Alora DeVeau

@Alieth has introduced this lovely character arc involving her deceased lover (don't even try to deny it, Alieth) who was killed and his katra placed in @Geoffrey Teller in order to preserve it. Here, we see that Vulcans are not devoid of emotion, and though the display isn't as overt as perhaps one might see in a human, I can't help but connect emotionally to Sern and Alieth. ((Bridge, Deck 1, USS Veritas)) Sern: I do not choose the places. They never last long. Days - sometimes hours. It was fortunate I came across this one. The bridge jolted around them. On the screen, the nose of the Veritas pitched towards the planet, its rings and moons taking up more and more of the screen. Alieth: Then choose a location, hold on to it. This bouncing from one memory to another is putting Geoff in danger. Her voice came softly, stating the glaringly obvious. He’d figured that out weeks ago - back on the holodeck. When he first began to withdraw. His reply was quick and curt. Sern: I am aware that Geoffrey John is in danger, and I am telling you that my actions are not the cause. She straightened up and blinked several times.There was another long pause, as he considered putting his hypothesis forward. Sern: I … I believe it may be my presence. It made sense. Carrying the katra of another, the essence and full memories of another Vulcan required a toll. A Vulcan could adapt - given enough time and mental discipline. A Human could not. The Human brain was simply not constructed to bear the weight of the katra. And they both knew it. She held out her hand. A smile etched softly across her face. It was a gesture that comforted and alarmed him in equal measure. Alieth: Then come back to me. Just as it used to be. You and me. Sern looked from her hand to the surprisingly eager expression on her face and back again. Could it be done? Could he return? Such transfers had happened - but in a matter of days, not weeks. And certainly not months… The damage he was wreaking on his Human host was obvious, more than obvious. Was it the same for a Vulcan? Were they just better at hiding it? Yet, more importantly - what would be the consequences of returning now? Sern: No. ::he paused, the word coming through a little too harshly:: I cannot - we cannot. She took a step back. The starship shook around them. Panels fell from the ceiling, a cascade of sparks burst from the viewscreen before a rift split it in half, extinguishing the view of space. With a pop and a flash, everything forward of the helm snapped out of existence, the blur closing in. A crack spread out between the two Vulcans, narrow, but tearing them apart. Alieth: I do not understand. Why? Why not? The rift deepened, spreading across the bridge to the point where the illusion ended, and curving around to split the ceiling above. Sern: This place is unraveling - come with me! Jump! She tried to reach for him, arms outstretched in front of her. The crevice broadened suddenly under her feet and she was forced to stop at the edge of the abyss, her goal forgotten in a vain attempt to keep her balance on the edge. He took a half-step closer, held back by a familiarity with the calamity the Edge could hold. At the other end lay another memory - some good, some bad. With an unraveling as violent as this: almost certainly bad. Alieth: Sern!?!?!?! His hand snapped out in one final effort to catch hers. Sern: He must be pulling you back - I shouldn’t - I knew this couldn’t last… JUMP!! Despite his words, despite her efforts, she fell. The blur around the edges deepened - the line between existence and darkness rapidly disintegrating until- Nothing. ((The Brew Continuum, Deck 4, USS Veritas)) ((Not Blowing Up)) The silence was deafening after the sound-and-fury departure of the last world. Slowly, the space filled with a soft backdrop of white noise: the clatter of cups, the occasional hiss of steam from the equipment, the blended chatter of voices. No conversation could clearly be distinguished. After all, neither the Vulcan nor the Human knew what had been said. The room itself began to take shape - a close, tight arrangement of tables and beings. Some, Sern knew from his last trip here, belonged. Others, not so much. Good. He’d stumbled onto a haven. Slowly, a table began to take shape in front of him. Sern found himself sitting before he could fully recall the place, a mug appearing in his hand. From the depths of the vessel rose a distinct aroma, borne on the tendrils of steam that snaked their way up to his nostrils. The Vulcan hated to admit it. He was beginning to grow fond of that vile, brown liquid… [End Scene?] __________ Sern of Vulcan Katra Reluctant Coffee Drinker E239602QD0

I really enjoyed the sarcasm and banter in this JP between @Anton Richards, @Kellan Glass, and @Wes Greaves. A fun read, y'all! IC: ((Main Corridor, Deck 6, USS Thor)) Wes Greaves strolled down the corridor, a towel tossed over his shoulder and his face red from exertion. Small beads of sweat rolled past his eyes and with a single motion he wiped them away with the towel. It’d been a good run. Despite the ship looking generally the same, Wes had wanted to get away from the beaten path of Deck 9 and run somewhere else. Running circles on Deck 6 looked generally the same, but felt a little different. More importantly, it reminded the crew that there were Marines aboard. To Wes, it contributed to the friendly rivalry between the Marines and their sister departments. A way to say We’re here, and we’re getting ready for the next crisis. Are you? Another bead of sweat and another flick of the towel put an end to it. Wes could feel his heart rate starting to return to normal as he made his way to a turbolift. He didn’t recognize many of the faces he saw in the corridors on this deck, which made the face nearby jump out at him. A dozen meters to Wes’s front and walking in the opposite direction, he spotted someone that he thought he recognized from somewhere. The man was familiar, but Wes was having trouble placing the name. After a second, it finally came to him. Ensign Richards. One of the new joins that checked in when Wes was in command of the Thor. Security if he remembered correctly. As the two closed the distance on each other, Wes plastered his signature smile on his face. Greaves: Ensign Richards. I see you’re starting to get settled in. Anton, who was deeply engrossed in his padd, jumped a bit at Greaves’s greeting. Richards: I… Yes Sir! It’s been quite the experience. Talk about getting dropped right into the action! Although I feel that as soon as I got on the ship I was already leaving. I’m looking forward to returning to duty. Greaves: Good to hear. I’d like to say checking into a new ship isn’t always like that, but I had a similar experience a while back. Richards: Oh really? Well I’d love to hear about it sometime Sir. Greaves: I just finished up with a workout, but I’m starving. Care to join me for breakfast? I could tell you all about it. It took almost every muscle in Anton’s body to stop the smirk of accomplished that attempted to protrude from Anton’s skull upon getting invited to breakfast with the Chief Security Officer. Some things really did just fall into Anton’s lap. Having just ate Anton makes the only obvious judgment call. Richards: Absolutely Sir! I’m starving. After you. ::gestures forward:: Kel was wandering, wandering and thinking were two things that he tried to make time for. Vulcans had their meditating, but Kel prefered to move and think. With Kel’s Tactical role onboard being one where you had to think quickly and work on your wits, he had to make sure that he allowed time for contemplating and taking his time with decisions in almost every other aspect of his life. A ship as huge as the Thor was a great place to wander, its arching corridors seemingly stretching on for miles as they ran their course around the ship. Kel was contemplating what the ship’s doctor had dropped on him and his mind was racing. As he reached a junction, he let his feet do the deciding as he pondered on exactly what could have warranted a memory reconstruction. On autopilot Kel turned the corner and ran straight into two officers coming the other way. Glass: Ouufff...Sorry::Looking at the two officers:: Sir’s….::Then noticing that the two were the most familiar members of the crew he had met so far:: Ahh Anton! ::Nodding at Ensign Richards, then straightening up a little more:: Captain! Wes laughed softly and shook his head back and forth a bit seeing the Ensign. Memories of his first meeting with Fleet Captain Kells flooded his mind, although that encounter had been slightly less sweaty…. Or had it? Looking the Ensign over, there was now plainly a wet spot on the man’s chest where Wes’s sweat had rubbed off on the man’s uniform. With a final shake of his head, and a smiler still on his face, the Marine tossed the towel from over his shoulder into Glass’s hands. Greaves: Ensign Glass. Good to see you again. Might want to wipe yourself off. Sorry, I just finished up a run. Anton looks at the startled Ensign Glass and smiles. Richards: ::pretending to tap his COM badge:: Security we have an intruder alert. Some type of walking zombie Ensign. I’ve never seen anything like it. Kell wiped the stubborn stain, that really wasn’t going to go anywhere until his top was washed….gave up and tossed the towel back at Richards. Glass: Well I guess Zombies like eating brains...so your safe Anton! ::Flashing him a smile:: Greaves: Jokes aside, we’re on our way to breakfast if you’d like to join us. I figured we could grab something outa the replicators at the lounge. I’ll probably get fewer dirty looks being in workout gear there. Glass: Yeah sounds good, I was on my way there anyhow! Richards: ::Nods:: With a nod Wes led on toward the nearest turbolift. Greaves: You’ll both enjoy the Valhalla Lounge. Its got a great view out the forward windows, little stage off in the corner for small events, and good ambiance. Half the time they keep the lights dim so you can just relax, although at this time of day its probably fully lit. Richards: Ah yes. I’ve heard of the Valhalla Lounge before I believe. Glass: Does the ship have entertainment nights? With a whoosh, the doors to the lift slid open to reveal an empty turbolift and Wes continued in. Greaves: (Lifting his head) Deck 5. (Turning to the others) Honestly, I can’t remember any. The former Chief of Security did a little rock show in the lounge once. ((Turbolift, Below Deck 6, USS Thor)) Richards: ::Chuckles:: So you're saying that you have a show coming up soon then? Glass: My father was obsessed with the Beatles, he even went as far as collecting vinyl records of the band. He swore they sounded better than the recordings on the ship, but it all sounded scratchy and terrible to me. As the Marine opened his mouth to reply, the faint hum of the lift changed in tone ever so slightly, and suddenly the floor dropped out from under him. For several seconds the trio experienced near weightlessness as the safeties failed and the turbolift fell. Finally, the emergency brakes engaged and with the sound of grinding metal, the lift slammed to a stop, throwing Wes hard to the ground. Kell’s stomach, although thankfully not full, lurched and he felt nausea building up but the pain of hitting the carpeted floor of the turbolift distracted him from actually vomiting! Anton fell backwards into a corner of the turbolift. He managed to stand up quickly. But shortly afterwards bent over placing his hands over his knees and rubbing them. Richards: Yup. I’m sure I will be feeling this one for a bit. Anton stands up straight and then began looking around the turbolift, seeing if there was some type of furthering safety threat. Glass: What the hell was that!::Pushing himself back up to standing:: Kell looked at the control panel, devoid of lights, the glassy surface just reflected his own image back at him. Glass: Great...trapped in a lift with Anton, it isn’t bad enough I have to share quarters with him… Kell looked around at the two other officers Anton shrugged Glass’s comment off with a quick grin, He was used to them bickering back and forth from the Academy. Wes brushed himself off and retrieved the towel from the ground where it had been thrown. His knee was bleeding ever so slightly from being thrown to the ground forcefully, and he was sure there would be a sizable bruise on his left thigh as well. Otherwise the worst seemed to be over. Glass: Are you two ok? Greaves: I’m alright, seemed the lift is dead though. Richards, you good? Richards: Besides a jolt to my knees. I think I’m good. Glass: It should be a quick fix::Tapping his communicator:: Glass to transporter room, we are stuck in turbolift 2a and need transporting out please? There was a static sound, but no voice replied to the call. The Marine frowned and retrieved his own comm badge from the gym shorts he wore. The device beeped a warning when he tapped it. Greaves: Looks like whatever happened to the lift also disconnected it from the internal communications grid. Either of you a whiz with electrical wiring? Richards: Not particularly Sir. Anton looks towards the panel on the side of the wall, and then to Glass. Richards: Do you think we should take a look Sir? Expert or not. There isn’t much sense being trapped here. He glances quickly at Glass. Kell, sensed a change in his demeanor, all of a sudden the perfectly adequate internal space of the lift started to look just a little bit smaller, more confined and even though he knew it was just him imagination, he felt the need to breath a deeper gulp of air, almost as if the air was no longer enough in the turbolift. Glass: Whatever we do, I think I’d prefer it to be on this side of today rather than tomorrow::Kell tried to flash a confident smile, but his apprehension was evident to all:: Greaves: Agreed. (Motioning to the blank interface) Let’s pop that panel off and see if we can’t get us talking to the outside world again. I’m sure we can figure it out. Richards: ::nodding and standing behind Glass overlooking the procedure as if he had a clue what was going on:: Kell moved to the panel and grasped the top edge before yanking it rather too firmly off the wall. Looking inside at the myriad of circuits and bio gel packs, he turned and gave the look most non engineers give when looking at the inner workings of a ship! Glass: Where the bloody hell do you start? Wes frowned. It was a fair question. Greaves: Worst case scenario, we crack the emergency hatch on the ceiling and climb up to the next deck above us. He paused for a second and looked over the faces of the two officers. In all honesty, he kind of hoped for that route. Sounded like fun. Greaves: Any luck with the panel? Kell tried to remember anything he had been taught in the academy that might help, but the more he looked at the hopeless mess of components the more he felt a tightening of panic rising in him. Richards: Do you think maybe that red flashing thing, connects over to this other red flashing thing? ::giving an unconfident and weak smile:: Glass: It’s hopeless...I haven’t the foggiest what half of this does...we move the wrong thing and we could plummet to our ends. Greaves: Well, climbing we go then. Ensign Richards, I’ll give you a boost. See if you can’t get that hatch open up there. Wes knelt down and offered a hand and his raised knee as a foot hold. His other knee, still bleeding slightly, dug into the carpet and the Marine gritted his teeth in a momentary wince of pain. Anton stepped up on Wes’s knee and reached up towards the shaft at the top of the turbolift. He could feel how insecure the turbolift felt. Richards: ::Continuing to attempt to reach the top of the lift:: You know? We really gotta start making it a habit to bring an engineer along for our adventures. Kell watched as the two men struggled to hoist Richards up to the ceiling hatch. Just as it seemed that they were about to get up there, there was a sudden metallic wrenching sound..the lift fell slightly, maybe only a foot or so, but the sudden movement was enough to give serious thought to the assembled men. Glass: Jeez...that sounded a lot like the emergency brakes failing to me! Kell watched as the two men struggled to hoist Richards up to the ceiling hatch. Just as it seemed that they were about to get up there, there was a sudden metallic wrenching sound..the lift fell slightly, maybe only a foot or so, but the sudden movement was enough to give serious thought to the assembled men. Glass: Jeez...that sounded a lot like the emergency brakes failing to me! It took nearly all of his effort to prevent Richards from falling and crushing him. As the lift steadied from the short fall, and metal whined in agony, Wes held Richards’ legs tightly to keep him from losing his balance. Greaves: Alright, time’s up. Let's get out of this death trap. Up you go Ensign Richards. Bracing himself against the wall for balance and leverage, Wes stood in a one legged squat, creating a rising platform Richards stood on. With a grimace of effort on his face and a final huff, the man was through the small hatch above. It was a small effort to repeat the process for Glass. Finally Wes was alone in the lift, the two others offering their hands through the hatch above him. He could feel the blood trickling down his leg from the cut in his knee and as he took in the next challenge he winced slightly from a cramping muscle. Greaves: oO Would’ve gone easier for my workout had I know I’d be doing this afterwards… Oo Taking a breath and crouching to ready himself, Wes prepared for the jump. Leaping up and catching the Ensigns outstretched hands, he was pulled roughly onto the roof of the lift and into the turbolift shaft. Glass: We’ve got you sir! Richards: Up you come now, Sir! Greaves: (Rolling onto the roof of the turbolift and panting a little) Nothing to it (grin). Wes looked around at the walls for a second, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness. The lift shaft had only sparsely spaced dim lights. After a second he recognized the metal rungs of the ladder embedded in the wall and the Marine pointed in their direction. Greaves: This lift ain’t gonna wait on us forever. Start climbing. It's just a few meters up to the next deck. Richards, Glass, you two first, but hurry. I don’t feel like riding this thing down to engineering while you two take your time on the ladder. Kell looked up at the seemingly never ending tunnel and ladder as it snaked its way to wherever these things went. Glass: That’s a long way up! Kell hoisted himself up, the exertion of pushing himself up to the first rung sending whining noises from the turbolift compartment. Eager not to be the solo survivor, he hurried his pace and called down. Anton was quick behind Glass as he also didn’t feel like seeing exactly how long the lift would hold for. Glass: Come on quick, I don’t know how long the emergency brakes will hold! Richards: I’m hurrying! It’s my damn knee Anton was moving slower now and beginning to grimace as the shock of the fall had worn off, and he was starting to feel the bruise on his knee begin to swell. Greaves: Nope, no time. I don’t want to hear it. Get on that ladder. Anton nodded once again and gritted his teeth through the climb. Kell began climbing upwards, eager to see the bright lights of any deck over the tight confines of the turbolift innards! Glass: I see a door! Richards: That’s good news! How much farther? Anton wasn’t sure if was going to make the climb, just as he sensed that Glass was about to answer him, Anton lost his footing, causing his left foot to slip backwards on the ladder brushing very close to hitting Greaves in the forehead. Anton twirled around to the edge of the ladder, briefly looking down the turbolift and seeing the fall. Looking up at Glass’s call, Wes saw Richard’s foot slip just in time to let himself drop down a rung and narrowly dodge what would have been a swift kick to the face. With a scowl on his face, the man watched Richards twirl to the side of the ladder, but the concerned look on the security officer’s face halted what was about to be a harsh response. Greaves: (Growling voice) Richards, for the love of god, get back on that ladder and quit looking down. We’re almost there. Anton steadied himself and began climbing, faster than before. The sight of the drop “inspired” him. Glass: Come on Spiderman! Wes smiled at the comment. Kell looked back at the door, with the absence of an actual turbolift the door stood firmly closed. Glass: Without the turbolift here, it's not going to open easily! Greaves: I have confidence you can figure it out! Emergency release should be on the right side. Richards: Yeah Glass! Any day now! It was part sarcasm and part anger due to the frustrating pain he was experiencing as Anton held his one knee up off the ladder to avoid putting pressure on it. He was hoping this wasn’t going to result in a trip to sick bay. Kell reached over and grasped the red handle to the side of the door and began turning it anticlockwise….slowly the door inched it way open. Glass: Its opening now, hold on. With a hiss, the turbolift doors to deck 13 slid open revealing the carpeted corridor beyond. One by one the three climbed up and scrambled to the safety of a solid floor. Bringing up the rear, Wes took the offered hands of the Ensigns to pull him the last bit of the way, and at last they were clear of the danger. Another hiss and the doors slid shut once more. Wes took stock of the three. They’d all accumulated a bit of grease and dirt on their uniforms from the climb, and Wes’s workout clothes were still plenty soiled from earlier in the day. Doing his best to brush himself off, Wes stood and gave a stern look to a passing crewman which looked bewildered at their sudden appearance. Greaves: Congratulations Ensigns, you’ve just survived turbolift seven. Anton rubbing his aching knee, brushes himself off and stands up straight. Still out of breath Anton looks down the shaft and then up at Greaves. Richards: Perhaps I will have a t-shirt made. Kell felt a sudden wave of panic, the room started to spin every so slightly, causing him to grab hold of the wall and steady himself, closing his eyes he counted to ten. He’d never personally experienced a panic attack, but knew the symptoms well enough from his mothers teaching. Glass: Ok….is….is everyone in one piece? Greaves: (Gesturing to his bleeding knee) All things considered, I think I’ll have to raincheck on that breakfast. Engineering and Ops need to know about this lift, and I need to get cleaned up. Anton nods at Greaves Richards: Yeah. I believe I have lost my appetite. Glass: Yeah, I’m going to walk back to my room and have a bit of a lay down! Greaves paused and looked the two over once more. They hid it well, but there was something in Glass’s look that worried him. A slight hesitation. A lingering look at the doors. Greaves: Are you both going to be alright? Anton extends his arms outright from either side of him, eyeing them back and forth to make sure that he had not in fact plummeted to his death in the turbolift. Richards: ::Nodding:: I think I’ll be fine. Just another day at StarFleet I presume. Kell shot the pair a luke warm smile. Glass: Yeah...I’ll….I’ll be ok, just gotta leave off taking one of these again for a while!...see you back in our room later buddy…::then looking back at Captain Greaves:: Thanks for the cool head sir! Kell tapped Anton on the shoulder, smiled and walked off. The Marine nodded at the comment but didn’t speak. Instead he watched as the pair walked off deeper into the deck, likely in search of another turbolift. After a moment they were lost to sight in the busy corridor and Wes turned in the other direction. The two Ensigns both were quick on their feet, at least in the simple adventure they’d all shared. With any luck, Wes would be inheriting two promising officers. END ========================= Captain (SFMC) Wes Greaves Marine Detachment Commander USS Thor - NCC 82607 E239702WG0 & Ensign Anton Richards Security Officer USS Thor T239802AR1 & Ensign Kellan Glass Tactical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding T239802KG1 =========================

@Brutus' sim gave me a good chuckle at this.

This introspection from Richards really resonated with me for some reason, particularly the comment about being eaten. 😄

So wise.

This just about killed me.

The question is, what does NOT get you killed? Besides eggs?

DO NOT LICK IT

I'm really excited to read more of this plot arc @Alieth and @Sirok are writing. I'm already in love with Rekika. She's just how I imagined her to be! ((Vulcan - Kyr Province - Sobok family House)) T'Lil had prepared the wedding from multiple functions. On the one hand a show of unification between Vulcans and Romulans. On the other hand an attempt to continue the family saga if all went well. And as an introduction to the Vulcan society for Sirok himself. The Vulcan matriarch, if in private she had disparaged Sirok's Starfleet career, opted to picked out every positive trait in public, everything of what her son could learn and do for Vulcan and Kyr as a Starfleet officer. And she highlighted his rapid rise through the ranks despite his relatively young age. The event itself had perfectly fulfilled all the precepts of a very traditional Vulcan wedding, implementing old elements of Romulan weddings, which had quite a few things in common with Vulcan’s. In itself the act was meant to exemplify unification. While for some the Vulcans and Romulans present it was just the most fitting way to carry it, for others it was just too soon for something like that, or even something that should never have happened. Some inhabitants of Vulcan, old and new, thought that Romulan presence was only temporary, until they could once again claim a planet as their own. For Sirok the situation had resulted to be a test. In the days before the ceremony, he had tried to memorize the names and faces of each of the attendees. And that was just a quite long list. Although T'Lil had conveniently overlooked to invite any of the Thor's crew, not even the captain. Her excuse, of course, was only logical: those uniforms made some of the bride's family skittish. And she had had just enough to do with dealing with her son's feelings to add other’s to the mix. The young engineer was not used to such social events. He most time tried to avoid them, even though he understood the usefulness of such rituals. He endeavored to behave like a Starfleet officer in a diplomatic situation and follow the instructions that his parents have give him. As soon as he saw an opportunity Sirok decided to retreat and took refuge in the secondary house. A building erected by his great-grandfather for S'Vec and T'Lil to live in, while he still occupied the main house, while Sobok remained on the USS Elcano and his wife preferred to live near the Academy of Sciences. It has remained uninhabited since Sirok's great-grandfather passed away, as Sopeg lived with his wife in the capital. Even there, at that distance, he could still hear the faint chimes of vulcan lutes, as much as the barely audible murmur of multiple conversations. So, he entered the house and without even close the door, he looked for a dark place, a hidden spot where he could shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He repeated in his head principles of logic, endeavouring to free his mind and take hold of his feelings. If he weren’t wearing for the ceremonial robes, he would attempt to practice suus mahna. When he had barely managed to regain some degree of mental equilibrium, his efforts were interrupted by the sound of light footsteps behind him. Rekika: So this is where you have chosen to escape… The words were left hanging in the air, sharp, with no trace of sympathy in them. She followed shortly after, abandoning the shadows she had inhabited. She strode across the narrow chamber to his position, her gait confident and steadfast, the tap of her heels ricocheting firmly against the polished floor, as if she were part on a martial march. Only when she was just a few centimetres away from the young Vulcan did she halt, her gaze at almost the same level as his. She held his gaze as the minutes thickened, cold and tense amid the desert heat. At some point, the Romulan woman determined that she had had enough and examined him from top to bottom, scrutinizing him in unabashed detail. Rekika: Since my family moved here I have had ample time to learn your language, son of S'vec. So tell me, Sirok, are you so outside of hope as your name implies? Sirok stood staring at her for a brief moment, the situation was strange. Legally he was linked to that woman and it was a logical link for many reasons. But given the speed of the whole new situation the young man, who followed strong routines to help his memory, was not quite used to it. Sirok: I thought they told you about my condition. A smile crept across her features, whether there was mirth or disdain in her was somewhat difficult to pinpoint. Rekika: They did, but humour me with your version of the facts. Sirok: We should go somewhere else, now it is also your home, and you should be familiar with it. She gave a slight shrug and the smile etched in her face became somewhat more skewed, albeit no less ambiguous. A motion of her chin suggested that he should lead the way. Without waiting for a more elaborated answer, he turned on the light and escorted her into the living room. As every chamber in the Sobok’s property, it was tidy and spotless. Nevertheless, the design was somewhat old-fashioned, yet every little detail was strictly functional and every piece was made of the finest materials. Sirok: Sometimes I came here to meditate and study when my brother's Sehlat did not allow me to enter the main house. Have a seat. Rekika: Lovely, even the little kitten despised my groom. She sat down just before kept talking, at ease and leisurely, as if she owned the room. In some ways she did, or would do so in the future. Sirok: the reason why he did not accept me is related in part to my condition. :: he said as he sat down. :: Rekika: Is that the answer to my question? Sirok: As you should know now, I was born with brain damage. It mainly affects my telepathic abilities, which are practically non-existent. Also, my memory is worse than it should be. Although unlike telepathy I have applied techniques developed by some of the best Vulcan masters to alleviate its effects, making it practically unnoticeable for the time being. Sirok said it with his usual dreary tone. Only someone who knew him very well would know that he was showing some nervousness. Rekika: … for the time being :: She echoed, her tone much more nuanced, if as contradictory as her expression.:: And what about the future? Will I find myself married to a chunk of worthless meat soon? She tipped her head fractionally and indulged herself in a momentary display of compunction. Something she studiously made an effort to prove that she did not feel. At all. Rekika: No offence to your brother's condition. Sirok: I am a follower of Surak. I am not offended by such comments. But as you said, yes, I have a higher probability of having neural afflictions of different nature. Rekika: When. The word was delivered both as a query and a demand. Sirok: I cannot know. It should not happen for quite a few years, I am still young, so maybe plenty. Or perhaps it will never happen. Only if everyone has some chance of that kind of disease, mine is higher. This probability will increase with age. The Vulcan was direct, no secrets, no half-measures. Rekika: So you are like a ticking bomb scheduled to explode. We just don't know when or if you'll do it. Sirok: This is quite accurate. She chuckled openly, a clear, musical laugh from one who had never had to suppress it in her life. She laughed not at him, though, nor at the response to her remarks, but merely because of the brutal sincerity and endless candour of her groom. It was, somehow, refreshing. Rekika: I can live with it, or with the lie underneath it. Sirok: I recommend that you accept it for what it is. It is simply the truth. He did not know what Rekika thought about Surak's teachings, but Sirok thought that following them was the best thing to do, more so for his situation. Rekika: Perhaps, but my version is more fun. The smile widened dangerously on her lips. Sirok: But it is a long-term danger. The lack of telepathic ability disrupts certain biological functions of my species. For example in the ceremony, when we have joined together and our fingers touched, a certain bond should have been created. I only felt your skin and you felt mine. He maintained his monotone. But he had used all his concentration to suppress the fear he felt in that situation. One of the moments he dreaded most in his life. Rekika: That's what happened for you? She left the question lingering in the air, as if her experience had been different, but her face retained the same derisive expression that had accompanied her for much of the conversation. Still, her mind buzzed with ideas: she had trained herself to engage a vulcan, to have a spy inside her own mind. She had woven lies within her lies, hidden behind shadows of half-truths. But her new husband? He was something else. Something quite different. Oh, and convenient. She allowed herself to lean forward, amidst a ruffle of the fabric of her betrothal gown. Rekika: As for the contract your mother reached with my family, what are you going to do about it? Sirok remained still in his seat, like a talking piece of furniture. And imperceptibly he was relaxing with the situation, accepting it little by little. Sirok:I do not know all the details, I just asked to be allowed to continue my work in Starfleet. I think I can learn and do a lot as an officer. Rekika: As for the contract your mother reached with my family, what are you going to do about it? Sirok remained still in his seat, like a talking piece of furniture. And imperceptibly he was relaxing with the situation, accepting it little by little. Sirok:I do not know all the details, I just asked to be allowed to continue my work in Starfleet. I think I can learn and do a lot as an officer. She leaned back and raised an elegant hand in front of her. Rekika: My family and the people associated with it will continue to have the rights to occupy a portion of your family lands to formalize a Romulan settlement. You will be provided with assistance in carrying out this endeavour without interference. Alongside this, my family's trading enterprise will be sustained, by helping to smooth out any friction that may arise with the Vulcan government. She fell back for a moment and watched him carefully before resuming her speech. Rekika: The other details are less important, but that is the heart of the matter. Your role, naturally, will be as caretaker of it if your family decides to break the agreement. Sirok:My family has always supported Unification, even before the Hobus disaster. So as long as there are no criminal acts we will continue to do our best to keep Unification moving forward. Another musical laugh echoed through the stark Vulcan chamber. Rekika:::In a playful tone:: No promises, my dear The Vulcan raised an eyebrow slightly. Sirok: I expect that it is a joke that I do not understand. The smile stretched across the Romulan's face once more. Rekika: Don't worry my dear, you'll figure it out... over time. Whether she meant the joke or the allegation of the illegality of her family's deeds was left unsaid. Sirok remained silent for a moment. Sirok: I understand then that there is no problem for me to return to the Thor to do my job. Rekika: And meanwhile I'll wait here, as a faithful bride longing for her gallant officer, while i help in the family business. Sirok: Everything has been so sudden that I have not been able to know what is your business. She then made a faint smacking sound with her lips and leaned back in feigned annoyance. Rekika: There's nothing to drink here? So much chatter makes me thirsty The young engineer got up in the direction of the kitchen. Sirok: It has been years since I have been in this house, but there was a good selection of juices. At the wedding alcoholic beverages were served in courtesy to our guests, but it is not something we consume. He spent a moment searching without success. So he fired up the replicator and replicated a pair of vulcan mocha. The replicator had not been checked for some time and did not work as the young man would have liked, he would check it when he had time. When he brought the cup towards her she took it in turn and managed to ensure that their fingers touched. Her hands remained there for a time and, as she did so, she glanced up at his face in search of a reaction, or lack thereof. What she saw on Sirok's countenance brought a mirthful gleam to her eye. Sirok: I expect you like it. Thereupon, she settled back against the back of the couch and drank the cup almost dry in a single gulp. Next, she slipped her right hand onto the armrest, the nearly drained cup held loosely between her fingers. Rekika: Excellent and adequate. As expected. Sirok nodded. Despite Rekika's positive response, he would check the replicator. The young man returned to his seat with his own cup in his hands. Sirok: You were going to tell me what you do for a living. Rekika: Oh well, we're mere traders. My people need commodities that can't be obtained on the planet, and we provide. Sirok: I know that the population increase is being a problem for a reasonable use of Vulcan's resources. She looked into his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. Rekika: :slowly: I think that given our shared situation it’s better to start calling it Ni'Var. The Vulcan took a long sip of the mocha. He hadn't realized his mouth was dry until he had felt the liquid. Sirok: A designation to exemplify the unification. It is appropriate. Rekika: You'll learn soon enough that I don't speak in vain, sweetheart. Sirok: as it should be. Without further ado she laid the cup indifferently on the arm of the couch and rose to her feet, with an almost feline elegance. In a vaguely coquettish manner, she arranged the slight misalignments in her attire before she resumed speaking. Rekika: Well, enough of the chitchat, we should get back to the party. She held out a hand waiting for him to take it, as was expected of a married couple. Sirok stood up, leaving the cup on a nearby table. Placing his hands with her in the traditional way, feeling her skin again. Rekika: ::Casually::. By the way, will you please be sure to inform your captain that I'll be joining you on that Starfleet vessel of yours? The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, not expecting such a proposition. Sirok: I think I can reason with Captain Kells. But I do not think my mother will allow both of us to be off planet given my brother's situation. Rekika: Don't worry about that, I'll make T'Lil see the logic in my decision to join you. A musical laugh followed them as they crossed the lintel of the secondary house and flickered in the air for a moment before the Romulan whispered her follow-up remark. Rekika: And in case I fail... my father will persuade her… She was certain that he would see as much merit as she herself did in her returning to cross the stars aboard a starship. Even more so in one so different from the Birds of Prey in which she had served a decade ago… ========================= As simmed by Rekika of Romulus Former Romulan Star Navy Lieutenant Romulan Colony of Ni’Var E239702A10 & Lieutenant Sirok Chief Engineering Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding E239702S10

I really enjoyed this collaboration between @Sirok and @Geoffrey Teller. I especially enjoyed seeing more of Sirok, one of our resident and most emotional Vulcan. ((Vulcan - Kir province - Sobok family mainhouse)) Sobok and Sirok materialized in front of a . It was of straight lines and its glass exteriors, orderly, designed for a simple use of the interior space. A classic Vulcan construction of the 23rd century. It was built on a small promontory surrounded by several trees with reddish leaves that gave warmth to both the exterior and interior of the house. Sobok knew the coordinates well and was able to give them accurately enough to save him having to climb the small hill that led up to the house. He had also arranged for his and Sirok's luggage to wait for them in their respective rooms, not wanting to leave the young man to carry both . Feeling the increased Vulcan gravity indicated to the chief engineer that the transporter cycle had ended and Sirok looked around for a moment. It was the first time he had been back since being admitted to Starfleet Academy and he looked for any changes the house might have undergone. As he expected there were none. The trees were so carefully trimmed that they seemed frozen in time.There was no noticeable stain or scuff on the glass surface of the house. The grass around the house grew to the desired height, never beyond. The distant sound of the drones that controlled the plantations indicated like a calendar what time of the year it was and what was the state of the crops. He had left his uniform and rank on the ship and like his grandfather wore a simple light colored robe. That robe was one of the few belongings he had taken with him when he left and was part of the few belongings he brought back. They approached the front door and it opened, revealing the figure of a slender Vulcan woman. Her bearing was elegant, regal. She kept her hands behind her back and looked inquisitively at the two newcomers. Sobok: Good morning, T'Lil. Sobok stopped, leaning on his cane and staring at T'Lil. Sirok stood behind him. Sirok: Mother. :: It was his brief greeting. :: T’Lil considered the sight before her the way some would review a shipping manifest. Her son, home for the first time in many years, was here in the company of his grandfather. She noticed the tiny imperfections age had left upon her sons features, along with his disagreeably emotional greeting. She noticed everything, but made no comment beyond a simple reply. T’Lil: Son. Sirok: What is the status of Sopeg? T’Lil: Unchanged. His biological functions are being sustained efficiently. His injuries have been evaluated by the Vulcan Medial Institutes Dean of Neurosurgery. What can be done has been done. Your arrival here is another matter entirely. T’Lil arched an eyebrow, her gaze landing on her son with the weight of Mount Seleya, a sliver of genuine concern flashing through her mind. Her son had been among emotional species for far too long. Sobok: I know there is a lot to catch up on. But my physical condition is not adequate to do it at the entrance, standing up... Can we enter? A long moment passed before T’Lil replied. Even the wind was still and silent. T’Lil: You may enter. Sobok: Where is S’Vec? Where is my son? T’Lil: S’Vec is where he is expected to be, running the organization this family has maintained for generations. Her emphasis on the word generations was subtle but the jab was sharp. Sobok’s irresponsibility had disrupted the work of centuries and led to her son's needless dalliance with Starfleet. As T'Lil spoke Sobok slowly walked to a wide couch, where he slowly sat down. And he did not respond until he had made that slow heavy movement. Sirok kept an eye on his grandfather in case he needed help, since he had arrived at the Thor he had clearly noticed how he was finding it more difficult to walk. Sobok: And he has done a great job. Despite making risky bets. :: Sobok glanced at Sirok for a moment before turning his gaze back to T'Lil, remarking on the situation they were now in. :: Sirok raised an eyebrow slightly, not quite understanding what bet Sobok was referring to. The young engineer had long since removed himself from any discussion of family and its activities. He had focused all his efforts on his Starfleet career. T’Lil: His time is in exceedingly short supply, as is mine. I will inform him of your presence…::she took a long look at Sirok, and then at Sobok:: You may wait. Sobok kept his gaze on T'Lil. And remained silent for a moment, letting the sound of some bird and the distant drones fill the room. Sobok: Well, we will wait, when you reach a certain age it becomes an habit. But at other ages time is exceedingly short, so let's take advantage of it. For example I can tell you that your second son achieved the rank of Lieutenant and Chief Engineer of one of the most modern ships in the Fleet in a single year of service. A much faster promotion than I had at the time. Sirok fell thinking that he would not be given importance he saw no point in informing his parents of his progress in Starfleet, or even what ship he was serving on. But Sobok did not make that comment gratuitously, the defective son now held a position of importance in a respected organization.He was not just the son of S'Vec anymore. Sirok: It has been a matter of circumstances, although rebuilding a ship almost from scratch has been an experience from which I have been able to learn significantly. Sirok did not try to be modest, it was what he thought of his rapid rise as he believed he still had a lot to learn. If T’Lil was proud, or impressed, or even the smallest bit respectful of her son's achievements, none of it showed on her face. If anything registered, it was a slight deepening of her scowl at the thought of her son risking himself needlessly, and in a pursuit as foolish as Starfleet. T’Lil: I am gratified to learn the son of S’Vec is now a skilled mechanic. It is certain to reflect highly on our esteemed family. Her tone implied the opposite. Sirok: Is the Romulan refugee colony progressing properly? His entire family had always been strong supporters of the Unification between Romulus and Vulcan. When Hobus went supernova and Romulus was destroyed, they offered several of their lands to create settlements for refugees. Not just to take in temporary refugees, but to make them permanent residents on Vulcan. Sirok held his family's efforts in that direction in high respect and believed that this was the future for his planet and his people. A minute sigh escaped T’Lil’s lips. T’Lil: It is progressing. I believe it is premature to determine if it is doing so properly. Reintegration after millennia of distrust is a complex endeavor. One in which you could assist, son. Sirok raised an eyebrow slightly. As Sobok kept his eyes on T'Lil he foresaw what he was going to say. Sirok: I have participated in some first contacts, but my diplomatic skills are not very good, at least with beings who are driven by their emotions. :: To logical beings, the young engineer performed as expected even by his family. :: T’Lil: I have made what arrangements seemed logical to me so that our family can achieve its goals, efficiently. I do not see why either of you would object. Sirok: I will try to help if possible, mother. Sobok looked at his grandson. As a good follower of Surak he felt no pride in his relative, but his grandson though naive, seemed praiseworthy to him. Sobok: I have never meddled in your handling of these matters. But if you saw it necessary I would consider interfering. T’Lil: Sopeg’s injury leaves our family in a challenging position, one to which we must adapt. So we shall. Your wedding is scheduled two days hence. ::T’Lil glanced at the Starfleet uniform in dissatisfaction.:: You will dress in something more befitting our people. Sirok watched his mother for a moment. Sirok: the Starfleet uniform is perfectly suitable for such a ceremony, as it is in a multitude of other options. Although that is a trivial detail. So far you have not sought out a wife for me, and the difference in doing so now as opposed to when it was due is that I have a duty to perform. Sobok said nothing, on the one hand his grandson was right. But biologically speaking he needed a mate. Due to Vulcan physiology his life would be in danger when the time came if he didn't have someone to share it with. T’Lil: Your logic is flawed, son. I have sought out a wife for you and all the arrangements have been made. There is only the ceremony remaining, and that requires your presence. Sirok: May I know with whom you intend to marry me? T’Lil: Her name is Rekika, and she has completed all the necessary arrangements to my satisfaction. Sobok raised an eyebrow slightly, it was not the response he expected. Sirok in appearance remained unchanged. Though his family, who knew him well knew that he struggled to keep his feelings contained and in control, with relative success. So it was Sobok who kept asking questions, trying to make the young man maintain as much dignity as possible. Sobok: Do they know Sirok's condition? It is a very difficult situation for the chosen one. :: Part of the reason why such an agreement had not really been sought until now. :: T’Lil: In this instance, his deficiency will not be a detriment to the union. Your intended is one of our long separated Romulan cousins and her expectations are already quite low. Sobok: Be that as it may, the agreement should not affect Sirok's Starfleet career. T’Lil’s expression hardened and a room normally exposed to desert breezes became suddenly colder. T’Lil: I do not recall seeking your council or input on the matter, Sobok. T’Lil glanced back to her son, the lowly starfleet engineer. A small part of a small system, one of questionable value and enormous personal risk. T’Lil could see the logic in the pursuit for others, but not for her family, and certainly not her son. Sobok: It is one thing to adapt to the situation and another to ruin his career, which is being successful. Besides, you are already used to having an absent family member. Another one is not going to change the situation. :: Sobok had known T'Lil for many years and at all times avoided reacting to any comment. Although it was well known that the old Vulcan was more protective of Sirok than any other member of his family. :: T’Lil: Sirok has an obligation to fulfill for this family, and the needs of the many should always outweigh the needs of the one. He will come to appreciate this in time. Sirok kept quiet. Until that moment, observing the not-so-veiled dialectical conflict between his elders. Sirok: I will do as I am asked, if she accepts me. :: He barely managed not to say "and my condition". :: But as Sobok has expressed, I will maintain my Starfleet career for the time being. Consider it my training for the position you want me to take if Sopeg does not recover. T’Lil’s lips, which had never been especially emotive, pressed into a line so thin they seemed to disappear entirely. She disapproved and would work to make the arrangement ultimately untenable, but for the present her goal had been achieved. Her son would wed, and their bond with the emerging Romulan families would grow stronger, and their own family would grow in influence and respect. T’Lil stood and prepared to leave. T’Lil: It is gratifying to discover you have not entirely lost your discipline, son. Your responsibilities to the family are paramount. So long as those are dispensed properly, you other conduct is your business and ::T’Lil glared daggers at Sobok:: no one else's. I will take my leave of you now. T’Lil offered her hand in the ta’al, but turned and exited before either man had even gotten out of their chair. Sobok watched as T'Lil left and then looked at his grandson. Sobok: Are you sure of your decision? Sirok: I am the emotional one of this family. It is normal for me to make an illogical decision. Yet I cannot find a better one. Sobok: Neither do I, for the moment. The old Vulcan looked out the window. The landscape he saw was different from the one he remembered from his childhood. Now it was a sumptuous place, even the trees looked strong and lush. The irrigation system and the care of the land were being used with meticulous precision. When he was a child the crops, although sufficient, seemed rickety compared to what he saw now. The house they had was being expanded and renovated from the ruin his grandfather had. A person who practically lived in hiding because he belonged to the Syrranite movement. That house was demolished by his son to build the current one. It was much more modern and served as a control center for all his operations. Sobok stood up with great effort, leaning heavily on the cane. Sobok: Sirok, help me get to my room. It has been a long trip, I need to rest. Then I will let you free, I am sure you have a lot to do. He doubted that the family chosen by his son and daughter-in-law had the disaffection for politics that Sirok had. Sirok: Yes grandfather. :: he said showing her his arm for support. :: At a very slow pace and with short steps they both headed for the room they had prepared for the old vulcan on the first floor. =============================== T’Lil of Vulcan Matron of House Sobok V239509GT0 & Lieutenant Sirok Chief Engineering Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 Fleet Captain A. Kells, Commanding E239702S10

I seriously want to smack T'Lil

The one that made me cry was "The Offspring". As a mother of four children, that episode in particular hit home.

This entire thing just made me laugh. ((IKS Yan – Unlisted Shuttebay 14)) A secret shuttlebay. A janky old B’Rel class warbird. Wearing his old, comfortable drifter clothing with his trusty Cardassian disruptor pistol in his boot. Could this mission get any better? Well yes, they could succeed, live, have a party filled with every type of egg dish imaginable and then all get to sit in hot tubs. Separate hot tubs, probably, at least for Zel’s latinum. The commline shrilled and he peeked his head out from underneath the helm console where he was hard at work with a laser welder, determined to get this thing performing to some degree of accuracy. It wasn’t quite ‘turn on a dime’ but at least it was no longer ‘turn on a half a planetoid.’ McLaren: =/\= McLaren to Zel. Get the ship ready to leave... you’ve got 5 minutes. =/\= Zel: =/\= I’ll have it ready for you in four. =/\= ::He stated with the utmost confidence:: =/\= What’s going on? =/\= McLaren: =/\= I’m on my way to the bridge now, I'll explain when I get there. =/\= Zel: =/\= Right on. =/\= Ok, time to finish up his work and get things heated up. The good thing was this was a simple system and it booted up far faster than a federation vessel of the same age. It also had far less finesse and relied mostly on the skill of the driver to prevent the thing from flying into a sun or crashing into a StarBase. Fortunately Zel liked to think of himself as a very good driver. Pulling himself out from under the helm console he saw his team gather at the cramped bridge area. Zel dusted himself off, looking every inch of a scrappy drifter. Looking every inch of who he was seven years ago. But a bit more well fed and a bit less broken down. Starfleet medical was a magical thing once he had stopped being utterly paranoid about doctors trying to kill him. McLaren: We're launching as soon as Tony and his team are aboard. Zel: Right on. Hey, on the bright side I got the computer banks working with Rue’s translation program, so Merry Birthoween, you can now read your consoles and panels in Federation Common! That was a legit holiday, right? Zel didn’t celebrate holidays. He just had a drink every time he didn’t die and that was celebration enough. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? McLaren: The Cult is pushing the tempo... and they have Max too. Zel: That doesn’t sound good. Master of understatement, Zel Rohan was. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? McLaren: I would have like another couple of hours, to be honest... but we dont have that luxury anymore. We'll have to finish everything else as we're in route. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana: ? Zel: I assuming we’re going to cloak as soon as we clear the Base’s shield array? That might have been the only thing that was fully working on the ship when it arrived. A bunch of things still weren’t working so hot. Not the least of which was the air circulation system, which made the dim, cramped bridge smell keenly of Klingon farts and fermented fish. Weapons targeting was still calibrating, though they should be able to finish that well before they reached Klingon space. And they had a shipment of emergency rations because the replicators were at best sketchy and at worst a surefire way to a week long stay in sickbay. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana/McLaren: ? Zel: And we should practice who we all are on this mission. I mean cover persona. Zel assumed he could still go as himself. But if Sol directed against it, he had a backup plan. Blackwell/Yael/Parvana/McLaren: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ pNPC Lieutenant JG Zel Rohan Helm officer StarBase 118 Ops

Let's hope it stays that way!

So I find this amusing because we had our voice chat yesterday and I was talking about when I read Moby [...]. For those who don't know, the very first line in the book is "Call me Ishmael.". So not only was this line used, but the names are very close in spelling. 😄

Welcome! We're glad that you're here with us!

O_O

All you need is Borq. Borq is all you need.

So Klingons are Wizards? 🤔

OOC: I just love Cheesecake. The dog...and the dessert. But I especially love how this sim ended. [[ U.S.S Thor, Deck 6, Senior Enlisted Mess Hall. ]] The biped held the delicious thing in front of her for a moment but then, to Cheesecake's despair, he pushed it away. Even worse, he said the forbidden word. "No." Not only that but he repeated it several times. This was, no doubt, a definitive verdict that condemned her to an eternity of not being able to taste whatever it was that the biped didn't want her to have, which was, to begin with, tragic, and to follow, unfair. As every dog, Cheesecake was aware that rules were more like guidelines and so, they could be pushed a little in the right direction, namely, in the direction that would get her what she wanted, if she was a really good girl, and she pulled her ears back, put her snout down, and gave him THE LOOK. Of course, Cheesecake had had to up the level THE LOOK since her handler was a pointy-eared biped and she had learned the hard way that pointy-eared bipeds required a LOT MORE coaxing. But she had certainly picked up the lesson very well, so the other biped who used to live with her handler always, ALWAYS fell under the spell of THE LOOK. Of course, she proved victorious in the staring contest. Kerr: Access favorite replicator options for Crewman First Class Watanabe. Wantanabe: Boorf Boorf! Computer: Crewman First Class Watanabe's list of food preferences, Cheesecake contains 1348 items, listed chronologically as: Canine kibble number 33, socks, Vulcan meditation candle oil type e49b, miscellaneous bone remnants, cheese (non descripted), tofu, batbird soup Hasoor VII variety, medium quality paper, standard mid-sized padd, electronic components for medical tricorder parts 458 to 567, kibble number 45, cat kibble number 2, standard mattress stuffing.... Kerr: Computer, proceed with top recommendation. Computer =/\= Unable to comply. Replicators offline. =/\= The biped shook his head and Cheesecake tilted it. She took her job as a therapy dog to heart and she knew exactly when someone was down, so she was more than willing to help. Kerr: Alright. Let me get this filter swapped out, and then we’ll get some lunch. Then her new best friend left the thing away from her, with all the gestures that indicated that he really wasn't going to pass it along because he wanted it just for him, and utter display that indicated that he didn't like to share. Cheesecake pouted ruefully. She loved to share, sharing was caring. Especially if other people shared with her. Kerr: We’re going to leave that there. (Slowly backing away.) Jussssst theeeereeee. That’s where it’s staying. It’s not going to be touched. Agreed? Wantanabe: soft whining Then, the biped climbed on one of those things that bipeds used to reach places and... disappeared. More or less. But he kept talking anyway, so Cheesecake remained there, wagging her tail cheerfully every time the biped uttered a word. Kerr: (Head deep in the filter unit of replicator two) Just got to align the cartridge. There was a loud snap and click, and a tail wagged for a few seconds. Kerr: (Leaning further into the filter unit) Then twist and lock to connect the sensors. Got to use the hexkey to secure it and ... Wantanabe: (In earnest) Woof Woof A hand came out from a box with something that looked suspiciously like a stick and, for an moment, Cheesecake stood on all four paws, awestruck (and flattered) by the sudden session of FETCH. Kerr: Gross! No fetch. Disappointed whimper, rear on floor. The scene played out over and over again for a few minutes until, finally, Cheesecake stretched out on the floor, rested her head between her forepaws and... she snoozed, the purpose of her mission forgotten, except for the fact that the biped somehow needed her support. Only later, when the speakers in all the corridors blew an annoying honk and the lights changed in two different degrees of colours that, of course, a dog could not fully differentiate, Cheesecake woke up. It was then, and only then, that the big mastiff remembered a number of things: That she had made a new friend, that really needed to have someone listen to him, so she was going to have to visit him more often. That this noise meant work and that therefore she should head to a sickbay. That she should remember to not get in the way. For real. And that she had to help. So, without dawdling for too long, Cheesecake barked a farewell and, just as she had entered, she left the mess hall. Her surprise was complete when she found one of her favourite two-legged friends in her workplace, sprawled out on one of those things that moved bipeds around. And as one would do with good friends, she booped his hand to tell him that she was there and that, despite everything, he was not alone. [[END]] ================================= Lt. Alieth Chief Medical Officer USS Thor NCC-82607 E239702A10 Image Collective Co-Facilitator /Art Director =================================

Welcome Cassie! We're so glad you're here!

I've really enjoyed having @Tatash in our group. I love his very picturesque narration style. His sims are always well thought out and artfully done. ((CO’s Office – Starbase 118)) The party they had all enjoyed not that long prior was well and truly over and the mood was dour as he stood outside the Commodores office waiting for the invitation in. The dreaded talk, the one that had been alluded to during the ceremony was upon them. He had given the other officers a nod as he strode his way in, before internally wincing as he saw Nugra sat among them. The subject matter would not be enjoyable for anyone, perhaps doubly so for another Gorn when it came to hearing the rumours and terrible days that could be potentially on the horizon for their mutual race. He tensed his fingers, drumming an impatient tune on the PADD he held behind his loose-fitting jackets back, a leather one that sat above dark trousers and boots. Even his comm-badge was tucked away inside his breast pocket with no Starfleet markings visible on him at all. His business was to blend in, to be the invisible one, and to avoid the crosshair painted on him as a Starfleet uniform tended to attract. He looked like any other freighter captain or fairly well to do trader that visited the station on a daily basis with mundanity. That was the illusion he needed to portray. His eyes found himself looking out one of the small windows, no way near as grand as the one the Commodore had in his office but it gave a good enough view of one of the smaller civilian flight-lanes, held in the almost endless traffic queues waiting for permission to dock. Little specks they were, drifting back and forth, tiny civilian ships coming and going like fireflies on a summer’s night blinking occasionally from their little beacons and lights. He almost felt jealous of them drifting around in their blissful ignorance with their simpler lives. Unburdened by the horrors of potential war and terrorism, seeking only the next trade deal or shipment or vacation. As the saying went, ignorance was indeed bliss. With a pop-hiss the doors opened with the Commodore waving them inwards. Tatash took the invitation, although he let the more senior officers in. Taybrim: Welcome everyone. And Thank Captain T’Aven and Captain Nugra for joining up before you head out. As promised the information pertinent to the Marchlands is first on the agenda. Please, come in and have a seat. Tatash gestured to the chairs letting the others take them, he was content to stand at the back. If he didn’t have the luxury of pacing the room to keep the oxygen flowing to his brain at least standing could do half as good a job. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? A grid of light played over them from a series of projectors, along with a slight fizzing sensation on his scales. The light was solely there to prove a point to anyone present that the room was being sealed, and anyone trying to snoop would be given a millisecond to turn off their devices before a Security detachment hunted them down. Taybrim: As the security layer indicates what we’re about to talk about is classified. ::he turned towards T’Aven and Nugra:: That said, I have shared the majority of this information with Commodore Rajel and you are granted permission to speak with her about any of this information. I trust you will take precautions when you do; but we need to take extra care here in the Trinity Sector as we are directly in the middle of the conflict I am about to explain. The Constitution is removed from it in your patrols of the Marchlands so there is less of a risk to your ship. Tatash: For now. An ominous warning, but it set the tone for the torrent of bad news that was about to come like a volley of miserable little bullets from the briefing notes. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Taybrim: I know the Constitution has tangled with the Orion Syndicate before; and I have spoken of it with Jalana several times. The Syndicate has grown in power without having any real territory and holdings over the past two decades; much of it done while Starfleet erroneously believed the Syndicate was stamped out. They resurfaced about five years ago and we’ve been dealing with them ever since. Tatash nodded in agreement. The syndicate was an endless, festering tumour that sunk its malignant little tendrils into every part of the quadrant. You could kill one cell, you could shatter one ring, and another would simply regrow and take its place. Somehow independent, somehow a terrible whole. Taybrim: One of the most recent ventures of the Orion Syndicate has been supporting and funding a splinter cult within the Klingon Empire that calls themselves the Followers of Molor. They worship the tyrant Molor, defeated by Kahless, and follow a path of pain, chaos and dishonor. For centuries they have been little more than miscreant maladjusted outsiders that have stayed at the edges of Klingon society, but with the Syndicate support they have been able to amass a considerable amount of power which they have used to focus on one major goal: overthrowing the Klingon High Council and initiating a new regime. Tatash: It’s important to note that the cult is just that, it’s a sect. It isn’t tied to one specific house, instead it has a trace amount of just about every single one of the main powers in Qo’nos. That’s what’s making it so insidious. It’s the absolute indoctrination of its members that make it equally dangerous. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Taybrim: Correct. The cult in and of itself is not that powerful. But they have drawn support from houses that do not care for the cult’s doctrine at all, but are happy to see the cult tear down the current Chancellor Daeshon and his progressive policies. Policies that have brought prosperity to the Empire at large, but drawn power and influence away from certain houses. Those houses are all too happy to turn a blind eye to the Cult’s doctrine in favor of using them as a tool to spark civil war. And those houses were absolutely ignorant of the bigger picture. Vying for power without appreciating the destabilising actions that would come with it. Every battle would leave even the winner with cuts, and eventually they would simply bleed themselves out. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra: ? Sal now turned and let his gaze fall on T’Aven and then Nugra in particular. Taybrim: I’m afraid it’s more worrisome than that. Starting Klingon Civil war is a task beyond the power of the Cult, so they have tried a different tactic which they are far more likely to succeed in. The Cult has been aggressing the Gorn Hegemony along the border, trying to incite a war between the Hegemony and the Empire – which would internally destabilize the Empire and leave it ripe for a revolution of the worst kind. Tatash met the Commodores gesture and nodded. He was up. Tatash: Before I proceed, I have to remind everyone that this information has been classified as top secret. Even then, the information has had the sources redacted and scrubbed to protect our intelligence assets in various locations. Everyone that has been given access to this information has been recorded, and even then it's only a handful. He looked at Nugra specifically. It was not a pleasant conversation to discuss intelligence about your own species, let alone when it was gathered through clandestine means. ‘Various locations’ always included allies, friends and neutral parties as well as hostile powers People seemed to forget that Starfleet Intelligence had just as many ears as any of the major powers' secret little clubs like the Tal Shiar or Obsidian Order, Starfleet was just far more pleasant about going about it in their day to day operation. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash pressed something on his PADD, projecting a map of the bordering space between the Gorn Hegemony and the Klingon Empire in mid-air, one half a golden colour, the other the default Red of the Empire. Various icons representing each powers fleets and battle groups hung in static locations. Tatash: This is the current fleet movements of both powers recorded by our deep sensor units, as it was a month ago. This is now. He pressed another button, large arrows of movement appearing from those various icons as one by one they began to drift towards each other, heading towards that diagonally-slashed line that denoted the buffer between the two. It was easily visible there was a far greater number of red icons than gold. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash nodded. Tatash: The cults actions are having an effect, these manoeuvres are not standard exercises or logistical movements. The discord that they have been sowing between the two powers is causing posturing on both sides. It was hoped that the fleet movements alone would be the sole demonstration of power. However… The screen changed, a new set of icons appearing on several Gorn planets near the border. Tatash: In response to the disparity of power fleet, these planets have been heavily rumoured to have received an unknown number of strategic subspace weapons on long range platforms, similar to the Cardassian ATR-4107 units, autonomous delivery systems with guidance systems designed to evade most countermeasures. Interestingly, the Gorn are being uncharacteristically noisy about their deployment spreading ripples deliberately in the right intelligence channels to get noticed. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash nodded, his finger hovering over the button. Tatash: They want to send a message. The Hegemony would never win an outright war with the Empire, so they are ensuring they have a visible deterrent. However, if the deterrent should fail… He pressed the button. The map changed, unrecognisably so. Swathes of the starfield had become blobs dotted with red ‘x’s, Qo’nos itself was surrounded by them, large areas of Gorn border space wrapped in a shroud of equally black unmarked space, and along the bottom of the horrible was a large number. Impossibly large. Billions large. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: Tatash: Those dark areas with the crosses are subspace rifts caused by prolonged use of subspace weapons, warp travel would be rendered virtually impossible inside them. The Hegemony would be defeated, but the cost would be catastrophic to the Empire and near extinction for the Gorn who would charisterically fight to the last. The figure along the bottom there is the predicted number of deaths by the conflict, and with an Empire on it’s knees and a subjugated race desperate for aid, the Syndicate would have absolute free reign over picking the carcass of both clean. This is what they would consider a -satisfactory- outcome. Meeks/T’Aven/Nugra/Taybrim: --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10

There are no gigantic explosions, no great heroic deeds, no mighty efforts. This is a simple but well written sim that gives insight into the character and help sets up the situation that character is about step into. I appreciate @Alex Brodie's ability to make me care and connect with his character. ((Brodie’s Quarters, Deck Five, USS Thor)) Brodie tossed his scribe onto the desk and leaned back. Two hours he’d been poring over legal texts and treaties and directives and it was giving him a headache. He knew the battle…and it was a battle…against Anroc wasn’t going to be easy and he needed to make sure that everything fell into place in the right way. As he’d said to Kells, there couldn’t be any missteps with their people down there. Firstly, there was Starfleet General Order One and its many, many, sub-orders. He’d dearly love to tear the entire subjugation culture of the Zet down, but it was their societal norm – it would amount to destabilising an established government. Their mere presence had already violated it in part - the Zet were not warp capable. That said it could be argued that, while not a warp capable culture, they had travelled beyond their own world using technology at their disposal. Providing technology was also frowned upon…as well as taking actions which supported one faction of society over another…he closed his eyes and saw the impact of the young Zet’s head on the wall…he clenched and unclenched his fists. The Federation Charter also made caste systems illegal and, while that did not technically extend to the Zet, it would add an additional layer of complexity to matters when negotiating the release of technology. The whole notion was really a non-starter…although Anroc didn’t need to know that. He’d also looked over the documentation that had been provided ahead of the ‘negotiations’, he used the word advisedly, and he honestly hadn’t seen much in his years that had terrified him more. Eternal life through some form of cloning process. He wondered if this was related technology to how the Vorta were created…extended…by the Dominion? They were in the Gamma Quadrant after all. Had this been one of Anroc’s acquisitions? He’d need to speak to Ivy about that but getting in-touch wouldn’t be possible out here. But Eternal life? Who wanted that? Truly wanted it? He’d seen on Solace how it had led to a never-ending cycle – the prospect of living forever had meant the Nol-Ennis and the Ennis had never moved on from their civil war until Sulan had joined them. Why live forever if you don’t grow? Then there was the issue of the haves and the have not – would everyone benefit? Or would you get a caste system like the Zet appeared to have. Free to those who could afford it and very expensive to those who couldn’t? And finally, there would be those who would abuse it…because someone always did. Taking a peaceful ideal of, for example, eradicating disease and twisting it into a weapon of war or a tool of dominance. He found he was pacing…he needed change anyway. He opened one of the storage closets and pulled out his dress uniform – running his hand along the edge of the fabric. Anroc needed to see they were taking him seriously. They needed him to be comfortable, and feel like he was in control, but they also needed to project an illusion of authority so he would be prepared to treat them as more than mere ephemerals. This would help set them apart. He also hoped that, in their full regalia, Aron Kells might find some sense of his own identity as a Fleet Captain again. To play the part one had to look the part. But then again…it might come across as a being braggish? Anroc would probably laugh at their pitiful attempt at bravado…and maybe Aron Kells would be reminded of darker times past? As he pushed the jacket back into the locker his hand brushed against the sword that was hanging in its sheath. He still needed to arrange that fencing lesson with Teller – perhaps once this was over – he had some ideas. He took the blade from its hook and slid it free – the silver edge of the rapier glinting in the light. He moved through a few positions around his quarters – stepping one way then the other – like the upcoming confrontation with Anroc the footwork would be key to success. He sheathed the weapon and hung it back up. Words, not weapons, were going to win the day here. He hoped. ------------------------------------ Lt. Cmdr. Alexander Brodie Chief Counselor USS Thor NCC-82607 dualitygamer@gmail.com Writer ID.: A239005BM0

Spidey is great, but I really enjoyed seeing him in Voyager and him being the actual hero because of what he did to be able to communicate with them.