[Ens. Maria Alvarez & Lt.jg Regan Wilde - The Windows to the Soul Saga]

 

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ACT II

 

((USS Arrow - Deck 3; Cargo Bay 1 - Main Level))

 

Regan didn’t know if it was fate or folly which drew him back to the cargo bay now. The site where - a week or two ago - he could have been killed a number of ways. Tortured by pirates, roasted by plasma, or filleted alive.

 

Nevertheless, here he was. Sitting with his back to a large cargo container and his legs stretched out before him, Regan passed the bottle of scotch from one hand to the other, back and forth, trying to make himself decide what he was going to do. He’d swiped the bottle from the table at the wake. No one had seen him, and he doubted anyone would miss the bottle.

 

He sat staring at it. How many years had it been since he looked at the bottle and had it look back at him? Nearly six. Six years clean and sober. All he had to do was pull out the stopper, take a swig and let it all drift away. Everything. His worries, his problems, his eye, his career, his life. Just let it take him like a strong river takes a fallen branch of a tree.

 

The news that he’d have to re-take his pilots exam crushed him. It was the one thing he loved in all the galaxy, and had enjoyed his brags about being a top class flier. Starfleet were just covering their backs as well as his. They couldn’t have anyone with a sight or coordination injury piloting millions of tons of starship around without additional safety. It made sense. But god how it hurt him to think he might not be as good as he once was. He remembered vividly the last time he picked up a bottle with the intention of ruining his life. It landed him in deep trouble on that horrible wet little planet in Ferengi territory. He placed the bottle firmly down in front of him. What the hell was he playing at? He was better than this! Never again! All he had to do was apply himself, and ask someone with an active flight status to proctor his examination re-sit.

 

The large doors parted and someone stepped in. It wasn’t too dark in the bay, so he could be seen easily. Maria Alvarez stepped into the bay, he offered a small grin and nodded her over. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed at having been found alone with a bottle. Certainly not by Maria. If R’Ariel or Keneth had found him he may have tried to hide it or make excuses. But in reality he wasn’t going to drink it. He’d firmly made up his mind about that. A brief moment of foolishness was all it was.

 

Maria had removed the veil and gloves, opting for a bit more comfort after the ceremony.  She had let her hair down again, and looked as put-together as ever.  Her light, floating, almost dream-like gait contrasted her outer calm, and betrayed that her thoughts were elsewhere when she came into the cargo bay looking for quiet.  Absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t immediately notice Regan Wilde sitting with a bottle, and had already closed some distance when she caught sight of him.  Her chest tightened a little, uncertain who exactly she was dealing with.  His posture didn’t display any hostility, and he didn’t shrink from her, so she broke the silence.

 

Alvarez: Hey… Sorry… I didn’t know you were in here.

 

Wilde: I’m starting to think you’re following me. Did you get Keneth to implant a tracker on me in my sleep?

 

Maria let out a breath, and then a little chuckle.  She smiled in relief to hear him crack a little joke like that.  He looked good with his new eye.  She closed the distance between them.

 

Alvarez: No, but maybe I should have.  :: She grinned. :: I was just trying to get away for a bit.  Mind if I join?

 

Wilde: ::indicating to sit.:: Be my guest.

 

Maria sat down next to him, where he indicated, pleased that he’d invited her to be close.  For as frustrated as she’d been with the man, she’d been even more worried.  Her dark eyes regarded him, and his posture was relaxed.  She asked a soft, but direct question.

 

Alvarez: So... are we speaking again?

 

Turning to look at her with both of his crisp green eyes, he let the words come tumbling out.

 

Wilde: I am so sorry about the way I treated you! That’s not who I am! I never want that to be me. I was so horrible and you have every right to hate me. I'm just a big bloody idiot. I'm really sorry.

 

Maria chuckled softly at his penitent apology.  It wasn’t necessary to be so extreme, but it was very much appreciated.  She was abundantly grateful to have someone she hoped would be a friend be so earnest with her.

 

Alvarez: Nah, you’ll have to try a lot harder than that to make me hate you.  It happens to the best of us.

 

Wilde: You were right about everything. I was so busy feeling sorry for myself I couldn’t get my head out of the past. ::He looked down at the bottle.:: I can never really get my head out of the past.

 

He smiled slightly and offered her the bottle.

 

Wilde: Here, I swiped this from the wake. I think it’s Brom’s. Consider it an apology gift.

 

Maria smiled, and took it, oblivious to what it meant to Regan.  She didn’t hesitate to pop it open and take a drag of the strong drink.  She grunted after it went down, and a little moisture formed up in her eye from the alcohol content.  She laughed, and looked at the bottle for any identifying marks.

 

Alvarez: Well, it’s brown, old, strong, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be growing some whiskers from it... it must be his.  :: She chuckled. ::  Good thing he’s got enough stashed around he probably won’t miss it.  Want any?

 

Wilde: ::Politely shaking his head.:: I actually don’t drink.  I was just… thoughtful. Reminiscent, really.

 

Alvarez: Suit yourself.

 

She took another smaller sip, and sighed, staring into the void of the cargo bay, boxes she’d help inventory stacked high.  She laid back against the container behind her, using it as a back rest in her repose.  It seemed so peaceful in here now, it didn’t really make sense this was the same place it was during her fight with a green-skinned woman.

 

Alvarez: The past is a funny thing, amazing how easy it is to get sucked into it.

 

Wilde: Absolutely. If I look back at my life even in the last few years, I barely recognise myself. That’s a good thing too. I feel like a completely different person. But always I seem to be looking back. 

 

Alvarez: Not like people don’t obsess about the future too, I suppose.

 

Wilde: Well the future is the unknown, equally as scary as a past you’ve already lived. ::Chuckling.:: Listen to us getting all philosophical. I blame that bloody funeral. Funerals always get people thinking about something.

 

Alvarez: Hey, I happen to like philosophy… :: She smirked. ::

 

Regan breathed lightly and enjoyed the momentary silence.  Maria took another drag from the bottle, still grinning over their shared moment of contemplation.  Her expression turned sincere, and she broke the silence.

 

Alvarez: Hey, for what it’s worth… You already know I’m an awful counsellor, but I’m here if you want.  Especially if it means I get to knock some sense into you again :: She grinned, and took another sip. ::

 

Regan chuckled to himself. To him the fight was over, but it remained another ugly memory he’d try hard to forget. His behaviour had been appalling even by spoiled brat standards.

 

Wilde: You certainly knocked me about a bit. The sense came later once I’d calmed down and realised what an absolute arrogant [...] I was! 

 

Alvarez: Damn right I did. :: She smiled broadly. :: Whatever it takes, I guess.

 

Wilde: I’m not a sore loser by any means. I can accept defeat, but… 

 

Maria crossed her legs, and turned her body to face him fully.  It was a sort of subconscious move of openness and acceptance of what she suspected was going to be a moment.

 

Alvarez: But what?

 

Wilde: You promise you won’t laugh at me?

 

Alvarez: Sure, if you don’t tell any jokes.

 

Wilde: ::Sighing:: Ever since my injury I felt… ugly. I know I’m not. I mean look at me! ::He chuckled.:: But…

 

This was hard. Even if it sounded superficial and callous, this was the real crux of the matter.  Maria smiled sadly, empathising with what he must be feeling, even if she disagreed with his assessment of his appearances.  She was plenty familiar with her own feelings towards herself not lining up with others' thoughts.

 

Wilde: All my life I’ve never really been good at anything. That was the secret Ghant found when she sized me up in the transporter room. Pretty, but empty. No real skills or discerning talent to speak of, but boy can I turn heads when I walk into a room. That was my shield. Nobody can pick apart your personality or ask too many probing questions if you’re the loudest person in the room. Pretty pea[...]s can fan their feathers but can’t really fly very far. That’s me.

 

Maria took a deep, cleansing breath.  She could understand what he was saying, and more than that related to it.  So much of dance was being on display, being nothing more than a body on a stage.  She appreciated the power of performing attractiveness and aesthetics better than most.  Of course dance was about a lot more than looks, but she felt pretty certain Regan was about a lot more than looks too.  She took another heavy draught, breezing beyond thoughts of her own past and staying in the moment with Regan.

 

Alvarez: It’s easy to become just one thing, isn’t it?  Especially when it’s the very first thing you notice about a person.  There’s a lot of power in looking or being a certain way, and often enough an expectation too - for better or worse.

 

Wilde: I’ve always utilised my looks - for good and bad - my whole life. I kinda like the attention, you see. If people are looking at me, that means they like me. I like when heads turn to follow me or people stop what they’re doing to meet my gaze. It’s a guilty habit from a former life as a model. I used to love it when people treated me differently because of my looks, because they either admire me or desire me. ::He shook his head.:: She hurt me more deeply than I let on. Oh the scars heal alright but what she made me feel since… This feeling that without my face I’m nothing. That’s the punishment. And you whooping me in the gym added to it all. The feeling of failure, the fact that I was arrogant enough to go in there thinking I’d already won and then failing, and blaming my looks. You may be shocked by this but a lot of what I say is bravado.

 

Alvarez: There’s no shame in that; I had a sense you liked the motto ‘fake it til you make it’.

 

She smiled nicely at Regan, appreciating how he felt, and appreciating even more he was sharing it with her.  She understood what it felt like to fall into thinking there was only one way she was worth anything.  She couldn’t help but feel something of a bond and an understanding between herself and Regan.

 

Alvarez: It’s no wonder you felt how you did.  Honestly, though?  In a sort of twisted way, it’s something of a gift to be shown your own weaknesses and failings so plainly.  I’m not saying I’d ever wish what happened to you on anyone, but you have a chance to make something new, or find something in yourself you didn’t know was there before.  :: She grinned. :: Then you get to have twice the bravado.

 

Wilde: ::Smirking:: Well at least try and act shocked. But seriously. What she didn’t realise is what I’ve been through to get where I am. At one point in my life this face was plastered all over the planet Betazed. I was ‘The Face of Betazed'’, 2390. It’s a kind of modelling competition. Very exclusive. And I won it. I was barely twenty and all the success and fame really went to my head. Everyone at the academy knew my name and wanted to hang out with me. I went to all the best parties and hung out with all the Red Squad lot. But they were never my friends, they were just people around me who knew my name. But now I do have people I consider friends. And when Ghant had Captain Shayne at knifepoint I offered myself in exchange. And I offered myself to her here in this room, to save the crew. That’s what I wanted in the end. Not to play hero, but to earn the respect of the crew. To show them I have what it takes to sacrifice for them. I dived headfirst into hell for them. ::He turned to her.:: And I’d do it again.

 

Alvarez: Handsome and noble?  Now that’s a hell of a combination.  :: She grinned, took a beat, then turned thoughtful. :: Regan… you don’t need to show me or anyone else on this ship anything.  I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I get what it’s like living for validation, needing to prove something.  Your friends - your real friends here - don’t need you to earn their respect.  Believe me when I say you already have it.  Even if you had turned and run away, it wouldn’t have made a difference because a person’s worth isn’t contingent on specific actions or qualities like that.  Of course actions matter, but the fact you’ve come this far means you’ve already woven a tapestry of behavior that says something important about who you are.

 

Wilde: I thought you said you weren’t very good at counselling.

 

He smirked. She did have a way of making him feel better.

 

Maria scooted in a little closer, smiling as she re-oriented herself a little.  Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it was nice to see Regan at peace like this.

 

Alvarez: You’ve obviously lived through a lot before you made it here.  You know I’ve had my own life before Starfleet too, so I think I can say with a little authority I know something about the qualities of someone who chooses this life.  I think what you’ve done is tremendously admirable, and you should let yourself be proud.  Doesn’t hurt you’re still pretty dang cute too.

 

She grinned, then leaned in, and kissed him deeply on the lips.

 

Regan sat wide eyed in surprise as she leaned across and kissed him. It certainly took him by surprise as he found himself locked in a kiss with someone he was arguing with not a few days before. Not wanting to appear rude, he closed his eyes and returned the kiss. His body wanted to betray him and let out an amused giggle. This was, actually, his first ever kiss with a woman. He was sure they’d laugh about it later. Then he smelt the faint aroma of whiskey on her breath and he froze. Quickly, and little too forcefully, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her steadily away.

 

Wilde: I can’t! I’m sorry! 

 

Maria wheeled back a little, took a beat, worried.  Quickly realizing it wasn’t catastrophic, she  laughed it off.

 

Alvarez: Damn, did I read that one wrong.  :: She shook her head. ::  Sorry about that.

 

Wilde: Please, no need to apologise. I’m incredibly flattered but, well ::He cleared his throat.:: You’re not really my type. I… kind of thought that was obvious?

 

He bit his bottom lip in amusement. He was really trying not to laugh and hurt her feelings. Talk about crossed wires. Maria gave him a humorous little side-eye, and cracked wise at her own expense.  Fortunately it had been a spur-of-the moment thing.

 

Alvarez: You sure a soft, sultry little jazz vocals performance won’t change your mind?

 

Wilde: I’m pretty sure. But at least we can have a giggle about it, right? 

 

Alvarez: :: She grinned. :: In my defense, you totally asked me about horga'hns, you definitely seemed like you might have been mad at me in ‘that way’, and you were very emotionally vulnerable with me just now… :: Her grin turned serious. :: Although I hope that last one doesn’t change.

 

Wilde: I just meant that on Risa we’d get ourselves some horga’hns and use them to attract some hot lifeguards or something at the beach! That’s what I’m gonna do! 

 

Alvarez: :: She giggled. :: Obviously that’s the game plan for me too.  Or at least now it is.  I feel another competition coming on…  :: She smirked. ::

 

Wilde: Well I do know one thing. ::He grinned and put on a childish sing-song voice.:: You think I’m gorgeous, you wanna kiss me, you wanna hug me, you wanna date me…

 

Alvarez: :: She playfully slugged his shoulder. :: Oh please, date you?  Can you imagine how that would end?  :: She grinned. ::  Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ll forget this as soon as the whole heroic wounded soldier thing you’ve got going on stops.  Normally the pretty boy routine doesn’t do it for me.  You’re on the clock, buddy.

 

Regan was chuckling to himself but sobered after a second or two.

 

Wilde: I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve been there myself, putting myself out there for guys and it not ending the way I’d like. I didn’t mean to give you mixed signals.

 

Alvarez: ::She smiled nicely. :: Don’t worry about me.  Not the first time, I’m sure it won’t be the last.  Had to try, I know you get it.

 

She took another draught of the strong drink, then looked over to Regan, a silly grin still on her face.  She offered the bottle over to him.

 

Alvarez: Come on, let’s forget about it, and let’s forget about the past and Ghant for a little bit.

 

Wilde: ::Chuckling.:: Great idea. But I really don’t think that’s the best way for me. Besides I’m sure you can find something better than Brom’s Tellarite moonshine.

 

Alvarez: I can’t finish this all by myself, help me out!

 

She pouted a little, putting on a face designed to elicit guilt, practiced on her siblings.  If Regan was putting out signals, she was too absorbed in her own thoughts and reliving of events in the cargo bay to notice.  The inebriation didn’t help her either.

 

Wilde: I can’t. I told you, I don’t drink.

 

Alvarez: Seriously, if ever there was a time to start, it would be now.  No need to be a teetotaller.  :: She plopped the bottle into his lap with a grin. :: It’s not so bad once you get over the initial bite.

 

Regan regarded the bottle now tossed unceremoniously in his lap. He picked it up and looked at it hard. Then he put it in the ground between them and shook his head.

 

Wilde: It’s not about being teetotal. I…

 

Alvarez: Then what’s the big deal, Regan?

 

Maria reached out to shift the bottle back to her friend, more petulant than was becoming.  Placing a firm hand on hers as she grasped the bottle again, Regan levelled his eyes on her. He wasn’t angry but he was frustrated. Frustrated that she wasn’t listening to him and equally frustrated that he couldn’t do what she was asking.

 

Wilde: ::Sternly.:: Maria! ::Softer.:: I’m an alcoholic.

 

In an instant, Maria’s grin was wiped off her face, and replaced with a look of abject horror.  She retreated, reeling back as an unpleasant, hot churning in her stomach went into overdrive.  Her foggy head swam as the adrenaline and a [...]tail of a hundred other mood-altering hormones flooded her body with negative emotions.  They waged war against the alcohol addling her head.

 

Alvarez: Oh, god… Regan… I…

 

She fell quiet, frozen in an incredibly rare moment of being unable to find the words.

 

Wilde: It’s fine. It’s not exactly the first thing I like to tell people about myself, but there’s the rub. I’m an alcoholic. I take mandatory counselling with Lt. R’Ariel for it, and I’d very much like to blow off some steam with you and drink away some memories, but I can’t. It’s a dark spiral for me and I won’t let it happen again. If I start drinking, Captain Shayne or the CMO can take my commission from me. 

 

Maria had a pretty good idea just what alcoholism meant, and what addiction treatment in Starfleet was like.  The fleet was a generous place, but didn’t have much patience for relapsing, especially when repeated.  She didn’t need the explanation - or rather she shouldn’t have needed it.  She hung her head, still processing.  This was just like her.

 

Alvarez: I know.

 

Wilde: I did try and warn you about getting close to me. I’m a mess. I’m a screw up. I’m a drunk, and I work very hard - every day - to look in the mirror and try and not see those truths.

 

Maria looked away, unable to meet his gaze.  Her thoughts swirled and gathered into a thunderhead of anger and frustration with herself.  She had hurt him - again.  She abandoned the bottle, now viewing it with disdain.  She muttered to herself.

 

Alvarez: How could I have been so stupid?

 

Regan softened. She was getting more worked up over this than the silly mistaken kiss a few moments previously. He shook his head and gave her a smile.

 

Wilde: Don’t be so silly. You didn’t know. But it’s out in the air now, and like you say we move on and we get back up. 

 

Maria stood up, putting even more distance between herself and Regan, her emotions rapidly crystalizing and forming a barb pointed at herself.  Her uncle had suffered for a long time with addiction, and she knew sometimes even the strangest things would bring back a craving for him.  If someone had done to him what she just did to Regan, it would have risked derailing him for months if not years.  She should have seen the signs, or, even if not, respected his choice anyways.  She couldn’t forgive herself for it.

 

Alvarez: I didn’t need to know that to stop.  You shouldn’t have needed to tell me.

 

Wilde: There’s no harm done. Please just sit back down and we’ll forget about it.

 

Alvarez: This is serious!  I just kissed you with alcohol on my breath, I might as well have force-fed you a shot while I was at it.  It’s one thing to screw around with my own record, quite another to mess with yours.

 

Wilde: I know, I tasted it… but have a bit of faith in me, will you, before you write me off as just a drunk who’ll drop his guard at the opening of a bottle. I have kissed a few people who’ve had a drink beforehand. It’s not the end of the world. Let’s just forget it, and go back to being friends. It wasn’t that long ago you were telling me to pick myself up again and heal.

 

Maria’s thoughts spiraled.  She’d been doing a lot of this lately - practically going out of her way to pick fights, thoughtlessly hurt people, and generally be a massive pain for everyone that knew her.  The captain, the first officer, her roommate… she should have been much gentler to Regan in the first place too, and she knew it.  Her attitude had done a lot of damage lately, and it didn’t matter if she was right or wrong in the argument.  This was just the most recent and most obvious feat of alienating someone.  Someone she genuinely cared about too.

 

Alvarez: Oh yeah, real funny, using my own words against me.  :: She sneered. ::  Maybe I was just being nice to you so you’d invite me back to your quarters.

 

Maria’s attitude turned as ugly as Regan’s did in the gym that day, but it was probably obvious she wasn’t mad at him. The smile faded from Regan’s face and he stood up to match her stance.

 

Wilde: Because you’re not like that, Maria. I know you’re not. If you just wanted to hop into bed with the first good looking officer you saw out of the academy, you’d have done it by now. But you’ve stuck by me in more ways than one since we met and you didn’t know the whole truth. You’re better than that.

 

Alvarez: You don’t know that, and you don’t know me.  Everyone keeps thinking they do!  I’ve got a nice little pattern of being a supermassive rectal black-hole going on right now.  Maybe I like it that way!

 

Wilde: You’re a good person, Maria. People see you as a hero. You performed an amazing feat in engineering and the whole crew is gobsmacked at how brilliant it was. You saved the ship! 

 

She wasn’t angry with Regan, but she lashed out at him anyway since he was an available target and she needed something other than herself to channel the boiling cauldron of frustration at.

 

Alvarez: Just shut up!  I’m sick of the whole hero schtick.  I don’t think Mr. January has near enough qualification to say what I am or judge what I did.

 

It was a cheap, mocking shot, practically tailor-made to establish distance and she knew it.  She knew Regan would almost certainly see through it too.

 

Regan raised an incredulous eyebrow and gave her a look his sister used to give him when he was being particularly bratty.

 

Wilde: ::Aghast:: You know I was going to be Mr. February on the ship's calendar. You’re just being petty. ::Beat.:: Look, I know you don’t mean that. You sat and listened to everything I had to say about my life before Starfleet so I know you don’t mean that! Stop acting like a child!

 

Maria gesticulated at herself - her outburst had stopped being about a bottle of alcohol, and started being about a whole lot more.  How many times had she ignored breathless warnings about how she’d hurt those around her?  Sure they’d meant physically, but this was worse in so many ways.

 

Alvarez: I’ll act how I want!  I always do, that’s my problem, right?

 

Wilde: You did nothing wrong. Honestly. Even if I took a swig of Brom’s hooch I wouldn’t blame you. I’d blame myself for not being strong enough to know I shouldn’t. I’ve been sober for six years, I’m not going to slip up anytime soon. Tonight was a test for me, the funeral, the exams. But I passed! Trust me.

 

Alvarez: Bull - addiction doesn’t work like that, and you know it better than I do.  I got you riled when I was trying to be nice, you wanna see me do some real damage?

 

Regan cast his eyes to the ground. She had a point. He had smelled the alcohol on her breath and the briefest of tastes. It was a dangerous road, but Regan really didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

 

Wilde: I just don’t want you to feel bad about this. 

 

Maria’s eyes darted around the cargo bay.  She could swear she could see a stain on the floor where human and orion blood had spilled.  She could hear her heart racing in anxiety as Regan’s voice melded with snippets of that scene playing yet out in her head again.  It was an eerie and unnerving thing until the fog cleared again and she was back in the moment.

 

Alvarez: I’m sick of everyone pretending like I’m something more than I am.  Like I’m some brilliant, swashbuckling dame with a heart of gold.  I didn’t think about it, I just did it!  Like I always do!

 

There was a strange tinge to her voice; this wasn’t about a feat of engineering, or a bottle of booze - not any more.

 

Alvarez: Don’t you get it?  I’m nuts, unpredictable… as likely to solve galactic hunger as to go on an overly-thought-out genocidal rampage or do nothing but binge holovids for a year straight.  Best part is, I don’t care which one!  You should read my psychiatric notes from the academy entrance interview some time, they’re really fun...

 

In Maria’s mind, she’d already fully retreated, and viewed her actions as protecting Regan from herself.  She was pushing him away as much as she could, operating solely on emotional instinct rather than any rational justification.  She just wanted to escape, to run, and hide away.  Never to hurt him or anyone else again.

 

Wilde: Oh come on, nobody is ‘nuts’. You can’t be nuts or you’d never get into Starfleet. I should know, I was expelled from the academy once. What did the admissions counselors say?

 

Alvarez: Let’s see if I recall - difficult, chaotic, moody, unruly, disrespectful, overbearing… just a start of the reasons I shouldn’t even be here.  I’m not special - I’m barely adequate, but that’s okay.  Literally anyone else could have “saved the day” if I hadn’t.  Hell, that probably would have been better - then you wouldn’t have to put up with me.  Nor would the rest of the crew.

 

Wilde: Maria, you’ve just described myself when I was, like, fifteen. Just relax and don’t talk rubbish. If it wasn’t for you I’d have died in this room! You think I should let that go?

 

Alvarez: Yeah!  You should if you don’t want to deal with someone who apparently acts like she’s fifteen.  Besides, you definitely don’t want me anywhere near you when one of the senior officers comes around…

 

Wilde: Well maybe I won’t let it go. You saved my life, and I don’t care what you think about that. Let them pin a medal on your chest, or replicate it into something useful - that’s up to you. Dismiss your own feelings if you want but you sure aren’t going to dismiss mine.

 

The thought of a medal was outrageous even under ordinary circumstances, and Maria’s face twitched in annoyance and anger, not directed anywhere in particular.  Her guard finally gave way, and let the whole thing out for the entire cargo bay to hear.

 

Alvarez: I killed her, Regan!  The knife was in my hands!  I couldn’t care less she’s dead, but you think I want a goddamn medal to remind me of something I already relive every day?  Besides, I hate the things to begin with.

 

She felt enormously guilty - here was someone who’d given up a lot more than her, someone she’d been outright awful to, and she was complaining about getting a medal?  She slunk further in retreat, all too aware how damaging she was being yet unable to stop.

 

Regan stepped closer to her. He was extremely grateful to her for saving his life, and even though she didn’t want to hear it - she was his hero. She killed the dragon. She slayed the beast. She had done what needed to be done when he hesitated and couldn’t do it.

 

Wilde: It was my knife! I wasn’t even supposed to have it on me! Don’t you see? The knife, the cargo bay, Ghant... fate! It’s all tying us together in unimaginable ways! And we need to figure this out or we’ll never get past it. Together or separately. We’re linked, Maria. Linked by fate and damnation. And I don’t want to go it alone. I’ll always thank you for saving my life. You’ll always be a hero to me.

 

She fumed for a moment, took a beat, then gave him a sardonic s[...] - disengaged from the hailstorm of her emotions.  If it was fate, then fate had a grim and twisted sense of humor pushing the two of them together in this way.

 

Alvarez: Really?  You think I joined Starfleet because of fate?  What a fakakta notion, I bet the admissions counsellors would have loved that one...  :: She shook her head. :: I don’t think so.  I gotta go.

 

She disengaged verbally just as abruptly as she had disengaged emotionally.  She tramped off, upset and angry with herself, unable to be reasoned with.  She was sick of how this had become a repeating theme, but it seemed all she could do was retrace the steps over and over again.

 

As she stormed off back to the corridor, Regan threw his hands up in the air in disbelief. 

 

Wilde: ::Calling after her.:: Maria!? Maria, wait! Are we ever going to have a conversation that doesn’t end with one of us storming off in a huff?

 

Alone in the cargo bay he tapped his foot impatiently on the cold ground. This was another mess in their friendship.

TBC

 

 

 

[Ens. Maria Alvarez & Lt.jg Regan Wilde - The Windows to the Soul Saga]

Popping this in here to say a huge thanks to @Alvarez for being my writing partner for this story arc, and to say what fun it was writing and creating a friendship for our characters. Thank you! This turned out better than we planned, and I'm very proud of it.

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ACT I

(( Interior - Evening.  USS Arrow - Deck 2, Gymnasium.  A few days into shore leave. ))

The gym was cleared out ahead of dinner, leaving Maria on her own in the space stretching on the mat on the floor.  She wore simple, close-fit exercise clothes made for movement.  The equipment had been well cleaned up and reorganized after the action, since its classification as a medical facility resulted in a higher prioritization for repair over a whole array of other facilities.  It made sense to the ensign, in a roundabout way.

 

Maria wasn’t left waiting long, gently warming up her flexible body and pushing it through a whole routine of stretches.  Her body had healed exceptionally well, and if she didn’t know better she would have thought she never got hurt.  Her expression darkened, remembering vividly that she was hurt, and badly.  She was careful to test her strength and range of motion just to make sure she wasn’t going to land herself in the sickbay again because of making a dumb move.

 

She caught sight of Regan, and her face lit back up again, glad for the company and looking forward to seeing what kind of moves the Lieutenant had.  She hoped to get to know him a little better, and maybe spend some more time together.  She spryly stood up from the mat, with her trademark off-center grin on full display.

 

Regan entered the gym rather spritely. Alvarez had offered the invitation to spar to hone both of their skills and enjoy each other's company. They were a surprisingly similar pair when you examined them closely. They had created an almost instant friendship since the moment they met. He was feeling energised to be exercising with her, but in the back of his mind he sensed that she, like him, had a lot more to prove.

 

Alvarez: Hey, Regan!  Good to see you - how are you feeling?

 

Wilde: I’m well enough, thanks. Aside from being sick to my back teeth of writing reports, and the endless drills Lt. Serinus puts us through.

 

Alvarez: Well, I’m just happy you’re here.  I’ve been looking forward to it, I could definitely use the practice.

 

Wilde: I think I could too, to be frank.

 

Maria shot him a look that was at first slightly intrigued, then turned simply happy.

 

Alvarez: Really?  I’d have thought training for this kind of thing was a big deal for security.  Not that I’m complaining, this’ll be fun.

 

Regan shook his head.

 

Wilde: I can defend myself well enough. Well, under ordinary circumstances. I’m looking forward to just a friendly spar, though.

 

Maria started wrapping up her hands and feet to protect the small bones, but also to cushion the blows that would be dealt.  It was a surprisingly impressive but subtle piece of technology, protecting both of them from a lot of the damage that could be dealt.  It was also a friendly sparring session, so it wasn’t too likely anyone would go for anything other than an embarrassing bruise that could be fixed right up if necessary. 

 

Regan was done with his stretching and limbering up when she spoke again.

 

Alvarez: So how are we playing it?  Points for hits, lose on hitting the floor or submission?  No style restrictions, other than keep it safe?

 

Wilde: Absolutely. ::He grinned.:: Watch the face, ok?

 

Alvarez: Okay, pretty boy.  Ready?

 

Wilde: Ready.

 

Maria’s body took a subtle shift into a predatory stance, examining her opposite as they began their little duel of wills.  In this non-threatening environment her breath was steady and her attention fully honed, ready to respond and strike at a moment's notice.

 

Regan watched her poise with interest. She was hanging back ready to defend, but her body language suggested a pounce at any moment. He knew from speaking to her that she would be ready for anything he could throw at her. Regan’s skill came from weapon sparring. Put a mek’leth or Bat’leth in his hand and he’d possibly go full Klingon on her. This, though, was different. Almost intimate. They circled each other almost coyly. Like two birds displaying a courtship. 

 

Wilde: You know, I keep my ear to the ground on this ship. Your friend Brom is running a pool on the lower decks on who’s going to clean up in this match.

 

Alvarez: Really?  :: She [...]ed an eyebrow. :: I’ll be having words if he bet on you.

 

Wilde: ::smirking:: He’ll make a profit whoever wins. Let’s say we make this interesting in our own way.

 

Lightning fast, he struck. The palm of his hand connected and he chuckled at her response.

 

Maria let her body roll with the hit, still getting a gauge on Regan’s style and ability.  She ducked under another blow, but only just.  She smiled deviously.

 

Alvarez: What did you have in mind?

 

Wilde: Oh something insignificant. Say… 5 strips of latinum and you inventory and re-calibrate all the phasers in the armoury? But make sure you replace them in issue order. Lt. Serinus is very picky about things like that.

 

Maria continued the circle, amused by the little game they were now starting.  She adjusted her stance a little bit to give herself more time to react to the next throw like the first.

 

Alvarez: Well, normally I’d be content with showing a security lieutenant what’s what, but I do have a lateral sensor array out of alignment, and I hate crawling through Jefferies tubes.  It’s trivial but tedious work.  That, plus I’ll match your latinum.

 

Wilde: Deal!

 

Suddenly she sprang, and in his momentum he felt the blow connect. She was fast, wiley, and determined. Regan [...]ed his head to one side with a surprised eyebrow raised.

 

Wilde: Touché.

 

Alvarez: I’m quick, I’m funny, I’m gonna make some money…

 

She grinned, and the expression on Regan’s face betraying he hadn’t expected her to have as strong a grasp on martial arts as she did.  She was not a polished fighter by any means, but she hadn’t been joking about getting a thrill from defeating security cadets at the academy when she could.

 

Regan knew this game. Now it was serious, and with spoils. Their friendly spar had become interesting. He knew that half of knowing your opponents next move was psychological. How well did he know her? All he had to do to make her slip up was find the right buttons.

 

Wilde: Gambling pools aren’t the only thing I hear on the lower decks. Tongues are wagging at how we managed to escape the clutches of Orion pirates. I think there’s a bit of hero worship concerning yourself and other departments….

 

And push them.

 

Wilde: … Admiral.

 

Maria huffed and groaned, her defense slipping.

 

Alvarez: Oh god, not you too...

 

She wheeled back from his onslaught, and caught several hits as punishment for her distractration before she caught back up with the flow of the action, deflecting and managing the strikes.

 

Wilde: Quite inventive, really. Insta-promotion and save the ship. 

 

Alvarez: Oh, please.  It was a dumb idea…

 

Her foot came off the floor with a furious speed, making a good connection.  She was irritated, but for a reason that wouldn’t make sense to the average officer.

 

Alvarez: My execution was a royal botch job...

 

She followed up with a clever bit of footwork and jabs designed to put Regan off-balance. Armed with a quick verbal retort, but not a clever physical one, Regan was stuck in succession by her advances. He snorted in frustration and raised his hands in defense again.

 

Alvarez: And anyone who says otherwise is wrong.

 

She saw Regan’s next move coming in something nearing a premonition, and quickly rerouted the entire kinetic flow of her body into retribution.  Before she knew it, she’d thrown him to the floor in a move that ended up surprising even her.

 

Staring at the ceiling he was dumbfounded. He’d let his guard way down and look where it got him. Had it been another time, with another woman, armed with a knife and fuelled by rage, he’d be back to square one. Suddenly annoyed, he bit his lip with frustration.

 

Wilde: You got that one on dumb luck. 

 

Maria looked at him curiously for a second.  She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she didn’t really love the way she just won the round.  She shook her head, not quite believing her success.

 

Alvarez: No, I think I got that one because I took advantage of your newly acquired blindspot...  Actually, I’m sure of it.  No way that was fair.  Come on, best two of three.

 

Regan pulled an indignant face. She was going there, was she?

 

Wilde: Where I come from we call that cheating! On Qo’noS that would earn you a broken jaw.

 

He resisted the urge to fold his arms across his chest but he was confident he put his point across successfully.

 

Maria gave him a stern look, and offered her hand.  She wasn’t happy with how she won, and wanted to have another round.

 

Alvarez: I said - best two of three.

 

Wilde: You got a lucky shot. This time I won’t be revealing my ‘blind spots’. 

 

Maria pulled him back up to his feet, and put herself at the ready again.  It was her turn for the biting banter.

 

Alvarez: Speaking of… you’re gonna get that eye taken care of right?

 

Wilde: A couple more days until the synthetic replacement is ready. Then I won’t have to wear this stupid thing and get my [...] handed to me by a ballerina.

 

Alvarez: Ah, too bad.  I was really hoping you’d get a leather patch bolted on, shave your head, grow a mustache, then start walking around quoting Shakespeare in the original Klingon.

 

She giggled, but it was cut short with another flurry of blows she was forced to dodge or block.  One landed, but it didn’t have enough power behind it to set her off her game.

 

Regan didn’t find her jokes funny at all. Finding some energy from within he lashed out. Not precise moves, but steady ones, designed to impact.

 

Wilde: I’ve known many Klingons with missing eyes. They wear their scars with honour...

 

Alvarez: If you get a synthetic eye, at least tell me you’re getting x-ray vision or can shoot lasers from it.

 

Another trade, this time Maria getting her own counterattack in.

 

Wilde: This isn’t a game. This is serious.

 

Alvarez: Not even a glowy red one?  Then you can put on sunglasses at night and walk around naked, demanding people give you their clothes.  Temporal affairs might get worried.

 

Suddenly and with ferocity he lashed out completely against the fair rules of sparring. He lashed out to hurt her physically. Under ordinary circumstances he’d be mortified of such a thing, but now he was mad. He could feel it burning in his cheeks and his chest.  Maria barely escaped the worst of the wrathful change in tactic, making a quick adaptation mid-flow.

 

Wilde: Do you think this is funny?

 

Alvarez: :: She smirked. :: Might as well take the good with the bad.

 

Wilde: Look at this!

 

He pointed to the metal patch across his eye. A heavy reminder that he was different now, and he hated it. He literally hated it, and because of it he hated himself.

 

Wilde: This is what I see now every time I see my reflection in a bulkhead! And you’re here cracking jokes and talking about x-ray eyes?

 

Despite his forced change of conversation the match hadn’t ended. He still attempted strikes, blocks, and dodges and was getting more and more frustrated at how Maria was dodging him and managing to reflect his jabs.

 

Alvarez: Woah, what happened to bearing scars with pride?  It’s just temporary anyway. Is this one of those things that’s actually about something else?  Because you can tell me...

 

Maria whirled just out of the way from his increasingly uncoordinated attempts to reach her.  She easily took advantage of a quick pair of openings, something she hadn’t expected from her practice opponent.  He was supposed to be a skilled security officer.

 

Wilde: Oh that’s right. Let’s all sit around and share our feelings. I’ll call R’Ariel and tell her she’s got a new assistant counselor!

 

Alvarez: Fine then, I always thought I’d be a terrible counselor anyway: present company case and point.  There’s a whole shipful of other people.

 

Wilde: I don’t want to talk about it. Talking about it will not change anything. She got me! She hurt me! And there’s nothing I can do about it.

 

Maria moved in quickly, a strike at his footing dramatically shifting the spar in her favor.  She finished it with a swift pair of hard-hitting jabs to tip him over onto the floor again.

 

Again Regan found himself on his back staring at the ceiling. She’d bested him again. With a rage that frankly scared him, he rolled over and got to his knees and shouted in frustration. 

 

Maria stood there for a second, breathing heavily, staring at who she thought was her friend crawling back up with enough fury to birth a new star.  Her voice softened a little, losing the humorous bite it usually contained.  Her face slowly slipped into concern.

 

Alvarez: Regan… What the hell is this?  You’re better than this, don’t pretend you’re not.  You were eating sad cake in the mess, the other day, weren’t you?

 

Wilde: Don’t condescend to me, Maria. So what if I needed a little cheering up after what that monster did to me. You really want all the gory details, to really figure out why I’m like this? Well listen up, honey.

 

He stood now completely ready for the confrontation, adrenaline flowing through his body. He remembered Ghant straddling his body. Her bloodstained mouth bearing down on him while she stuck the knife into his eye.

 

Wilde: She took my eye like it was nothing. ::Beat.:: She took a piece of me… and she ate it!

 

Maria’s eyes tracked every little minute flash of expression on his face.  Her own calm contrasted his.  It was such a wild detail, one she hadn’t witnessed, and she didn’t exactly know how to respond.  Her face wore a little sympathetic smile, and she shook her head.  

 

Alvarez: I know this is neither the place nor time, but… that is pretty damn metal.

 

Wilde: Oh you’re impressed by that? Well let’s give Ghant a round of applause. ::He scoffed, fixing his gaze on Maria:: She plucked it out and devoured it like it was a caramel stuffed truffle from a box of bloody Christmas chocolates! How the HELL am I supposed to feel about that!?

 

Maria shrugged.  This is why she didn’t get into counseling, she was terrible at making people feel better.  She opted to give the only advice she knew how to.

 

Alvarez: I don’t know how I’d feel, but I know what I’d do.  I’d keep going, and work on what I can control.  I’d deal with one thing at a time, one problem at a time.  There’s still a lot to accomplish, like beating the daylights out of an annoyingly snarky dancer.  Just to prove you can.  :: She grinned. ::  Come on, spar with me.

 

Regan shook his head in disbelief. Was she serious? After all that she just wanted to mess around in the gym? 

 

Wilde: I’m done. I’ve been proving myself to people my entire goddamn life and I will not do it anymore. If this was just an exercise in making yourself feel better at the expense of someone else, then count me out.

 

Alvarez: Then you’ve been trying to prove the wrong thing.  This is ridiculous, I don’t moonlight as a pro fighter, you’re just having a bad day.  You almost got me at least a couple times there, you’ll feel better if you do it.  A couple of adjustments, and you’ll get it no problem.

 

Regan crossed the room and picked up his towel from one of the benches. Wiping the sweat and frustration away, he took a few breaths to try and even out some of the anger.

 

Maria followed hot on his heels, and didn’t spare blunt words.

 

Alvarez: Look, I get you feel like crap.  You’ve suffered something no one should have to.  You feel beaten down and you don’t know if you can go on, or if you even want to.  You feel like you’re done even trying, but you can’t be.  You’re still here, and you still have so much more potential.  As long as you pick yourself up and try again, you haven’t lost.  You’ll want to stop, so you have to try again tomorrow too, and the next day, and every day after that until it starts to get a little easier.  That’s how we heal and grow.  Consider this practice, right here, right now.  Spar with me - if you don’t beat me next time, you’ll win the time after that.

 

Dropping the wet towel to the floor, Regan blinked a few times with his good eye. 

 

Wilde: ::he half-laughed incredulously:: Pick myself up again? ::He turned to face her.:: You really haven’t got a clue have you? Maria Alvarez, fresh out of the academy waltzing onto the ship dishing out honest to goodness Starfleet advice. Listen to yourself!

 

She stood facing him, and the urge to lash was great. He shoved her. Like a bully would do in a playground.

 

Wilde: Running around the ship, crawling your way through Jeffries Tubes, fighting pirates and bypassing every security fail safe in the central computer. ::huffing.:: Fleet Admiral, to boot! ::Beat:: Don’t you dare presume to tell me what to do with my life. You have no right!

 

Maria hummed hoarsely in irritation, not giving him even a millimeter of space.  A couple seconds ticked by before a smile crept back onto her face with a tiny chuckle.  It was rather ironic how far off Regan was from Maria’s character.  Her voice resumed it’s dry sarcasm.

 

Alvarez: Yeah, you’ve sure got me figured out.  Tell you what, if you fight me and win, THEN I have no right to tell you what to do with your life.  Until then, I think I have pretty solid proof I know something you don’t.  I’m literally telling you I want to help you beat me, and you’re upset about that?

 

Wilde: I don’t need your help for me to beat you. I don’t need your pity. And I don’t need the crew’s pity either, frankly. I know what they think of me. I see it all the time. Pouty little rich boy playing Starfleet officer. Got expelled from the academy once, but got back in because his dad pulled a few strings. Well I’ve paid my dues… I’ve given my pound of flesh.

 

He returned to the centre of the sparring mat and took his stance. If she wanted one more go he’d oblige, for whatever it was worth to her.  Maria squared off again across from him, determined to not let him get off easy.  When he won, it would be his ability that got him there.

 

Alvarez: The only person questioning your worth here is you, Regan.  I saw you rush in when I was down, you think that’s playing at Starfleet officer?  That wasn’t dress up, that wasn’t your dad, that was you.  Now.  Keep an eye out for my hips.

 

With some slight composure, his jabs and attacks weren’t as frantic as before, and the motion of movement seemed natural and life-like.

 

Maria suffered through the couple of improved hits, remaining resolute in her focus on the here and now, and hoping Regan would too.

 

Alvarez: Better...

 

Wilde: It wasn’t supposed to happen like that…

 

Reminded of his plan to capture Ghant, his attacks began to miss their mark.

 

Alvarez: Focus!

 

Wilde: Serinus was supposed to take her down when she got to me. But the bulkhead… then she had me. I never wanted to kill her. That wasn’t the plan! She had to get me… I had to give myself to her… to protect the crew. To prove to them I could do it.

 

They grappled again, and in his hesitation he received a few blows he could have avoided. Hesitation again. The next time he hesitated he could be dead.

 

Alvarez: Regan!  Stay in the here-and-now, just on the next move.  Mind your footing.

 

Wilde: I don’t want to be a hero! I just want…

 

She went for the sweep and once again he was down. With a mix of fury, disbelief and righteous indignation he sprang from the mat and barged towards the seating area.

 

Alvarez: :: She shouted. :: Again!

 

Wilde: We’re done. This whole setup is done!

 

Alvarez:  :: She snorted. :: The setup where I whoop your sorry butt until the pain reminds you there’s a present and a future, not just a past, and you actually spar with me?  Because I’m not done.

 

Wilde: This was all just some elaborate ruse to get me here and humiliate me, wasn’t it! Well congratulations!

 

Maria crossed her arms with a highly critical pout scrawled onto her face.  She wasn’t going to put up with whatever this was.

 

Alvarez: Yup, you caught me.  Zero chance I’d actually want to help you.  :: She shook her head with a sad smile. :: You can really stop being obnoxious and paranoid any time now, because I still got a lot to say to you.

 

Wilde: I don’t want to hear it. We’re done. This ::He pointed between them.:: Is over.

 

Picking up his gear he stomped towards the exit in a huff.  Maria called after him with a stern agitation that was almost maternal.

 

Alvarez: Regan!  Get back here.

 

He stopped and turned slightly. 

 

Wilde: Actually, from now on that’s Lieutenant Wilde to you, Ensign.

 

Maria found the nearest punching bag and funnelled the full force of her body hurtling into her foot, sending it swinging.  She shouted in frustration to thin air, then started undoing her wrapped hands.  As she did, she was sent careening back to the image of the knife in Ghant’s chest, blood covering her hands, the grotesque smell and feel of it all replayed on loop for the umpteenth time in her mind’s eye.  She sat down on the nearest bleacher, and wiped the sweat from her face, breathing heavily.  She knew full well she was experiencing the after-shocks of trauma.  She’d hoped sparring with the Lieutenant might have made it a little better, but that wasn’t going to happen now.  Neither was their friendship, she feared.

TBC

Ensign Maria Alvarez

&

Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde

 

 

[TlhIroghnI' - Intruder alert! Ramming speed!]

I'd give my life for this targlet!

[Poll of the Week: Christmas With The Crew]

DS9 for me. Christmas at Quarks. What could go wrong?

[Arrowheads - The Black Dance (In All Stages)]

A collection of sims which close out our latest mission, and I'm extremely pleased of how the endgame and climax turned out for certain characters. We do have some fantastic writing here. Super well done to new crew member @Alvarez who smashed it out of the park first time, and my personal thanks to @Quentin Collins III for writing such a marvelously diabolical Captain Eru Ghant. Her legacy will haunt us.

 

Captain Eru Ghant - The Black Dance: Overture - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/UrJkQ4fhI5E

Ensign Maria Alvarez - The Black Dance: Allegro - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/LXv1z0t5_uA

Captain Eru Ghant - The Black Dance: Accelerando - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/TsET8zySjY4

Ensign Maria Alvarez - The Black Dance: Scherzo - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/qmCvNibTG18

Lt.jg Regan Wilde - The Black Dance: Crescendo - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/HMXotefay_8

Lt. Artinus Serinus - The Black Dance: Cutting In - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/zch3-ZyCwf4

Ensign Maria Alvarez - The Black Dance: Lento - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/5-MHxdmimXY

Ensign Maria Alvarez - The Black Dance - Presto Calamitosa - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/9j92poAeu4U

Captain Eru Ghant - Darkness, Her Arms Stretched Wide (Or; Offer from the Black) - https://groups.google.com/g/sb118-arrow/c/R1HglerGDqg

[Counselor R'Ariel - Oh My Little Kitten]

I loved this sim by our very own @R'Ariel. We don't often get such an in depth glimpse into the mind of our Caitian/Deltan counselor like this, and I thought this sim was lovely. For a character who often describes herself as 'ugly' and a 'mutant' because of her genetic heritage, she most certainly is not. I love the bloody bones of this character!

 

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(( Unconscious - USS Arrow ))

 

R'Ariel: NO!

 

Everything was wrong.  She wasn't fast enough.  Maybe she wasn't smart enough.  Maybe her telepathic or empathic abilities were just not deep enough.  

 

The pain unleashed on those security officers... she certainly was empathically connected enough to feel that pain.

 

Slumped against the wall, she felt pain, like a knife to her throat, and it ached on her head.  Almost like she was bleeding.  She reached back and felt the gooey sensations of a gashed-head.  She was bleeding.

 

oO If I am bleeding... Oo

 

She looked around the room.  Why was no one moving?  Why was no one talking?  Why was the room so dark and devoid of detail?

 

Stranger: One bump on the head and you just lay there?  Come on, get up!

 

R'Ariel blinked in surprise.  In the shadows a hand reached out to her.  She looked up.  At the length of the hand was a smile and very kind eyes.

 

Stranger: Come now, get up.

 

She tried to get up, but her whole body ached.  Her head pulsed with pain, like she could feel her heart beating in her wound.  The pain arched through her body.  She felt numb.  Her muscles refused to move.

 

R'Ariel: I'm very sorry, but the pain...

 

Stranger: My little kitten, let me help you.

 

The stranger moved closer, shadows concealing most of her features.  Her voice was soothing, and the air around her seemed to ebb and flow with a gentle that relaxed her soreness.

 

Stranger: Take my hand.

 

R'Ariel: I can't seem to move.

 

The hand reached out and touched her.  The stranger sighed, and took a clear audible deep breath.  She felt her heart beat almost redoubled within her chest and with each beat the pain began to subside.

 

Stranger: Better now?

 

R'Ariel: Yes, that is amazing.

 

R'Ariel reached out to the stranger empathically, searching, but found nothing, nothing at all, but her own feelings, her own doubts, her own insecurities.

 

R'Ariel: Um, are you real?

 

The stranger smiled warmly, with a hint of mirth, she responded.

 

Stranger: Very real.

 

R'Ariel: Buy why can I not sense you, at all?

 

The stranger re-offered her hand and helped R'Ariel to her feet.  A hint of laughter was in the stranger's voice.

 

Stranger: Come now my little kitten, sure you can.

 

The stranger lead her from the shadows into an undefined light, in this undefined space.

 

R'Ariel: All I can feel is myself though.

 

Stranger: Look at me.

 

The stranger's appearance became clearer as they moved from the shadows together.  She was tall, beautiful, and every facet of her appearance portrayed a happy and cheerful lady, about R'Ariel's age, though perhaps a bit older, and completely bald in all the best ways, a true Deltan by all appearances.

 

R'Ariel: Your'e a Deltan!

 

Stranger: True, but so are you.

 

R'Ariel: Sort of.  Half Deltan, and...

 

The stranger interrupted, briefly pausing in their walk together.

 

Stranger: ...and Half Caitian.  So am I.

 

R'Ariel: Really?  You don't look half Caitian.

 

Stranger: Neither do you.

 

The stranger giggled, with a sound that married laughter with music.

 

R'Ariel: Tell me about it.  I wish I looked like you.

 

Stranger: Why?

 

R'Ariel: Why?  Why? Because looking like this, I don't belong.  Look at me.  As a Caitian, I'm hideous.  I am missing way way too much fur and hair.  I look like some cat woman animation.  As a Deltan, its even worse I...

 

The stranger interrupted again, pausing again in their walk.

 

Stranger: ...As a Deltan you have way too much fur and hair.  I know.

 

R'Ariel stumbled briefly, her legs feeling a little wobbly.

 

Stranger: Careful now, you are still bleeding, I only took the sensation of pain away, the cause and the problem is still there.

 

She felt the back of her head, indeed she was right.  Her knees started to buckle, and things started to get a little shadowy again, as the kind and bubbly Deltan gently helped her rest back down.

 

R'Ariel: So that's what my pain-easing abilities are like?

 

Stranger: Of course, we will talk later.

 

R'Ariel: Wait, don't go, who are you?

 

The Deltan stranger laughed and shook her head playfully.

 

Stranger: Oh my little kitten, I'm your older sister.  We will talk later.

 

(( Sickbay - Deck Four ))  

 

R'Ariel's eyes bugged open wide, and the wider her eyes opened, the further away the Deltan became.  Replaced by the familiar scene of the USS Arrow. Her eyes blinked, trying to adjust to the different in light.

 

R'Ariel: Don't go. ::her voice was weak and full of emotion:: please... don't go.  

 

She closed her eyes, full of tears.  To the observer in the real world, the tears on her face would be quite visible,  to the cause for them, it might be construed as pain.  Maybe it was.  It was very confusing separating reality at this point.  Her outward condition, flickering only briefly on the conscious side of this world.

 

TAG - Sickbay

 

 

Lieutenant (JG) R'Ariel

Counselor

USS Arrow

ID-J239706R10

 

 

[Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - The Haunting of Deck 4]

I know, submitting my own sim, how gauche! But I was really proud of this special Halloween Below Decks piece. Happy Halloween!

 

((USS Arrow - Exterior, Space; The Final Frontier))

 

Throughout the ship there was silence; Aside from the usual humming of consoles, the gentle thrum of the warp core, and the minuscule sounds of other electrical elements that usually worked on a starship in the middle of the night.

On the bridge Delta Shift sat at their posts, observing whatever they needed to observe, scanning whatever they needed to scan, push that button, realign that relay, and do the myriad of mundane tasks they needed to do to make it through the boredom of the graveyard shift.

Most of the crew slept, relishing the end of their shifts and ready to slumber before attacking the new day in the morning.

 

((USS Arrow - Deck 4; Regan’s Quarters))

Regan was a messy sleeper. He slept heavily, as was his custom, and was found sprawled across his bed, covers and pillows haphazardly thrown around him which made him look ridiculously like a cat in a big cushion. One of his legs draped over the side of the bed, and he was dangerously close to falling out if he rolled over onto his side from the comfortable position on his stomach.

The chronometer on his bedside read 11:59. Minute to midnight. The witching hour approached. 

The Arrow was an old ship, and had developed her own rhythms and foibles over her years of service. Like an old house that might ‘rest’ after dark when the occupants retire, Arrow sighed a light breath of relief when the crew went to bed. The carpets and deck plating relished not being trodden on at the end of the day, the doors eased into slumber without fear of being swooshed open on a moment's notice, and the turbolifts wound down from their day's use. There was silence on deck.

Every clock, chronometer and computer terminal on the ship ticked over to 00:00. The clock in Regan’s quarters sounded an alarm call, like one would do for a morning wake up call. Only no one had requested one and if they did, it wouldn't be for midnight...

Waking up sharply from a deep sleep, Regan checked around the room to half wake himself up, half remember where he was. He rubbed his eyes groggily and grasped the little clock from his bedside. It was still chiming in his hand, so he shook it impatiently to make it stop. It did, after it chimed for a full two minutes, after which he grumpily put it back where it was.

Resting back into his bed, Regan closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep. He was in no rush to get up just yet, still plenty of time for blissful slumber.

The lights turned on in his bathroom across from his bed. It didn’t bother him at first, but Regan needed total darkness to sleep. Peeking one eye open, he saw the bathroom light on and groaned. He was just about to get up to switch it off when it did so itself. Darkness again. Sighing contentedly, he snuggled down for more sleep. 

The light flicked on again. Oh this was getting ridiculous. First thing in the morning he was going to fill out a maintenance request and send it to engineering. There must be a faulty power relay or sensor outage. Once again the light flickered out.

Regan kept a suspicious eye open to see if it would happen again, and after a few moments of inactivity he was sure the problem had solved itself, so he went back to sleep.

 

((00:20))

Suddenly the doors to his quarters swooshed open alarmingly, filling the rest of the room with light, then closed as if it was natural to do so without a command. The shock of bright light awoke Regan instantly. 

He stomped out of bed and approached the door. It didn’t move. He pressed the panel beside it, and the doors parted. Regan peeked out into the corridor. Someone was playing a prank! That had to be it. Someone was messing with the functions in his quarters as some sort of twisted prank. He knew what date it was. October 31st. All Hallows Eve. He was impressed that someone had had the guts to choose him as a target for some Halloween spooky fun. 

Oh, his revenge would be swift and merciless when he found out who was responsible! 

Suddenly the lights in the corridor of Deck 4 flickered from light to dark, eerily. Looking from left to right, there was no one else around. Only him and the flickering corridor lights. They flickered for a few moments then shut off into the blackness all at once and, reluctant to admit he was scared, Regan yelped and ran back to bed and hid.

 

((00:45))

The lights on his personal replicator blinked in sequence. Slowly, carefully, it turned on like it was waking from sleep itself and whirred into existence a pot of hot tea . The replicator chirped a happy little tone to indicate the user should take their requested beverage. Regan heard the sounds and poked his head out from under his pillows. Ok now this was wrong. Something was very wrong.

He watched as the replicator came to life again and dissolved the teapot, replacing it with a bunch of daffodils in a crystal vase.

Wide awake now, he got out of bed and crept barefoot across the room. He checked the replicator functions but was met with an angry concoction of noises and lights. With an annoyed grunt he thumped his fist against the replicator.

Wilde: I’m not scared, you know! Whoever thinks this is funny, I’m not scared and I’m going back to bed!

He called out to his empty quarters. Someone was behind this, he was sure. This had Keneth Nakada written all over it…

Wilde: You hear me, Keneth!? I’m not scared!

The flowers dissolved and the replicator went back into sleep mode. Everything seemed calm. Regan gave a tired but grateful sigh and climbed back into his bed. Suddenly the lights came on in his quarters and started flickering wildly, so too the lights in his bathroom, and the sound of the sonic shower hummed forcefully from the other room.

The replicator bolted into life again and made an orchestra of angry computer sounds so odd it made Regan sit up in bed and gasp at the machine across the room. It gurgled and groaned before it wheezed and spat out a waterfall of bloodwine! With no glass or flagon to catch it, the thick, sickly beverage oozed from the replicator and over the edge, dripping down the wall panel and pooled on the carpet at the foot of his bed.

Regan watched, frozen in terror as the thick liquid oozed closer to him, searching for him. It seemed to be moving, and creeping closer and closer to his bed. A brilliantly dark sea of bloodwine soaked the carpet and pooled around his bed, creeping slowly, still coming for him. His bed was surrounded on all sides by bloodwine, sloshing and bubbling around him like it being brought to the boil by some great heat beneath the floor. He cried out now in fear…

 

((USS Arrow - Deck 4; Regan’s Quarters))

He awoke still yelling. Sweating and panting for breath he almost tumbled off the bed in alarm until he realised the chronometer on his bedside was chiming. He had accidentally reset the alarm function somehow and it showed an alarm call for 00:00 hours.

Wilde: Oh my God...it was a dream?

Placing the clock back in its place he lay back and caught his breath. The replicator was in sleep mode, no signs of expectorated bloodwine. No signs of blinking lights from his bathroom or mysteriously opening doors. Grateful but still unsettled he closed his eyes to try and get some sleep. He started to chuckle at the absurdity of the dream. Ghosts and spooks in this day and age? Get a grip, Regan.

Then the light in his bathroom blinked on and off. 

Regan yelled and grabbed his duvet covers from his bed and ran from his quarters. He ran into the corridor and banged on the closest door to his: Room 2, Maxwell Traenor’s quarters.

He banged and banged with the palm of his hand and pressed the door chime repeatedly, dancing madly from foot to foot in the hope of making the door open sooner. The form of a greatly confused and sleepy Maxwell Traenor appeared in the doorway, obviously disturbed. He looked like a big grumbly bear that had been woken from his hibernation. He looked at the younger Lieutenant carrying his duvet and dressed for bed in his Starfleet issue tank top and shorts with a mix of amusement and confusion.

Wilde: Maxwell! I’m so sorry but… can I sleep in here tonight!? 

 

NT/END

[Top Funny Quotes <-- USS Arrow]

Quote

 

Shayne: What the hell happened? I stepped out less than a minute ago! 

Murkad had already been enraged to begin with- his fury at the other delegates’ willingness to negotiate had pervaded the whole engagement. But he had not seemed outlandishly angry- not for a typical drunken Klingon, that is. Had Wilde said something? One of the other delegates? 

Wilde: General Murkad has decided to leave the conference, sir. He called us... well, I guess you could imagine!

 

It's always MY fault, right Boss! 😇

[NPC Cheldon ch'Doro - Blue Bad Man (And the Bad Man Blues) PART 1 - 3 by Artinus Serinus]

I'm putting this trilogy of sims in because I love how they are written, and how @Artinus Serinus asked one day 'Hey, can I add a character to the Brotherhood' and developed this Andorian machine and fleshed him out like this in a matter of days. I love when sims turn out like this! True attention to detail and love of character. I'm happy to have this guy in my Cult! 😁

 

PART 1

 

(OOC: Long, and dark. Reader discretion, as well as patience, is advised.))

 

Cheldon ch'Doro was a bad man.  Was, being the operative word, or was it? Surely even the gods could forgive him for using his skill and talent for extreme violence in defending their sacred waters.  At the tub, he methodically washed the blood from his clothing, and performed the holy cleansing ritual on his heavily scarred blue form, contemplating the routes his life had taken. 

He'd not always been the one driving, but once he'd seized the wheel in desperation and rage he'd only driven more dangerously, taking even rougher paths, frantically holding down on the accelerator, intoxicated on power and adrenaline. The only redemption, before the real redemption, were the few smooth patches here and there.

 

((Flashback, 36 years ago))

 

((Therinis 4))

 

Therinis 4 was supposed to be a paradise planet. And for a time, the small colony had been a true heaven.  A temperate climate and abundant resources as well as it's location in an emerging trade node brought early prosperity to the small outpost.

 

That was not the Therenis 4 that he had been born on. Nearly a century before, a global crisis in the form of a super volcano had ushered in a global cooling event that darkened the skies and devastated the local economy. The traders and the rest of the better off population fled in their trading skiffs and private shuttles. The rest hunkered down, some as individuals and family units, others in larger ad hoc communities based on race, religion, or ideology.

 

Once the greater Galactic community became aware  of their plight, Federation aid helped to get the colonists through the worst. Andorian families came looking to help, or for adventure, or any other numbers of reasons, attracted to the now Andorian hospitable climate. His great-grandparents had been in this wave of immigrants. 

 

People struggled through the climate crisis, and some of the Andorians grew relatively rich, farming the already fertile and now ash enriched soil outside of the main settlement of Meltown, acclimated to the weather and pocecssing This brought a class component to already growing divisions in the local society. 

 

((Meltown, Dramarkt' district, Saint Damine of Talos Orphanage.))

 

The nun shivered as she opened the doors, someone had rung the front door a few hours after dusk, and she had a good idea what that meant, suspicions confirmed momentarily. A loud, high pitched siren of a scream came from a plastic box, which curiously, didn't have any blankets overhanging it. The blue tint of the baby worried the worn and weary elderly woman, until she noticed it's antennae. Stapled to the box was a note.

 

Dear Sisters, 

The streets are too warm for this one. Work is hard to find, and we all all in ill health. You are this child's only hope. His name is Cheldon ch'Doro.

 

((End Flashback))

 

Cheldon wrapped his cut right triceps in the frawns of the indigenous Trusklani plant, and tied the ends together. The dried leaves, semi-porous, with natural analgesics, were well suited for bandaging. His chest, and left thigh had already been taken care of. Just more scars for the tapestry that was his skin. Cliche as it was to say, each scar told a story.

Left manibubalar bone: The time two older ophans beat him for a pair of leftover rolls he had stashed from dinner at eight years old.

Chest, halfway between the inner right shoulder blade, and the clavicle: Having run away from the orphanage, again, at age twelve fighting back (and winning) against the kid that tried to steal his day's beggings.

The one that sliced inward over his left orbital bone, to his cheek, barely missing the eye itself: Sixteen years old, blessed by puberty to have height and muscle. Illegal knife fighting, to incapatitation, pay out 1 bar of latinum. He had won.

 

All that, and more before he even got off of his home planet. 

 

((Flashback))

 

((19 years ago))

 

((Meltown, Rosedale District, Tripene Square, Melandra's))

 

Seven months had passed since his eye had been cut, and five and a half since his first opponent died during a fight. He had hoarded and expertly hidden every winning since then, for this chance. Melandra's was the gathering place of the upper class man looking for a "courtesan," as they euphemistically called them. The orphan, streetrat, gladiator, killer, was dressed in the finest tailored suit in the place, and while bulky, scarred men weren't the usual type, he was more than exceeding the dress code, and could afford the cover charge, so he was let in.

 

The interior was a delicate balance of old money classy and nuevo-rich tacky. Rich dark leather and wood furniture, and neo-neo-neo classical marble and granite architecture mingled freely with enough neon A.R. to make any establishment on Free Cloud blush. Then there were the slot machines, a city block's worth, each unique, most of them unoccupied. A tiny blond in a skimpy maid outfit, and obviously fake Vulcan ears, wandered around with a silver tray handing out complimentary cigars. As she passed by the entrance, he took one, then accepted her offer to light it off for him.

 

Cigar lit, he thanked her, and began to wander about, himself. He passed the main public  seating areas, then the grand staircase, just taking in the sights, sounds and scents. As he neared the gambling devices, he heard a woman's voice. It was strong, but undeniably sexy.

 

Woman: Pardon me, sir?

He turned back to talk to the woman. An amazonian with a deep tan and flaming red curls, and enough of a forehead ridge to denote some Klingon ancestry. She was dressed in a white Sun Dress with a red rose print, and white heels.

Woman: You have been invited to visit the boss' booth.

 

Why? Was he in trouble?  Clothing aside, a young man of herculean stature did stand out amongst the retired businessmen, and out of town traders. If anything, he was built like a bodyguard.

 

Cheldon: Did they say why?

 

Woman: Not my job to ask questions, kid.

 

Cheldon: I suppose I should go and see.

 

Woman: Very well, follow me.

 

She turned heel before he could reply, and led him to a broom closet behind the grand staircase. She shifted a bottle of bleach a certain way, and the back wall slid open to the right. Ten feet beyond the false wall was an elevator shaft. The woman pushed the button, and they waited about fifteen seconds in silence. Behind them, the false wall had closed back up.

 

The ding that signaled the arrival of the elevator was relatively soft. The doors opened to an opulent elevator, highly buffed onyx floors, and cherrywood walls.  Such elegance to be stuck hidden behind a broom closet. There were only two floor buttons, 1 and 3. This was obviously a specialized transport. The part Klingon woman pushed the 3 button and the lift began it's ascent.

 

Another soft ding signalled their arrival.  And the woman took a right turn. Five doors down, the woman led him right again to the doorless doorway with a sign that read "Private Booths."

 

The leftmost room had a key reader on it. The woman pulled a navy blue card from a hidden pocket on her right hip and placed it flat against the reader, the lock popping open.

 

Woman: Go on in. You're expected.

 

Of course he was. They'd literally invited him just now. But he'd figure out soon why being expected was so important.

 

Cheldon walked into the room. It was set up like any private booth, with one-way windows that opened on the establishment below, polished white marble floors, and the actual booth wedged in the corner so that the occupant, a portly, pale human man could see all the goings on of the first floor. As Cheldon passed the threshold, the man spoke.

 

Man: Welcome to Melandra's.

 

This man didn't look like a Melandra to him.

 

Cheldon: I wasn't expecting an invitation like this. . .

 

Man: Not every top rated knife fighter has the foresight to save their money up to visit an establishment of this quality. And I've never seen one so young figure it out.

 

This man had seen him fight? Or maybe one of the burly women and men milling about in suits was his talent scout.

 

Cheldon: I figured after all the hardships I deserved a nice night out.

 

The man grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

 

Man: Well, I'm sorry, I'm only familiar with your ring name, Victor Champ.

 

It was a cheesy name sure, but one he strived to live up to, and generally did.

 

Cheldon: My name is Cheldon. 

 

Man: Well, Cheldon, what if I told you that you could have nice things from now on?

 

Cheldon: You'd have my attention.

 

Man: One of my bodyguards has recently had an unfortunate accident.

 

Cheldon wasn't so sure how unfortunate it was, or how accidental, but he wasn't going to let the man know that. Not when he sounded like he was going to offer him a job, not with a dozen other bodyguards around.

 

Cheldon: I see. And you are looking for a replacement?

 

Man: Indeed I am. You catch on quick. I like people who adapt quickly. I'd like to offer you a spot.

 

Cheldon: I'm interested, with such a strong lead up, and all.

 

Man: Ah yes, nice things. A week's pay is about one fight for someone your tier, but you get in-house lodging, use of the  kitchen and the chef, the in-house tailor will fit you for a weeks worth of suits once per year, as well as help you pick an off duty wardrobe.

 

Cheldon: The girls?

 

The man snort chortled, he snortled. 

 

Man: Should have guessed. What you and the other employees do with your own time is your business, but on the clock is a big no no. And don't let your performance suffer. The ones who aren't looking for a husband tend to prefer this bunch to the rich grandpas that usually hang around here.

 

Cheldon closed his eyes.

 

Cheldon: This sounds a little good to be true, so far.

 

Man: There are 10 hour work days, and 6 day work weeks, not to mention occasional off world trips.

 

Opening his eyes again, he replied.

 

Cheldon: That sounds a bit more realistic. When can I start?

 

Man: Tonight. Your first shift will start at 8 A.M. tomorrow. But we can have your room and other accommodations set up immediately.

 

Cheldon: Alright.

 

Man: Go back out and tell the woman who escorted you in that have been hired. She will guide you from there.

 

Cheldon: Yes sir.

 

Cheldon left the room, met by the redhead in the hallway.

 

Of course, it was hardly that easy. He had unwittingly signed up to guard the local New Orion Syndicate boss. Potential gang wars were always possible, and law enforcement was always poking around. More than once they had to rush the boss, Antone LeFoi, out before the police could find him.

 

But he was given everything that he had been promised, plus more. Some of his co-workers were ex-military of various varieties, so he received quality training in weapons and tactics, as well as more comprehensive and systematic hand to hand training. It was the best his life had ever been, even if that bar was low.

 

((End Flashback))

 

PART 2

((Theta 122, Brotherhood Camp, Baths))

As Cheldon toweled off, he continued to recall his past.

Cheldon had enjoyed his time at the upscale Brothel, and for the first time in his life, things felt like they were going well.

All good things must end. Another cliche, but just as true. 

((Flashback: 17 years ago.))

((Therenis 4, Meltown, Rosedale District, Tripene Square, Melandra's, Owner's Booth))

Donnie Marlino, was the underboss in charge of the local drug trade. A boorish braggart that loved to boast that he came from a long line of organised crime. He, tanned, unhealthily thin, with his thinning, and graying black hair, and goofy soul patch, was in the booth next to the boss yammering at him.

Donnie: You know, my family has been in the biz since my great however many grandpa was made by the Gambino family in the 1970s.

He pronounced every syllable of the decade distinctly "Nine teen sev en tees."

Everyone knew that. Anthony mentioned it at least once in every conversation, stated in the exact same sentence, with the exact same odd pacing for the 1970s. A canned line if Cheldon had ever heard one.

Like his ancestry could compensate for him being just the local underboss of a throw away little planet with only one real settlement. A Duke in a Kingdom of slums, feeding the diseases of the filth covered peasantry for his lord's enrichment. But what did that make him?

Existential questions aside, Cheldon wanted to roll his eyes, but he dare not offend one of the boss' lackies.

oO Yeah, yeah. Get a new shtick, Tony. Oo

Even the bosses' face relayed his annoyance with his underling's penchant for running his mouth quicker than his brain. Finally, Anton LeFoi got tired of it.

Anton: Donnie, you never stop telling that story. Get some new material.  You need to think less about the glory days of the New York Italian Mafia, and more about why sales in your department are down by 7 percent this quarter!

Donnie stammered, then replied.

Donnie: We're doing some reshuffling. Lost lots of the old guys to cops. . .

Antone: No excuses. Get the new guys up to speed. Yesterday, you son of a wh. . .

Donnie Marlino had killed every man that had ever talked bad about his mother, and the fact that man doing it now was his supervisor didn't do a thing to stop the rapidly building rage. In one quick motion he reached for one of the steak knifes on the table.

3. . .

Donnie leaned down and extended his right arm out, grasping the handle of the serrated knife next to his plate.

Several of the bodyguards present around the room, drew their sidearms. Cheldon's was a Klingon disruptor pistol of a model that had left active service about 50 years prior.

2. . . 

Donnie simultaneously sat up and spun his waist inward turning his knife arm toward Antone's porcine form.

Sidearms were raised and leveled on the attacker, and triggers squeezed.

1. . .

With one fluid motion, the thin man managed to drag the serrated edges of the knife diagonally downward and leftward over the fat man's throat. Before his body dissolved away in a hail of fire that impacted so quickly that no-one could determine whose shot hit first.

The immediate threat eliminated, the pack of bodyguards went to render first aid, and as soon as the kit was delivered from it's storage place on the back wall, they set to bandaging the cuts without applying too much pressure to the neck. One of the others called the local mob doctor, and he rushed over there, walking them through the procedure on the call as he drove over.

Twas just a flesh wound. Donnie had missed the important stuff. Donnie Marlino had killed every man that had ever talked bad about his mother,  except one.

No-one saw what happened next coming. But had they taken the boastful little gremlin's tales of connection seriously, they might have.

((Time skip: 5 days.))

He was surely dead. This was the hell that the nuns had warned him about. It was all here. So was he, and he deserved it all. Even if he didn't deserve the things that drove him to it.

The unbearable dancing flames, the smoke, the gut wrenching screams. Oh God, the screaming.

((Melandra's, Cheldon's room))

((3:06 A.M.))

Cheldon sat up with a start, it was just a dream. Involuntary inhaling, his lungs were not filled with air at all, but smoke. Just like the dream. He rolled off of his bed onto the floor and began crawling towards his door as fire consumed his room. Breathing again, he got oxygen, as the smoke was gathering above him.

oO Oh God, the screaming. Oo

He made it to the door, and foolishly reached for the handle. A third degree burn on his right palm the payment for his folly. Flinching in agony and momentarily joining the cursed chorus of scresms, he withdrew the hand, and willed himself to stand, holding his breath.

He walked backwards and ran forwards, shoulder slamming the door. Once, twice, three times, before the hinges buckled and he was in the hallway.

He made his way back to his knees, and began to crawl again, toward the nearest secret staircase. 

Not risking another hand burn, he shoulder rammed the door to the stairs, until it too gave way. He stooped low as he began his descent. Halfway down the second flight, Cheldon was violently tossed forward, tumbling over, by a fallen support beam. 

Laying there, the last thing he remembered thinking was that now he'd be seeing that hell for real.

((End of Flashback))

Seems that crime did pay. Until it didn't.  But that literal and figurative crucible hadn't been enough to straighten him out.  

Cheldon pulled his pants up, and buttoned the fly as he recalled in quick succession the hospital stay, the year and a half of laying low, the revenge scheme, the ensuing gang war it led up to, and the inevitable arrest. It was more of a surprise that he hadn't been arrested before.

Prison. That was it's own thing.

PART 3

((Theta 122, Brotherhood Camp, Baths))

 

Pants buttoned and zipped, the beefy Andorian began to pull his black undershirt on. Scenes of prison filling his mind. 

 

((Flashback 13 years))

 

((Therenis 4, Cardin Island, Bilsby Correctional Facility. 50 miles from Beltown.))

 

Therenis 4 had never applied for Federation membership, despite the aid that had pulled the colony through it's toughest times, and the fact that most of the original and subsequent settlers were from Federation worlds. There were many reasons, remoteness, heavy amounts of unrest, the total lack of a global government. 

 

Beltown didn't even have a city government. Each district of the sprawling slumtropolis was practically it's own entity. One thing that was the common thread throughout the city was Drako Security Inc. They were a private police farce that had monopolized the law enforcement and prison industries throughout the city, and therefore the planet. Drako contracted with whoever had the most power in a district, as long as they tried to put on the face of a legitimate government. They had even helped coup districts to install more friendly leadership.

 

Drako enforcement officers had arrested him and other former LeFoi associates after the gang war. The plan to avenge the burning of Melandra's and all the senseless deaths it had caused, including that of their former employer himself, had been targeted assassinations. The guilty parties, members of the New Orion Syndicate from other planets had almost caused a civil war within the organization sector-wide.  Only a negotiated settlement from higher ups had ended the blood shed. Of the two dozen LeFoi bodyguards who had been in on the scheme, he was one of three who had sat at the peace talks alive. Funnily enough, the only Orions present were from the mother organization.

 

That had been off planet, on a Syndicate frigate orbiting an uninhabited moon of an uninhabitable planet,  a few systems over.

 

Once they got home, and none of them had a real reason to return in the first place, Drako S.I. sprung their trap. Fifty armed, literal rent-a-cops, surrounded their shuttle and popped tear gas into the rear port as they were exiting. For good measure, each was hit with the stun setting from  one of Drako's antique surplus phasers.

 

When Cheldon came to, he was moving, yet restrained, being wheeled on an industrial dolly, by a man a foot shorter, and a hundred and fifty pounds lighter. His hands were cuffed behind him, on the back side of the dolly's middle bar. His midsection, from arm pits to hips, was wrapped in thick chains, wrapped elaborately behind the right bar, in front of the middle bar, then behind the left bar dozens of times. On his ankles were mantaciles straight out of 1400s earth binding his legs to the outer bars of the dolly.

 

He was wheeled up a ramp, and the dolly was lowered to the ground on the elevated platform it led to. Next to it, on the ground level, and nearly level with it was a heavy duty ambulance litter. Behind that, was a full body X-Ray. This was when they stunned Cheldon again.

 

Cheldon's next return to consciousness found him in a concrete room with a sonic shower, and a metal door on both the front and back walls. A loudspeaker in the top right corner of the front wall spoke up as he began to stir.

 

Voice: Five minute shower, no longer.  Then the back door will open, and you will step through it. Understand inmate 97561?

 

Cheldon:'Yeah.

 

There was no answer from the voice.

 

The back door led to another small room, much narrower. Another metal door waited on the other side. Between them was another device that looked similar to the full body X-Ray that he had been knocked out for.

 

The same voice, came from a different speaker, in the same general part of the current room.

 

Voice: Step in inmate 97561.

 

Cheldon did do, and the inner arm of the device orbited him.

 

Voice: Step out inmate 97561

 

 

Cheldon did as we was told. They had brilliantly devised ways to keep the guards from having to interact in person. 

 

The back door of the second room opened, and he was spoke at again.

 

Voice: Enter the next room, inmate 97561.

 

Cheldon did, and surprise, surprise, another metal door on the back. On the left, near the front was a box that looked like one of the mailboxes people had once built into walls, but much bigger. Three feet further back, and two feet to the right of that, was a simple wooden bench. 

 

Voice: Take your uniform from the box, and put it on. Leave your civilian clothes on the bench, inmate 97561.

 

Cheldon wanted to tell him where he could stick every article of clothing, but what good would that do? He snorted, but complied.

 

Voice: Next room inmate 97561.

 

The back door led to a room within a room. A simple, clear booth inside a doctor's office. There was another wooden bench to the right of the door he entered from.

 

Voice: Take a seat inmate 97561.

 

After several minutes, the doctor, flanked by two guards in full tactical gear, approached the booth. The shorter guard opened the door from his side, and the voice gave Cheldon the go ahead.

 

Voice: Exit the booth, inmate 97561.

 

After a quick sit on the biobed, and a couple dozen light scans, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health, and before Cheldon could lecture him on the Hippocratic Oath, the doctor popped him with an injector of sleep aid.

 

Cheldon woke to the hard bunk of his new cell, curled up in a bed meant for a smaller man.

 

((End Flashback)) 

 

Socks, check. Shoes, check. Now as he donned his Brotherhood robe, the memories of prison kept flooding in.

 

The first unwritten rule of prison was to find the biggest and toughest looking inmate and fight him, so no-one would mess with you. Cheldon was constantly fighting, never starting it, but consistently coming out on top. Most used weapons, the smarter new fish would sneak attack him. The really smart ones would all jump him together. But he routinely took out around three or four before they won.

 

No matter who started it, there was a no tolerance policy for violence among inmates.  And every fight led to solitary confinement. There was little reprieve. Weeks of harrowing isolation, followed by perhaps a few days of relative normality, then a short outburst of thrilling violence usually lasting less than a minute, and the cycle repeated itself. This was his life for the better part of a decade and a half. Then the riot came, and while it damned so many others, it sent him along the path of redemption.

 

((Flashback Five Months ago))

 

Cheldon was in solitary again, after seven new guys jumped him, and then spending a week in the medical block. He had knocked out three, and one of those had died in the medical block, five hours after the fight from complications related to internal bleeding. Modern medicine was beyond the budget of Drako S.I.'s corrections division.

 

He had no idea when, where, why, or how, it started. But sometime in the early morning one day, the automatic door to his cell abruptly slid open.

 

Over the loudspeaker a voice came on. It wasn't the voice that was usually on the speaker, but it seemed familiar. 

 

Voice: Riot, riot! The prisoners are in charge! We've had enough of these inhumane conditions. We're taking over!

 

Well, that was a pleasant surprise so early in the day. Shielding his eyes from the burning light, he exited his dark cell and began to wander towards general population, and his normal designated cell on F block. Turning the first corner, he came upon several inmates assaulting Officer Dernis. Cheldon grunted an amused chuckle. The half-Romulan guard was a massive [...], on a power trip 24-7. Dernis was getting what he'd been deserving for the seven years he'd been working here, and probably long before that.

 

Cheldon: If you hit him slightly softer you can make it last longer.

 

Cheldon had heard Dernis give this very advice, word for word, to a new guard who was politely put, interrogating a prisoner a few months back. And just to get the point across, the Andorian had given the advice to his fellow prisoners in his best impersonation of the guard's voice.

 

Walking away immediately, he called back, without turning back.

 

Cheldon: Wait for me in Hell, Officer Dernis. We'll swap stories, share a round of the Devil's best tequila.

 

He came across plenty of other Officers being assaulted. But none of them he had hated as much as Dernis. And the ones he could stand, well he didn't like any of them enough to stop the momentum of the moment. 

 

As he neared F Block, the new local voice talent returned.

 

Voice: We have liberated the Armsroom! Free riot gear, and weaponry for all our brothers and sisters. First come first serve, but don't get greedy!  

 

((End Flashback))

 

Cheldon straightened his robe, then pulled the hood up over his antennae.  He closed his eyes and inhaled.

 

 ((Flashback after the escape))

 

The lake was at least five miles in any direction from the shores of the island, and less fit individuals might not have made it. But that wasn't all. There were about ten miles of open plains between the shores of the lake and any semblance of a hiding spot, en route to Meltown. A weaker man would have collapsed after the constant running. A cave in the first forest he came upon was enough shelter for the night.

 

((Time skip 1 month))

Cheldon had stolen a civilian shuttle he found parked outside of Meltown, and booked it for space.  Not sure where to flee to, he decided to check out the flight plan of the former owner.  A little world called Theta 122 where his victim was to deliver energy cells for a new solar array. Better yet, he ascertained that the people  there were unfamiliar with the man, and didn't even know his name. And hey, the cells were already loaded. Cheldon hoped it was payment on delivery, but if it hadn't been, he would have made due. Anywhere but home, he thought. Now he was approaching his destination. He never knew what caused the crash in the desert, but looking back in hindsight, it could have only been the gods guiding him to his redemption.

 

TBC

 

Cheldon ch'Doro

Lay Warrior

Brotherhood of Thet

 

[Top Funny Quotes <-- USS Arrow]

Seriously, I'm worried the Captain's gonna have a heart attack by the end of this mission!

[2020 Halloween Avatar Contest: Arrow check-in]

Wilde: Someone said this years theme was Men in Tights! Hey, Keneth? How are my seams?

Nakada: Perfect.

Wilde: Ha! Every time!

 

- Wil(de) Scarlet, Merry Man #3

[JP Lieutenant JG Elizabeth Snow & Lieutenant Commander Ishkabella Journs - A Difficult Autopsy]

Excellent work! Really enjoyed this.

[Top Funny Quotes <-- USS Arrow]

Quote

 

Wilde: Don't look at me, I'm staying in uniform. You said time is of the essence and I simply don't have enough time to scour through my entire wardrobe for something distracting to wear.

 

Shayne’s mind involuntarily led him to an image of Wilde in a pair of Starfleet-issue skants. He hated skants, and the fact that they were still permitted by Starfleet regulations was something he regretted. Silly things; showing forty percent of your body while traversing through space with nothing but a fragile ship around your flesh to protect you? Wilde seemed like just the sort of free spirit to find them appealing. He scowled and smiled tightly. 

 

 

Another CO seemingly obsessed with Starfleet skants... 

[Several interrelated sims from the Arrow to absolutely break your heart: Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - What a Way to End a Night, Cmdr Traenor - A Grave and Important Responsibility, and Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde - The Mirror of a Man]

Aww you guys! 🥰

[Top Funny Quotes <-- USS Arrow]

Thank you, I'm here all week! Be sure to tip your waitress...

I was equally fond of:

Quote

Wilde: ::Chuckling:: Relax, Jack the Ripper. I'm kidding. But seriously ::He motioned to the food.:: There are Targ Breeding Kennels on the planet Qo'noS that don't smell as bad as that. Sort it out, ok?

😇

 

[Poll of the Week: Best Double Act of the Series]

I go for Bashir and O'Brien too. Their friendship was brilliant.

 

"I love my wife!"

"I know. I'm just saying you like spending time with me, more..."

[Lieutenant Artinus Serinus - Targlet acquisition]

PRINCESS SNUFFLETUSKS!

😍😍

[Ensign Regan Wilde & Counsellor R'Ariel [JP] - The Painting on the Wall]

I wanted to add this here to show my appreciation for @R'Ariel and to say thank you for such a fun JP. This was very fun to collaborate on and I LOVE the ending. Thanks!!

---

((USS Arrow - Deck 3; Counselling Suite))

Regan arrived a little ahead of the scheduled time for his first counselling session aboard the Arrow. It was ironic that a battleship like the Arrow had a counselling suite but no elaborate leisure facilities. Still, he imagined the past crews, particularly those of the Dominion War, would have issues they needed to work out. Regan had never seen war, yet still needed the opportunity to talk, and air his emotions from time to time.

He pressed the chime and waited to be called in.

R'Ariel: oOThat would be Regan.Oo

The diminutive half Caitian half Deltan smiled. Their first encounter had been perfectly timed, a rapier wit that cut through the very tense air in the sick bay.

R'Ariel: Please come in, Regan.

R'Ariel - smiling - ushered the young Ensign in. She glanced around the suite, joining in his observations, even if it wasn't a new experience for her, it was for him.

The Counselling Suite was very different to the rest of the ship. It had personality, rather than the dull metallic corridors he was used to seeing every day. Much to the thanks of Counsellor R'Ariel, he wondered. This was supposed to be a safe space after all. It was very bright and inviting, and upon entering he found the Caitian/Deltan officer already seated.

Wilde: Good day, Counsellor!

R'Ariel: A pleasure to see you again.

Wilde: I hope you're settled in nicely aboard. I understand you had joined the crew slightly before me.

R'Ariel: Chronologically that is true, I think our mutual friend, Nurse Sivok would affirm.

R'Ariel winked, and gestured for him to sit. He took a seat on the long comfortable sofa. 

Wilde: I suppose I should start by apologising for the little scene in Sickbay the other day. I should have learned by now never to try and match wits with a Vulcan.

R'Ariel: And disappoint the Vulcans?  Why do you think Vulcans take assignments surrounded by us emotional creatures?

Regan chuckled. He was sure Sivok was a good sport really.

Wilde: So, shall we address the findings of the ever-astute Ensign Sivok and my humourous defense mechanisms, or shall we go straight to the elephant in the room?

R'Ariel: I think we should address the prospect for coffee, tea or... juice?

R'Ariel: oO 101 in alcoholic counseling, alcoholics relax better with a drink... Non alcoholic drinks of course oO.

R'Ariel: I for one am going to have some Bahgol.

Wilde: In that case I'll take a cup of Tarkalean tea, extra sweet.

Regan lay back on the comfortable couch. His eyes were drawn to a painting on the other side of the room. He liked it, but couldn't say why. It seemed to be an abstract of some kind. Definitely not of human creation. He supposed he had better get used to spending more time in the room. Though his counselling sessions weren't mandatory, he liked to keep them regularly. They did help, though the compulsory substance test in his physical left a bad taste in his mouth.

Wilde: The long and short of it is clear, Counsellor. I am an alcoholic. I can say the words, I can admit it, though I wasn't quite ready for the crew to find out so quickly. It's still a stigma that tends to follow me around...

R'Ariel: Follows you around, you say? In Sickbay earlier I shared with you my heritage, half Caitian. Which means, wherever I go, there is a "tail".

She smirked, drawing out her tail from behind the desk, and let it dance about briefly before resuming to speak.

R'Ariel: And just like a tale, it is often outside your direct control, AND just like a tail, it may always be with you, around you ::she pulled her tail around her body:: it does not definite you, it is mere a single semblance of a part of you, but your choices ::she forcefully tucked her tail behind her desk:: are yours and that is the greater truth by which we know ourselves, and then are known by others.

Regan couldn't help but smile. He liked the Counsellor. She was direct, honest and playful. All attributes he needed right now in his life. And she certainly had a point. But the truth of the matter was nothing to do with outward appearances, more perceptions.

Wilde: Agreed, but to my knowledge, there is no shame attached to having a tail because of your genetic heritage. We don't discriminate because races look different. When I first came on board I read through the crew manifest. There was Ensign R'Ariel, ship's counsellor, Caitian. So I knew to expect a different physical appearance from most of the crew. Lt.Commander Eerie is a Brikar, so I know he will look incredibly different than most of his peers. When you look at my crew profile, you see Regan Wilde, male, human. Nothing so out of the ordinary. Human, as basic as H2O. But then you get to know me, and the truth comes out. I have had an alcohol dependency. Then perceptions change. People begin to wonder what happened. Am I safe to be around? Can I go into the mess hall when there's alcohol being served? Is there a certain way to talk to me about it? And the most damning question of all - how long before I relapse?

He spoke truthfully and as openly as he could. He had been ashamed of it before, and he still was. When he'd tried to make friends at the academy and they'd often invite him to social gatherings, the usual student hangouts - bars, cafes, parties. Then as soon as they realised the temptation he would be under, the invites stopped.

R'Ariel: Sounds like a real battle.

Wilde: Every day is a battle. A battle with myself. I can go to bars. I can be in the mess hall if someone orders alcohol. That doesn't bother me. But I know if I let my guard down and have one drink, I am at the mercy of temptation. One drink leads to another. And I don't go crazy drunk, I'm not dancing on tables making a fool of myself. Sometimes I wish that was the case. I just literally don't stop. I've spent many hours just drinking. Drinking to function. Drinking to forget. Drinking to make it through the day. The academy was tough on me - the first time that is. At the time I wasn't ready for such regimented structure. I needed... something just to get through classes.

R'Ariel nodded solemnly, as she listened, as she felt this conflicted security officer, as an empath felt. The experience was deep, and meaningful in a person and now shared way.

Wilde: In a way, synthehol is worse. It gives all the attributes of alcohol without the effects. It's like... ::He thought for words.:: If I have enough synthehol, my brain will want to seek out the real thing. I don't know if I'm making myself clear. ::He gave a small chuckle.:: It's like my mind recognises the addictive substances, and so craves it. Even though it's not present in the liquid itself, it's like a muscle memory. Pretty soon I'd be looking for the alcohol to satisfy the need. So I just steer clear. If we were to have a party on the ship now, I'd stick to juice.

R'Ariel: Addictions are often a silent struggle, recognized within ourselves when we have the courage to confront them. Your dedication is admirable Regan. There is a lot that can be said about addiction...

Wilde: Even after hundreds of years of research, addiction is still quite a mystery for some people. I've tried several medical tests for it. I spoke to a doctor on Earth about anti-intoxicants. I've never tried them though, I've been too afraid.  Afraid they won't work. Or afraid they will. It seems like I'd be cheating, somehow. Does that make sense? 'Oh it's ok, the alcoholic can drink now there's a magic potion that stops him getting too out of it'. It seems like a cheat.

R'Ariel: It is my experience, the only true cheating of life we experience is denying ourselves choices that may improve our life.

She shifted in her chair so she could get a view of the abstract art that had attracted Mr Wilde's attention earlier.  She directed his attention back to the art.

R'Ariel: If I may, I want to ask you a very different question, and then we can return to this very thing if that is okay with you.

Wilde: Of course

R'Ariel: I want you to tell me what you see in this art.  Put all your focus on it.  ::pausing as she sipped her meaty-tea:: Now tell me about it.

Regan tilted his head to one side as he studied the painting. It was a curious thing. He had no idea of the origin of the artwork, no clue who painted it, or what civilization the artist came from. It was definitely abstract, and in the bold, colourful strokes of paint Regan saw a man. Or a male-like figure.

Wilde: I find the image very masculine. The form, the use of colour and the intensity of the brush on the canvas. The form seems like a man to me. A man, mixed with lighter, brighter strokes. Like… caught in a transporter beam.

R'Ariel: Now keep your attention on the art, and close your eyes, and now tell me what you think the message in this art is.

Regan did as he was told. He closed his eyes and his mind immediately recreated the painting in his head. He thought very carefully, his mind dissecting the image and trying to patch in a meaning to it.

Wilde: Well, I’d be happier if I knew more about the piece.

R'Ariel: You know what they say, in art, there is no wrong answer, just share what you feel.

Wilde: The man is very strong. He’s big, bold; a provider, a hunter, maybe? But he’s caught in this light. It might be light, or it might be energy, or it might represent energy? Maybe mental energy. He’s not bathed in it, he’s trapped. It has a hold of him. But the man is strong, and he’s breaking free. He’s escaping. He’s coming out of the light and into his own space.

Regan opened his eyes. He suddenly had a flash of clarity. He gave a big smile to the Caitian/Deltan counsellor.

Wilde: I think I get the message now, R’Ariel. 

She smiled brightly. This is why she became a counselor, and one of those times being an empath was so rewarding, she could practically bathe in the warmth of his clarity.

R’Ariel: Guess that means I was right about you. So proud to know you, and I am glad we have someone of your courage keeping watch over this ship.

Wilde: It’s amazing that all that came from one painting, but I guess we see what we really think.

R’Ariel: Indeed. There is no power in that art, the convictions and courage are yours. Just try to keep that image alive in your eyes when you need it.  

Wilde: I guess I can live with that. I suppose I do live within my own personal shroud of negative energy. ::He sighed.:: I’m not an unconfident person. I’m quite outgoing, but I do often doubt my own potential. Especially when it comes to Starfleet. Sometimes I feel like an imposter in this uniform.

R’Ariel: I don't know a person on this ship who demonstrates a greater right to the courageous security-gold than you Mr Wilde. I hope you can accept that as the truth that I see.

Regan nodded and sipped his Tarkalean tea. It was nice being able to relax in this space. He liked the Counsellor very much, and looked forward to more visits, taking tea and talking about a variety of things. He had enjoyed the art therapy technique and was glad she didn’t opt for more intrusive, or telepathic modes of counseling. The last thing he needed right now was to relive some bad memories from the not-so-distant past.

R'Ariel: oO Now where did that painting come from? Oo

She nonchalantly turned so she could stare at the art herself. The little secret buried in the 4-foot counselor was, she had no idea where this painting came from. Another gift from the previous occupants no doubt...

R'Ariel: oO What do I see? Oo

Her tail swayed gently.

END

Ensign Regan Wilde

Security

USS Arrow

C237708DW0

&

Ensign R'Ariel

Counsellor

USS Arrow

J239706R10  

[Graduating class of 239708.31]

Congrats and welcomes! 

[Poll of the Week: Exploring New Genres And Boldly Going Where No Trek Show Has Gone Before]

I voted for Line of Klingon Duty, but really I want to see something like Miami Vice with Klingons,  or the typical buddy-cop aspect. One the rookie new cop, the other the grizzled old warrior a week away from honoured retirement 😂

[Graduating class of 239708.17]

Thank you guys for a great training voyage! I don't think I'll listen to Vera Lynn the same way ever again... 😜

[Star Trek: Lower Decks!]

I'm keen to watch it. Hopefully it arrives in the UK soon!

[Starfleet Marriage Regulations]

Marriage Term!? Starfleet recommends a marriage for one year if it's you're first marriage as a trial.

Lol

"I'd like a marriage for two and half years please. It's my first marriage and I'd like to make sure I like it..."

Astounding.

I think the medical exams and blood works etc would be in case of procreation. It's been noted a few times in the shows that certain species simply cannot have children with each other because the DNA just isn't compatible.

[Star Trek '09]

And why do the '09 Romulans all have no hair and tribal tattoo's??

[Future Uniforms]

I quite like the future uniforms, takes it back to the TOS days in a way, but I'm not a fan of the com. badge. But I agree with Hutch that it was nice bringing it in to play in all the later series. It kinda does suggest that Starfleet will use that uniform some day.

I also like the options in ST:O for uniforms, but I think there are too many choices.

As for The Motion Picture uniforms, now they were tacky. I think I'd resign my commission if I were forced to wear those!

And count me in for the fuzzy slippers. Standing all day in those boots are killing my feet!