Bryce Tagren-Quinn

@Tahna Meru & @Doz Finch 😂

@Jo Marshall - bwahaha

@Doz Finch, it has been a treat to read your work and to see the Skarbek version of Doz. From her thought processes, to seeing the world through her eyes (and wanting that shuttle! - "she had her own reasons for wanting access to an enemy-owned shuttle" - and phantoms from the past), and the descriptions; it all is so elegantly, and artfully written. ❤️

@Samira Neathler hehe 😁

This gave me a good chuckle, @Samira Neathler 😂

This wasn't a funny quote but I wanted to give a shout out because it truly evoked an emotional response. This scene between Thea and Rix was beautifully written and... goodness... 💔😢 @Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall 👏

@Doz Finch - what a masterpiece! I love this introduction to your MSNPC. The details, the tone/setting of the scene. Your writing style is exquisite, and I'm here for it. Well done!!

@Jo Marshall 😆

@Jo Marshall & @Genkos Adea 😂

Love the atmospheric vibe, the ambience (the bringing in of midnight, the nostalgia and the stories, with the descriptions and fantastic details, warm light and fireflies). Nicely done! @Alieth & @Quinn Reynolds

@Jo Marshall & @Genkos Adea 😁

@Doz Finch—your character makes me smile!

@Doz Finch -- each of your sims just blow me away and this latest one, complete with a flashback (a great look into your amazing, well-developed character) and the thoughtful contemplations of home, was really well done!! :) ((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon)) The party continued to swell, filling the canopy with its bombinating sounds; glasses filled with neon-orange liquids clinked with other glasses, fires crackled pointedly towards the sky, and the almost static wings of insects flapped ambitiously in their bids to steal whatever sugary morsels they could. It was delightful—ushering in the new year and century on a planet that she hardly knew, and yet many of those around her knew it intimately, even viewing it as a second home. Not a bad second home either, with the strange plumes of the trees, the texture of the soil beneath her, the palatable taste of the atmosphere. The Caitian woman, L’rann, told them a deep and personal story about what had happened to M’Rish, and why she had come to end up in L’rann’s care. Doz harkened the details of the story and noted the almost ambivalence in the younger felinoids' face; though emotion wasn’t always easy to read in a Caitian’s face—at least that was her own experience. Watch the tail, M’oa had told her in the past. The tail tells you everything you need to know. But who needed watch a persons tail when the story said all it needed to say. That little girl had been let down by the one person she should have been able to trust, and that was unforgivable. But thank god for L’rann. For a moment her cottony caterpillar brows kissed each other as she dissolved into thought. Her career had spun over decades, and through it she had had many of her own second homes. But allowing herself the grace to think of them as homes at all, now that was another matter. Purposefully distracted by her work, she rarely allowed herself to think of the ships as that. Home, she supposed, once felt like something that resided in people, rather than places. She knew all too well how quickly a home could change based on who was in it. Her home in Birmingham all those years ago, when her hair was wild and curly and brown, lost its appeal the moment her brother Wallace left, and she had been left behind with her miserable mother Iris. Doz didn’t like herself for thinking it, but that was just how she had felt. As if all of the home had drained from the house, and all that remained behind was a hopeless wilting bouquet, and a naive girl trying everything she could to water it back to life. ((FLASHBACK)) ((In the dining room, the Finch’s, Birmingham, Earth — 43 years prior)) Doz: You’re not leaving me behind with her. Wallace: ::he frowned:: That’s our mother, that, Doz. Doz: Some mother. She hasn’t said a word to either of us in weeks. Hauled up in her bedroom, staring at the walls feeling sorry for herself. ::she crossed her arms and sulked:: No, I’m sorry Wally, but I’m not having it. Wallace: It’s already done, Doz. Contract is signed. I go to Mars tomorrow for training—oh be positive, won’t you? This is supposed to be an exciting time for me! Doz: Yeah. For you. Meanwhile, who's left behind to deal with everything? Who's cleaning the house when the service-bots break down, who’s the one cooking her dinners, replying to her mail, making sure she doesn’t just waste away to nothing. Because given half the chance, she would. Wallace: You can fix the bots! Doz: ::she pulled a face:: What? Wallace: I gave you that manual a few weeks ago. It shows you how to repair the bot if it breaks down. You read it, didn’t you? Doz: I read the bloody manual and nearly launched it at the wall—forget it, Wally, you swan off like the other two did. I’ll look after misery-guts on my own, since apparently that’s my lot in life. Wallace: Oh don’t be like that, Doz— Doz frustratedly headed for the door of the room, sighing hard as it whooshed itself open. She gasped; stood there, pallid and watery-eyed was their mother Iris who had been listening on the other side. They all stared in silence—the deafening sort that seemed to go on forever. It was a painstaking moment that Doz quickly shook off as if she herself were an insect shedding an exoskeleton, rapidly clapping her hands together and ushering her mother into the kitchen, replacing the quietness with a loud tangent about service-bot manuals and how little sense they made, eager to distract her mother and frankly—herself. ((END FLASHBACK)) Alieth: Have you had a chance to take some downtime since the start of the reconstructions? L’rann: Not really, no. I’ve been keeping busy piloting shuttles on supply runs and things like that. Finch: I said to Mister Gnaxac and Ensign Vylaa, they may well have taken the industrial replicators down there. It might have saved you some hassle. T’Lar: Response Alieth: I see, these celebrations are therefore a perfect period to relax, then. I suggest you visit Yarista if you get a chance; it is certainly a remarkable location. L’rann: That’s why we’re here. Also, it’s not every day a new century begins. Finch: No, you’re quite right. It isn’t. T’Lar: Response Cheesecake, Alieth’s excitable four-legged mastiff, hopped into the conversation as soon as the new century was mentioned, as if she herself was its mythical harbinger. Though apparently it was more than that, as their pointy-eared colleague excused herself a moment later, no doubt to top up her liquid-youth. Alieth: Excuse me, I suspect I am required elsewhere. I trust that you will have an agreeable night. L’rann: Pleasure to see you, sir. I’m sure M’Rish is thankful for the candy. M’Rish: Thank you. Finch: I enjoyed the catch up, Commander. Alieth gave the familiar Vulcan gesture before dispersing into the crowd. That left M’Rish and L’rann with T’Lar and Finch. L’rann: Were you two involved with the rogue planet teams in some fashion? Finch: In every fashion, believe it or not. I piloted the Azetbur, didn’t I. Took them some medical supplies, and other things desperately needed. And then I helped evacuate the civilians and the officers—they were basically trapped inside an old non-functioning Cardassian ship. Something of that measure; it’s almost a blur, because that much happened in a short space of time. I don’t recall seeing you, though, T’Lar— T’Lar: Response L’rann: Thankfully, no. I was flying shuttles across the area trying to deliver supplies and medics to damaged ships. It was extremely difficult with all the gravity waves the planet gave off. Finch: I can attest to that. ::she pointed a finger in agreement and side-eyed T’Lar, nodding:: the clouds at one point were kaleidoscopic. Very rarely have I had to pilot anything as big as the Azetbur, and through all those waves—you can only imagine. It was bedlam! T’Lar: Response L’rann: Fortunately, M’Rish knows to either lock herself in our quarters or go to a nearby shelter area. I admit it hasn’t been easy to care for a child on a ship that has so many dangerous encounters. Finch: I’ve yet to work on a ship that doesn’t have a surplus of dangerous encounters, if I’m being honest. She looked serenely up at the sky; its brilliance tickled by the slow undulation of overhead branches. Finch: But if we didn’t love it, then we wouldn’t do it, would we? ::she smiled and pointed her words toward M’Rish:: there’s always things to be done on a ship as big as the Gorkon. Pipes that need resealing, coolants that need replacing. You could be an engineer, if you wanted to, one day. T’Lar/L’rann: Response Finch: Is that so, yeah? and how often? T’Lar/L’rann: Response Finch: Not me, Counsellor. I wouldn’t step foot in that suite of yours even if my life depended on it, and I say that only with respect and admiration for what you do, because god knows I couldn’t do it. T’Lar/L’rann: Response -- Ensign Doz Finch Engineering Officer USS Gorkon C239809SH3

@Doz Finch 😂 You had me here… …and then… 😂

I couldn’t agree with you more, @Alieth. Having this peak into the lives of these characters, these domestic yet humanizing and heartwarming moments, adds so much color and so many layers. This is such an endearing, wonderfully written piece and I’m here for it. Well done @Quinn Reynolds & @Jo Marshall! 😊

@Tahna Meru 😂

@Samira Neathler 😂

LOL, @Genkos Adea! I'm deaded! 🤣 I can't wait to read more from you 😂

OMG @Jo Marshall!! 😂 Butt of a joke?! Nahhhhhh….

@Tahna Meru - Wow, this is so beautifully written! Wonderful work here.

I'm definitely a Lena fan, @Quinn Reynolds!!!

That sim was absolute GOLD! @Jo Marshall & @Corliss

Oh my goodness, thank you so much @Jo Marshall!

@Quinn Reynolds - a fun, beautifully written sim wrapped in mystery and hidden meanings, and an abundance of glorious, lovely detail. Loved it! ((Island Town, Rogue World)) A storm was coming. Dark cyan clouds churned overhead, the taste of rain misted the air, and the wind whistled through carmine leaves. The forest’s susurrus washed over the town, and it was as the trees felt the same sense of unease as its people, whispering their foreboding to any who would listen. They gathered in the centre, around the Great Tree which held the soul of the town, its boughs swollen with plump, indigo fruits. Sheltered underneath, they spoke urgently with one another, in a tongue learned less than a turn ago. The astute might notice that the proportions of the surrounding buildings were very generous for the people who lived inside them. A propensity toward grand architecture, perhaps. A balcony overlooked the town centre. A figure stood watch upon it, a citrine gaze fixed on the distant location where the alien shuttle had landed. The sheer drapes which separated balcony from interior parted, shifting and shimmering like sunlight on frost. Another figure joined the first; pale lavender hair spilled over shoulders like silk, eyes as red as the rubies birthed in the planet’s crust. She—in as much as her body appeared feminine—looked in the same direction as the other, and a frown creased a smooth brow. Kjara: Do these ones also come to make war? Janoch: I do not know. ::He—insofar as this form assumed masculine traits—shook his head.:: Perhaps they think we make war on them. Our existence threatens theirs. Kjara: Perhaps these bodies will stay their hostility. The familiar is less frightening. ::She paused, her voice uncertain.:: But the trees sing of the weapons they carry. He nodded, slowly. The same warnings had reached his ears—so to speak—and the same disquiet threaded through his blood. The Lost Ones sometimes cried out in their invisible voices, pleading for the life left behind to hear them. They marked time strangely, in orbits of a star and rotations of a world many of them had never seen. Twenty-five of their markings they mourned, raging and weeping about the time stolen from them. It was a sad state of affairs. But sympathy for the Lost Ones varied like the amber tides. Some wished to help them home, feeling their pain as if it were their own. Others thought they had brought their misfortune upon themselves, motivated by greed and hatred, invading lands not their own to carve scars upon the world. But it didn’t matter. Whatever their wishes, the Wandering could not be denied. Janoch: Yes. They hide their ship and bear weapons. But they also bring devices of sensing and science. As we practise caution, perhaps so do they. ::He paused.:: Do we have any news from the Artificers? Kjara: They continue to labour. ::She paused.:: I have hope. They have never failed us before. Janoch: Then we shall let them labour without disturbance. ::He turned, stopping halfway to catch Kjara’s gaze.:: Let us greet these new invaders. Kjara: Very well. But if their intentions are ill, we shall deal with them as we always have. Our home is not their trophy. Janoch: We will walk the path. He nodded. Others had come before, as she had spoken. Gone now, doomed by their avarice and arrogance. Cleanly done. Kindly done. The Guardians saw to that. And the Guardians would see to those who approached, if they divined their presence or intentions a threat. He hoped it would not come to that, but resigned himself to the possibility it might. It was time to find out. -- Janoch and Kjara ?Townsfolk? The Rogue World simmed by Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds Commanding Officer USS Gorkon T238401QR0

@Samira Neathler - an absolutely awesome sim! 😊