, fingers scratching across his scalp, damp locks sticking up at all corners. The war between species — or even the casual racism of one to another — wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with and knowing Valesha did in all walks of her life clung like claws to his shoulders. Johns: Only one of many more. The fire well and truly out, she sank down onto the arm of the easy chair, absently inspecting the arch of her foot, a feature she'd never given any thought to before meeting her Russian ballerino. They'd been fine the last time they'd danced together, hadn't they? Her brow knit together, remembering the vague, quiet sense she'd had that things between them were out of balance, waiting for something to tip a little too far. And just now, it had. Sienelis: This place makes everything worse, I swear. Johns: We’re all on red alert. It amplifies everything. ::He inhaled, his eyes twinging in concern as he watched her.:: Your foot is bothering you? She glanced up at him, caught in the act, and shook her head. Flexing and then pointing her toes, savouring the pull in her feet and calves, it was something to focus on, helping her to work through the hollow ache in her chest and the tinnitus in her mind. In moments like this, tired and heartsore, she could almost understand why her distant cousins had chosen to suppress, rather than feel. Sienelis: No. Just stretching. Maybe. I don't know. ::She grimaced and pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling and exhaling a long sigh.:: I'm tired and wound up and I don't know what to do with myself. He knew that feeling, stuck around his innards like he needed to get up and move, dispel pent up energy stored in limbs feeling restless. If they had more room, he'd suggest they dance. If it were safe to go outside, he'd suggest a walk. With limited options, he glanced to the wall. Johns: That replicator looks like it might do osol twists. ::Then, to Valesha.:: Do you want to get in bed and see how many we can get through before one of us cracks a smile? She looked back toward him, green eyes meeting hazel across the space yawning between them. The question he'd asked her in front of the memorial echoed in between, the young Romulan swimming in doubt and uncertainty after their argument. Sienelis: Are you happy? Johns: After we've just torn a strip out of each other? I've been better. A soft smile pulled at his lips, the twitch of amusement wrapped around a little sadness, and Chris got up from the edge of the bed, crossed the floor to Valesha, and sank down to his knees in front of her. He took her hands in his and kissed them; the scent of wild Romulan flowers from damp hair and skin. Johns: You are my best friend and the love of my life. You make me happy. Every day. Effortlessly. His faint smile echoed in her expression, and Valesha slipped off the seat, down onto the floor with him. She slipped her arm around his back, resting her chin on his shoulder, holding their hands to the middle of her chest. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, and the Romulan curled against him, her voice soft and low. Sienelis: You're the only one I want. I've got no doubts, Chris. However long we have, it'll be worth it. Johns: I promise it will be. Even times when it feels like it’s not. Both with the propensity to be stubborn, shout and argue all born out of the love reflected in shadows onto the glass window. Moving up her back, his fingers tangled into dark, damp hair and he kissed her temple as his heartbeat so solidly he could feel it. She leaned into the touch, a kiss to the edge of his jaw, breathing out the tension in a warm breath. Sienelis: Ya lyublyu tebya. Johns: Jol-ao au, e’lev. Two souls, two hearts, two species, two languages, two people wrapped up in one another on the floor of their hotel room. The slip of thought moved into Chris’ mind; they’d teach their children both languages, they’d weave between like a lattice. He smiled softly against her cheek, nose nuzzling into olive skin. Johns: I still think I’d beat you at osol twists. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part VIII) ((Meanwhile, Next Door: Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) Valesha stepped out of the tiny bathroom, damp clinging to her skin, hair in freshly washed disarray, wrapped in a thin towel. A preoccupied frown etched onto her brow, she left a trail of wet footprints on the carpet when she crossed the room, heading straight for her PADD. She met the blank screen with an impatient, frustrated huff, checking that Zeron's communications chip was properly seated and working inside it. It was. How long did they wait? Should they keep looking in the meantime? How would they know if they hadn't found him, or he wasn't here to be found? A host of questions she should have asked the Bajoran marched through her thoughts, and now she had no one who could provide the answers. With a soft thump, the impact billowing through the bed coverings; she sat down and let that frown carve even deeper. Sienelis: I have no idea how I'm going to sleep tonight. Johns: Terribly springs to mind. Her partner sat further up the bed with his back against the headboard, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other knee raised up. The flickering glossy screen of a PADD leaned against it. He’d showered first if only to ensure said shower wouldn’t start spewing toxic flower dust in some secret agent holonovel style booby trap, and one oiled beard later took up residence on the bed. Like it was second nature to do it without thinking, Chris stroked her seated hip with the top of his foot and looked up from whatever had captured his attention during Valesha’s shower. Johns: What’s pirouetting beneath those ridges? Sienelis: Bear. Valesha shook her head in reply, drawing in another deep breath and exhaling heavily. She hated to admit the blond annoyance had occupied a large portion of her thoughts since they'd left Zeron's safe house. It was his past that had first thrown them together, forged the foundations of their peculiar friendship, but she hadn't ever imagined they'd collide with it again during the search for her brother. Sienelis: I didn't expect this to be quick or easy, but now it's complicated. The longer we're here, the bigger the risk is for him. The Russian’s brow twitched downwards, turning slowly into a frown. An undeniable fact, considering the chokehold the Hypurian had wrought over his neck in pursuit of information about the former Ranger. But there were only so many words Chris had to explain how much he didn't care. The only drawback was Valesha did, so by extension, what she cared about, Chris did. A wonderful Catch 22. Johns: He is an adult, you know. If he’s got himself into trouble along the line, that’s his problem. Not yours. Sienelis: Except he's only here because I am. Johns: That doesn’t make you responsible for him. Sienelis: Right. ::She leant forward, checking the PADD once again, her reflection scowling back at her on the blank screen.:: I'll just let him get maimed or worse, then explain to his sister how it happened while he was helping me look for my brother. But it had absolutely nothing to do with me. Chris’ lips set into a thin line as Valesha’s sarcasm landed like a brick through a window. A terse exhale from his nose and the back of his head dropped to the headboard. Johns: You’re right, it’s nothing to do with you. He might be here for you, but whatever he’s done — and judging by this, ::he pointed to his neck,:: he’s done his fair share — he’s going to have to face it, eventually. Sienelis: I know that. ::Tension rippled through muscle, and a glower ignited in green eyes.:: He also risked his life to haul me off an exploding ship when he didn't have to. He's an [...], but he's my friend, too. The solid beat of his heart behind his sternum like a drum, Chris glanced down to the PADD resting on his thigh. The screen turned dim from lack of use but the contents still there, faded into the background behind a gossamer black. Bear was her friend; he cared about her as much as she did him, that was clear enough from all angles, but prodding Chris' guts was the reminder of a conversation with the blond on the bridge of the Azetbur — the seed of doubt, taking root. Johns: Then as soon as the storm's cleared, we'll send him back. ::He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly and tapped the PADD.:: Or I'll go back, and then there won't be a problem. You three can just do your Labyrinth thing again. Back home, Valesha had earned herself the nickname "Nei'rrh". It was a small bird, quite beautiful with its colourful plumage — and as so many things on Romulus had been, poisonous. Intended or not, Chris' last comment needled under her skin like a barb from that little bird, and Valesha turned to look at him with a pained expression, lips pressed into a thin line, frown carving even deeper. Words boiled up and evaporated before reaching her tongue, pulse humming in her ears, and she ran a hair through her hair in frustration, droplets of water flicking across the sheets. Sienelis: My mistake. I didn't realise giving a crap about my friend was such a pain point for you. Next time I won't mention it. Snatching the blank, silent PADD from the side table, the Romulan pushed herself off the bed. On the Gorkon, she would have stalked into the bedroom or even straight out of the door, but in the small hotel room, there wasn't anywhere to go. In the absence of options, she threw herself into the easy chair by the window, curling her legs underneath her and trying to focus on the screen in her hand. A pang of guilt sank like a stone in the Russian’s innards, and any attempt of not looking at her failed instantly. His jaw set as he chewed his cheek, an inhale flared his chest and the surge of the woefully inept at suppressing a temper that evening ignited. He shot up to his feet, the PADD skimming across the bedsheets, and grabbed his pants. Johns: It was a pain point. Right in the damn neck they almost broke. ::There was never a straightforward way to put pants on while angry, but damn, he tried.:: I’m sorry if me being nearly murdered and being [...]ed about it is such a pain point for you. Next time, I’ll die quietly so Marshall can go about living his blissful, blameless life. Words punctuated by the sudden slam of something against the wall next door and a loud laugh echoed if only dulled by cavity space. As quickly as she'd thrown herself into the chair, Valesha was out of it, her rising temper drowning out the little voice trying to tell her to back down, he had a point, wasn't she furious about that too? Heart thrumming under her ribs, blood on fire, frustration poured out in words. Sienelis: Don't be so f— ::She bit down on the rest of the sentence and pivoted.:: Was yelling at him while you and Lena worked through a bottle of rum not a good enough sign I'm angry about that too? What do you want from me here? Cut him out of my life? How about I do that when you drop the friend who thinks I tried to murder a few thousand Vulcans because I'm Romulan and that's what we do? Johns: Vorin nearly lost his sister because of some stupid stunt the Juneau played, don’t you think he’s got the right to be angry about it? He’ll calm down when he’s worked out what he’s thinking isn’t logical. It’s not the same thing as having a target on your back because that moron, ::he pointed to the joining wall, where banging once again punctuated,:: couldn’t decide where his loyalties lie. He couldn’t even help you magnanimously, he had to do it to save his own skin! The thought struck Valesha that a hotel that catered to her people — sensitive hearing and all — should have thicker or otherwise sound-proofed walls. Alas, that was not the case, and she grimaced through the continued noise from next door, conscious that she didn't want to be heard in turn. With her temper roiling, it meant that her words were spat out through a low, hoarse hiss. Sienelis: It's been nearly a year! That's not angry, that's a grudge — and there's only one reason why he's blaming me and not anyone on the Juneau. Do you have any idea what it's like to go through life with people expecting the worst out of you, the second they realise what you are? When people you should be able to look up to, who owe you their lives, feel free to say things like "the rest of your people are trash and I thought you were, too"? Bear might be a piece of work at times, but he's never made me feel like I'm less than just because of where I come from. Johns: Valesha, he's a Vulcan. If he could blame Romulans for the end of days, he would do. He's being an [...], and he knows he is, it'll just take time for his pride to slip. Chris exhaled like a bull from his nose. Anger vibrated in coils through his muscles as he tried to defend his friend who had crossed a line. Words needed saying when they got back to the Gorkon, but try as he might, those weren't the words doing the grand jete through his head. His heart hurt; like a splinter had lodged in there and tried to carve its way out. Johns: And of course Bear cares about you and your long Romulan life. Enough to let me know he had to convince you to come back to the Gorkon. What kind of life of perpetual suffering am I asking you to have if I'll be dead in the blink of an eye? He cares about you that much; he doesn't want you to risk heartbreak in a hundred years when you could be much happier with someone who will be alive for the length of yours. Sienelis: You think he's full of crap about everything else, but that's what you listen to? TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Marshall & Lt. JG Josett - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part VII) ((Iuruth Heieun, Little Ki Baratan, Ketar V)) The street glittered in the recently celebrated festival of the farmer’s — Eitreih'hveinn — strung in lanterns and lights flickering under the haze of the rain. The unassuming building sat in the middle of the main street of the Romulan town; the large sign outside an ode to a small settlement on Romulus in the striking letters, brushstrokes on a clear window. Adopted from the refugee administration building, it blended into the thoroughfare; somewhere safe to stay, take stock, and somewhere central to start their search from in the morning. Handed the keys for their rooms on the upper floor, adjacent to one another in case of issues, the two couples parted ways for the evening and slipped into the small rooms with large windows overlooking the street below. The hotel's interior wasn't gloomy or foreboding, rather it was clean and modern; ivory walls, a grey carpet, charcoal curtains and minimalist furniture. But there were splashes of vibrancy, nods to Romulan passion and appreciation for beauty: pale pink flowers bloomed in an angled vase; a glowing pyramid of geometric colours doubled as a light atop the dresser; and an abstract, a metallic sculpture shimmered on the wall, its shifting colours bringing to mind the iridescent wings of an insect. Lena pulled off her jacket as soon as they were through the door, her boots following shortly thereafter, tossed aside on her short journey toward the window. Her jacket landed on the dresser with a thud, tool and toys and recently acquired disruptor heavy in her pockets, and the hybrid peered out into the rain-swamped streets. Sharp amber eyes roved over the buildings and alleyways that surrounded the corner hotel, canny and assessing. Josett: What a day. ::She threw a grin over her shoulder.:: But at least it's been interesting. I was expecting to spend our time yawning our way through records and databases. O. Marshall: That would rely on the CCMS keeping accurate records of anything beyond how much navel fluff comes out on the last finger expedition. Following suit and grinning back at his wife with a flicker of a blond eyebrow, Bear chucked his jacket onto a nearby chair, while the Ranger in him did a sweep of the place — checking behind doorways, into the bathroom, opening the closet, under the bed — until satisfied no Tal Shiar assassins lurked in wait. He’d had enough of fending them off for one lifetime, even if Valesha was a mere shout through the wall to come and break some bones once more. O. Marshall: Colour me surprised you didn’t snag a bottle of rum from Zeron’s replicator for the night. Josett: High risk of it becoming a projectile, the way you two were going at it. She chuckled, heading over to her jacked and fishing out her PADD and a couple of small devices from its physics-defying pockets, dropping her rump onto the bed. Conceding the point, Bear leaned his shoulder against the window frame and looked outside, the rain creating a wall of shimmering vivid water on the glass, the street below like a river of technicolour. O. Marshall: Like I’m supposed to know who exactly in the long line of people vying for my throat put some latinum down on it. Josett: The perils of being popular with the wrong crowd. ::She grinned, tapping at the PADD, and then darted a glance toward him.:: You all right? O. Marshall: I’m fine. The answer was quick, off the cuff, almost like an automatic response, and it made her chuckle again. Fingers found his hair, blond strands sticking up in various directions as his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. Steel blue focused on the street below. Looking for Andorian antennae, maybe. Watching for the flash of a red target pin. He took a breath, beard rustling as his hand braced against the window frame. O. Marshall: It’s easier when you know who's looking for you. I’d rather you weren’t caught in the crossfire. Josett: I'm enjoying the novelty. Normally people are aiming straight at me. ::The soft light of the room glittered against the silver in her palm.:: Here, catch. Giving him a moment to react, she tossed one of her devices through the air. It looked like someone had taken a child's set of tiny building blocks and jammed them together in a random shape, mismatched and misshapen. Like most of the tech stowed in her pockets, it was unique to Lena, and its purpose impossible to divine from appearance alone. Josett: Tuck that under the sill. Catching it, Bear sent a quizzical eyebrow Lena’s way, turning the small device around in his hand. It didn’t stop him from doing as requested; dropping to a knee and slipping it beneath the windowsill. O. Marshall: There are easier methods of divorce than having me assassinated, you know. Josett: But are they as much fun? O. Marshall: Not by a long shot. She laughed again, twin glimmers of affection and amusement duelling in her eyes. Hoisting up a trouser leg, she slipped a phaser from a calf holster and slid it under a pillow. That done, the hybrid drew her legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Beneath that curated demeanour of carefree mirth, concern had been slowly twisting a knife through her gut all day. Josett: How worried are you? Slipping his hands into his pockets, Bear turned to his side to watch his pirate — curled dark hair, beautiful amber eyes, and blend of her species’ ridges in gorgeous skin — leaning his shoulder against the window frame. He felt a gentle thrum run through his heart for the sight of her and his lips twitched, unable to prevent the need to play off his weakness as a strength. O. Marshall: That you want to divorce me or assassinate me? I can’t say I like either prospect. Josett: Why would you? A life without me would be unbearably dull. ::She grinned.:: I don't know how you got through your days before I came along. O. Marshall: Sometimes neither do I. A rare moment of sincerity and tenderness lit up in a warm blue gaze, for the space of an inhale before Bear looked out into the street, dark of the night beginning to creep in through a setting sun casting bronze over the rain-soaked Romulan facades. Heavy shoulders weighed down the broad blond, and a hand reached for the back of his neck. O. Marshall: The Syndicate recruited me from the Shoals, so I can’t help wondering if this is a vendetta for wrecking their Romulan Empire racket. Josett: It makes sense. You're here and they want payback, but they weren't expecting you, so it's rushed and clumsy. ::The ridges above her eyes began to knit in a frown, until she made a deliberate effort to smooth it away, replacing it with a wry lift of her brow.:: Next time it won't be some half-baked attempt to snatch you off the street. O. Marshall: Easy enough to blame it on a mishap, out from under the eyes of Starfleet. Caught in the crossfire of rival factions. Wrong place at the wrong time. Pushing off the window frame, he traced a lazy path with a lazier gait to the foot of the bed, fingers toying with his comm badge in his pocket. From beneath the grizzly exterior of a man used to doing things on his own, affection swam deep in blue, and he paused for a heartbeat before his low tenor continued. O. Marshall: I’m glad you’re here. Lena looked at him for a moment, the unexpected candour robbing her of the usual quick joke she'd usually fire back in response. Her heart thumped in her chest, a charge crackled behind her ribs, and a hint of uncertainty ghosted around the edges of her eternal grin. The earth was shifting under her feet, and the hybrid wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. Josett: Wouldn't miss it. ::The sparkle rushed back into her smile, mischief in her eyes.:: Some things are better as a team sport. O. Marshall: I’ve always been partial to one-on-one contact athletics if we’re being honest. Demonstrating thusly, with a puckish grin and equal measures of smart [...], Bear pushed back on her shoulder with one hand while tugging her exposed foot toward him with the other. She laughed and fell backwards on the bed, offering no resistance, returned to familiar territory. Losing herself in another person, letting the physical sweep away troublesome thoughts and unfamiliar tremors of the heart. Josett: When you find something you're good at... O. Marshall: ... keep doing it until one of you taps out? Josett: I'm game if you are. With a sly grin, she slid her other leg around the back of his, pulling at the back of his knee, removing the support and down he went, in a tangle of limbs and laughs. TBC -- Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

[JP] Cullo & Taeval - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part VI) ((Meanwhile: Livernois Shipyards, Ketar V)) Rain hissed in the torrential downpour as Zeron looked out from the alleyway, his shoulder against the wall. Mind on other things. Andorian members of their Syndicate house there in the docks stalked through the streets, hoping to pick up the trail left behind by the four 'Fleeters now on their way out of dodge. Little Ki Baratan wasn't the safest of places to be, but it was safer than within the reaches of zh'Rharia and her Andorian junkies. The Tellarite's tooth was still there on the concrete. Wet and glistening under the neon lights. He rubbed his eyes, dry with the rain, aching with the lack of sleep. The docks never slept, so neither did he. The soft slap of boots on the wet floor caught his ears, though he didn't turn around. Cullo: The Vulcan turned out to be a Romulan. Says she's your sister. The comment landed on the new arrival as gently as the blow responsible for the tooth shining on the pavement. Footsteps stopped, and the silence stretched out, until the green-eyed Romulan swallowed, forcing himself to move into Zeron's eye line. Taeval: My sister's dead. His quiet voice was flat, but a note of doubt — or perhaps it was hope — wove its way through the words. Ten years he'd spent trying to find out what happened to her, trying to convince himself she was but one of the uncountable billions who'd perished and to let her go. Never quite succeeding in either attempt, caught in the no-man's-land in between. Cullo: For someone who isn’t your sister, she knows a lot about you. Rhymed off your name like it was second nature, even the weird inflexion around the middle bit. ::From his pointed stare across the street at the Andorian trio walking by, he looked to Taeval.:: Starfleet, too. A soft exhale escaped the Romulan, a sound trying to be a laugh but not quite achieving its goal. A Starfleet officer? It was so ridiculous it beggared belief... and yet somehow that made it more believable. Anyone pretending to be his sister would surely pick a more plausible cover story. Taeval: You didn't get a picture, did you? Cullo: Only what I could get from the holoimagers in the safehouse. He fished inside his jacket for a second, pulling out the small personal device with a glossy coated screen. A press of the thumb lit it up, the continuous playback of a moment captured in the safehouse. Reported Romulan sister running a dermal regenerator over the bearded Russian’s neck, the blond Bear with his arms folded perching on the edge of a desk while the former pirate did her best to evade every imaging device he had installed in there. Taeval stared at the screen, his eyes only for the Romulan in the picture, not a thought spared for the rest of the quartet. His throat bobbed with another swallow, knuckles white with a tightened grip, and his heart lurched inside his chest. Taeval: That looks like her. ::He shook his head, unable to get his thoughts in order.:: What did she say? Cullo: That she’s here looking for you. ::He sniffed hard, the white of the condition in his ridges wiped on the back of his sleeve, and popped a pill from the bottle his friend had given him earlier.:: Why else would Starfleet be here? They haven't touched down since the tenement fires. The Romulan shook his head. Starfleet — the Federation as a whole — came across as a well-meaning but absent and somewhat disinterested parent. Someone who occasionally stopped by to hand out a few gifts, deliver some lectures about equality and understanding, then zipped off without ever stopping to see if the schoolyard bullies had paid attention. Taeval: Yes, I remember. The Marshals burnt the building down and then Starfleet helped them arrest half the people who survived it. He raised his eyebrows toward Cullo, an exhausted sort of amusement flickering across a face too young to be as world weary as it was. He'd lost his apartment in that fire, a second home consumed by flames, forced to rebuild his life once again. The ghost of a smile fell away at the thought if this was all true. His sister was a part of that, and his gaze dropped back down to the PADD bearing her image. Cullo: The Marshals are good like that. Why have a perfectly decent tenement building when you can have a burnt-out husk of a shell instead? Maybe they were trying to conjure the Romulan version of pseudoscientific geomancy. Leaving the PADD in Taeval’s hands, Zeron rooted inside his jacket again, this time producing the vaporizer, and took a moment to surround the two in jumba-tinted smoke, dissipated swiftly by the falling rain. He watched his young Romulan friend for a moment; the recognition blooming in eyes usually so downcast, and a decade’s worth of false belief beginning to shed. Cullo: Keep hold of it. I’ve given her the other one. ::He sniffed hard, fruit scent slipping through his nasal cavities.:: It’s a secure transmission line. When you want, send a message, figure out if she is who she says she is. The Romulan glanced back up, rain trickling his face as he heaved in a deep breath. He looked like the lost boy he'd been ten years ago, forced away from his home and trying to survive in strange lands. Eventually, he nodded, and with a last glance at the image on the PADD, tucked it away inside his heavy coat. Taeval: Thanks, Zeron. ::He paused, trying to corral his thoughts.:: Do you know where she is now? Cullo: Circumstances made it easy to slip her out of Livernois. She’s on her way to Romulan Town. ::A wave of harder rain passed overhead, drumming on the pavement.:: They’ll be holed up overnight at Iuruth Heieun.::He took a second to drag air through the vaporizer and puff out the smoke.:: She’s resourceful, isn’t she? Taeval: She's stubborn. ::A wisp of a laugh escaped his lungs.:: Once she's set on something, it's hard to pull her off course. Cullo: I believe it. ::He shook his head, wiping away a drop of rainwater from his lower lip.:: I’ve got half an hour of footage of an argument she had with one of her friends. Popping up his collar and huddling further into the coat, Zeron pointed with the mouthpiece end toward Taeval and flicked his eyes up to the Andorian haunt across the street. The neon lights never turned off, flashing away with the advertised sign for the Explosive Decompression Bar — a jaunty sign of a cartoon technician decompressing and exploding, somehow made funny. Cullo: The Volna Viria wanted one of them and I haven’t found out why yet, so keep your eyes sharp. If I find out anything more, I’ll let you know. ::He sniffled, dabbed at his nose, the dribble of white clear under the ridges.:: She looks like you, it’s all around the eyes. Taeval: We have our mother's eyes. So some said. Others argued it was their father who influenced that part of their looks, but the twins had both preferred to think they took after their ri'ranov. The thought of their father carved a small trench between the young man's eyebrows, wondering if this was all one of his elaborate schemes. But he struggled to imagine Valesha going along with that, his sister railing against every aspect of their father's plans for them. Taeval: She seems to have convinced you. Cullo: She seems genuine. ::A swift blow of his nose and the handkerchief disappeared into his inner pocket.:: When you’ve seen enough refugees, you get used to the ones with the broken hearts. First the Bajoran orphans and refugees from occupied colony worlds through the DMZ, then the refugees from a destroyed Romulus. Centennial City traded in sadness like a currency; Zeron couldn’t deny it would’ve been nice to ease some of it, for once. Cullo: And, as I said, she looks like you. ::His lips twitched in a small amused grin.:: Hard enough walking around with a face like yours to have two of you to look at. Taeval: And Kalora told me that tall, dark and brooding is a good look. ::He smiled back, muted and wry.:: I shall have to have words. Cullo: For you Romulans, it’s like the default setting. How is Kalora? Taeval hesitated before answering, trying to choose the kindest words for what he wanted to say. He was fond of the Bajoran woman, liked her as a friend and appreciated what she'd done for him and his people. But for a while, she'd been pursuing something the Romulan didn't have to offer. Taeval: She's well. She's seeing Emel now, which... ::he paused again,:: ...means she's a little less concerned with healing my wounded soul. Cullo: Delicately put. Diplomatic, even. The trill of a small alarm sounded from inside his jacket, and Zeron slipped his hand to the inner pocket, retrieving the thin metal device. A flashing light, coloured in a light cobalt blue, and a message in Bajoran script. He cursed in his homeworld language and shook his head. Cullo: Atomo is like a whirlwind, gets bigger every damn day. ::He sniffed and ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking out some of the rainwater.:: Naixi asking if you’re joining us for dinner, but I’m assuming you’ve got bigger plans to sort out. Taeval: It does seem that way. ::He nodded, his expression tightening once more.:: Thank you, again. I'll let you know what happens. The Bajoran nodded, slipping the vaporizer back into his coat and preparing to leave. Just before he did, he levelled a finger to Taeval and patted the Romulan’s lapel with the back of his fingers. Cullo: You get into trouble, you call me. Life and death, lorat? Taeval: Ah lorat. I'll be careful. ::He summoned that small smile again.:: Go give your whirlwind a hug from me. Satisfied he’d done all he could, Zeron ruffled the Romulan’s dark hair and said his goodbyes silently, lest the young brother tear up. With a last look over his shoulder to the Andorian syndicate bar and a deep breath of the alleyway air, he left Taeval to his future. TBC -- Zeron Cullo Colonial Coalition Marshals Service Centennial City G239304JM0 & Taeval tr'Sienelis Refugee Centennial City T238401QR0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part V) ((Little Ki Baratan, Centennial City, Ketar V)) The shuttlecraft set down in the plaza and as the team stepped off into the Romulan centralised town, it took Chris a moment to shake off the preconceptions he’d acquired about the supposed once-ghetto in the middle of Centennial City. Reports they’d read in the depth of Valesha’s quarters while wrapped up in one another had spoken of the grim cultural shift there; of refugees huddled in blankets, of the impoverished people fighting to get by somewhere far-flung from home. Instead, it looked like a plaza found in any flourishing city centre. Several shops lined the street, their fronts darkened in the late hour and bouncing rain. Signs stuck out of the ground pointing the way to various local points of interest and holographic adverts tailoring to whoever walked past. Benches arranged in a circle around a central pillar of carved stone. Flowers and plants sprung from bedded boxes all around, and the plaza itself was a mosaic of a large bird, Romulan words in the ceramic around it. Tilting his head, Chris took a second to read it, and failing, he looked over his shoulder for his partner, awash with a curious smile. Johns: Vee, check this out. A blossom held between her fingers, an indigo flower capturing her attention. She hadn't seen one in a decade, where they'd once bloomed in the gardens her brother so diligently tended. Valesha let the i'kareik slip-free, the petals soft against her skin, and took a few steps toward her partner to stand beside him. Mossy eyes roved over the inscription, an ache rippling out from her heart with every beat. Sienelis: "For they still live, as we speak their names." Johns: Cuts to the heart of it. ::A soft rumble in his chest saw him quietly reach for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of fingers and palms.:: It couldn’t be more different from the last one we saw, dream or not. Years ago, in the middle of a Lladre-induced dream of the refugee vessel, Valesha and her mother had escaped on. Someone had written across one of the walls “ch'Rihan, bed aoi” — Goodbye forever, Romulus. This was a message of hope and remembrance, not one of pain and despair. She nodded slowly, and her answer was muted and quiet. Sienelis: Hard to believe it's already been ten years. Chris nodded slowly, recalling where he was ten years ago while Valesha fought for life, encountering the worst the universe could throw at someone. His thumb ran over the back of hers, rainwater making olive skin slick and warm, and with a roll of distant thunder in his chest, he looked to her. Johns: Are you happy? Her expression twitched as she looked at the memorial, her gaze sliding away and toward him before she turned her head. She exhaled a huff of air, dry amusement woven into the sound. Sienelis: This is a very odd time to ask that question. O. Marshall: That usually means “no”. Anyway, quit that, and look at this. The mountain moved between them, breaking joined hands and shoving a small PADD device in Valesha’s hand; the grid map of their location and the way forward. Chris bit his lip, the annoying grin ticking up one corner of his mouth. He shook his head and shouldered Bear as he stepped away, leaving them to their map reading. O. Marshall: A place called Iuruth Heieun is what we’re looking for. Valesha: A ranger who can't read a map. Tragic, really. O. Marshall: What’s crawled up your backside and died? Lifting her hand and opening her palm to the sky, Valesha swept it down in the general direction of the blond human. Her silent answer punctuated with a pointed look, she dropped her head to consult the map of the district. Bear rolled his eyes and huddled into his coat. He looked around for Lena, squinting through the haze of the rain to a group of Romulans beneath an overhang to a bar, the end of a vaporizer lighting up, tendrils of smoke disappearing into the rain. O. Marshall: Any time like the present, safecracker. Sienelis: One day I'll meet someone who acknowledges me as a scientist. She frowned, smacking the PADD — gently — into the middle of Bear's chest. She was never sure what bothered her the most; the stereotype that Romulans were always up to no good, or the idea that maybe her scientific discoveries weren't worth half as much as she thought. The Romulan nodded over his shoulder, signposting their destination. Sienelis: It's about half a kilometre that way, on the corner of a block. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, PO Johns & Cullo - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part IV) ((A little while later: Safehouse, Centennial City, Ketar V)) Sweeping up broken glass from the floor into a dustpan, Chris dumped the clinking bottle into the replicator. Bear had slunk off to one corner, cradling the bridge of his nose in his thumb and finger, maybe trying to work out where he’d gone wrong along the line to end up there, stuck in a room with beeping machines, one replicator, and no escape. Valesha was scowling in the opposite corner, staring at the PADD in her hand, seeing nothing on its screen. With a shush, the door/wall retracted, and Zeron appeared, looking as much of a drowned rat as he had before, only with less of a frown. Cullo: Used the time effectively, I see. Working her way through a jumbo-sized hasperat, Lena offered the man a lazy wave from the couch, as comfortable as she would be in her own home. If she had one. She was, perhaps, the only one of the four in a good mood — though that was hardly a surprise to anyone who knew her. Life was too short for sourness and anger, squash it down, blot it out, bury it under layers of cheerfulness and merriment. Fake it 'til you make it. Or put it so far in your rear view it doesn't matter anymore. Josett: And the replicator. How about you? Cullo: Progress, ::he stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around, loosening some rainwater,:: of a sort. Got your transport to Little Ki Baratan. You can thank me later. Josett: We need somewhere to stay, too. ::She took another bite of the hasperat, chewing thoughtfully, her next words muffled by spicy Bajoran deliciousness.:: Somewhere low-key where no one will take any notice. On Ketar V, it never rained, it poured. Ruffling his hand through his damp hair, Zeron nodded with a sigh and the return of his handkerchief from his pocket. A blow of the nose echoed like a foghorn, loose at dawn, or cannon fire from the castle walls. Cullo: You’d have a time finding somewhere high-key. Somewhere that takes Romulans anyway. ::He cleared his throat as he looked to Valesha with a slight shrug of the shoulders.:: No offence. Valesha didn't lift her gaze from the PADD and simply shook her head, though whether she was in despair or dismissing any offence was unclear. Either way, Lena considered it an improvement from the volcano the Romulan had earlier been impersonating and turned back to Zeron. Josett: No spa night, then. ::She sighed.:: Well, as long as there's a bed and some rum I'll make do. Cullo: There’s a small place on the outskirts, Iuruth in the name, but I can’t pronounce the rest. I’ve sent word to a contact there, you’ll be on your way shortly. ::He glanced to Bear and coughed.:: Don’t take this the wrong way, but the sooner you’re gone from here, the better. Torpidity sewn into his gait, Bear had crossed the room like a huge blond ghost, dropping onto the sofa beside Lena, and with the deft action that might get a lesser man killed, stole the giant hasperat from his wife’s hands. She batted him in the stomach with the back of her hand, grinned, and left the crime otherwise unpunished. O. Marshall: None of your CCMS bull? Zeron raised his hands up, half in surrender, half in placation. Cullo: I pick my battles these days. Josett: That's the plan, then. Get there, get some rest, start again in the morning. Chris nodded, letting the quiet seep into his shoulders. Hazel eyes looked over to Valesha, the reason they were there in the palpable weight of the moment. He felt useless there, a liability more than anything, racking his brain for something he could do. If the family had anything on the planet, it was in Opportunity; wealth feeding the modern building work and regeneration. Johns: If he’s here, we’ll find him. He’s got to be somewhere on this planet, right? Sienelis: Yeah. ::Voice flat, she looked up from her PADD and jammed it back into her pocket.:: Somehow. ::She frowned again, having difficulty meeting anyone's eyes.:: Let's just get to Hotel Unpronounceable. Maybe this will look different in the morning. Cullo: Maybe. ::He nodded and slipped his hand into his pocket, drew out a small sliver of a chip and tossed it toward the Romulan with the catlike reflexes.:: That didn’t come from me, you got that? She snatched it out of the air, turning it over in her fingers, and looked toward the Bajoran with a guarded frown. Expending her pent-up frustrations on the argument with Bear hadn't made her feel any better. Rather, she felt worse: tired and heartsore, wanting to make amends and too proud to do so. Sienelis: What is it? Cullo: Secure communication chip. It’s got limited range, but once you’re in Baratan, it’ll shield a device from any lurking Mnei Kreh transmissions and create a secure channel. The same kind of new technology we’re developing with Starfleet to make communicating out of the Shoals easier. ::He inhaled, this time without the orchestra of nasal noises.:: I’ve sent word out to contacts I’ve got. If Taeval is in Baratan, he’ll likely want to contact you on that channel. The Romulan's frown deepened, her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs, and she glanced up from the chip toward Zeron. It was vague, but at the same time, it was something. Something more than they'd had that morning. Closer than she'd ever been before. Sienelis: You think we have a chance to find him? Cullo: I think you’ve got a good shot, ::he scratched the side of his nose,:: if you are who you say you are. Fingers curling around the chip, she was momentarily at a loss for how to respond. Even a hint of accusation that she wasn't who she claimed to be was usually met with annoyance, but her mind was too filled with possibilities to make room for it in that moment. Valesha took a breath, trying to silence the swarm in her head, and nodded towards the Bajoran, her voice quiet. Sienelis: Thank you. Zeron nodded, his smile a little thicker than it had been since delivering an energy bolt to Bear's junk, but there nonetheless. Maybe it was the act of doing something good in a city that didn't let him most of the time. Either way, his eyes fell on the rum bottle and shards remaining on the floor Chris hadn’t managed to get rid of, his jaw shifting to one side as he fumbled in his pocket for the vaporizer. Cullo: You’re welcome. Now, ::with a sigh, he pressed the control for the door,:: go or you’ll miss your transport. And try not to look too… touristy? TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Zeron Cullo Colonial Coalition Marshals Service Centennial City G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, & PO Johns - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part III) ((Safehouse, Centennial City, Ketar V)) Johns: I wasn’t paying that much attention to the questions with a Hupyrian hand around my neck. ::He ran his thumb over Valesha’s cheek, skin becoming one again as flakes of dried green blood came away.:: But as far as I remember, she didn’t say. Sienelis: Her business associates want him. That's all she would tell us. The relative safety of the CCMS office and comfort of the sofa dampened Valesha's earlier fire. She offered Chris a crooked smile, sending a thud through his heart, performed the obligatory prod to her recently healed wound, and slipped the dermal regenerator from his hand. One finger under his chin, she brought the device to the bruises on his neck. What felt like a raging heartbeat had quietened now they were away from the threats imposed, and Chris lifted his jaw for Valesha's access. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement, the small stretch a little painful. Johns: Assuming those business associates are Syndicate. Again. Wouldn't be the first time. Doubt it’ll be the last. ::Bear glared as Chris glanced over, as far as he could, to the seated Lena.:: Anything about him in the CCMS information? Josett: Nothing that we don't already know about. Except this mention of Mnei Kreh? Valesha's gaze snapped toward the pirate, pausing in her ministrations. Then she glanced toward Bear, a frown knitting her eyebrows together in the middle. He stood up from his leaning post, stomach sinking delightfully. In the waning hours of their time on the Labyrinth's Scream, when revelations about his true employers had arrived coated in a fine dusting of red pollen, they’d heard the name. Sienelis: They're Romulan. ::She paused, returning to the matter of Chris' bruised neck with a growing frown.:: I suppose you could call them our version of the Syndicate. Chris swallowed again, his hand lifted to touch Valesha’s forearm attached to the hand repairing him, finding some part of her to hold on to. Fear seeded into his guts. Opposite, a stony expression set on Bear’s features as he looked from Romulan to Russian to hybrid; the look of a man chewing a rather fragrant variety of wasp. His arms clamped down, crossed over his chest like a portcullis, and somehow his shoulders got slightly broader. O. Marshall: And we’re here, walking into a Romulan-sized trap set by the Romulan Syndicate. Great. Just… just great. ::He ran a hand over his face and beard, before his jaw set as he looked pointedly to Valesha.:: You’re going back to the yacht. Sienelis: You can— ::She pressed her lips together, biting off the rest of the curse, knuckles white on the regenerator.:: I didn't come all this way to hide in a shuttle. And it's your name on their list, anyway. O. Marshall: It’s a yacht, not a shuttle. ::Familiar words he’d heard somewhere before.:: If I’m on a Romulan list, despite having no prior Romulan connections aside from you, don’t you think you would be too? Sienelis: No, since they had me and didn't want me. Romulan spy-slash-starship-thief was not on their shopping list. O. Marshall: They might only be looking for me, whereas there’s a hundred others in this city who could be looking for you, so I’d rather box clever and not wait for the next lot of Romulan poison! ((A few minutes later...)) In a display that would put a vigorous game of parrises squares to shame, Bear and Valesha were still arguing back and forth over who was going back to the shuttle and why. With Chris' bruises healed, the Romulan was on her feet now, stalking back and forth, agitation in motion, while Bear stood there, arms crossed, the mountain that would not move, now and then slamming the edge of his hand into the palm of his other to punctuate a point. Computing mischief managed, Lena dropped herself onto the couch next to Chris, pouring him another glass of rum from the bottle she had replicated. Chris accepted gladly and swallowed a mouthful in a second, transfixed by the display. Josett: They'll wear themselves out in a little while. Johns: It’s quite sweet, really. They’re the worst siblings they never had. ::He shook his head, another mouthful of rum going down nicely.:: I used to watch my brother and sister argue like that. Eventually one of them would pick up the corkscrew while the other went for a phaser. She poured him another, grinning, and then topped up her own glass. At least the pair were providing some entertainment while they all waited for the Bajoran agent to return from whatever it was he was doing. With the boiling tensions and the tiny room, Lena had been quite certain it was the Russian and Bear who would come to blows, but life was full of little surprises. Josett: Your family life sounds suspiciously like my pirate life. Johns: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Pirate or Russian. ::He felt for the back of his neck, the bruises fading but the dull ache remaining all the same.:: When should we tell them there’s no going back for the yacht until tomorrow, anyway? Josett: When the corkscrew comes out. ::She took a swig of her rum and reconsidered.:: Maybe about thirty seconds after, after we've got a sense of who'd win that duel. Johns: If the day ever comes when they would actually stab each other, old-style Satan will sip vodka and ice in his snowplough. ::Speaking of, he crunched through an ice cube as Bear got the finger out, resorting to pointing at some distant yacht.:: This is it. This is our life. Josett: It's a good thing they're both so easy on the eye. She grinned at him and finished her glass, offering him a top-up, the Russian accepting gladly with a clink of knocking glasses. Johns: There is that. ((A few minutes later still...)) Sienelis: What do you mean we can't go back for it until tomorrow? O. Marshall: Are you [...]ting me, Russian? The dark brows of said Russian furrowed as he looked at them both, first to Bear with a despairing expression and a shake of his head, then to Valesha, said expression softening. She looked back at him, fire in her eyes, almost vibrating with frustration. Johns: Between here and Opportunity, there’s a valley. Tonight, the valley will be a toxic mix of carbon dioxide and pockets of sulfuric acid clouds from the Lakosha fire river. Winds are blowing westward. We stay tonight. It should have blown into the mountain range come morning. Josett: Emphasis on "should". ::She sipped from her glass and pointed a finger toward the two.:: It's not an exact science on this planet. She smiled cheerfully at the pair, with reckless disregard for their sour humours, and stretched out with all the languid indifference of a cat. As expected, that did little to soothe Valesha's mood and she glowered at the hybrid, her fingers curling and flexing as she tried, and failed, to find the words to fully convey her thoughts. O. Marshall: When exactly were you going to communicate this vital piece of vital information? Chris blinked at the blond for a moment, as though trying to decide what kind of murder would pip the post given the situation. With a deep-seated sigh radiating from somewhere around the year he’d met him, he tongued his cheek and dropped his hand back down. Johns: Did you not read the weather report? Josett: Rookie mistake. Bear looked to his recumbent pirate, attitude not helping the situation and not designed to, either. Valesha blew out a pent-up sigh and he threw his hands up and stalked off for the space of a few paces, hands on his hips, beard ruffled. O. Marshall: So, we really do need to find somewhere to stay tonight. Josett: Looks that way. Which means we have to decide whether to figure it out ourselves or trust your friend with a very specific aim. O. Marshall: He’d know safe places, and I doubt he’s going to want four Starfleet officers sleeping on his floor at home. ::Scratching his fingers into his beard, his blue eyes dropped to the Romulan.:: Did your research into Little Ki Baratan yield anything like that? Sienelis: Places to stay, yes. Places that are criminal syndicate proof, not so much. ::She lifted her shoulders in a jerk of shrug, her temper still bubbling underneath.:: I didn't expect any of this. O. Marshall: What did you expect? ::The blond’s temper cracked like the snap of a flare; the argument doing nothing to quell that inward momentum, to shout and grit.:: He’s been here for a decade, keeping one eye on his [...]. He won’t appear just because another Romulan is looking for him. An earthquake triggering a tsunami, Bear's burst of anger reignited Valesha's, bringing it back to the surface. She rounded on him and he took an involuntary step back. Sienelis: I expected a hard time finding him because he's one Romulan among thousands, not a hard time finding him because we're fending off the people you [...]ed off over the years! Beside Chris, Lena sank down on the couch with a wry grin. It was at this point she abandoned any attempt at propriety and quaffed straight from the bottle. Josett: And they're off again. Johns: It’s almost like they needed this. The bearded Russian snagged the bottle from Lena’s grip and took a swig himself before handing it back to her as both watched the impending shuttle crash taking place. TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

[JP] Lt. Sienelis, Lt. Marshall, Lt. JG Josett, PO Johns & Cullo - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part II) ((Safehouse, Centennial City, Ketar V)) Zeron exhaled a sigh and nodded; the race to the finish line was a marathon, not a sprint. Picking up a well-worn glass from his desk, the Bajoran downed the contents in one, grimaced and placed it into the small receptacle of a replicator built into the wall. Within a second, both the glass and contents had fizzled out of existence. Cullo: You want a drink, there’s the bar. O. Marshall: There’s an actual bar on the other side of that wall. Cullo: You saw the bartender, right? ::He laughed, and it made some white fluid slide from his nose ridges.:: Ask for a [...]tail, you’ll get a club soda. Computers don’t argue back. Josett: Especially after a little creative engineering. Lena patted the screen that had been the source of much interest, an update detailing Syndicate members recently arrived in the system, along with their known associates and activities. A few familiar names, one or two that could be a concern if their search took long. She peeled away toward the replicator and a moment later, a glass of rum was whizzing into existence. Bear chuckled as a grin appeared on his features, head shaking at his wife. Another burp of communications ricocheted around the back room and the wall-turned-door slid back into the recess, revealing a tired-looking sodding Russian with a slowly developing bruise around his neck and the pain in his [...] Romulan coming through. Three people in the cramped space now fit five. Standing from his perching post, Bear didn’t let up on the frown while Chris actively ignored him, pacing straight past and stole the glass of rum from Lena’s hand, knocking it back in one. O. Marshall: Eventful walk around the neighbourhood? Valesha's expression was thunder. She watched Lena grin at the Russian rum thief, pat him on the shoulder and replicate them a replacement pair of drinks. Shaking her head, she shrugged off her jacket, her collar stained bottle green on one side where the rain had washed blood down her cheek and neck. Sienelis: I'm cold, wet, we've not even been here a day, I've already been accused of being a spy — and oh yeah, Chris was almost murdered. ::She ran a hand through her hair, the damp stinging against grazed knuckles, and flicked water on the floor.:: I hate this planet. Cullo: You get used to it. A little from column A, a little from column B. The Bajoran shrugged a shoulder up, drawing his handkerchief out again to dab at the nose dribbles coming from his ridges. More noticeable inside than outside, where the rain swept away the majority. He sniffled and rolled his sleeves up, the cuffs to his elbows, the neck of his jumper beneath his coat tight around his throat. His gaze lingered on Valesha for a little while longer, then to Chris, already halfway through the second glass of Lena’s rum, then back to Valesha. Cullo: You’d be the starship thief, I take it, because, forgive the candour, you don’t look Russian. The Romulan became still, glaring across the room at Zeron as though he had just reached over and slapped her. For a second, it looked as though she might let her temper get the better of her, let that coiled energy loose and launch herself across the room in fury. Instead, she clenched her jaw, hard enough to make her teeth ache, and shook her head in frustration. Sienelis: Sure. Fine. Why not? Spy, thief, it's all the same. No chance a Romulan could be known for anything decent. The room went quiet for a second in the flash and wake of Valesha’s rising anger, quiet and rumbling like the storm clouds. Chris crossed slowly, pushing the glass half full of rum into his partner's hands. He moved his head from one side to the other, his hand reached up for his throat, rubbing one side of it where Hupyrian fingers had pressed and choked into his neck bones. Zeron chuckled. Cullo: Bad reputations travel faster, and in a place like this, opens more doors than it shuts. ::He sniffed up heavily and crossed his arms.:: CCMS can help, but I need to know what you’re doing here. Subtle flickers of guilt and embarrassment glittered in Valesha's eyes when she looked toward Chris. She stared at the rum for a moment, then knocked it back, savouring the burn that coursed down her throat and into her belly. Chris rubbed his hand across the back of her shoulders, with a sigh that said he wished this entire day would end. Sienelis: I just want to find my brother. ::Her cheek was throbbing, itching where blood and rain dried on her skin, and her eyes fell on the bruises forming on the Russian's neck. She reached over, delicately rubbing her thumb across the purpling marks with a frown.:: Have you got a first aid kit here? Cullo: Under the desk. Short on hypo vials, but the dermal regenerator should have some juice in it. Johns: I’ll sort it out. ::Quietly from Russian to Romulan, hazel and green, his hand between her shoulders on her damp shirt.:: Just park your backside on the sofa. Hearing their conversation, Zeron shifted the coat and a blanket from the sofa, draping them over a chair instead. As Chris retrieved the first aid kit, Valesha followed orders and dropped herself onto the cushions, her eyes on her partner, weariness echoing through her bones as Zeron continued. Cullo; This brother of yours got a name? Sienelis: Taeval ir-Jhianhre tr'Sienelis. I think he's going by Taeval, at least. I don't know if he's using the rest or going by a different house-clan here. Zeron nodded, his eyes focusing on a point of the display monitors for a second, the information on the Syndicate Lena had browsed through. Blinking to bring himself out of it, he replicated himself a mug of jin'sarra — hot Bajoran coffee, steaming when he picked it up — and took a drink. Cullo: Any idea what he was doing down here? Seems you’re both a long way from home. Sienelis: That would be the home that blew up ten years ago. Cullo: Refugee, then. Back to the first question. Any idea why he’s here? Or what he does here? The medical kit thunked to the floor as Chris knelt beside the sofa, dermal regenerator in hand, the scene not dissimilar to a shuttle on the Njörðr, a long time ago. The whir of the regenerator sounded as Chris touched Valesha’s chin gently, shifting cheekbones and cut-glass jaw to the side, exposing the cut smeared in emerald green. Sienelis: No. I haven't seen him since then. All I have to go on is a sighting from someone on the Veritas. Helped them rebuild some housing, apparently. Another mouthful of coffee swallowed and Zeron dropped the mug onto his desk, pulled his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged it onto his shoulders. A pained expression — like he was about to do something uncomfortable — crossed his face and he popped his collar, huddling himself inside his jacket. Cullo: I’ll be back shortly. Break nothing. ::He pointed to Lena.:: And don’t be raiding the computer, either. Yev, I hate rain. Inclined to protest, though not entirely sure at what, Valesha instead lifted her hands and dropped them back onto her thighs. Lena smiled and raised her shoulders in a "who, me?" shrug, pretending that the thought hadn't crossed her mind within the first thirty seconds of them walking through the door. Josett: Don't be a stranger. The door opened and closed behind Zeron as he left. Bear found his perch again on the edge of a table and reflected on the last few hours since they'd left the diner. If they had to stay overnight, they couldn't stay there. Maybe there was somewhere in the docks, or Chris could swing them something in favour with the administration. He scratched his cheek and looked up, blue eyes following Lena. She winked at him, strolled over to the computer and — out of sight of the surveillance cameras she had scoped out earlier — slapped a small device on its side. Beside the sofa, Chris ran the dermal regenerator over Valesha's cheek, the glass slice knitting back together, fibres of her skin reaching and connecting once more, light stimulating the growth of olive skin. His hand dropped to her knee and squeezed it gently, and she covered it with her own while he spoke up to the room. Johns: So, is this guy on the level or are we waiting to get murdered by a group of angry Syndicate goons? Josett: He's working for the Marshals — one L, not two — and an old friend of Bear's. She chuckled, subtle emphasis on the word, laughing at a joke she didn't share with the Romulan and Russian. The device she'd attached to the computer lit up, indicator lights flashing and flickering away, and she dropped herself into the chair Zeron had vacated. Like a punch in the gut, Bear suppressed the feeling rolling like thunder, a shiver fluttering up, and rolled his shoulders back. The plucky little Bajoran kid he’d known back on Volan III had wound up in the Shoals and joined the CCMS and still found it funny to shoot him in the junk. O. Marshall: What the Shoals gets for being in spitting distance of Bajor. ::He pointed a finger to Lena’s device, then an eyebrow [...]ed to his partner in crime.:: And that is? Josett: Me, raiding the computer. ::Digging in her back pocket, she pulled out a PADD and started tapping at the screen, tilting the chair back to deposit her boots on the desk with a heavy thud.:: Did zh’Rharia mention why she wanted Bear? TBC -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Zeron Cullo Colonial Coalition Marshals Service Centennial City G239304JM0

Another monster chain of sims from Quinn and Jo, and once again, it's an absolute pleasure to read. I've included every single part here, with little sub-titles so each part is appropriately credited. Excellent work as always! [JP] Lt. Marshall, Lt. (JG) Josett & Cullo - Romulans, Countrymen and Lovers (Part I) ((Safehouse, Centennial City, Ketar V)) Set a short walk away from the Explosive Decompression Bar, far enough to be out of earshot of whatever death metal was the flavour of the month, was the Republic Arms. Made to be a small, traditional-style public house for dock workers who wanted a quiet life, it had the prestigious honour of being the gateway to an underground world behind. The guard on the door — an Andorian in a set of impressive sunglasses with a cold and stiff demeanour — checked them over, one by one, noting where weapons were on their person, then looked to Cullo. Wiping at the ridge of his nose, Cullo whispered something to the Andorian, and while no words returned, save for a direct look with a raised white eyebrow, Cullo shook his head and the doors opened. A long, carved wooden bar stretched across the back wall, a wide selection of bottles on the shelves behind, and a handful of patrons attempting to pour themselves into pint glasses. From the high ceiling shone bright lights dimmed to dark over time, casting an eerie glow over everything below. The smell of aged leather and grease clung to the air. The bartender stood behind looked up from her PADD with uninterested eyes before returning her attention to the illuminated PADD once more. Cullo signalled over his shoulder with two fingers, pointing toward the rear of the room, the bartender pressing a control beneath the bar, and where once was a wall a door slid open. On the other side, computer equipment trilled and sang, illuminating the room in changing colours. Bear followed Lena through and stopped as the door slid shut behind them. O. Marshall: Zeron, mind telling us what’s going on? Cullo: Welcome to the CCMS Special Investigation Division of Centennial City, subdivision No One Gives A [...]. ::He sniffled, dabbing at his nose as he shrugged his jacket off, rainwater pelting the floor, and threw it over a chair.:: Make yourselves at home. A broad grin lit up Lena's face, the hybrid bursting out in laughter. She threw an arm around Zeron's shoulder, her damp sleeve immediately soaking the fabric of his shirt, and patted his shoulder. There was no sourness in her surprise, delighting as ever in the adventure and the unknown. Josett: A rogue after my own heart. Cullo: Former rogue. ::He smiled at Lena with a [...]ed eyebrow.:: How they got me doing this. He ruffled his hand through damp hair, tousling already tousled black further still. Without the rain pelting at his face every few seconds, the effect of the Milk Nose was apparent under the harsh lights. White dried at the edges of his dark ridges, dark skin a little paler on either side from continuous dabbing and blotting, and he wheezed a little as he dropped into the chair beside his desk. Bear hadn’t moved yet. His hands had dropped to his hips, his blue eyes narrowed and frowning, looking around the room as if any second it’d set on fire, or the walls would change and it would become another seedy dive of the seedy city. Swindled by a prime swindler. O. Marshall: They must’ve had you over a barrel. Zeron shrugged a shoulder up and with a disgruntled expression, unclipped the badge from his back waistband, chucking it onto the desk. The silver and gold of the Colonial Coalition Marshals Service, United Federation of Planets, emblazoned in the middle. Cullo: The usual, only this time I had Naixi — you met her at the Welders’ — with Atomo on the way, and you know what happens. ::His shoulder shrugged again.:: The things we do for love. Josett: I wouldn't know. ::She slapped him on the shoulder again and stepped away, grinning at Bear.:: Sold my last lover out to save my skin. Cullo: Or you could do that. ::Chuckling, he kicked his wet boots up onto the desk edge, reached for the pill bottle in his jacket pocket and tossed one into his mouth. He tilted his head to Bear with an amused grin.:: I bet you sleep real easy at night. O. Marshall: Like a baby. If I’m lucky, I’ll die smiling. Bear flicked an eyebrow up to Lena with a small smile, amusement clear, affection twisting around it, though it came alongside a gentle thrum of his heart underneath his breastbone. Enough of that. Time for action. He shrugged his jacket off and chucked it over a chair, ruffled his hand through wet blond hair and sighed, beard drying and making his skin itch. O. Marshall: What’s the setup here? Why the secrecy? Cullo: That depends. ::He glanced over his shoulder to the retreating pirate.:: What are your ties to the Syndicate like these days? Josett: What do you think they're like? Cullo: A rogue after my heart. ::He mimicked the line back to her as he reached for the small box of snuff on the desktop, tossing it up in his hand.:: CCMS has been here for a while, monitoring the Andorian arm of the Syndicate, comings and goings. The Volna Viria grows every day, ::punctuated with a weary sigh,:: and then, there’s the Romulan side of it all, as you might have heard. She nodded, running her palm over the top of the monitors, peering with casual interest at the images, text and data emblazoned on them. One caught her attention, and she tilted her head to the side, studying the profile being shown. Josett: Refugees and immigrants forming groups for support and protection. But everything costs money, and when you're already on the outskirts of society, it's easier to find your loot on the wrong side of the law. ::A story repeated across planets within and without the Federation, long before their populations reached for the stars. She flicked a glance toward Bear.:: What's that saying about roads and goals? O. Marshall: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” The colony-raised spacer perched on the edge of a non-operational console, his arms crossing over his chest and brow furrowed like two dense bushes chasing one another. He’d heard those stories before, falling from the lips of those who had good intentions and let others suffer for it. The Cardassians had good intentions for their own people, and that turned into a steaming pile of peng dung quickly. Zeron threw the snuffbox into the air and caught it, pointing a finger to Lena as she delved for information. Cullo: Got it in one. It’s a difficult situation here as it is. We’re just trying to make it a little fairer for everyone involved. ::His chair tilted backwards, allowing the Bajoran more room to relax, cradling his posterior delightfully.:: So, are you two going to tell me why you’re here, or feed me the same crap your human gave the CCMS? Josett: What did he give the CCMS? Cullo: “Visiting friends and family.” ::He nodded, dabbing at his nose and stretching the ridges.:: Suspicious when he’s never been — on record — to the Shoals. Ah, when the truth was more unbelievable than fiction. Lena chuckled and turned away from the screen, glancing toward Bear. His friend, but he was quiet while she led the conversation, and she wondered if it was to give him a chance to watch and assess. Whatever the reason, his judgement was better than hers for this question, and she raised her brow in a silent query; offer more details or not? O. Marshall: We’re looking for someone. Young guy, Romulan, dark hair, pointy ears. If he’s anything like his sister, attitude as long as the Mother Road. ::The blond felt for the back of his neck, wiping away drying rainwater and drying his hand on his pants.:: He might have been a refugee from Hobus. Cullo: You just described fifty percent of the Romulans who cross my desk. A tinny buzz sounded through the room, like the angry noise of a hornet stuck in the walls. On one display appeared an image of the front doors where the Andorian kept watch, and a familiar pair coming up to it. Despite the incoming additions to their get together, Zeron didn’t move, but he fiddled with the snuffbox in his hand. O. Marshall: There’s a chance he works at the dock. Last time Starfleet was here with the Veritas, they made a connection. Building aid camps, providing relief after… whatever it was. Josett: Fire in a tenement block. The Bajoran screwed his nose up as he remembered it; the chair came back from the tilt to the upright as he put the snuffbox down, drew out his handkerchief and scratched at the ridges of his nose. Getting to his feet, he moved to one of the display computers next to Lena and brought up what information he had. Cullo: Anything else we can go on? Does the guy have a name? A family? Forged papers, identification? Lena extended a finger toward the feed from the front entrance, the human and the Romulan a few steps away from arrival. They didn't look as though they'd come off too badly from their encounter with the Volna Viria; no limping gait or cradled arms, no stiff posture from hidden hurts. A muted, cool wash of relief trickled down her back — or maybe it was just raindrops dripping from her curls. Josett: That's your latinum mine, right there. TBC -- Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Zeron Cullo Colonial Coalition Marshals Service Centennial City G239304JM0

I super enjoyed reading these sims. Everyone on the Chin'toka is doing so great!

I stumbled upon this post written all the way back in 2017, but Appreciations doesn't say it has to be a recent post, so... I wanted to share it with everyone, as I found it remarkably well written. ----- ((San Francisco Spaceport, Earth)) ::It was a perfect, balmy night in San Francisco. The moon was high in the sky, bathing the planet in its ghostly silver light, the stars twinkling in the sky around it. One of those stars was the Gorkon, arrived earlier that day. But despite the warmth of the evening, Quinn felt cold, and she pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders. ::Her eyes were on a small passenger ship as it rose from the landing pad. It was an elegant, graceful vessel of Kazleti design, as efficient as it was beautiful. She had always admired the aesthetics of their ships, and had vowed to herself that one day she'd visit the shipyards that orbited the world they now called home. But for once, her technical mind was far away from thoughts of engineering and starship design, lingering instead on feelings of sadness and loss. ::After a few long minutes, she turned and left the landing area, heading out onto the streets. It was late and the streets were quiet, ::He was waiting for her outside. She hadn't asked him to come -- she didn't feel she had the right, as he'd made it very clear that being taken away from his ship for the inquiry was an imposition -- and yet, there he was. She acknowledged him with a glance, but she couldn't summon a smile to greet him with. He didn't seem to mind, falling into step beside her, and they walked without direction or destination in mind.:: Brunsig: So you finally got through to him. Reynolds: ::Quietly,:: That's what he said. ::She turned her head, looking up at the midnight sky. The ship bearing Jansen Orrey home was long gone from their sight, already on course to New Orleans. Her dying friend had finally, tearfully, acknowledged that he should be with his family in his final months, and she had helped arrange him swift passage back home.:: Brunsig: It's a good thing, Quinn. Reynolds: I know. ::And yet, as much as she told herself that, it didn't feel like it. Her friend was gone, and it was likely that she would never see him again. She doubted that they'd talk over subspace -- Jansen had already shown a tendency to sequester himself away -- and she expected that the only contact she'd have would be a formal notification of death, and an invitation to a funeral she wouldn't be able to attend. ::Just like she hadn't been able to attend her mother's. Years had passed, and that still stung.:: Brunsig: I'd tell you to get drunk, but you don't do that anymore. Reynolds: No, I don't. ::Silence fell upon them. Walter wasn't a man to offer comforting platitudes, or attempt to instill hope in a hopeless situation. Sometimes, the universe was just cruel, and that was all there was to it. Once upon a time, as he'd implied, she would have hit the bottle to salve the hurt, but those days were gone. ::Which left her with a deep, hollow ache in her heart, and an acute awareness of Walter's presence by her side. Why had he come here? She hadn't asked him to. She hadn't even hinted at it. The only discussions they'd had on the journey to Earth had been professional in nature, regarding the inquiry around Sevo and Freeman. And yet here he was, when she needed him, offering support in his uniquely grumpy way.:: Reynolds: Walter, there's something-- Brunsig: Stop right there. ::Cut her off before she had even got started, she frowned in a mix of surprise and annoyance.:: Reynolds: Pardon me? Brunsig: I know you, Quinn. I know how you react when you lose people. ::He eyed her with that startling blue gaze of his.:: You're more Deltan than you like to admit. ::Her cheeks burned bright at the implication, and without thinking, she blurted out a stubborn and far too indignant response. Maybe the accusation had hit a little too close to home.:: Reynolds: I am *not*. ::Was she?:: Brunsig: So you weren't sleeping with Tam? ::He might as well have slapped her across the face, such was her physical reaction to the question. She stopped in her tracks and took a step back, and if her cheeks had been burning before, now they were surely hot enough to rival the absent sun. He'd heard about that? Of course he'd heard about that. If there was one thing in the universe that could be relied upon, it was the propensity of Starfleet officers to gossip.:: Reynolds: That's not-- Kael was-- You-- ::Indignant and more than a little embarrassed, she spluttered out several words before she managed to form a sentence.:: You weren't there. You have *no* idea what it was like out there. ::She glared at him, and he scowled right back.:: I don't owe you any explanations. Brunsig: I missed the part where I asked for one. ::The pair glowered at each other across the pavement, the fragrant breeze catching a few stray strands of her fine hair and making them dance under the streetlights. In that moment, there was an ancient piece of wisdom that very much applied to her. ::Dig *up*, stupid.:: Reynolds: You're such an [...]. ::Going down.:: Brunsig: Old news, Cupcake. ::Shore leave was supposed to be a time to refresh and rejuvenate, and while they had barely had a day to themselves so far, Quinn had felt little more than worn and frayed around the edges. Returning the ship from Leutra IV had felt like returning to harsh reality from a dream-like, futuristic fairy tale, and her responsibilities and worries had felt all the heavier for it. ::And while she was usually content enough to weather it, even finding it oddly charming, she was in no mood for Walter's sarcarsm that evening. Her temper began to get the better of her.:: Reynolds: Why are you even here, anyway? I didn't ask you to come. Brunsig: I'm asking myself the same damned question. ::Neither of them were raising their voices as they snapped at each other, but in the still quiet of the midnight streets, their argument still sounded loud.:: Reynolds: Well maybe you should just go home then. Brunsig: Fine. Reynolds: Fine! ::He glared at her, his lips thinning into a frustrated line. She couldn't tell if he had nothing to say (unlikely) or so much that he couldn't pick what to spit out first (probable). In the end, he settled for a frustrated snort and shake of his head, and then the German executed a sharp, neat turn and stalked away. ::Probably straight to the nearest bar, if she knew him at all. ::The regret was more or less instant, her pride and simmering annoyance restraining her from doing anything about it. Instead, running her fingers through her hair, she trudged a few footsteps toward an angular wooden construction that was part sculpture, part bench. Her backside hit the seating with a dull thump, and she buried her head in her hands. Not for the first time, she wondered if Vulcans had the right of things. If she'd been T'Quinn, replete with emotion-suppressing skills, would probably have handled that conversation with a great deal more dignity and grace. ::Heaving a sigh, she looked down the street. It was late, she was tired, and there was no doubt her children would drag her up for an early start in the morning. Not that she begrudged them that -- she didn't see them enough as it was, and she'd never been one to lie in -- but she knew her mind and she knew it wouldn't let her rest easy tonight. She'd always found self-recrimination an easy black hole to get sucked into, especially in the quiet dark of night. ::Why put off the inevitable, then. With a slow reluctance, and an unhappy glance down the street Walter had vanished into, she hauled herself to her feet and reached for the combadge in her trouser pocket.:: Reynolds: =/\= Reynolds to Gorkon. One to beam up. =/\= ::The sparkling blue of the confinement beam shimmered into place around her, and with that, she left San Francisco behind for the night.::

Wow, I really liked reading these. Powerful stuff.

“I swear to god I had something for this.”

Gosh Thornton, you are on a roll recently! Beautiful and a little sad. Haunting, even. I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did. ----- OOC: This is a little something that started life as a writing exercise a couple of weeks ago, but became one my favourite pieces to date. Timeline wise, my sense is that this occurs during our current shoreleave, after arriving in the Tyrellian system. I'm incredibly of this piece and I hope you enjoy and find yourself swept away to a sleepy Iberian village.... ((Holodeck One, U.S.S. Gorkon)) Swept away by the melancholic guitar, bewitched by the achingly beautiful violin in the background and entranced by the longing, earnest heartbreak of the singer, Arlo Thornton felt swept away by the music. A fusion of the ancient fado style of Earth and more modern Trill disciplines she had been a devotee of the dramatic and passionate style ever since encountering it in a sleepy tavern during her first year at the Academy. That night, the air had been as balmy, the streets as cobbled and the architecture as ancient and as fragile as her surroundings at that moment. Across the chequerboard square and overlooked by white stone walls flecked with blue and orange paint and topped with terracotta roof tiles, the band held a small but rapt audience. Five men, two guitarists, one violinist, one accordionist and a Trill on an ethereal piano were the living backdrop for a middle aged Bajoran woman. Her darkly blonde hair was pulled back from her face into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and accentuated with a small wreath of lavender. From her ears slid two crystal earrings shaped like teardrops that reflected the orange light of the dusk. Clad in a black dress that reached from bust to the floor, every syllable of the unfamiliar language ached with bittersweet yet sparkling melancholia. Arlo could hear the grief of star crossed lovers forced to part, the faded optimism of a promised reunion that she knew would never happen and the pain that came with that heartbreaking revelation. Every inch of the woman radiated with inconsolable anguish. The sole occupant of her table, Arlo could not take her eyes off of the Bajoran woman. She rested her chin on the back of her fingers, her elbow propping her up from the glass surface of the table. She was it’s sole occupant and so transfixed by the mesmerising display, the carafe of water and her glass of white wine lay undisturbed. A warm zephyr carried a heady scent of smoked meats, grilled seafood and sprinkled pepper and paprika; ruffling the hemline of Arlo’s purple loosely flowing maxi-dress and the ends of her free flowing red hair. The song came to a gentle conclusion, the notes of each instrument fading into the still of the night. The singer bowed her head as if finally accepting that she would never be reunited with whoever it was that had left her life and broken her heart. For a moment, nobody moved and the silence of the evening was deafening. Then before she knew what she was doing, Arlo was upon her feet, clapping her hands in joyful appreciation. She sniffed and realised that the performance had moved her to tears (not an altogether unusual occurrence). She quickly wiped the tear with one slender finger and resumed her ovation, which was now joined by every person in attendance. The Bajoran looked humbled by the outpouring of applause, heartbreak replaced with meekness and embarrassment. She took a small bow and turned to her accompanists, offering her own réclame. The town square followed suit, people now offering cheers and shouts of gratitude and appreciation. It continued for a minute, maybe more. The band conferred with their singer and Arlo wondered if they were discussing what to sing for the encore. Into this beautiful evening came an all too familiar three tone mechanical whistle followed by a disembodied voice. Breathing in, Arlo let out a resigned sigh. Not quite annoyed, not quite frustrated. Mildly irritated, maybe. But the life of a Starfleet officer met that her obligation to her duties would always win out, even over the perfect evening of beautiful music. Qu’ila: =/\= Bridge to Lieutenant Thornton. =/\= Arlo tilted her head up ever so slightly, looking into the orange and purple hued twilight. Stripping her voice of the exasperation she felt, she replied in a bland and utterly unnoteworthy tone. Thornton: Go ahead. Qu’ila: =/\= You have an incoming subspace communication from Cestus III. Shall I route it to your quarters? =/\= Surprised, Arlo did not answer immediately. For a moment she thought she had misheard for she had not received a call from that distant world in quite some time. When she was certainly that she was not mistaken she realised with a smile what it meant. Fin.

I really loved reading this sim because of its self-reflective nature and its continuity with other events. Note that even the title was used as a clever device, as in Part II, Thornton got promoted! Also bonus points for using the word "discotheque". Really well crafted writing, Thornton! That promotion is well deserved! ---- OOC: Part I is attributed to 'Lieutenant Arlo Thornton' deliberately. Don't worry folks, I haven't made another booboo. Also, all thoughts and opinions are strictly in character! ((Mess Hall, USS Triumphant)) Time had lost all meaning to Arlo Thornton. It had been several days since she and her colleagues had been rescued from the surface of Trueno by the Triumphant. The tiny Defiant-class vessel was now speeding towards the Tyrellian system where they would rendezvous with the Gorkon. The trip marked the first time that the Australian scientist had been aboard such a compact vessel and privately she hoped it would also be her last. Cabin fever had quickly set in despite the hospitality of Captain Brunsig and his crew. Triumphant was not a ship built with comfort or amenities in mind, it's design purely functional save for the 2 multipurpose rooms that had been converted at some point into a holodeck (that always seemed to be booked out by the 50-something crewmembers). To make matters worse, Arlo had kept to herself for much of the voyage to Palanon, the designated capital world of the Tyrellian system. Ensconced in the cabin assigned to her for the voyage she had only really left at mealtimes or for one half-hour jog around the Triumphant. The rest of the time she had been ruminating on her experiences and performance on Trueno and then writing, scrapping and rewriting her report multiple times. The process had made one thing crystal clear to her: when her back was against the wall and the chips had fallen unfavourably she was not at all graceful or calm. On Væron she had responded to the difficulties events there (and to her role as away team leader) by channelling her frustration and terror at Lieutenant (J.G) Tali Namura, one of Gorkon's physicians. She had misattributed her rank, snapped at the ever so slightly disconcerting woman and quietly panicked at the first sign of danger. On Trueno, she had gone in with preconceived notions about the goal of the reserve and its chief scientist, Bertrand Hankins and lost her cool spectacularly several times with him. That had culminated in a spectacular evisceration just before the Triumphant had beamed them aboard. It was this realisation that had sparked her hermetism. She had made a vow to herself after Væron to do better, to uphold herself to a higher standard. In her made, she had broken that promise. Stranger most of all was the fact that was not usually given over to self-recrimination and so her thoughts vacillated between her performance and questioning why she was suddenly so overcome with self doubt. Sleep had not proven to be an escape. Her dreams had been unsettling: sharp teeth had figured prominently as had imperious dressing downs from Admiral Reynolds who had then morphed into a leathery quad winged dinosaur. Somewhere during the voyage to Palanon, Arlo had realised that she had not just let herself down, but also Admiral Reynolds and Lieutenant Commander Marshall. Without realising it, she had become determined to impress both of them. She had also recognised that both women intimidated the heck out of her for reasons that she was still trying to understand. When it was announced that there was to be a gathering in the Mess Hall for the Gorkon away teams, Arlo had hoped that attendance was optional. She knew it was not good to isolate herself from her friends and colleagues but she did not want to burden them with her darkened mood. Unfortunately, her presence was apparently mandatory and so she replicated a fresh uniform and made an attempt to look more presentable than she had since boarding the Triumphant. She had scooped her hair up into a loose bun, sat on the crown of her forehead and applied a light layer of foundation and once she had determined that she didn't look hideous, she stepped out and made her way to the Mess Hall. She stepped through the opened door to find her friends and colleagues already in attendance. Figuring she had enough time, she made her way to the replicator, ordered her favourite blend of apple tea and took a vacant seat next to an impossibly chiselled Trill officer that she did not recognise. There was no time for even the briefest of introductions as Admiral Reynolds, terrifying genius that she was, called the gathering to order, Reynolds: Thank you all for coming. ::She offered the small group a smile.:: I'll start with the best news of all; we're due to arrive in the Tyrellian system in the next twelve hours, and we'll be taking some shore leave to rest and recuperate. For those of you new to the system, I'd recommend you get off the Gorkon and get some fresh air. Palanon is beautiful and whether you like to keep busy or curl up and relax, you'll be able to find a place there to do it. Arlo was one of those who fell under the heading of “new to the system”. She had heard all about the beauty of the Tyrellian's adopted homeworld and about the space station in orbit that seemed to little more than a constant discotheque but in the year since she had transferred to Gorkon, the ship had never visited the central star system of the sector. Recognising that she had been cooped up in her tiny cabin on the tiny starship, Arlo- against the better angels of her nature- recognised that she would definitely benefit from exploring Tyrellian culture. As her eyes fell on the ever-wigged Corliss, seated across the room, and she reminded herself that counselling might also be of benefit to her. Marshall: And the other good news. There aren't any prehistoric life forms on the moon, so no armoured underwear required and no need to raid the armoury before you leave. Perhaps it was too soon for jokes about what had recently occurred on Trueno, Arlo wasn't sure. But, she did manage a weak smile in response to the first officer's quip. Her blue-green eyes followed Marshall as she reached for several transparent boxes. She could just make out thin strips of royal purple fabric in each one. Marshall: In recognition for the injuries sustained and wounds getting patched by the wonderful medical team of the Triumphant, Starfleet awards the Purple Heart to Crewman Lojah Oded for her actions on board the SS Vikartindur, Ensigns Serran Tan and Caitríona Cayne for multiple injuries on the asteroid. ::she glanced up to Tan with a cheeky glint,:: that must've been a pain the [...], ::and continued,:: Lieutenant Loxley for his injury in the vehicle crash, and Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds, for a Tyrannosaurus Rex to the ribs. ::With a gentle sigh, she [...]ed an eyebrow.:: Who knew going down to a planet filled with prehistoric life would be so perilous? So the man she was sitting next was Serren Tan. She turned to him to offer him congratulations when she realised that it would be out of line to champion an injury sustained in the line of duty. She offered him a small sympathetic smile instead after he caught the polymer box that Commander Marshall had sent flying through the air towards him. Once all the Purple Hearts had been sent careening through the sterile Mess Hall air tinged with the scent of various beverages, the First Officer turned her attention to the stack of boxes once more. Marshall: As Starfleet Officers, it's our duty to en and sure we protect and preserve life where we can, and when placed in dangerous circumstances is when we see our champions shine, whether that's saving and protecting employees of a theme park trying to kill you, or rescuing the crew of another ship from near-certain death. To celebrate the actions of these brave individuals, we award Crewman Lojah Oded, Ensigns Maya Eden, Lieutenants Loxley, Vorin, Corliss Fortune and Arlo Thornton, and Lieutenant Commanders Samira Neathler and Erin Reynolds with the Lifesaving Ribbon. Arlo looked up at the mention of her name, stunned. Had she been a 'champion' on Trueno as Marshall seemed to have indicated? She seriously doubted it. Catching the aloft box in her left hand, she placed it in front of her and stared at the strip of silver and maroon fabric as though it didn't belong with her. Surely there had been some mistake? Yes, she had been part of the team that had encountered BetaGen employees but she herself had done little in the way of saving lives. She couldn't even get a clear shot at the quad-winged beast that menaced them in the parking lot. She felt like a fraud. It was not until the Admiral spoke that she was able to tear her eyes from the award. Reynolds: While we strive to protect and preserve all life, there's a bond between those who serve that can't be denied. A fellowship between that goes beyond simple working colleagues, a mutual understanding of what it means to be Starfleet. For that reason, we single out those occasions where Starfleet officers save each other. And so, I'm honoured to present Lieutenant Pira sh'Qynallahr with the Silver Lifesaving Ribbon. Marshall: The reason that many of us join Starfleet is the drive to devote ourselves to a greater cause, to something bigger than ourselves, and sometimes that means putting our lives on the line to protect others in their hour of need. Today, we stand in the company of heroes – those who put their lives at risk to ensure we continued on – and it's you we celebrated with this ribbon. Once more, the air was thick with flying ribbons. Marshall: Ensign Serren Tan used himself as a Trill shield to protect his team from the swarming Belluchelodromeus, taking venom to the backside in the process. Lieutenant Jona ch'Ranni thre himself in the path of a Krigos to save the life of his colleague. Lieutenant Commanders Ayiana Sevo and Pholin Duyzer shocked and distracted a rampaging Dilophosaurus in the control centre of the park. Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler lured a razor-beaked flying dinosaur away from her team so her team could make their escape. And finally, ::she handed the ribbon to Quinn, with a small nod of appreciative thanks, one friend to another,:: Rear Admiral Quinn Reynolds, for presenting herself as a snack to a T-Rex so her team and her son could escape from our overturned vehicle. Arlo joined in the round of applause that spread across the room while trying to ignore the feeling that Neathler would not have had to risk her life if she had only been able to acquire a clean shot. She had been tasked with leading their motley group to the safety of the parked automobiles- and in her mind, she had failed to do. Still, Arlo reminded herself, Neathler had returned to them intact and mostly uninjured. It was something to be thankful for. Reynolds: It's said that desperate situations bring out ingenuity, and that was more than clear on Trueno and the SS Vikartindur. We have simulated dinosaur calls on a tricorder, at least two creative engineering solutions to lure species GS54 away from vital power supplies, and broken conduits used to chase off predators – quick wit and cleverness in action. For that, we're pleased to present Lieutenant Commanders Jo Marshall and Erin Reynolds, Lieutenant Arlo Thornton and Crewman Second Class Lojah Oded with the Innovation Ribbon. Another ribbon- blue, teal and silver, encased in a polymer box came flying at it from across the room, this time from the Admiral. Arlo made momentary eye contact with the Admiral as she caught it, sending an unsettling jolt from her stomach to her brain. She nodded her quick thanks and then averted her eyes, putting the box on the table in front of her and next to the Innovation Ribbon. She drew in a breath and tried to calm the sudden swell of nerves. Her plan to use a modified power cell to create a backfeed that would lure GS54- whatever they were- from the power lines of the weather net had been hastily conceived and she had not been sure if it would work until the glowing blue-white motes and fled en masse. It had been a risk and it had paid off. This time. TBC..... ----- ((Mess Hall, USS Triumphant)) Marshall: When faced with arduous and demanding conditions on Trueno, each of you stepped up the task with bravery and courage the best of Starfleet can be proud of. Faced with clear and present danger, you all outdid yourselves, rising to the occasion, and demonstrating the pluck and fortitude usually only required to eat Ayiana's cooking. For this, Starfleet has seen fit to award everyone the Good Conduct Ribbon. Congratulations, everyone! Sevo: OY!! Wondering whether it was a colossal joke on the part of the CO and XO, Arlo accepted her thrown ribbon on instinct alone. She instantly felt that she did not deserve it, having spent much of their mission seething at Hankins or calling out his appalling attitude . She had let her own personal bias about the man's work cloud her judgement. Resolving to talk to the XO about whether she truly deserved it or not after the ceremony, Arlo put the box with the other two. Reynolds: The backbone of any successful ship is a core of reliable and capable staff. Service in Starfleet can be... ::her lips twitched,:: an adventure written in hellos and goodbyes. As such, we recognise those people who lead their departments with a steady hand despite the continual change around them. Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler and Lieutenant Corliss Fortune, we're proud to recognise your dedication and ability by presenting you with the Department Chief Ribbon. The Admiral personally handed each woman their award rather than send it sailing through the air. Arlo found the gesture rather touching and she joined in the applause for the two capable department heads. Reynolds: And speaking of department chiefs. I'm delighted to announce that Lieutenant Commander Pholin Duyzer will be taking on the role of Science Chief. Those of you who've already had the pleasure of serving with him know that Commander Duyzer is an incredibly talented officer with experience in leading science departments, and we're excited to welcome him to that role aboard the Gorkon. In the midst of hearty applause- and whistled adulation from Marshall- Arlo sprang to her feet, her hands thundering together and with a grin as wide as any Denticulations. Her malaise forgotten for the moment, she revelled in her superior's promotion, knowing that from their encounters and having read his impressive service record, that this had been a long time coming and was more than deserved. The applause died down and Arlo took her seat, she reached for her apple tea as the Admiral spoke again. Reynolds: The last presentation of the day goes to someone who's shown great courage and resourcefulness under great pressure, and gone from strength to strength in her service aboard the Gorkon. Lieutenant Arlo Thornton, I'm pleased to promote you to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, with all the associated duties, rights and responsibilities that came with it. Blindsided by the unexpected promotion- and mid sip of tea- Arlo spluttered and almost choked as she looked at the Admiral with wide orbs of surprise. She barely managed to cover her mouth before spraying apple tea all over the table. Swallowing and trying not to cough, she looked addlepated at the Deltan hybrid who was leading the applause with a grin. The validation was a momentary salve against her burning self doubt and while she didn't know if she deserved the third gold and black pip, the Admiral evidently felt differently. Unsure of what to do, she nodded her appreciative thanks to the woman and tried to process what had just happened. Marshall: Champagne time, sir? Thornton: oO Damn right! Oo ::she mused, still trying to work out what had just happened.:: Reynolds: The very finest Defiant-class replicators have to offer. ::Amusement twinkled in her eyes, and she gestured toward a table where a selection of drinks – including Château Triumpant, 2397 vintage – were on offer. ::Enjoy a drink and share your congratulations while you can before we're stampeded by Beta Shift in search of lunch. Marshall: And well done, everyone! May the next routine inspection go half as smoothly! Arlo rose to her feet somewhat unsteadily as the assembled officers moved to the rear of the room to get their glass of champagne. She was somewhere between the table and getting a glass of champagne when a familiar face approached. Like Arlo, Ayiana sported an impressive head of red hair- hers a bolder shade that suited the Trill. The two had not seen each other in some time, although Arlo had been aware that Sevo had recently returned from leave and was now serving as the Gorkon's mission specialist. Arlo thought that red would suit the joined officer very well. Sevo: Congrats, Lieutenant Commander. Thornton: Thank you. ::she said with a smile that did not quite hide the tone of incredulity in her voice.:: I think. ::she found herself chuckling and remarkably, it felt genuine.:: Sevo: Enjoy that new pip. Eying three gold ones? She had not even been eyeing the pip that she had just been awarded, let alone thinking about going for Commander. There was a lot of work to be done in bettering herself and letting go of her tendency to run her mouth, amongst other things, before she would even be ready to consider a future promotion. Plus, she needed to work out what it was that Admiral Reynolds recognised within her. The easy option was, of course, asking the half-Deltan outright, but she was much too terrified of her to do so and only slightly so when it came to Commander Marshall. Of course, that was too heavy an answer to give Sevo so she simply gave her a quick, wry grin and attempted to brush the question off with good humour. Thornton: We'll have to wait and see. The two women reached the champagne table and Arlo picked up a glass and poured in the fizz. She held the long, narrow glass delicately with her fingers wrapping around the stem. As she did Ayiana continued on. Sevo: I was hoping to get a fellow scientist's opinion on the park. What are your thoughts of that place? As the two stepped away from the table, she let out a confused sigh. She could not deny that the work carried out by BetaGen could go a long to answering some the mysteries about dinosaurs that had plagued palaeontologists across the galaxy for centuries- but it's potential had been quashed in the never-ending search for latinum and Doctor Hankins' own quest for recognition from his peers to fuel his egomania. Writing and rewriting her report, she had gone over this very question time and time again and was still not entirely sure that her final recommendation was the best solution. The most practical, maybe, but like everything else in the cosmos it was imperfect. Thornton: I think, currently, the goal in theory is noble but the application of it? ::she considered her words.:: Let's just say I think it needs a lot of work. Sevo: Response. Thornton: I don't think the pursuit of scientific knowledge should not be constrained by budgets or cutting corners- and definitely not by a desire for validation or ego-boosting. ::beat.:: I think that there is definite potential for learning and for the evolution of palaeontology but everything from the top down needs to be reorganised and re-prioritised- and I am still dead against turning the reserve into some kind of spectacle or theme park. Conservation was one thing but if that meant the exploitation of animal life for the entertainment of millions then it simply wasn't worth it, at least to Arlo. She was more than aware that other people disagreed with her and she did not begrudge them their opinions. She just wished that BetaGen and Hankins had not hidden behind a cloak of science to disguise their avarice. Thornton: What about you? What do you think about it? Sevo: Response. Thornton listened with genuine interest as the Trill officer outlined her thoughts. From what she had gathered from Pholin several days ago – and from what could be inferred from Ayiana's new service ribbons- her experiences on Trueno had not been any easier than Arlo's. Apparently every away team had been put through the wringer by the security and power failures, the anxious and terrified creatures within Dinosauria and the deadly ion storm. She had heard whispers in the corridors of the Triumphant that everything had been the result of sabotage- something Arlo herself had begun to suspect when she had encountered Species GS54- by a wanted criminal mastermind. Perhaps one day she would get the full story, but something told Arlo that she probably did not want to hear it. Thornton: I think I'll be glad to get back to the Gorkon and explore Palanon, more than anything. ::beat:: The more distance between me and those dinosaurs, the better. ::she took a sip from the champagne. For replicated fare, it was surprisingly tasty. She enjoyed and savoured the crisp tang before swallowing.:: I imagine that you'll be looking forward to seeing the Gorkon again? It's been a while for you, hasn't it? Sevo: Response. The unfolding conversation was just the remedy she needed after self-exile and days of assigning blame to herself. She liked Ayiana Sevo and her zest for life and had missed her when she had taken leave. It was good to be talking with her again. Thornton: I haven't had the chance to visit Palanon yet, any tips for a xenologist like me? Sevo: Response

It's another monster multi-parter from Quinn and Jo, and as always, it's a fantastic read. Hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did! --- Part I ((Conference Room, USS Azetbur)) The steady craft dropped through the layers of atmosphere, thick like fog, into the oppressive skies above Centennial City. Once a fine and thriving metropolis in the days before the Mother Road, the dilapidated towers and unfinished construction projects showed how abandoned the place had become. South-east of the city, visible through the expansive viewscreen window as they took in the panoramic desolation, the Lakosha Fire River flowed lava from the mountains in red and black, spurting off the yellow fire. From above, the city looked a mix of orange and brown, the rust of the metal structures seeping into the air. They’d have to breathe that soon. Enthusiasm waned. Small shuttlecraft moved up and out of various points of the city, landing points scattered around, sanctioned or not. The transport hub for customs control had made them wait on the fringes, subjected to checks and balances, before they’d allowed the craft to start the descent. The decline of tourism and mining had taken its toll on the hub, and somehow, they had to find Valesha’s brother down there. As much as it pained to put their situation in the hands of the Shoals' flat foots, palms needed greasing. O. Marshall: Are we heading straight into Centennial or reporting to the CMC at Opportunity? Valesha stood in front of the main windows, staring past her reflection at the neglected city beneath them. Her fingers dug into the palms of her hands, jaw set, eyes dark. "A hard place" was how Teller had described it, and the grim database images hadn't contracted him. But now she could see it in person, her heart turned to lead. This was where her brother was? Had been all this time? Sienelis: I— ::She dropped her gaze, a grimace coming and going before she looked toward Bear.:: I don't know. What's best? O. Marshall: It’ll go in our favour if we do our due diligence. ::He exhaled a heavy breath, crossing his arms as he stood beside his Romulan friend.:: Get planetside, report that we made it, ask about the situation in Centennial before we go walking into the unknown looking like tourists. It doesn’t look too… friendly. Sienelis: That's an understatement. ::She uncurled stiff fingers from their grip and ran a hand through her short, dark hair, cheeks puffing out with an exhale.:: And I don't want to give the Marshals any more reason to be suspicious. O. Marshall: Playing host to a formerly wanted criminal, interdimensional starship thief, and yours truly would give them enough reason. ::He bumped her with his elbow and a flick of his eyebrow.:: Then there’s Lena. Valesha heaved in a breath, releasing it in a quiet huff that almost made it to laughter, the sound accompanied by the tiniest uptick of eyebrows and lips. A strange turn of affairs that all the officers in the group had something in their history to make law enforcement narrow their eyes and squint. Meanwhile, it was the Petty Officer who had a clean record and party of a family that helped keep the colony in business. Sienelis: So what you're saying is we put Chris out front and hope he's respectable enough that no one looks at the three reprobates behind him? O. Marshall: Trust the obnoxious Starfleet officers to send their Petty Officer to do their official introductions. The idea had merit. Chris was clever, charismatic, and had all the earthly charm of someone ready to have a sit down and coffee with local law enforcement over the impounding of his personal shuttlecraft. Once they were in the city, broadcasting they were Starfleet officers would be the wrong move. He’d spent enough time in the Shoals to understand there were places they just didn’t go, and the inner hive of Ketar V was one of them. O. Marshall: Opportunity first, if only to check in, then down to the big smoke stack they called a city. Try that diner place Chris keeps ranting about. Blend in with the locals. ::He raised one blond eyebrow to Valesha with a moderate amount of frown.:: And who the hell is Teller? One corner of the Romulan's mouth quirked up at the mention of the short, ginger engineer, her first genuine smile since they started the approach to Ketar V. He was the reason they were all here, the unwitting keeper of the keys. Months ago, during the official testing of the Warp XV on the USS Juneau, she'd sat with him in one of the ship's empty science labs. Using storage crates as seats, they'd shared fresh, homegrown coffee and talked about the places he'd visited and the people he'd met. Including Ketar V. Including Taeval. Sienelis: Geoffrey Teller. He's the Thor's First Officer now, but I met him when he was still the Veritas' Chief Engineer. ::She gestured toward the city below.:: They did some relief work here, rebuilding homes that had burnt down. That's when he met my brother. O. Marshall: Starfleet doing half a relief job, as usual, I see. Whatever they’d done to the city, it made no noticeable difference from their position overhead. Everything had a murky texture to it, like oil slicked over paper, or grease smeared on a window, a layer of smoke happy to remain floating atop the world like a weather system. He’d spent time there as a Ranger, back in the heady days of working on the fringes of space, bringing relief where needed. Bear wondered what kind of reception they would walk into, what kind of impression the Veritas had left behind when they’d left it behind, happy to fly off into the ether while Ketar V remained in the state it was. O. Marshall: I’ll let Lena know to head for Opportunity and we’ll go from there. Might be best if we plot a land approach to Centennial City instead of taking the bird. Less graffiti to scrub off when we get back. ::He glanced at the Romulan again, the look on her face a telling one.:: Do you want a minute alone with the dusty planet view? Just in case. She stared ahead for a few moments in silence, brilliant green eyes tracing over the rusting towers of a city in decline, piercing the skyline like skeletal fingers reaching for a last grasp of life. Somewhere in that industrial sprawl was her brother, eking out life as a refugee on a planet that resented his presence. Discrimination, segregation, hate crimes, even talk of forcible relocations for "failing to integrate"; all things her people had to deal with on Ketar V. Kicked to the bottom rung of life and stood on to ensure that was where they remained. Sienelis: I've seen enough. --- Part II ((Approach to Centennial City, Ketar V)) The dust of the road kicked up all around them as the hovering craft sped across the terrain. Overlapping segments of plating made the shuttlecraft look like an armoured vehicle, and the way Lena drove it, one could understand if something launched their way. The city towered ahead, bloated and orange, rust-coloured spikes and spires reaching for a sky darkened in murk and grime. The tiniest of red lights blinked at the top of the tallest tower, telegraphing the location for all incoming on shuttlecraft higher than ground level to see. As they neared the city, the lights changed. Still like someone had dipped the city upside down in a vat of gagh grease, but flickering with intense blues and purples, violets and reds, pinks and greens, large screens visible like a thumbnail. Squinting through the dusty window, Chris leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees as he watched the edge of the horizon melt away, the full, epic size of the city appearing piece by piece. Johns: Is it… ::he squinted a little harder,:: is it raining? Beside him, Valesha stared through the side window, unseeing, focused on nothing. She'd barely spoken since they'd made landfall, taking in the sights with all the cheer of someone surveying a natural disaster. At his question, her gaze darted first to the Russian, then in the direction he was looking. Her stone-faced gloom didn't shift, and a long sigh pulled out of her lungs, her lips thinning. Sienelis: What a shock. Even the weather is miserable. Johns: Looks muddy, too. In the way something wet could when strained through the grey and orange filter of the sky. From the skies rained down the summer shower, quenching the earth, turning it from a dusty orange to a dustier brown. Sky scrapers stretched toward the sky, and Chris watched a spire turn into the beginnings of an orbital platform, disappearing into the clouds. O. Marshall: Aren’t you glad we came over ground? Imagine trying to land in this. ::The engine roared underneath their feet, fighting against the weather on the open plain.:: Where did the CMC say we should start? Sienelis: Little Ki Baratan in Romulan Town. ::She shifted and crossed long legs, wrapping her arms around her middle.:: Despite the name, somehow I don't think it's going to reflect the imperial might and majesty of our former capital city. O. Marshall: Unless your imperial might and majesty was a cover for industrial depression, I’d agree. It gave “urban sprawl” a new meaning, and if the filters of the craft were anything to go by, an unfamiliar smell. Modern looking buildings, marred by the stain of rot and disrepair, left to crumble while the city struggled onwards. If not for the gigantic orbital platform above the city, feeding down the continued revenue, it might not have survived at all. Chris shuffled in his jacket, flexing his scapula, hearing the [...] leather creak with the effort. Johns: Anything we should watch out for in Romulan Town? Anything we shouldn’t do? ::Hazel eyes flicked to Orson and Lena in the hot seats.:: Like avoid bar fights. Their driver breathed out a chuckle, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the dancer, the grin in her eyes as well as on her lips. He shook his head in return, expecting some wisdom from a hybrid pirate who had gotten herself out of more scrapes than he’d practiced first position. Josett: Good practice. ::She chuckled.:: Nothing makes you learn to dodge like taking a Romulan fist to the face. Johns: The first time might be the last for puny human bones. ::An eyebrow arched to Valesha with a grin cracking through.:: Physiologically superior, as they are. Valesha glanced back toward him, a corner of her mouth lifted in a half-hearted grin. A running, shared joke, founded in an off-hand comment from the earliest days when they were still figuring out what they meant to one another. A friendship founded in a dream, the seeds of love and affection planted in an imaginary world. Yet with that light moment also came the memory of their encounter with the Tal Shiar agent, S'Tokkr. Hauling a wounded, unconscious Chris back to the Qowat Milat house and hovering over him while the Romulan medics did their work. Not an experience she cared to repeat, especially in a place bereft of allies like her old mentor. Sienelis: For all the good it's done for any of them here. ::She frowned, her gaze returning to the view ahead.:: I'd say try not to wind anyone up, but given how the Romulans here have been treated over the years, anger is probably their default response to outsiders. O. Marshall: Punch first and ask questions later? ::He scoffed in the front seat, shaking his head as he looked out of the window at the sepia-toned landscape.:: Sounds more like Trill thinking. Chris breathed out a soft laugh as he sat back against the chair, sliding his arm across the back of Valesha’s, fingers messing with the loose threads of her jacket shoulder, content to be close and look overhead, the clear roof giving an unobstructed view of what they were heading into. The docking ring above made for interesting viewing, stretching out across the sky, several shuttlecraft heading down through the atmosphere despite the weather beating down. The inhabitants were probably used to it; spend long enough under a rain cloud, get used to getting wet. Meanwhile, up front, Bear’s stomach warbled from within his fleshy human prison. O. Marshall: Not to sound like a broken holodeck Badgey here, but I’m hungry. ::He angled his head toward Valesha and her leaning arms, eyebrow curving up.:: Little Ki Baratan famous for food, by any chance? The question was, to no one's great surprise, met with a Romulan scowl. Sienelis: Didn't you eat before we left? O. Marshall: Of course I did, but you don’t get these, ::one arm curled, bicep bulging beneath jacket and layers,:: without an adequate amount of calories consistently throughout the day. And Chris wouldn’t let me bring snacks. Johns: I never said that, you… Bear-faced liar. O. Marshall: You said there’d be food. Johns: I said there was a diner somewhere in the city, that’s not the same thing. The blond one semi-turned around in his seat to point an accusatory finger into the back of the shuttlecraft while the dancer leaned forward, eyebrow making a swift ascension, elbow planted on his knee. O. Marshall: Because talking about the amazing burgers of that place was just idle chatter, was it? Sienelis: Oh, for the love of— Interrupting the bickering, Valesha threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. All the while, pulling at the threads of her fraying temper was the grin Lena was wearing, the hybrid finding the exchange immensely entertaining. An agent of chaos, if ever there was one. The Romulan bit down on the rest of the sentence, pivoting to the path of least resistance. Sienelis: Fine. If it will shut you up, we can stop and get a burger in this diner of myth and legend. Silence descended as the two men eyed one another with deliberate caution, knowing it was safer to say nothing than to dig the grave ever deeper. Both returned to sitting properly in their seats — Bear looking out of the forward window, Chris looking at the floor — allowing the quiet to reign for a moment longer. The shuttlecraft bumped over the terrain; the engine flaring under the ministrations of the pirate pilot, the wind and rain battering the sides of the hull. O. Marshall: You know you want to go, too. Sienelis: I hate you so much. --- Part III ((Welder’s Diner, Livernois Shipyards, Centennial City)) Rain hammered down from the sky and orbital platform above, giving the appearance of a mist in the air, somehow smelling like diesel and torched rubber had baked into an ozone-rich atmosphere. Scents of street food washed over them — fried hlai buns, warm vats of glakh, deep-fried strings of verethi and karlak bread — a blend of foods to stuff the senses and bellies, to make someone forget they lived and worked there. Suits in high collars pulled them tighter around their ears to protect from the downpour, whistled and hailed for cabs the size of an Argo rolling through the streets, looking to get from one side of the city to another. The planetside structure of the shipyards was very much alive. Amid it all, the squat diner sat squashed between two large scrapers on either side, hemming it in as though trying hard to cram it out of existence. Not one of the most appalling places in the known universe, it had a listing in the Ketar V guidebook of places to go and scored marginally better than the vast pools of liquid deuterium slush just outside of the city boundary. Sleepy travellers sloped inside, shuffling their bags and sacks, slipping into booths, the neon splash of menus illuminating tired faces. Chris flicked his finger over the glowing menu, each time adding an extra layer onto an ever-growing burger stack. A layer highlighted as “Don’t Go Bacon My Heart”, while another part of the menu suggested a recent addition, “The Wurst Dog”. Johns: Being a vegetarian in here would be a huge missed steak, right? Lena chuckled, seemingly in competition with Bear for who could create the most outrageous burger. The light from the menu PADD painted the Bajoran and Cardassian contours of her face in a neon rainbow, a pirate in stained glass. Valesha dragged her attention away from the window, away from scrutinising the face of everyone who passed by, and sighed at her better half. Sienelis: Really? Johns: Really. The “Meat-E-Or”, “So, We Meat Again”, “The Apple of My Ribeye”... ::He looked up from the holographic burger assembling on the PADD to his Romulan and smiled, hazel eyes gilded in affection, querying eyebrow lifted.:: Are you going to order something to sustain your superior physiology or keep staring out the window? Stretching his arm over the back of Lena’s booth seat, Bear pointed to Valesha with a finger gun over the hybrid’s shoulder, his monstrosity of a meal nearly completed and rotating holographically above the PADD on the table. O. Marshall: She does that. You should’ve seen her on the Unicorn. Sienelis: It was stare out of the window or set the back of your head on fire. O. Marshall: And these luscious blond locks thank you for the choice you made. The hark back to the good times the three of them had on the Labyrinth’s Scream didn’t hit the Russian in the same way that it used to. It had been the catalyst for what he had with Valesha, for confessed feelings on what would’ve been a death bed if it hadn’t been for the quick flying actions of the hybrid pirate and the rapid thinking of the blond mountain. He slid the PADD across the table toward her, lips twitching with a smile. Johns: They’ve even got a “Wind Beneath My Hlai Wings” burger. She looked down at the menu, then her eyes flicked back up to meet his, green and hazel meeting in the middle. The Romulan's expression softened, the glacier beginning to melt under the warmth of her Russian's humour. One finger extended, she placed it on the corner of the PADD and slid it towards herself, looking over the burgers on offer. Sienelis: I'm not sure if that's an ingenious fusion or a cultural abomination. ::She found a small grin from somewhere and offered it to him.:: But I suppose there's only one way to find out. Johns: Experimenting is the only way to science, so I’ve heard. ::He returned her grin with a wider one of his own, happy for the moment between, however brief.:: And I’ll eat it if you don’t. O. Marshall: It’s almost like you’re eating for two. Perpetually. Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes at the man, tapping on the PADD to send the order through to the diner, anticipating the kind of legendary deliciousness Teller had promised. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a group at another table, conversing, occasionally glancing their way. Avoiding looking in their direction, Chris rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. Johns: I think we’re being watched. --- Part IV ((Welder’s Diner, Livernois Shipyards, Centennial City)) Across the table, the hybrid pirate nodded at him. If it concerned her, it didn't show. Her focus seemed to be on completing a burger that could feed a family of four by itself, then choosing sides that could support another. Josett: It's to be expected, given the company and the colony. ::She finished her order with a flourish and a smile, dropping the menu on the table.:: It's whether they'll restrict themselves to watching you need to worry yourself about. Johns: What do you think? You’ve been in enough places to predict this kind of thing. The dancer shifted a little closer to Valesha, as if having his body in the way would protect her from anything the shipyard dwellers could say, or do, and realised with some internal amusement the Romulan could shatter bones as easily as he could slap someone hard. He might appear bigger, but all the muscle and tendon coiled around Valesha’s bone and sinew. Lena grinned knowingly at him, then picked the menu up again as though she were about to change her mind. Instead, she flicked the screen off, angling the glossy black surface of the PADD to capture the reflections of the offending dining party. Josett: Could go either way. They're drinking; that's not usually a good sign. ::She flicked a glance toward Bear, then back down at the PADD.:: But they look like dockworkers, so they'll be used to working with Romulans. O. Marshall: Easy enough to handle if they are. ::He cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the back of Lena’s seat.:: Let Vee loose, she’s like a coiled spring. As much as he joked, he was quite serious. The fury she’d unleashed on Tal Shiar agents underneath the dingy Dungeon dive bar was enough to know never to tangle with that temper lest he find himself on the sharp end of it. Bear and his baby blues glanced out of the window while his fingertips mindlessly picked at a loose thread on his wife’s shoulder. O. Marshall: What’s the plan? Fill the stomach and go for a wander around Little Ki Baratan? Have a sign made? Wave a banner? Her gaze having wandered back to the window, Valesha once again tore it away from the faces passing outside. Careworn dock labourers, harried office employees, frazzled retail workers, all hunched against the rain and not a familiar face among them. Digging in her trouser pocket, she pulled out a small PADD of her own, flicking through the information with her thumb. Chris looked down at it, looping his fingers through the coffee mug as he watched. Sienelis: Check to see if he works at the docks, ::there was a note of disbelief in her voice, finding that scenario hard to imagine,:: and Geoff gave us a list of names. People who helped rebuild the tenement tower that burnt down. It's where he met him. Johns: That’s central administration for the shipyard, ::he pointed through the window at the illustrious looking building, the only one standing starkly out of the rest,:: and Lisa sent an introduction for us. The Livernois family still owns it, so that’s something. Hopefully, we’ll walk into a PADD with all his current details on. Livernois had once been prosperous on this end of the Shoals, playing the broker of services and shipping from there to Risa, and the family called the shots in most of the galactic enterprise, much like the Yanovna clan did. Business rivals who worked hand in hand; Livernois took up the Shoals and the family business didn’t stretch inside those limitations. With any luck, they kept meticulous records of everyone who had ever worked for them, taken a paycheck, or so much as hung around for a cup of coffee. Unlikely, but the Russian could hope. Across from them, a dockworker finished his meal and stood up. The familiar beep of his PADD transferring funds to the diner sounded, and he left through the door they’d come through, sending a last second glance toward Valesha. His friends stayed behind, looking over toward them, leaning in for quieter conversations. Chris couldn’t shake the notion that something didn’t feel right. An oily slick taste in the back of his throat, the odd smell of engine grease clinging to everything, the constant drumming of constant rain all added to the caution. The slamming of a body against the glass window made Chris jump; the side of a face pressed up against it, Andorian blue, peering inside with a wandering eye glassy and unfocused. Someone shouted, and the Andorian peeled away from the window, skin leaving an imprint behind in rain, grease, and condensation. Unphased by any of it, Lena blew out a sigh and glanced around the diner, looking toward the kitchen for any sign of their meal. She was rewarded with the sight of a waitress pushing through the doors with plates held in her hands and balanced on her wrists in an impressive display of dexterity. Josett: At least they're letting us eat before they pick a fight. ::She shrugged, turning back to her dining companions.:: Looks like they intend to jump us outside with a few friends. O. Marshall: At least when they do, I won’t be hungry. I’ve always had better fights on a full stomach. Small mercies delivered with a wink from Bear to Lena as the waitress delivered a plethora of food; burgers stacked like the leaning towers of some Earth place, like the spires of the orbital platforms above them, topped with a scattering of seeds. A brief array of holographic advertisements popped up from their table, advertising nearby establishments and some diversionary entertainments not for the fainthearted. Valesha murmured a thank you to the server, stealing a brief glance at the conspiring group. Meanwhile, Lena immediately tucked into her food with all the restraint of someone who'd spent half her life not knowing where her next meal was coming from. Sienelis: Maybe we should just wait it out. Have some coffee until they get bored and go home. O. Marshall: Assuming we know what they want. We’re assuming it’s you, ::said as his gigantic hands wrapped around the burger with practiced ease, nodding to Chris,:: could be him. Johns: Why would it be me? ::A dark eyebrow arched upwards, the Russian not yet eating, surprising everyone, instead taking a pull from his coffee mug.:: What did I do? O. Marshall: What name did you give at the CCMS? The Russian paused for a moment, gulping the mouthful of coffee in one, locking hazel and blue over a stack of bread, meat and vegetables trying to pass itself off as a light lunch. Only one name opened doors for them down there, ensuring eyes wouldn’t look past him to the three record holders accompanying. And if that was the case, word got around Ketar V faster than a QSD ripped through space. O. Marshall: See? ::Said with a flourish of burger toward Valesha.:: Could be him. Sienelis: It would be an interesting novelty to not be the intended kidnap victim for once. Lena chortled, and Valesha shot a worn smile at her beloved, finding some dark humour in the idea after being subjected to more than one attempt to relocate her back to the Empire. Chris narrowed his eyes at both of them shaking his head slowly, though with a look on his face as if trying to work out what kind of ransom they’d expect from his untimely kidnapping by dockworkers of the Livernois. He scratched the back of his neck and slumped against the booth seat. Johns: Let’s not wish that on me. Once was enough. ::He sighed wistfully.:: I’ll never get those pants back. Sienelis: Maybe we should see if there's a back door. Josett: Bunk out through the bathroom windows. O. Marshall: Ask if we can leave via the kitchen? ::His blond eyebrow took an upward sweep as he looked between the Romulan and hybrid.:: How many eateries have you two had to escape from? Sienelis: Just the one. Josett: Thirteen. ::She paused with her burger halfway toward her mouth, one finger raised as she thought about it, then she amended her total.:: Fifteen. Do street food stalls count? Bear’s eyes rolled upwards, chewing down a mouthful of the gargantuan skyscraper on his plate. Between the third lettuce layer and pickles, it looked a little unsteady and structurally unsound, emphasised back down to a thumb coating of mayonnaise. Despite the hunger radiating in his bones, Chris still hadn’t touched his food, preferring instead to sit with his arm stretched across Valesha’s seat back, the mug of coffee in his hand, and hazel eyes transfixed on the outside. O. Marshall: If we pay for what we’ve eaten, Lena, ::said with not a small amount of emphasis,:: we can ask to leave via the kitchen door. If they’re smart, they’ll be waiting near the bathroom windows. If they’re practical, it’ll be doors. It’s a mob, so I’m leaning more to the former than the latter, ::his blue eyes glanced to Valesha,:: unless you’ve got some fancy Romulan fighting style to break out. A scathing look was his only response, though even Valesha couldn't tell if she was avoiding the question or not deigning to answer it. His lack of interest in food was unprecedented, and it pulled her concerned gaze toward him. She nudged his knee with hers, trying to capture his attention. The harsh edges sanded off her expression and voice. Sienelis: Not hungry? A soft sigh escaped from the Russian to his partner. Gentle hazel tinged with concern meeting verdant eyes. The increased churning in his stomach related to the increasing time they spent on the colony. What if Valesha liked it there, surrounded by her people, with her brother? Chris leaned forward and attempted to pick up the burger, half-heartedly picking off a leaf of lettuce and dropping it onto the plate. Johns: Just… worried. ::He frowned and shook his head, offering her as much of a smile as he could muster.:: I’m fine, really. How’s the hlai tasting? Her gaze didn't dart over to the human and hybrid sat opposite, but her thoughts did. She wasn't going to push the issue in front of them. As much as Valesha was glad they were here, some things were none of their business. When (if?) they got a moment alone, she'd press him for a little more information, but not here. She echoed his smile — thin, uncertain — a serpent of doubt coiling in her gut. Had she made the right choices along the road that led to Ketar? Sienelis: Much as I'm reluctant to admit it, it seems we're in the ingenious fusion part of the spectrum. ::She glanced down at the burger in her hand. Hardly small by any normal measure of a meal, miniscule in comparison to her companion's monstrous creations.:: Who knew that hlai goes well with bacon? --- Part V ((Back Alley, Centennial City)) Cullo Zoren leaned his shoulder against one of the damp walls in the back alley, peeling the apple with the small shiv of a knife he usually kept down his sock. The patter of rain hadn’t deterred his excursion out into the nightlife of Ketar V, nor had it disrupted the business need to direct his goons in beating the Tellarite dockhand like a ten-year-old service droid. With a sniffle, he wiped his ridged nose on the back of his dock jacket sleeve and surveyed the streak mark. The milky pink residue on his sleeve was a symptom he’d had for a while now; milk nose got everyone in Livernois at some point — consequences of working within close contact with a lot of the materials. Harder still was a culprit to pin down. While trellium-d only seemed to cause issues with Vulcans, Bajorans seemed to absorb maladies through the skin like sun rays. Milk Nose lingered for a while, making the hands tingle and the nose secrete, and the worst part was the difficulty peeing on and off, but eventually, it went away. No one died from it, though plenty of dockworkers had died with it over the years. He slipped another slice of apple into his mouth and crunched down on it as a pair of boots thudded against the wet floor behind him. Turning to look, he caught the glowing neon sign as a truck rumbled past the alleyway entrance, “From the ground to the skies!” and sniffled again. Cullo: ‘Bout time you showed up. Taeval: My shift ran late. ::The voice of the curly-haired young man was low and soft, his accent an odd mix of aristocratic Romulan and coarse Ketarian.:: Milk Nose still bothering you? Cullo: It’s in the ridges. Still urinating like a racing batos, though. ::He shrugged a shoulder up as the knife slipped through the apple skin again, puncturing juicy flesh, and mixing with the rainwater, dribbled down the back of his hand.:: Your name got thrown around in the Welders’ earlier. Someone’s looking for you. The Romulan didn't shift into immediate alarm, but there was a slow narrowing of tired green eyes, a deepening furrow between two dark eyebrows. It was the only outward sign of the ice coursing through his veins, shards slicing through his chest and stopping his heart. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke in the same steady, guarded tone as before. Taeval: Do you know who? Cullo: A group, four of them. The same lot that showed up in Opportunity at the CCMS office. Cardassian, two humans, and a Vulcan, so I’m told. Teeth plinked onto the concrete like the high notes of a tightly strung piano. The Tellarite slumped to the floor in a heap of hair, tusks, and dockworker’s garb, heaving in heavy condensation, groaning in a mixture of pain. Zoren cut another chunk from the apple and, sticking the pointy end of the knife into it, held it out to Taeval. The Romulan shook his head and his gaze fell on the unfortunate dock worker, his attempt to disguise a wince not complete in its success. Taeval: What did he do? Cullo: This time, I don’t know. ::The sigh that left the Bajoran deflated almost sounded remorseful.:: The boss didn’t like the cut of his tusks, maybe, or the guy didn’t want to pay union fees. Either way, here we are, there he is, and you should be staying away from Welders’. Taeval nodded, his movements every bit as measured and restrained as his speech. Droplets of rain hung from his curls, and he ran a hand through his hair to shake them off. A Cardassian, a Vulcan, and two humans? It wasn't a combination that rang with familiarity and that worried him; motivations and affiliations unknown, they were unpredictable. Taeval: I will. ::He paused.:: If they made it to Welders' from Opportunity, they either knew where to look or figured it out in short order. Cullo: I’d plug for the former. They don’t look like locals, look like they came here on purpose. ::Bajoran ridges fluttered with a sneeze he caught in his sleeve.:: Nobody just waltzes into Welders’ and starts asking around about… The sentence ended there as he sneezed again, the milky white substance seeping from the ridged nose of his ancestral people, and wiped off with a handkerchief from his pocket. The Tellarite from the floor got himself up, wrapped an arm around his middle, and limped past them out of the alleyway. Taeval watched him go, pulling his collar up against the relentless rainfall, and then turned back to Cullo. Taeval: Thanks, Cullo. I appreciate the warning. ::He fished in his pocket, pulling out a palm-sized cylinder and offering it to the Bajoran, the feather-faint rattle of its contents audible only to acute Romulan hearing.:: No more than four a day. Cullo: You are a saint among sinners, sir. ::He snorted whatever lingered at the back of his nose and slipped the cylinder into his inner pocket.:: I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You keep your nose clean. With the small joke, his shoulders shook, and Zoren pulled his coat around him. A low whistle through his teeth and the broad shouldered Nausicaan goon cracked his knuckles from one hand to the other, sounding like a horse’s hooves on cobblestones, causing the wounded Tellarite to move a little faster down the street. The neon light sparkled in the rain, sending the showers of blue and pink through the night air. Cullo: If anyone asks, where should I say you’re not? Taeval: My work, both of them. I'll see about staying with a friend for a few days in case they track down home. ::He frowned.:: If you find out any more about them, you'll let me know? Cullo: I’ll do what I can. ::He spat on the floor, a milky splodge mingling immediately and washing away.:: Though it sounds like the start of one of those bad human jokes. “A Cardassian, two humans, and a Vulcan walk into a bar...” --- Part VI ((Welder’s Diner, Livernois Shipyards, Ketar V)) O. Marshall: ...You’d think one of them would’ve seen it. The Azetbur is hardly conspicuous. Reynolds might as well have painted nose art on it. Burger thoroughly demolished, Bear sat back in the booth seat and watched the small band growing outside. The Andorian looked as though he lived out there and didn’t have a home to go to, while the rest were dockworkers, milling around in their emblazoned uniforms, waiting for the team to make their move out of there. Valesha exhaled a leaden breath, shaking her head, finishing the last dregs of her coffee. Placing the mug down, she squared her shoulders and braced herself for the inevitable. Sienelis: They are not getting bored. Johns: Why would they get bored? It’s not like the weather's awful, there’s little else to do in the colony besides being racist, and Romulan is the prime target. ::He tongued his cheek with a frustrated sigh as he picked up his coffee mug, refilled twice now, burger barely touched.:: We should split up. O. Marshall: I agree. You two act as the distraction while we make a run for it. Johns: Not what I meant. O. Marshall: I know what you meant. Valesha's gaze darted between the pair of them, then toward the small crowd outside. They'd finished eating, they'd finished their coffees, continuing to wait would not do them any good. As sarcastic as Bear had been, it wasn't a bad plan; split up, use a distraction, let the pirate and the ranger seize the advantage. Planting her hands on the table, she pushed herself up and stepped away from the table, her intention to move toward the door clear. Sienelis: Distraction it is. O. Marshall: It’s so nice when you agree with me. He turned to watch her over his shoulder as Chris departed their table, following behind his partner with a hand gesture levelled back toward Bear indicating what he could do to himself. The blond sighed with the gravitas of the ages, wiped his hand over his face to free his beard from bacon bits, and arched an eyebrow at Lena. O. Marshall: Back door? Josett: You know, we could just call the Marshals. O. Marshall: No need, ::said with a grin,:: we’re already here. She laughed, flicking an errant crumb from his beard (or pretending to), and slid out from the booth, blue eyes following with quiet admiration. She looked toward the front door as the Romulan pushed through it, her human partner hot on her heels, out into the small crowd waiting beyond. A flicker of concern hidden with a grin, the hybrid threw her curls back over her shoulder and straightened her jacket, turning back to her partner in crime. Josett: That is both why I married you and grounds for divorce. O. Marshall: That too? It's such a long list I didn't bother reading it all. Sliding out of the booth after her, he pressed his PADD to the edge of the table, their tab paid for in an instant and a small cartoon Bolian wearing a welding mask waved a torch in their direction, thanking them for visiting the “best place in space”. Music drifted around them from the grouchy looking jukebox at the far end and the Bajoran waitress bustled out with a smile to see them off. Wholesome. A little too wholesome. Josett: I'm feeling it too. O. Marshall: Glad it’s not just me. Bear shrugged his jacket on, lifting the collar and squaring up his shoulders with a thin smile of thanks towards their waitress. Still smiling, the woman sneezed into a handkerchief, the colour of milk, and excused herself into the back. Frowning, Bear pushed at the door and held it open for Lena to slip beneath his arm, giving the place a last glance as they stepped into the drizzly street. She jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket, peering back and forth. A rare frown pulled the ridges of her Cardassian brow together, her gaze darting up the claustrophobic walls of the alley. Josett: Either this is one of the most subtle ambushes I've ever seen, or they are definitely after one of the lovebirds. Cullo: Well, if that isn’t a face I’ll never forget. The voice behind them ruffed out, accompanied by the warbling charging noise of a disruptor. Bear froze, his head dropping back as rain splattered against cheeks and beard, looking up into the murky skies and orbital platform of the Livernois Shipyards. The reassuring weight of his own phaser slipped in the holster strapped to the small of his back wouldn’t be helpful here. O. Marshall: Half right, lovebird. She chuckled and turned toward the voice and disruptor, living for the surge in her heartbeat and the adrenaline pouring into her veins. Amber eyes roved over the Bajoran lurking in the shadows, a hiding place well chosen. These things happened when the terrain was unfamiliar and the inhabitants unknown. Josett: Mistakes are the spice of life. Friend of yours? Cullo: I wouldn’t say a friend, but we’ve met once or twice. O. Marshall: Damnit, Zeron. I said I was sorry. The blond turned, the disruptor making the same whining charging noise as Cullo lifted it a little higher, though remaining at precisely the right angle to send a bolt of energy right through the procedurals. Cullo: She was my wife, you Rakonian swamp rat. ::He looked to Lena, eyes narrowing.:: Who are you? Josett: I'm his wife. Said wife of the accused grinned and [...]ed her head to the side, eyeing the disruptor and then Bear, finding the entire situation hilarious. Shifting her weight to one leg, there was a sharpness to her gaze, near invisible under the smile and cheer. Hands still in her pocket, her fingers closed over the phaser she had stowed there, thumb sliding toward the trigger. Cullo: Hmm. ::His eyebrow [...]ed.:: Are you sure? O. Marshall: Is that so hard to believe? Incredulity marked through Bear’s tenor, as did impatience and a not unwarranted vibration of concern. Zeron wiped the top of his ridged nose with the back of his sleeve as the dribble tickled along the side. Cullo: Yes, actually, seeing as you’re Starfleet, ::he looked at Lena with a chuckle,:: and you look nothing of the sort. Josett: I'm a free spirit. ::She grinned back at him.:: So, what do you want, Zeron? What will make this situation go away? The Bajoran tilted his head to the side, his eyes remaining on Lena as he shot a charge from the disruptor toward the blond. Bear shifted to protect his vital organs as the ball of energy whipped forward, fizzing through the air, until it delivered the equivalent of a punch to the groin, dropping Bear to his knees in the rain, groaning as he tried to curl into a ball. O. Marshall: Rol... xati’yan. With a chuckle and a sniffle, Zeron slipped the disruptor back into the inside of his jacket and held his hand out to Lena, his other sneaking into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe at his nose. Cullo: Few more of them wouldn’t hurt. Zeron Cullo. We grew up together. Lena glanced toward Bear with a sympathetic wince and stepped forward, taking the Bajoran's hand to shake it. In one swift movement, she yanked him forward and drove her knee into the same delicate spot, her free hand pulling his disruptor from his pocket. The wind knocked out of Zeron’s lungs faster than the Gorkon zipped to warp, and he dropped to the floor beside Bear, writhing somewhat in pain, trying as hard as he might to adopt a foetal position. Josett: Nice to meet you, Zeron. I'm Lena Marshall. What's mine is his, what's his is mine, and you just shot some of my most favourite property. ::She inspected the disruptor in her hand, then glanced toward Bear.:: Need a hand? O. Marshall: That… would be… nice. Making some necessary adjustments, and attempting to overcome the growing need to throw up in the pit of his stomach, Bear grasped onto Lena’s hand and hauled up, bracing himself against the diner wall. A few deep gulps of air, he toed Zeron until the Bajoran fell sideways, in a mixture of rolling pain and deep laughter. O. Marshall: See, aka tokka. Isn’t she great? Cullo: A real chesei… Josett: Sil, ah'no. ::She chuckled, stuffing the disruptor into another pocket in her jacket, the spoils of war. Jerking a thumb up the alley, toward the front of the diner, the hybrid looked toward Zeron.:: That crowd out front yours? Hacking up something white into the gutter, Zeron stumbled up onto his feet again, righting whatever had come adrift in the pants department, and readjusting his jacket. One hand smoothed through his tangle of wet hair while the other leaned against the diner wall, breathless, beaten, and not entirely unhappy about it. Cullo: What crowd out front? Where’s your other two? O. Marshall: They went out front, where there’s a crowd of dockworkers hanging around. They’ve got an Andorian who looks like he’s high on ketracel-white. Cullo: Thori the Eyes? ::He frowned, looking at the two of them, then into the diner door.:: When did they leave? Josett: Just before we did. Angling to the corner of the diner wall where it curved from the alleyway — on a planet littered with replicators, somehow the back alley smelled of garbage — the Bajoran limped, glancing around to the front entrance. He made an indistinct sound, like a hum, as some milky white from his nose dribbled onto his cheek. Cullo: Well, they’re not there now. Casting a glance toward Bear, Lena followed the Bajoran to the end of the alley. She was more bold (or perhaps cavalier) than he, striding a few paces out into the street and taking a quick survey. Her hands found her hips, pursing her lips in thought. Bear’s brow creased in concern, following both of them to the edge of the building and seeing the lack of Valesha and her sodding Russian outside of the diner where he expected them to be. Josett: They can't have gone far. ::She glanced toward Cullo.:: Who's Thori the Eyes? Cullo: Andorian dockworker, has a bit of a, ::he gestured to his head, somewhere where antennas might be,:: drug issue. Makes his antenna act strange. Thinks he can pick up communication signals from space. --- Part VII ((Meanwhile, Livernois Shipyards, Centennial City)) Thori: They think they’re being clever by separating the network of fifteen triply redundant transceiver assemblies cross-connected by ODN and copper-yttrium two-one-five-three hardlines and linked to the main computer processors but if they were so smart about it, ::he flicked his right antenna forward as his eye twitched,:: I wouldn’t be able to hear them, would I? The Andorian walked in front as four dockworkers huddled around them on all sides, pushing them forward down through the streets. Chris watched a shuttlecraft zoom low overhead, the underside dirty and scorched in burns, a number stamped underneath with the logo of the Livernois Shipyards glowing under the streetlights. Beside him, Valesha walked with an engraved scowl and an uncharacteristically heavy step, arms rigid by her side. Johns: I don't think you can hear them so much a— One of the larger workers slapped his hand down onto the Russian's shoulder, halting the rest of his words there. He looked to Valesha and flicked his eyebrows up, communicating phrases silently like “this guy is nuts” and “if we die, this is your fault”. His answer was a long-suffering expression of frustration and regret, lifting her shoulders in a slight shrug. Thori: I heard you were coming, oh yes. CCMS transmissions said you were on your way. Two for one. A syndicate pirate and a Starfleet Ranger. Didn’t think it would be this easy, if I’m honest, but the burgers at Welders’ are amazing. Sienelis: It wasn't that easy, you didn't get either. ::She rolled her eyes and shook her head, glancing to the beefy Hupyrian keeping her penned in.:: Look, he might be as high as the orbital stations, but surely one of you can see you've picked up the wrong people. Johns: I’d go out on a limb to say a pirate and a ranger would be more inconspicuous about where they brunched, and wouldn’t have walked out front when you started licking the window. Thori: Or, is that exactly what happened? The whites of his eyes looked bloodshot, as if he’d sniffed the contents of a uranium barrel a few times to really get a good smell of it. Splotchy skin in places and the skittish look of a Peek on Starfleet picture day, their Andorian captor looked neither competent nor cognitive, but that deadly combination wasn’t good either. As Thori continued to speak for the collective, Valesha sighed, his four goons content to follow in the footsteps of an addled Andorian without comment, question or complaint. Maybe the man was more clever — or dangerous — than he appeared, or maybe they all answered to some higher authority. An addict earning his next fix. Johns: No, that’s not what happened. We’re just here to see family, see the landmarks, take a few tourist snapshots, and have breakfast in peace. Sienelis: What do you want with a pirate and a ranger, anyway? ((Meanwhile, Outside the Welders’ Diner...)) Cullo: Maybe he thinks he can get ransom for your friends. He’s not been right for a while now, but there’s no keeping him anywhere. CCMS picks him up every now and then and toss him back out, like they like him causing chaos down here for everyone else. Syndicate really did no favours there. Rain pattered against the leather jacket on Lena's shoulders, clinging to her curls like teardrops, slowly darkening the fabric of her trousers. If that was his intention, it gave them a relatively narrow window to work within — whether by design or sheer dumb luck, Thori had got his hands on someone worth a king's ransom. Josett: Does he have any favourite haunts or contacts he's likely to scurry to? If you're right, we'll need to catch him before he goes to ground and takes them with him. Cullo: The Explosive Decompression Bar is where he usually ends up. Dealers in the alley behind, bartenders know him enough to cop free drinks, and the Marshals hardly ever venture inside. Zeron huddled down into his jacket, using his handkerchief to dab at the ridges of his nose before popping a pill from the small bottle. The prospect of going to the bar seemed to settle around the Bajoran’s shoulders like a sack of bricks, slumping them down, pressing the middle of his eyebrows into a dulled point. Bear felt for the reassuring weight of his phaser tucked into the hidden holster, mentally preparing to storm the place with two phasers and a Bajoran shield. He rolled his shoulders back and glanced to his wife, the arch in his eyebrow a questioning one. O. Marshall: Did you bring...? Josett: A reckless disregard for personal safety? Always. O. Marshall: Naturally. I expect nothing less. ::A shake of his head accompanied a wry grin.:: I meant a phaser. Josett: One or two. Three. Four, if you count Zeron's. ::Her grinned broadened with each upward revision of her personal armoury, patting her jacket pocket at the mention of her most recent acquisition.:: Onwards, to a daring and ill-considered rescue of our missing lovebirds? A roll of the eyes accompanied a grunting reply of the affirmative, checking to make sure his bits were all in the right place. Phaser in the holster, knife in the boot clip; all he was missing was a few flashbang grenades and a handful of seismic devices. O. Marshall: It is starting to feel like a vocation. Maybe one day, they’ll repay the favour. --- Part VIII ((Explosive Decompression Bar, Centennial City)) The inside of the bar was as legendary as the outside, still displaying the large neon sign of a bygone time — an explosion in purple, pink and blue, lighting up the street and the sky — flickering as power fluctuated. Thori and cohorts dragged Valesha and Chris down a set of metal stairs, thick with a patina from years of grime and grease. The smell of smoke clung to the air, possibly to avoid touching anything or anyone. Heavy metal music bounced off the walls, something akin to Klingon, though it was hard to tell between the screams. A hundred voices, all speaking at once. Behind the bar was a wall of colourful glass bottles, an array of liquids tinted in a galaxy of hues. The beefy Hupyrian pushed them forward as Thori directed them to a booth, scratching at his antenna through patchy white hair, to a shrouded figure sitting behind the table, sitting in a cloud of vaporized liquid. It smelled a little like raspberry mixed with pillow stuffing. A smaller Andorian bent forward to pick up a whiskey glass from the table and pointed at the seat opposite with the vaporizer between her fingers, the hand shaking briefly, belonging to an older Andorian woman. zh'Rharia: Vithi, it’s for the Milk Nose. Sit down, sit down. Lemme get a good look at you. Valesha cast a look toward Chris, and for a scowling moment, it looked as though this was where she was going to plant her feet and refuse to comply. Then she rolled her eyes and dropped herself onto a seat, heavy with annoyance. It was a poor consolation that their kidnapping was a case of mistaken identity. Sienelis: So someone can finally notice that neither of us is a pirate or a ranger? The ageing Andorian leaned forward for a second, one wrinkled antenna bending just as much, dark eyes screwed as she looked them both over. Wrinkled lips covered the mouthpiece of her vaporizer again as she took another inhale, and sat back against her booth seat. The Romulan echoed the movement, if only to give her sensitive nose some distance from the mist the woman was exhaling. zh’Rharia: You, I can believe. ::Her gaze flicked to Chris and she tilted her head.:: You, not so much. Johns: I’ll take that as some strange compliment. Said as the Hupyrian’s hand came down on his shoulder like a gargantuan, five-legged spider, and just as hairy, forcing him to sit down beside his partner. The Russian channeled Valesha’s scowl as he looked up at the guard. Thori tried to interject, fiddling with his fingers, picking at the skin beside his fingernails, only to be halted by a single brief look from the boss. zh’Rharia: Why'd you come to Ketar V? You look like bright kids, this ain’t the place for you. Sienelis: No kidding. Stop for a burger and we get dragged off the street for being someone we're not. ::She breathed out a terse sigh, holding her hands wide. While she wasn't a poor liar, the Romulan didn't like to do it, and the vague truth would serve them just as well.:: Look, we're only here to visit family. Johns: And, if you don’t mind, we really should be getting back there. Another hand raised by the elderly Andorian to the young Russian with a gentle nod of understanding. With a deep sigh, she gestured to Thori with two fingers, and two of the goons elbowed the jittering wreck forward. Thori rang his hands together, his antenna flicking downwards as he looked between the Andorian boss and the floor. A plume of coloured smoke floated up from the smaller matriarch as she consumed her crushed vithi bulb from the shores of her homeworld. Thori: They were with another two, zh’Rharia, I— ::He looked to Valesha and Chris, sneering in his snivelling fashion.:: Tell her who you are. Tell her you’re Starfleet. zh’Rharia: We have a problem, my dear. This one is a Romulan, ::she took a long moment to point to Valesha before moving to Chris,:: and this one is not. Neither are pirates. Neither are Starfleet. That much is painfully obvious. It was, perhaps, a good thing that the whole situation already aggrieved Valesha. She bristled at the woman's easy dismissal of the idea a Romulan could be Starfleet — jaw clenched, fingers digging into her thighs under the table — but to anyone who didn't know how sensitive she was to such an assumption, it was just another spark flying from an already obvious fire. It was only Chris' presence that made her draw in a breath and bite down on a retort, pushing her shoulders down from the angry hunch they'd crawled into. Sienelis: Great. Glad we cleared that up. So we'll be leaving, then? zh’Rharia: As I said, we have a problem. Off in a corner of the bar, a few cheers erupted over a hologram table; two shuttlecraft racing one another to a finish line. Chris glanced over as two of the Orions in dockworker garb threw a handful of latinum slips onto the table and stormed out, up the very same stairs they’d come from. Simultaneously, the bartender appeared from a backroom and poured a new tumbler of the violet alcohol. Within moments, both latinum slips arranged in a small stack and the new tumbler arrived at their table. zh’Rharia: I expected a Syndicate pirate and a Starfleet Ranger, whereas what I have is a Romulan spy and a bearded backpacker who smells like sour milk. ::She reached for the new glass and swirled it around.:: You can see my problem. Valesha exhaled sharply, a humourless smile of disbelief painted on her face while she shook her head, eyes heavenward. If she had a credit for every time someone had accused her of being a spy, she could retire to her own private moon. Lips thinned, she glanced toward the supposedly milk-scented backpacker and raised her eyebrows. Sienelis: I don't know who should be more offended here, me or you. Johns: I haven’t drank milk in a long time. ::He scratched his fingers through his scruffed jaw.:: Though Vorin says the same thing. Humans emit this smell. zh’Rharia: Quite revolting, I assure you. Now, ::the glass went down, the cloud of smoke returned,:: the other two were with you. Where are they? Sienelis: You mean the two people who are also not a pirate or a ranger? ::At least, that wasn't their present employment.:: I have no idea. Possibly filing a missing persons report. The flicker of impatience crossed the Andorian’s face, her lips pursing to the side, her eyes narrowing a touch. A quiet dropped over them like a smoky blanket, curling into the air, coating in raspberry and the consistency of nylon fibers. Chris had a sudden urge to apologise for intruding on the woman’s personal space, which seemed to radiate several feet away from her. Even as she sensed the conversation pivot, Valesha was unrepentant — on the outside, at least. zh'Rharia: My patience, stretched as it is, is rapidly dwindling, so, ::another inhale from the vaporizer lit up the table under the lamp,:: let me ask again in a language you may be familiar with. The gorilla-like hand came down again on Chris's shoulder, a thumb the size of a leather-bound cosh dug into the back of his scapula and the young Russian gave a pained yelp. Fingers gripped around the back of his neck as the Hupyrian hauled him up out of the seat uttering not a word but a low grunt, like a warbling rumble from a deep chest. Chris’ fingers scratched at the wrinkled hand and forearm, the Hupyrian with as gentle a look in his eye as if caring for a child, not strangling a young man to death. Muscles coiling, heart speeding into a drum roll in her lower chest, Valesha grimaced. Her eyes moved to her partner, following along the length of the Hupyrian's arm until they landed on his elbow. Silent. Calculating. zh'Rharia: My business associates want your ranger. If neither of you are, logic suggests he is in the other pair, and since this one is now useless, we'll save the CCMS the trouble of searching for a missing person. Sienelis: Yeah, I know that language. Last time someone spoke it to me, he was dead a few minutes later. ::She hadn't killed him, but that little detail didn't fit the narrative.:: So I'm going to ask once. Let us go. Cool eyes glared from underneath the wrinkles of old age, one antenna straightened while the other barely moved. Ice clinked in the glass as the Andorian placed it down onto the table, long white fingernails tapped against the side, skin once cobalt in youth now dulled over time. She glanced at the Hupyrian and, with a sigh that sounded sincerely like disappointment, she flicked her vaporizer hand to him. zh’Rharia: Mister Zurk, please take care of the housekeeping. Another grunt from the goon, a rumbling laugh through closed lips, and he tightened his grip around Chris’ neck. The table shot forward, a Romulan boot slamming into the central leg and driving it into the Andorian's ribcage with the full force of dense, finely honed muscle. Grace in violence, flowing from one movement to the next, Valesha snared the Hupyrian's wrist and rose from her seat, driving the heel of her hand into his elbow until it gave way with a wet crunch. Zurk dropped Chris with a wailing groan of rippling pain as his wrist hung limp and loose, cradled in his other hand. With a loud cough, zh’Rharia pushed the table away from herself, in pain despite her aged Andorian strength catching the edge before it could do real damage to her innards. She crushed the glass tumbler in her hand, spraying shards in all directions. zh’Rharia: Guards! GUARDS! --- Part IX Chris took a deep breath and scrambled up onto his feet, in time to see the Hupyrian, enraged and embittered, lurch forward toward Valesha and another come racing out of the shadows. The Romulan let Zurk's momentum do the work for her, grabbing his other arm and throwing him over her shoulder onto the Andorian's table. He landed with a bone-jarring crash, the air forced out of his lungs by the impact, sent into the blissful black of unconsciousness by the punch that followed. Valesha went sprawling to the floor in the next second, tackled by the second guard. A shard of the broken glass sliced across her cheek, eliciting a hiss of pain, and she rammed her elbow backward into his midriff. The replacement Hupyrian grunted, only to frown all the more as the Russian dragged him off his partner by the back of his jacket, throwing him into the table the Andorian had slipped out from behind. The thrumming of the Klingon metal music only intensified, drums hammering, or that might be blood in the ears. Feeling weightless in his head, Chris tried to shake it off as he took hold of Valesha's forearm, his heart twisting at the cut of emerald blooming on her skin. Worry striking like an anvil in hazel, alongside a heap of admiration, heart slamming on his ribs. They could run. They should run. They could make it out into the alley upstairs. Her chest heaving, pupils dilated, she held onto his arm. His concern echoed back to him in green eyes, darting toward his neck where the angry red finger marks of his aggressor faded slowly, then toward the exit. Sienelis: Are you all right? Johns: Am I— Are you?! Incredulity marked his voice as his thumb smeared green blood on her cheek. He heard the table scrape against the floor and reached beneath his jacket for his phaser, drawing it from the holster on the small of his back and aimed it at the Andorian stepping toward them. The charger sounded, the old woman stopped, stared down the emitter crystal, then up to the Romulan and Russian. zh’Rharia: You will regret this. Sienelis: Lady, you can't even kidnap the right people. zh'Rharia: Didn't I? That looks like a Starfleet phaser to me. The charge of a second, third, and forth energy weapon echoed around the small room, the doors to the wider bar sliding shut. Chris felt the push of a disruptor against the back of his head, saw the mentholated Andorian twitcher move out of the shadows to stand behind Valesha with a weapon in his hand, and the old woman blew another lungful of smoked bulb over them. Thori: I told you... Johns: Just let us go. We walk out of here, we don't look back, we forget this ever happened. Sienelis: Or you can keep [...]ing us off. But you picked up the wrong people and you let us get in here with weapons. ::Emerald blood beaded and trickled down her cheek.:: You do not have the advantage of competence in this situation. Considering the point for a moment made the older woman's jaw stiffen, her antenna tilt forward, then back, as though deciding on the situation based on the sensory information delivered through the appendages. She held her hand out, the bartender appeared as if from nowhere, slipping another tumbler into it, ice clinking with the movement. zh'Rharia: Very well. ::With a flick of her wrist, the goons disappeared back into the shadows, including the twitchy Thori, the sound of crystal emitters discharging.:: Be warned. You have caught the eye of the Volna Viria and we are always watching. Sienelis: I hope you like ballet. ::Touching her fingers to Chris' elbow, Valesha jerked her head toward the door, not wanting to linger long enough for minds to change.:: Come on. Chris didn’t lower the phaser, keeping it up as an extension of his arm, following Valesha’s lead as they moved out of the smoky, seedy bar. Up the patina-marred metal staircase, they burst out of the sliding doors into the evening rain of an unfamiliar city, neon sign flickering above them, shuttlecraft flying overhead. The Russian’s heart had yet to climb back down from the lofty heights it reached watching Valesha tear into the Hupyrian goons, and the second he could, he pulled her to him, kissing the dark, damp waves of her hair above a pointed ear. Relief was palpable, and she squeezed him back, far more gentle with her Russian than she had been with any of the bar's patrons. Johns: Next time, you can choose where to eat. Sienelis: You know, I think that burger was worth it. ::She laughed in his ear, unease trilling through the sound.:: We should get out of here. I'm guessing they only let us go so they could try to follow us. He agreed with a nod, hazel eyes watching the doors just in case, then to his wife-to-be as her laugh peppered his insides. Johns: It’s exactly what we’d do. They made their escape, darting out of the street and into the main concourse that headed back into the shipyards. Rain battered down, making anything in the distance blurry and indiscernible from the lights of the rest of it. Slipping the secret communicator from the sleeve of his jacket — never rely on a ketracel twitcher to check hostages for equipment — Chris pressed the connector and the light switched to blue. Johns: =/\= Have you got a signal? =/\= --- Part X ((Streets, Livernois Shipyards, Centennial City)) Josett: ...and then he said, "I now pronounce you partners in crime, don't forget to tip your Nagus." Lena finished the story with a grin and a chuckle, looking toward Zeron as they progressed through the rain-soaked streets. It was a tale she'd told before — not all that long ago, in fact — though Zeron made for a very different audience to Ollie. Far less dashing. Much more coarse. Excess of nose dribbles. Still, she'd kept the company of far worse, and the Bajoran was even likeable now that his need to migrate Bear into the soprano range had passed. O. Marshall: A treasured memory. We’ve even got a holoimage somewhere. Cullo: Question is, ::he sniffled, dabbing at his nose,:: did you tip your Nagus? A faint buzz from inside her jacket, tickling against her ribs, alerted Lena to an incoming call. Under a video billboard that quite literally sang the tourist virtues of Meridian — a gut punch delivered in advertising to the former crown of the Shoals — she slipped the communicator from her pocket. A tap from her thumb and the message replayed, a familiar Russian accent rolling through the airwaves. Johns: =/\= Have you got a signal? =/\= Josett: =/\= Loud and clear. ::She chuckled.:: Are you calling to tell us how much the ransom is? =/\= Johns: =/\= Not... exactly. ::The pattern of rain sounded on the other end of the line.:: We were taken to a bar. The Explosive Decompression Bar, outside the shipyards. Andorian called zh’Rharia. =/\= Zeron visibly stiffened, heaving a deep sigh as he looked around in the rain, as if expecting the Russian and Romulan to come bursting around the corner at any second. Bear, however, was a little more concerned, stepping closer to Lena, slipping his hand to the small of her back and listening in on the conversation with a growing frown. O. Marshall: =/\= You both alright? Complete set of fingers and toes? No ear tips missing? =/\= Sienelis: =/\= We're fine. They were after you. ::She paused, and the glare was almost audible.:: We think they let us go so they could tail us back to you. =/\= If Bear could look surprised, the expression melded into the frown mingling together. It’d been a long time since he’d been on Ketar V, a long time since he’d been in the Shoals — long enough for his name to be scrubbed and old grudges to file off like starship serial numbers. Debts were paid in full with time to spare. Cullo: That’s what I’d do. ::The Bajoran tilted his head to the side as he ran his tongue over his teeth, as though thinking about something or someone.:: zh’Rharia isn’t someone to tangle with, she’s deep in the Volna Viria with the Syndicate. Josett: That makes things a little more interesting. ::The Cardassian ridges of her brow raised in concert with the corners of her lips.:: What did you do to catch the Volna Viria's eye? Bear shook his head, frown only growing, deepening, as he racked his brain. He’d [...]ed off enough people while he was there way back when, but the Andorian arm of the Orion Syndicate wasn't on that list. That was a whole new one. Cullo: Word travels, debts get sold. Thori might have picked something up on the waves he feels. ::He sparkled his jazz hands toward the couple and sniffled, reaching for his handkerchief.:: We’ve got a safe house, if they can get to it. Send it securely. We’ll meet them there. Sienelis: =/\= Who is that? And who's "we"? =/\= Frustration seeped through the channel, the transmitters picking up the Romulan's terse timbre with perfect clarity. Zeron looked between Bear and Lena, then massaged the bridge of his nose. O. Marshall: =/\= That is an old friend, and we, ::Bear gave Zeron a side glance,:: is what I’m not sure about, but if he was going to do us over, I’m sure he would’ve by now. =/\= Clear as mud. A pause sounded on the other side of the line, as if Chris and Valesha had muted it while they discussed the options available to them. With a deep sigh coming through the link, Chris’ voice soon followed. Johns: =/\= Where are we going? =/\= Cullo: =/\= We’ll send it via message shortly, keep your ears open and your nose clean. Try and not be followed. =/\= Johns: =/\= Yeah, sound advice. =/\= The communication link cut and the three stood there for a moment, under the rain, under the glow of the diner as the shuttlecraft whizzed by overhead throwing the sound around between the buildings. Bear huddled himself into his jacket, pulling his collar around his neck before running a hand through his damp hair and combing his fingers through his beard. Zeron blew his nose into his handkerchief and jangled a pill bottle in his pocket. Cullo: I’d ask you to blindfold yourselves, but… Josett: ...what would be the point? fin (for now) -- Lieutenant Valesha Sienelis Science Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & Lieutenant Orson Marshall Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0 & Lieutenant (JG) Lena Josett Intelligence Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0 & PO First-Class Christopher Johns Operations Officer USS Gorkon G239304JM0

I just want to chime in and say I love this so much. Radical SALAMANDERING

Thank you so much!

AHH I love it so much! Can I add it to my Wiki page?

Woo, welcome to the fleet!

I'm real late, but I just wanted to say, welcome to the fleet, and you have the coolest name EVER. @Dave Shark