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Alucard Vess

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Everything posted by Alucard Vess

  1. (( Clinic, Sikuna Colony )) A. Sevo: PUSH! Theletha: NNYAARGH! A. Sevo: You’re at 10 cm. Push again! Theletha: I AM PUSHING, YOU SPOTTED VERUUL!! A. Sevo: oO She’s doing quite well, I think. Oo (( Flashback - ~200 years ago - Illuna Hospital, Leran Manev, Trill )) Doctor: PUSH! Lizara: I AM PUSHING! :: Lizara was laid back in the birthing chair, trying desperately to get the little parasite out of her. Her whole body was sweating; the ionic imbalance in her skin caused by her hormones and the profusion of sweat was causing Lizara’s many dynamic tattoos to switch on-and-off repeatedly, or simply misfire. Thus, parts of her exposed skin were a kaleidoscope of moving patterns and colors. Her makeup was washing off due to the sweat, making her look like a Dead’s Week reveler. Her vibrant purple hair was horribly unkempt and matted to her skin, falling in strands across her face. :: Doctor: You’re fully dilated at 4cm. Lizara: This isn’t a date, doc. Stop staring and get him out! Doctor: *chuckling* Another couple of pushes, Lizara. You’re doing great. Lizara: HNNGH! Doctor: Again, Sevo! Push! I already see the head. Push! Lizara: YOU WANT TO TRY IT?! :: The doctor calmly ignored the snap, no doubt hearing much worse over his career. :: Doctor: I’ve got him! :: Lizara slammed her head back on the chair, thoroughly exhausted. It had been the longest twelve weeks of her life. But she still had close to a year of incubation to go through. She kept telling herself that the child would be the love of her life, but right now he was just being a pain in the...well...being a pain, anyway. :: :: The doctor quickly measured the infant. :: Doctor: 2.75 cm.; completely normal. I’ll cut the cord, clean him up and then we can get him in your pouch. Nurse, can you prepare her? :: Arguably, pouch incubation was the phase most parents looked forward to the most, as the baby was instantly accessible for all the wooing in the world. The pouch was filled with a clear, viscous, nutritious liquid that the fetus would breath & ingest for close to a year, as well as act as an infection filter. Both males and females were capable of incubation. The pouch naturally started to “unseal” during pregnancy for females. For males it was a little more complicated. Sometimes the anticipation of being a father was enough to cause a hormonal change to open their pouch; other times it required medical intervention to unseal it. In Lizara’s case, she was pretty much ready to go. :: :: The doctor soon returned and he first placed the tiny child on Lizara’s chest, letting her feel him. He was barely formed; eyes still closed, no hair yet, his skin translucent. Not even his spots had formed yet. As the doctor placed the fetus on Lizara, she couldn’t help but cry. :: Lizara: He’s adorable! So tiny! Doctor: You’ve still got several months of incubation to go through, remember. He can come out for brief periods, but needs to spend at least 90% of his time in your pouch. The first three months, at minimum, he shouldn’t come out at all. He can’t breathe very well yet. Lizara: I understand. :: She said, gently stroking the incredibly small living thing. :: Doctor: There is no father, correct? :: He said, gently picking up the fetus and handing it to the pouch nurse. :: Lizara: ...No. oO It was a one-night stand. Oo Doctor: Then we won’t have to discuss pouch-sharing. After three months or so, he may start to pop his head out and take a look around. Lizara: Maternity clothes, here I come… :: The pouch needed air circulation; not to mention the fetus’ penchant for popping up unannounced. Standard Trill maternity clothes were basically midriffs, exposing the belly for the entire incubation period. Some styles were more like oversized shirts or dresses with just the belly section cut out, or alternatively, a mesh covering the belly for more modesty but still allowing airflow. An entire subsection in the fashion industry revolved around maternity styles. :: Doctor: I’m sure it won’t bother you in the least, Sevo. :: He patted Lizara’s tattooed belly. :: Now, have you thought of a name for him? Lizara: Ajul. His name is Ajul. (( Present Time - Clinic, Sikuna Colony )) Theletha: AAARGH! :: The time had come. The baby wasn’t going to wait. Governor Khaveid had smartly fled the scene on the pretense of finding the supplies. To her surprise, Eerie decided to remain and try to comfort the soon-to-be-mother. Apparently he had helped deliver babies before. Wonders never cease. :: :: In the case of Ayiana, she had only her Starfleet Emergency Medical Course training to fall back on; which included a very smooth and orderly holographic human birth. She also had the experience of several births of her former hosts, but Trill pregnancies were quite smooth compared to most trillioids. Plus, those were a *long* time ago and in different lives. :: :: To say she was nervous was an understatement. She was sweating almost as much as Theletha. Fortunately, Ayiana’s head was buried under the blanket they placed over Theletha’s legs, so no one had to see exactly how nervous she was. She had her tricorder open, both scanning Theletha and having the procedure for a Romulan childbirth open for her to refer to. :: :: Yes, Ayiana was reading the manual. :: A. Sevo: oO This is a lot more difficult than I remember my pregnancies being! Oo A. Sevo: C’mon, Theletha! He’s halfway out! Eerie, how’s she doing up there? Eerie: Response A. Sevo: Did you manage to find a laser scalpel and blanket? Eerie: Response (( Flashback - ~100 Years Ago - Yasari Hospital, Palmyra, Trill )) :: Vereesa gently caressed the tiny newborn girl; not yet big enough to even fill her palm. Her normally librarian-esque brown hair was falling apart. Her glasses were dripping with sweat at the end of her nose. She was sweating slightly, though the whole process was much easier than Vereesa had expected. Much to her husband, Corvan’s, relief; as well as his hand Vereesa had been grasping throughout the ordeal. :: :: That only left the other one to get out. :: Doctor: Another push, Vereesa! She’s almost out! :: With practiced calm and efficiency, one of the assisting nurses gently took the first baby from Vereesa, knowing full well that she will no doubt squeeze the fragile thing into oblivion trying to get it’s sister out. :: Doctor: One more should do it. :: The doctor was way too calm. Perhaps *she* should give childbirth a try sometime! :: Vereesa: HHHNGH! Corvan: NNNGH! Doctor: Got her! Nurse, laser scalpel, please. :: Vereesa breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor finished with her second baby. Once cleaned up, the twin girls were given to their parents to hold for a few minutes. Corvan held the older one, whilst Vereesa clutched the newest one, staring lovingly into it’s barely-formed face. :: Vereesa: They’re so tiny… Doctor: Twins sometimes are. You’ve got twelve weeks to grow twice the mass. This also means they’ll have to be pouch-incubated for at least a year. Vereesa: A year?! That’s going to be exhausting. Doctor: At least you can share the load, so to speak. If you plan on pouch-sharing with your husband- :: she gestured to Corvan. :: -then I would recommend keeping them together. Both are in you, or him. It is healthy for their psychological development later in life if they remain together during their gestation. Vereesa: I understand. :: The nurses each took a baby and placed them into Vereesa’s waiting pouch, one after the other. It had already started oozing small amounts of amniotic fluid, which the nurses deftly wiped clean. Doctor: Nurse, please prepare Corvan’s pouch. :: Unfortunately, Corvan’s pouch had not opened in anticipation of fatherhood. That meant he had to undergo a quick surgery to open it up, and medicines given to him to jump-start his hormones and fluid creation. Fortunately, it only took a few minutes, and the nurses were able to open up his pouch on a side table in the room. :: Doctor: Well, that went quite smooth, for twins. Vereesa: Easy for you to say. :: She sipped on a glass of much-needed water while the other nurse gently dabbed Vereesa down with a clean towel. :: Doctor: Have you two chosen names? :: She looked at Corvan, who smiled back at his beautiful wife. :: Vereesa: Niara- :: pointing to the older girl : -and Ezal. :: pointing to the younger one. :: (( Present Time - Clinic, Sikuna Colony )) A. Sevo: A couple more pushes, Theletha, and she’ll be out. :: The Romulan woman didn’t have to be told twice. With two great groans, the baby slid out and into Ayiana’s waiting hands. She thought feeling the slimy, wet infant would be messy and disgusting, but holding it in her hands was oddly...serene. :: A. Sevo: I’ve got her! She’s beautiful. :: Ayiana lightly smacked the baby to induce breathing. She coughed a couple of times, then her tiny lungs took over, breathing on their own. :: A. Sevo: Eerie, laser scalpel please. Eerie: Response :: Ayiana cut the umbilical cord, then gently wiped down the baby. She had thin wisps of hair on her head, and her ears were just pointed enough to clearly tell her ancestry. Ayiana “finished up” underneath, then gently crawled out from under the blanket and, carefully holding the child in her arms, walked over to the head of the table. :: A. Sevo: Your daughter, Theletha. :: She was hesitant to hand over the baby cradled in her arms. Was she really smaller than this when she was born? It was hard to imagine the potential such a tiny little life would hold. As much as she loved holding it, Ayiana begrudgingly handed the newborn over to Theletha’s waiting arms. :: Theletha: Th-thank you! Eerie/Khaveid/Vrovek: Response A. Sevo: Have you thought of a name? Theletha/Vrovek: Response Eerie/Khaveid: Response A. Sevo: oO Maybe the little devils aren’t so bad after all. Oo ---------------------------- Lt. Commander Ayiana Sevo First Officer U.S.S. Gorkon Image Collective Co-Facilitator Wiki Ops Training Team V239109AS0 ---------------------------
  2. How is a nursery rhyme about a cat racist?
  3. Huh, don'tknow why I wrote "sun" since they were on the Bridge. It was supposed to be just "lights"
  4. Scotty, because it is Alucard's secret goal to crew the ship with only Scotsmen.
  5. I have to go with the Enterprise era. It's more like an NASA flight suit, plus it's more utilitarian. And all those pockets are great for storage. actual
  6. It depends. The wife and children get simmed relatively often, but Alucard's father and in-laws have only been simmed directly a few times, and mainly appear just as asides, such as "I talked to dad today..."
  7. (( A Guided Fall Within The Center )) :: There were 56 of them. 56 was ideal. Many would remain Shadowed and some would be Seen. Large ones would be Seen. The Wayward learned truths more quickly when the larger Keepers approached them. This had been learned, over many cycles. They moved through The Center, with silvery swiftness. The Song had changed, with new tones - the Keepers had come upon the Wayward who had dared to break the seals, and they had taken them into The Center, and guided them through a Fold to the hearth and the Ascension of Rest. The Wayward would want to see the Ascension of Rest; the one who guided them had seemed most interested to find it. This was a truly golden moment; the Wayward would only find their way to the True through Rest. Through Rest and the Folds. 56 Keepers moved onwards, and the Song moved with them. These Wayward were farther away from the golden notes. They walked beneath the Ward, in the light of the True, and brought with them fire and dust and gray thoughts, heavy as stones. They brought rage, red as the Shorewalker shells. The Eyes that watched them and the crystals that listened to their notes saw only distrust and heard only dissonance. There had been a flow of the song, and the Keepers, and the Shorewalkers, and the Highwatchers, and the Shining Sleepers arrived at a truth; these Wayward risked becoming too red, too gray. They must be brought to The Center. So the Shining Sleepers had fed subtle harmonies to the shell that lay above The Center, and let the ground buckle and welcome the Wayward and their ruined vessel to the Center - and for a few blessed moments, had ceased their endless gray tumble of red words. 56 Keepers moved on, some in Shadow, some Seen, and the Song moved with them. They moved into the Rounding where the Shining Sleepers had neatly weakened the shell to let the Wayward fall after the one in the carapace had set off her dissonant chemicals. The Wayward were gathered here, already rising. They were resilient. This was ideal; it was one reason the True found them so suitable for Rest. The Keepers had brought two with voices with them. Curiously, the Wayward seemed more comfortable with voices than the hisses of welcome. So voices they would have. One was sung to be the speaker, with another ready if the Wayward needed more voices, needed more endless words. It was not the Song. It was clumsy. But it made the Wayward think silvery thoughts, to have words given to them. So it would be. They moved from the Fold, into the Rounding, their mandibles wide and legs raised in the embrace of greeting. The Song called for soothing, for assertion of security, for a guiding away from the gray. The Song also called for the one with the carapace to be kept in harmony, and so she was enfolded with four of the largest Keepers, and they had the Thread ready to snare her if she became red. So the words came in the awkward heaps of "Standard" as the smaller Keeper addressed the Wayward. Even as one of them spoke. Sevo: Stay calm, *untranslatable: All Those Present*. They don’t seem to be *untranslatable: Those Without Singing* *untranslatable: Those Who Serve The Shining Sleepers On The Shell*. :: The Wayward were so very hard to understand sometimes. :: Keeper2826: Happy *campers* are so glad to *smell* you, *lost*! You will cease all *gray* and remove your *harms* and come to *Home*, to *hearth*. This is a *silver* function. Do not have *sauce*. Sevo: Th...they *untranslatable: Sing Truly*? *untranslatable: Gathering Of The Lost* Standard no less? :: The Keepers shifted in the dance to keep the Wayward in view. Some kept their lights in the rose hue of welcome. Some shifted to the blue of The Center, preparing to map the Folds. :: sh'Idrani: response Millis: Hi. :: One the shade of the Shining Sleepers in full blossom held his hands out, in a somewhat innocent attempt at the embrace of welcome. Just as their "Standard" was clumsy, so too was their organic design, but the gesture was appreciated. The voice-given Keeper raised his arms in greater welcome in return. :: MacFarlane: Sir? Are ye sure tha’ is a good idea. Some o’ them are quite big. :: The Song urged calm, motivated an embrace. There must be a harmony, a unity. There must above all be clarity. :: Keeper: Welcome! You are *lost* but now you are safe in *Home*. There is no *gray*, no *red*. Only *silver* functions and *lights* with the *lost*. Sevo: I don’t think they mean us any harm. Millis/Freeman/sh’Idrani: response Sevo: Who are you? What is this place? Keeper2826: We are *campers*. We are of the *Home*. We are the ones who hold the *lights*. This is *Home*. Home of *others*, open to *lost*. Come. Your *lost* await. There is *hearth*. You may *lights* with those present. Millis/Freeman/sh’Idrani: response :: Questions, questions. The Song wavered with the impatience of a crystal flower in shade seeking the light of the True. The Song flowed between them, and more Keepers emerged from the Shadow, surrounding the Wayward. They began to shift forward, gently herding, urging, guiding. The Wayward must be guided; this was the most utterly golden note of the Song the True had left for them here in The Center; the Wayward MUST be guided. Guided to where they needed to be. :: Keeper2826: Come. *Home* awaits just beyond the *Wrinkle*. Come. We will remove your *residue*. :: The Keepers moved, gentle but inevitable, to slowly and harmoniously try to guide the Wayward to the Fold - they would not know the Fold as more than a chill, more than a darkness that would seem as no more than the shadows and damp of a cave. But the Folds were how the True had built The Center here, under the shell, beneath the Ward and the light. From anywhere, to anywhere within The Center, there was a Fold. The Keepers sought to guide the Wayward to one that would take them to just outside the great dome of the Ascension of Rest. :: Sevo/Millis/Freeman/sh’Idrani: response :: There may have been some curiosity. The Wayward always had curiosity. It was in their nature. Some of them seemed to have heavy thoughts about their smoldering wreckage, brought low by the Ward. The Ward disabled the Wayward's curious toys. That was in its nature. Keepers began to clamber over the primitive craft, and work at it with bright plasmic lights, to break it apart into useful components. :: Keeper2826: The *residue* must be removed. It is useful to *Home*, but not as it is. It must be *cleaned*. *Campers* are fine for making things *clean*. *Lost* must not be so *gray*. It is a *silver* function to keep things *clean*. There will be no *blue* damage. Sevo/Millis/Freeman/sh’Idrani: response :: The Song flowed, and brought with it a closed fist, a warning of the need for sternness, to keep the Wayward moving. More of them enfolded closer, to try to guide them into the tunnels towards the Fold. :: Keeper2826: Do not have *sauce*. :: They could not be clearer than that. :: 56 Keepers (The ideal number) The Center as simmed by Ensign Connan MacMorna Helmsman USS Gorkon I238605NL0
  8. At the end of our Year in Hell I killed off Alucard's evil alternate self in a fight between selves during our final battle with the Dominion. It ended, as I recall, with a satisfying Gibbsian neck snap. No one felt sorry for the way he went, he was truly a vile person.
  9. Star Fleet - o - bots! Transform and warp out!
  10. Ayiana Sevo: https://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php/Ayiana_Sevo
  11. Hey folks! The awards ceremony is fast approaching and it's time for us Gorkonites to strut our stuff!
  12. (( Clear Stream, Leutra IV, Leutra System )) Millis: %##$@##5. What in the moons of Endor was that! ::Loudly.:: :: These creatures could really scream. The purple one hadn't been kicked over by her attack. A different method would need to be used. But whether the Cliff Dweller was actually capable of thinking one up... Well, maybe now, but certainly not before. She'd already been alive before the new young-ones were put in the river. It hadn't felt like a sudden change to any of the Dwellers. Instead of putting the eggs on the side of the water, their instincts now told them to put them in, and let them be carried off by the stream to get their eyes in the caves. Out of all the creatures who had gotten their eyes at a later age, she'd been among the group who had adapted the best. At first, she'd gotten quite a bit thinner due to her brain having to adjust and her constantly missing the insects she hunted, but now she functioned almost normally. She even didn't mind the low humming whenever she spotted something unusual and the hard bits in her eyes suddenly started moving. :: :: Their offspring would hatch into the water as half-naked, blind animals, but return about one light-cycle later still only partly feathered, but now with eyesight and strengthened latching claws. They still smelled as 'child', and the only difference was that because it was unclear which were whose offspring, they were raised in random nests. None of the Dwellers had ever questioned or even consciously noticed that change. Even if they were more advanced, they probably still wouldn't have. :: MacFarlane: Who’s there? I’ll get ya! sh'Idrani: You're bleeding! Were you attacked? :: The other creatures were now also very loud. They all gathered around the one she'd wounded, then stayed there for a while, making movements she couldn't quite follow or understand. They didn't seem to want to leave, though. Maybe she would have to try again? :: :: After things had calmed down a little, and the purple one had some weird flap covering his wound, she crawled closer again, but with much more care this time. One of the red ones was also near the stream now. If one of them was hard to scare off, how would two be? No, her gut told her to lay in wait. Another opportunity would come. Maybe a distraction. :: :: But... Not one of the distractions that were common in the forest. A sound from very high-up suddenly sounded, and another not-living light was visible, almost like a smaller version of a flash. A strange thing she couldn't place or recognize flew down through the sky, and then a bang louder than anything she'd ever heard before made the trees shake. The Cliff Dweller let out a loud cry of warning, and flew up in a wild panic. What was that? It had happened in close proximity to the river. With the protectiveness over the eggs once again overriding her natural panic response, she hopped over the trees until she had enough momentum to take off. The odd living creatures were also running towards the place where the bang had sounded from. :: Millis: Look over there! ::It was really close and they could be there in just a few minutes.:: MacFarlane: response :: She came to a halt at the bottom of the hill, near the crater, and her panic response decided to finally work a bit more. She stood frozen, next to the red and blue creatures, and neither seemed to notice each other. The heat and light was disorienting to her, but then, finally, some organic form moved away from the rest of the heat. It... had the same red colour. The Cliff Dweller just stayed there, half hidden in the leaves, half near the spot where the intruders were standing, and looked up with big, wild eyes. :: -- The Cliff Dweller ??? Leutra IV Inhabitant -- Played by: -- Ensign Shrega sh'Idrani Security Officer USS Gorkon G239401SS0
  13. Pulling this back up, because I just got STO for PS4. I like it a lot more than on PC, as evidenced by my rising 24 levels in about 2 days. Anyone else playing on console?
  14. I like to play around with the uncommon ranks for my PNPCs. I just recently created two Bynars who are Petty Officers, as well as two Cetacean Warrant Officers. It's more fun for me, because they think differently than officers.
  15. I got 30 days free from lootcrate, I should start playing again...
  16. (( Flashback - Stardate 237510.14, AR-558 (Home Universe) )) Colonel Mason: =/\= Come on, get to the shuttles! We. Are. Leaving! =/\= :: Purple bolts of energy raced passed Toran’s face. He returned the gesture with blasts from his own phaser rifle as he backran to the evacuation shuttle. Four months. He had been assigned to this rock for four long months, defending it from constant and relentless Dominion attacks. There had been too many occasions to count where he nearly met the Gods. He was one of the many replacements aboard the U.S.S. Veracruz Captain Sisko ordered to replace the worn and beaten garrison that had been defending it. And all for a damn communications array. :: :: He hoped the engineers got what they wanted, because they were out of time. Word had come down that the Dominion had allied with the Breen and were deploying a devastating new weapon that disabled nearly every ship they came across. What seemed like hope for the war had suddenly turned to a very real possibility of defeat. The Dominion had retaken the Chin’toka system, within which AR-558 was located. Now the garrison was scrambling to get off the asteroid and out of the system before the Dominion fleet approached the asteroid belt, but the existing Dominion garrison, emboldened by their space fleet’s victory, was making the retreat extremely difficult, and costly. :: Toran Sevo: =/\= All surviving engineers aboard and accounted for, sir! Got a few injured troops, but that’s it! =/\= Colonel Mason: =/\= Alright, time to go! Get your butt over here, Lieutenant! =/\= :: As Toran made the final stretch to the shuttle’s ramp, a massive Jem’Hadar came up from Toran’s blind spot, stabbing him in the thigh with a combat knife. Adrenaline surging through his blood, Toran ignored the pain, twirling on the heel of his boot to face his adversary. He brought out his own knife, cut the Jem’Hadar’s White tube, slashed both his carotid arteries, and stabbed him in the side of his torso, right in the primary heart. It was a vicious technique Toran had used too many times; now it was practically muscle memory. And it once again saved his life. :: Toran Sevo: :: Spitting on the bleeding corpse. :: To hell with you. :: Before leaving, however, Toran bent down, reached into the Jem’Hadar’s tunic, and yanked out his White vial. Another trophy. That made...twenty now? He lost count. With every Jem’Hadar Toran felled in personal combat, he took their White vials as trophies. The Klingons started it, but he, along with many other Federation soldiers, had taken to it with vigor. It was a gruesome and barbaric practice. To hell with egalitarianism; this was plain survival. :: :: He quickly looked at the nearly empty vial in his palm, grasped his hand closed, and ran as best he could with a bleeding leg to the evac shuttle. : : ---------------------------- Second Lieutenant Toran Sevo Starfleet Marine ---------------------------- simmed by ---------------------------- Lt. Commander Ayiana SevoChief Science OfficerU.S.S. GorkonV239109AS0 ---------------------------
  17. Alucard has 0 fashion sense. He cares more about his patients than he does about how he looks:
  18. I remember seeing them in the stores, but we were too poor for new toys even if I liked Barbies (I didn't and I don't), so I had hand me down legos, transformers, GI Joes, bows and arrows, BB guns (not toys, but I spent a LOT of time at target practice), and a lot of time out in the woods. Really, I don't remember playing much at anything, but I built a lot of stuff.
  19. Anyone remember the 30th Anniversary Star Trek Barbie and Ken set way back in 1996?
  20. Still mid-color, but you get the idea. There's no space for a commbadge.
  21. (( Toran Sevo’s Quarters - U.S.S. Gorkon )) :: What a wild day. It started as a nice, refreshing time out with some of the Gorkon’s crew on the Helase. He had intended to let his alternate/future self, Ayiana, “out on the town.” They spent several hours on the Helase, with Toran steering her into the casino and some much-needed life experience. He left her to her friends and crewmates, and wandered off on his own. It didn’t last, however, as the face that had haunted Toran the past month had suddenly popped up on every screen in the ship. Erik Jansen. The man responsible for the destruction of the Triumphant. The man who attacked Quinn. The man who declared their lives were not worth living; “it was better to side with the Dominion.” Which he did. Now he was here, hunting down his former crewmates. Before he knew it, Toran was back on the Gorkon, in his posh quarters, barreling away from the Helase as fast as they could. :: T. Sevo (Alt): oO Its not fair. Just. Not. Fair. Oo :: Toran took another swig of the vile brown liquid from the bottle, feeling it burn his throat on the way down. He hadn’t drunk much over the years. Alcohol was hard to come by post-War. Now, with functioning replicators and a fully-stocked bar, he had taken to having a few drinks from time-to-time. At first, it was just the experience; to feel his inhibitions melt, the chemicals fog his brain and his troubles. So he started drinking some more. And a little more. Sure, he could have the syntheholic crap, but it didn’t have the same “kick.” It didn’t befuddle one’s mind; which was something Toran sorely needed. :: T. Sevo (Alt): oO How the hell did I get here? Oo :: He had met the young Ayiana after the Battle. At first, Toran was simply glad to see another Trill besides Kael Seren. She was more shocked than he was to discover him alive. It turned out she was the next host of the Sevo symbiont in her universe. A universe where he had died. That wasn’t much of a shock. Being a career soldier, Toran was trained and fully prepared to die in combat if necessary. :: :: What he hadn’t expected, however, was to die not at once, but little-by-little, over the years after their successful war with the Dominion. Ayiana explained that Toran lost himself to depression, drinking, and despair. “Posttraumatic stress disorder” was the clinical term; he thought of it as Hell itself. The psychological trauma slowly caused his isoboramine levels to drop to catastrophic levels. Ayiana told him he was near-suicide and probably would have gone through with it if Sevo hadn’t been removed. :: :: In some cruel way, Toran considered his survival in this universe to be a blessing in disguise. Constantly being on the run, the occasional fight, and generally helping out on the ships he lived on had seemingly kept him distracted from thinking too much of his life and the war. The war they had lost. It was better than Ayiana’s paradise world. There, Toran had returned to an untouched Trill. The Powers-That-Be thought he, along with the millions of other veterans and survivors, could simply return to their lives. A little wiser, more experienced, some trauma, but mostly unscarred; despite the history of PTSD on countless worlds demonstrating otherwise. :: T. Sevo (Alt): oO We all pay our dues in the end, it seems. Oo :: It seemed his other life had caught up with him. With all his free time roaming the massive and immaculate Gorkon with nothing to do, his mind had finally had time to process everything that happened over the past fifteen years. It came in dreams at first, vivid, terrifying dreams. Or memories? They turned into nightmares. Then, Toran could barely sleep at all. That was one reason he took Ayiana to the Helase; to get *his* mind off things as much as her’s. :: T. Sevo (Alt): oO Yet again, Erik, you are ruining my life. Oo :: Suddenly, the klaxons blared in his alcoholically-sensitive ears. Red alert lighting (true red lights!) flashed on his computer’s screen, and emitted from other light sources in his quarters. :: Computer: Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert. :: The computer’s high-pitched female-esque voice screamed in his ears like a Siren. Toran dropped the bottle. It didn’t have to go far, as he was already sitting - well, leaning - on the floor in front of his couch. Sitting up, he covered his ears with his hands. The sound was too much! Memories of Jem’Hadar and Cardassians running through the halls came shattering to the front of his mind. He didn’t want to fight them anymore. No; he wanted to hide. :: T. Sevo (Alt): C-computer! Seal the door! Turn off the lights! :: The room darkened, only to be lit by panel glows and the red alert lights. As he heard the snap of a forcefield cover his quarter’s doors, themselves strengthening their magnetic seal, Toran fumbled for his d'k tahg on the coffee table in front (and above) him. He leaned back against the couch, still sitting on the floor, clutching his d'k tahg tightly, as if protecting a baby. He simply sat there quietly, shivering and sweating in the dark, hoping to the Gods whatever was going on outside those doors wouldn’t come for him next. :: ----------------------------First Lieutenant Toran SevoRefugee---------------------------- simmed by ----------------------------Lt. Commander Ayiana SevoChief Science OfficerU.S.S. GorkonV239109AS0---------------------------
  22. They do make TNG style trunks. Just buy a pair of plain black trunks
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