Alora DeVeau

Haha, it's still happening because Lukin is the best thing since sliced bread. 😉 Great exposition here.

Wes learns what it feels like to be a parent.

Welcome aboard!

Welcome! Glad to have you!

@Etan Iljor's hairdo through the eyes of an alien.

And just when I was starting to feel sorry for her...

Romulans. XD

Welcome! Glad to have you join us!

😈

((Chief Security Officer's Office, StarBase 118)) Mason: I don’t know why I brought that up. :: He shifts in his chair.:: I’m taking up too much of your time, Lieutenant. I should maybe go... Aine stood and set her glass down on the desk then reached out to shake Mason's hand. Sherlock: Well, Ensign, I'm available to talk whenever you need. It's no bother. Mason: :: stands up when she did, holding his glass in his left hand, and after shaking her hand with the other hand, he finishes the drink. He does not ask for one for the road but looks at her. :: Thanks for seeing me. I appreciate it. Take care, Sherlock: You too, have a good rest of your evening. She stood for a few moments more as Mason set his glass down on the coaster on the desk, and then made his way out of her office. Mason left her office and stood for a moment two steps outside the door. He had a simple choice to make in the moment. To go left - a more direct route to his quarters, or to go right and walk a bit. All sorts of destinations presented themselves in both directions, including a less direct route to his quarters if he went to the right. He was in no real hurry to go back to his quarters, so he went right. As he walked he compartmentalized his thoughts. Aware of his surroundings, walking, avoided bumping people standing around talking, nodding his head to those he passed who made eye contact and nodded at him, saying ‘hello’ to those who saw him walking by and said hello as they went their way. That was the surface-level thought. Below that level, his guard was up. He was attentive not only to his immediate space but the visible and audible space ahead and behind him and in open areas, all around him. His father had coached him as a child. He didn’t like to explain it and rarely did. But when he had, he explained it as nothing more than having learned techniques to improve his situational awareness. Situational awareness was being aware of one’s surroundings and any potential hazards or threats. That fairly summed it up. It wasn’t a special power, it wasn’t something exciting like being able to read minds or project thoughts. It was a learnable skill; to be observant, to be oriented, and to be decisive in weighing options and realistic in looking for the best possible outcome knowing his capabilities and limitations. And being willing to act using the information obtained through observation, orientation, and decision-making to protect him and get to safety. In familiar locations, when he was alert, awake, and sober, this compartmentalization allowed him to access another level of thought at the same time. Familiar locations did not always mean safe locations. Anyone who grew up in places like the south side of Chicago knew well that familiar locations did not always mean safe and sometimes, rarely meant safe. But walking here through this part of 118, more or less in the direction that would lead him towards several districts, after enjoying a couple of drinks with the Chief of Security this was not one of those times. Here right now, he was maybe 70% surface, 30% guard up, and 0% thinking about the past, present, or future. And that suited him right now. Sometimes thinking about all that crap was overrated. End Scene Mike Ensign Jackie Mason SN 118 OPS Counselor O239911JM3

I've done that! 😄

I love it when we see more insight into Rue.

Cogratulations! All the entries were beautiful (and one funny!). I'm in awe of the talent that we have in our group!

(( Egil's quarters - StarBase 118)) Egil had invited Rue over post mission to check in with her. This was the second high stress mission he'd worked alongside with her in a very short span of time. He had been spending more time dancing and work, burning himself down into the ground to deal with his own stress and emotions. His recent collapse on shift prompted him to check in on Rue. Or… try to. Blackwell: Well ::wryly:: I’m not collapsing at work if that is what you mean? I’m going to assume that Sickbay and Doctor Foster gave you some rest orders. Renot: Doctor Zumagi has seen to me. I haven't told Wyn yet. I probably should, before he finds out other ways. Egil grimaced at that thought. Wyn would definitely not be impressed if he found out of Egil's collapse through Zumagi. Blackwell:: I remember my starting days when I could just keep working until I fell over. ::she gave a smile that was without judgement or condescension, but empathy:: I lived for it. And after a mission like that...it’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind. Renot: I need to remember me and my body aren't as young as they used to be. Blackwell: So since you are on a bit of involuntary relaxing - ::she grinned:: did you make plans for something fun? Egil emitted a small snort, shaking his head. He definitely noticed Rue deflecting the topic back onto him. He had a plan… Renot: If you call dance practice and plant shopping fun, sure. Oh and gardening. Blackwell: ? He leaned forward and snagged the pot of the little bonsai with the tips of his fingers and dragged it closer. Renot: I can't neglect this little guy. He studied the tree. Maybe he should give some seeds from it to Alora. He was sure she would like some Al-Leyan plants. Blackwell: ? Renot: It's a little bonsai that's from a tree from my native planet. Trees are an integral part of our culture. Still not entirely sure why to be honest. Blackwell: ? Renot: The limbs of the tree are what people see on the outside of us; who we hang out with, our jobs, who we present to the world. The tree is only as strong and stable as its roots. And then, a catastrophic windstorm or the constant eroding trickle of water weaken the soil and roots and knock it down. Egil slid his fingers in the soil around the edge of the pot, lifting the little tree out to show the roots. They had seen better days. They were horribly cramped and tangled, a big mass of roots Blackwell: ? Renot: And our roots are our grounding forces that keep us… well… rooted. Loved ones, connections, mental health and so on. If we neglect our roots, our tree will fall over. These roots are overwhelmingly cramped. The tree is stressed. I need to thin them out and move it to a bigger pot. Egil gave Rue a very pointed look, slipping the bonsai gently back in the pot. Renot: So… how are your roots holding up? Egil dusted his hands off and picked up his tea, sipping it as he observed Rue with a concerned and caring expression. Blackwell: ? Tags/TBC Lt. JG Egil Renot Engineering Officer StarBase 118 Ops O239905ER3

((Kel’s Quarters, Deck 5, USS Intrepid)) Seeing her image on a screen was a strange experience. It was so sterile and far away and yet the woman pictured, Millie seemed to be closer to him than even a friend as good as Nesre. Hundreds of memories had paraded back into his mind. Breakfasts, coffees, hikes, dancing. He remembered their long conversations in starboard nacelle control on the Exeter. The nacelle was temperamental and Millie was constantly trying to get it to work properly. He would sit and read to her or chat while she pounded away and ran diagnostics. Even now it seemed she was right behind him, looking over his shoulder. Nesre's arrival had been something of a relief, bringing him back to the present, even if the present was the past. Now they sat in Dr. Sevrik's quarters, which were both familiar and different. Kel: I shouldn’t even be here. The Trill have very specific rules about being involved with "previous lives". I think I've already broken a half dozen. Salo: You make it sound as if you’re at fault. It wasn't of course and V'Len knew that. Rox had blown some kind of fuse and tried to give V'Airu the "best birthday gift ever". Frankly, V'Len felt a simple chocolate sundae would have sufficed. V'Len followed her gaze and quickly jumped up to shut off the monitor where the image of Millie was still visible. With the flick of a switch her image disappeared from the screen. Getting it out of his mind was more difficult. Kel: That. ::gesturing toward the screen:: That's just a ghost. She hadn't asked for an explanation, but he had felt compelled to give one. Salo: Really? She was a lovely ghost Setting back down, V'Len wished Nesre had not said that. He let out a slow controlled breath. He tried to stay focused on the conversation. Kel: She was one of the crew of the Exeter. I guess I was checking up on the old gang. I'm throwing the whole rule book out today it seems. I should get a nice long lecture from the Symbiote Commission when we get back. oO If we get back. Oo Salo: I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. Kel: It is hard. The more I need Xam Kel's knowledge, the more I pull out his personality. It's a balancing act being a joined Trill. Trying to keep yourself and still use the resources of past lives. Salo: Tell me about this. If we weren’t here, in this time, how would you keep that all straight? Kel considered for a moment and then gave the best analogy he could think of. Kel: Think of it like a faucet. If you want knowledge from the symbiote you open it to a tiny drip and you can pull out what you need. In our time I only ever open it a crack. Play the guitar, maybe fly, but those are things I learned myself and used the symbiote to give me more insight. So I just open and close the faucet as needed. Salo: And you’re finding that harder here? Kel: I…V'Len has never run a ship like this, so the faucet is open much wider because I need a lot of Xam Kel's help. And with it comes a lot of Xam Kel and his past. Her grey eyes glanced back over to the monitor ever so briefly before they flicked back to V’Len. Salo: And even harder when you know someone you are back in a time where someone you loved is still alive. V'Len was ever impressed with the woman's ability to piece together what was really going on. He'd not mentioned that he cared about the woman on the screen or that she was alive and even nearby. Nesre had pieced that together on her own. He wished they'd shared more holodeck mysteries. Salo: Would you share with me about her? It felt like the question itself somehow pierced him. Kel: ::firmly:: No. No I will not. Firstly, how could he express what Millie was to him? She was like a balm for his soul, effervescent and gentle and at the same time she was a force to be reckoned with, insightful, determined and resourceful. He was not sure he could summon the right words to his lips. Second, the more he thought about her, the more he thought about how to get back to her, to be with her again. Salo: Response V'Len stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He leaned against the wall and looked at the floor. Kel: The more I talk about Millie ::wincing:: oO why did I say her name? Oo the more I lose myself. No ::breathing deeply:: I can't tell you about her now. Salo: Response Kel: What else can I do? I have to keep the faucet open until the crew is safe. Even if it means losing V'Len, it's my duty as CMO to make sure the crew are safe. (beat) If it helps Xam is, by all accounts, a great guy. ::smiling:: Salo: Response Tags Lieutenant V’Len "Xam" Kel Chief Medical Officer/Helmsman USS Oumuamua NCC-81226/ USS Intrepid T239811VK2 He/Him (character and player)

Oh yes, that is very much a tired mother's dish!

*snickers*

(( Cargo hold, Dolorem )) Yavir set down the spanner, wiped his brow, and checked the connections for the seventeenth time. Everything looked correct and secure. At last after five and-a-half hours of back-breaking work clearing out the space, rewiring power to the new brackets, improvising and fabricating a restraint system, it was finally ready to power up. With incredible care, he verified the chips as he replaced them one after another in the panel. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and activated the circuits. The soft blue light was turned faintly purple through the filter of his eyelids. Normally, this success would have brought a smile to Yavir’s face, but now … well, he thought it would probably be quite some time until he felt like smiling again. Ten minutes later, he pushed a 2-meter long cylinder into the hold-turned-stasis bay. Internal illumination had been deactivated for transport, but had anyone seen the care with which Yavir pushed the hoversled, it would have been immediately clear whatever the cylinder held was of inestimable value. He slowly angled the sled, allowing the cylinder’s base to contact the base disc, then pushed the cylinder vertical. Once the temporary restraints hissed into place, he rotated the pod so the viewport faced away from the wall. Finally, he locked down the holding clamps he’d canibalized from another section of the cargo hold, and activated the pod’s internal illumination. Kat’s face was haloed in soft blue light. She looked serene - devoid of the stress and worry that he’d started to think was normal over the last couple years. Yavir: ::placing a hand on the outside of the viewport:: I’m going to make this right, Kitty. I promise. (( timeskip - the next morning, Miranda VII, Medical Facility )) He awoke early. Not just because he always woke up early, but because the Dolorem’s bunks weren’t exactly the most comfortable sleeping arrangements. Still, there was no way he could bring himself to sleep inside the old quarters. Since Kat’s accident and Nyra’s disappearance, it was impossible to enter without sobbing. Yavir felt as though in a single day everything he’d had was stripped away. As soon as he’d been given captaincy of the ship, he rechristened it the Dolorem and moved in full-time. But yesterday he’d heard there was another patient on Miranda VII with similar (albeit less severe) symptoms to those which Kat was suffering. Today he had set aside as a fact finding day. He would go to this other patient and get answers by any means necessary. Even the smallest clue as to how to help his sister would be a salve to his shattered heart. He walked through the entry door to the medical center, greeted the receptionist in the most affable manner he could muster, and was escorted to the room where the patient (known simply as “Liz”) was staying. Once they’d arrived, the nurse excused herself, leaving the two alone to talk. Yavir: Liz? Liz turned out to be a human girl of seventeen years of age, laying on one of the body beds. Someone who, with her short brown hair and wiry frame, didn’t stick out, and who Yavir would likely have overlooked her. Liz: Yes? ::pause:: What do you want? Yavir: My name is Yavir Moray. I need to ask you for your help. She frowned, evidently not happy with the idea of helping someone who belonged to Terra Prime. Because if Terra Prime questioned you, you usually ended up forgotten in a cell - no matter if you were guilty or not. Liz: For what? Yavir: Can you tell me anything about your accident? What caused your condition? Liz: I can’t. ::she said quickly:: Because Liz wasn’t sure what had happened. Yavir: Please. Anything. It’s for … someone close to me. They had a similar accident. Liz: It’s just a headache, I don’t know. This was clearly a young lady who didn’t want to talk to him. Yavir pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the stool next to the bed. She was his only lead, and whether she wanted to help him or not, she had answers, and she was going to share them. Yavir: Liz, I’m sorry your head hurts, but here’s the deal: helping me in any small way is helping you. Not helping me is … a bad idea. You have no idea what I’ve lost. She didn’t, but she didn’t really care either. Liz had learned to only look after herself, especially since Terra Prime had taken control of Miranda VII. Liz: I said I don’t know, okay? Now stop harassing me! Which was a lot braver than most other people in this situation would be, but Liz figured that aggression was the best way to get her out of this. He reached into his pocket where a small device was concealed. It was crude, hastily made, but he hoped effective. Once activated, the room (already mostly sound proof) would be unable to communicate out via traditional means. It essentially gave them total privacy. He toggled the device on as his other hand reached out as though to lay a comforting hand on Liz’ forearm. Yavir: I’m afraid I can’t accept that, Liz. ::his face dropped the feigned friendly demeanor, going stony:: What can you tell me about your condition? I need to know who was around you, what you felt, and why they stopped with you, but kept going with the other victim. She stared at the device, and pulled away from him. Perhaps saying what had happened would make this go away quickly, but admitting what she knew of Nyra was terribly risky - after all, they had planned their escape. Liz: I really don’t know… :: she tried:: His hand rested on her forearm, just above her slender wrist. Yavir never broke eye contact, but began applying pressure. He wasn’t the strongest man, but knowledge of pressure points and where the more delicate bones and ligaments were located overcame this. He steadily increased pressure, his knuckles going white with the force, as he spoke softly, still maintaining his unblinking stare. Yavir: What. Happened. Liz? Liz bit her lip, eventually deciding that some information wouldn’t hurt. Liz: Suddenly my head started hurting and I got dizzy. It started as a headache but it got worse and worse and worse. Yavir: ::still increasing his grip:: Who was there? She pressed her lips shut, closing her eyes. This couldn’t end well - he was, or had been, someone close to Nyra. He would never believe Liz if she told him… He felt something pop. It could have been in her wrist or one of his own knuckles cracking from the strain. At this point, his brain and hand barely communicated. Each faculty had its job to do, and didn’t bother checking in with the other. Yavir: You will tell me. Sooner is better - for us both. I don’t want to hurt you Liz. I’d genuinely be happy to stop. I have nothing against you. Liz yelped in pain, trying to pull her hand away. Just that she wasn’t particularly strong to begin with, and that Yavir had no intention of letting her go. Liz: Nyra. Nyra was there. She had climbed through the vent and she was covered in cuts and bruises. I think she was in the explosion that happened here. It was as if ice water had replaced his blood in an instant. His breath caught in his chest, and his vision swirled for a moment. That couldn’t be true. Nyra wasn’t capable of something like that. No human was. When he came back to his senses, Liz had tears on her cheeks and his fingers (and hers) had gone purple. He could feel a grinding of her carpal bones, letting his brain know he’d continued increasing the force of his grip. Now was not the moment for pity though. Yavir: You’re lying. Liz: I’m not! Really! Yavir: Nyra CAN’T. DO. THAT. Each word was punctuated with an abrupt shake of her captive wrist. He stood from the stool, looming over her where she cowered without breaking eye contact. His breath was ragged and his words now came as raspy whispers. Yavir: Tell me everything you know. Now. Liz couldn’t do that. Not out of loyalty to Nyra, not out of loyalty to Kayla, Sam or Lauri. Because it would only make matters worse. Liz: I met Nyra before. She was always … weird. ::she once more tried to pull away from him:: I heard the explosion and I was going to check what happened. I wanted to take the vent, but Nyra was already there. Yavir: She was there? That doesn’t make sense. Liz: She was injured. She spoke to me, and then she… she… I don’t know. It was like she was staring through me. Then the headache started. He was getting really tired of the vague answers. Sure, she was telling him what happened, but not HOW it happened. Someone had caused an explosion, this Liz person found Nyra nearby, wounded, and then (according to Liz) Nyra gave her a headache. Yavir: ::in an undertone to himself, finally breaking eye contact:: But Nyra couldn’t do that unless… Liz: She said she was sorry. And that I need to get away from her. Yavir: Liz, I’m giving you one chance to answer me directly or I swear on everything you find holy or sacred, I will kill you right here. How could Nyra have done this? He placed his unoccupied hand next to her head and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. The angle forced her injured wrist back within his grip. He could see tiny reflections of his own face reflected back at him in the tears filling her eyes. Liz, who clearly was panicking, didn’t know how to answer that - she would, at best, be guessing. She knew that there were some telepathic species who could do something like it, but claiming that Nyra wasn’t human would hardly make matters better. Liz: I. DO. NOT. KNOW! ::each word came louder as the last:: Yavir’s hand left Liz’s pillow, reaching for the bedside table. There were a few items there, but the one his hand settled on was a solid mass of casing and circuitry. The medical scanning and diagnostic device had most likely been placed there by some conscientious nurse, hoping to make future check-ups of the patient more efficient. They would never have imagined the tricorder being held aloft as a final threat of violence. Yavir: ::softly and calmly:: Not enough, Liz. Liz: ::through gritted teeth:: Maybe she had some device! Maybe her brain is broken! Maybe she’s telepathic, maybe she’s not even human! I DON’T KNOW! His vision narrowed and focussed on her frightened eyes. Yavir could hear his own blood surging in his ears. The words “broken,” “telepathic,” and “not human” echoed in his mind - a cacophony of four words that sped up, slowed down, and overlapped until they became a his of static to match the blurring image before him. As the tricorder swung down, he was aware of the scene as though he were outside it instead of the perpetrator himself. The man, semirecumbent over the already injured girl, brought the technology designed to heal down in an arc intent on the very opposite of healing. At the same moment, four sounds could have been heard in the room, were there anyone present capable of hearing them. The mingled crunches of bone from Liz’s wrist and head were offset by the crunch made from the housing of the tricorder cracking. She would have cried out in pain had the blow not rendered her unconscious. The sound instead that contradicted yet complimented the staccato of breaking things was another breaking. Yavir uttered a sound that somehow combined the grunt of furious exertion and the further disillusionment of hope. He raised the tricorder again, intending to bring it down one more time, fulfilling his lethal intent, but in his periphery, he saw Liz’s vital signs displayed on the wall above her bed. She might live. She might not. He now found himself staring at the figures, charts, and numbers - very few of which he knew how to interpret. The cracked tricorder slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor where the clamshell hinge gave up the fight, sending the device in two directions. Rising from the bed without another sound, Yavir zipped up his jacket and walked straight out of the facility, not stopping or acknowledging a soul on his way back to the Dolorem. He had new questions, and needed new answers. He had to find Nyra. End MSNPC Liz Simmed by Nestira Aristren J239809TA4 And MSNPC Yavir Moray Simmed by Hiro Jones E239510KD0

I find this a little concerning...

*snort*

I'm just going to leave this here without context.

((Sera’s Quarters – Commerical District)) Giellun looked around her small apartment and watched S’Ers-a over to what appeared to be a small kitchenette and she began busying herself with…something. Her industry gave him some time to look about the small, yet meticulously maintained space. On a low table next to a couch was a green plant in a stasis unit and he walked over to observe it more closely. Giellun: Is this a Vulcan plant? Sera: It is not. It was a…gift from my XO…a…housewarming gift, I believe she called it. A Terran plant. It is an African Violet, Saintpaulia ionantha. Giellun studied the now highly suspicious Terran flora with a critical eye. It was lovely…and he hated admitting that. Continuing his perusal of her quarters, he saw a desk that was filled with equipment in various states of repair. All the components were lined up perfectly. She obviously had a most fastidious work habit. Giellun: ::snorting:: Vulcans… He looked over his shoulder and saw Sera standing at the replicator studying him in the same manner he had looked over her workspace and he stood tall, refusing to feel self-conscious at what, getting caught looking? Sera: ::motioning to the sitting area:: Please sit, tr’Pardek. Giellun did as was requested but wondered why she called him by his family name. He had given her all of them, and a Rihanha did not give a name for one not to use it. The programmed refreshments materialized. Picking up the tray she silently padded over to the low table that he sat at and got to her knees to prepare a cup of tea for her…guest. It was a ritual of sorts, and a most important one. The measuring and whisking of the crushed tea leaves and herbs, the positioning of the cups, the placement of her hands. It showed attention to detail, a preciseness which expressed a most focused intent, an honor bestowed. With the cup prepared, she picked it up with both of her hands and handed it directly to him, not placing it in front him. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the act, having never done this before. A female did not hand food or drink directly to a male unless they were family…or something else. Giellun looked at the offered cup and then to her, taking it with both of his hands in a much clumsier manner than what she demonstrated. He knew somehow this was important but did not understand the cultural nuance as he knew little of Vulcan customs. He solemnly brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, with the Vulcan woman watching on. Giellun: Aesollh! ::looking down into the cup and seeing a bluish-lavender colored tea:: It is of most excellent quality! ::with great warmth:: I thank you… His voice trailed off in the same manner hers did earlier. He had been given no name to call her by either. Sera: ::reciprocating:: S’Ers-a M’Lyr’Zor. She saw his incredulous look and although she did not express it, his response amused her. Sera: You may call me Sera. It is easier to pronounce. Giellun: ::shaking his head in a negative manner:: I am honored by your name…Saw-Ertz-eh? Sera prepared herself a cup of tea to keep herself busy for the moment. Sera: No. Seh-Ers-ah. Giellun nodded and took another sip. He hadn’t had Aesollh tea since the destruction of ch’Rihan. She could not know what a gift she bestowed upon him…could she? They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the tea. Giellun: Why did you do it, S’Ers-a? Sera was expecting the questions, so she gently placed the teacup on the table and put her hands in her lap. Sera: I…::hesitating:: Sera wanted to deflect as this line of questioning made her uncomfortable. However, he had asked a direct question, which from what she knew of Rihannsu social mores was rather...unorthodox. He deserved honesty in this. Sera: When you were pulled out of the rubble, you were...dying. I performed rescue breathing. ::seeing the question on his face:: It is a resuscitative technique. Regardless, you began breathing on your own, but your injuries were life threatening. Vulcans are taught a technique to assist others during times of injury - as I am not medically trained, I considered it...logical to attempt this technique in effort to stabilize you until you could receive the appropriate medical attention. But…my ministrations…it did not go as planned. To hear her say that, so clinically. A Vulcan would think it was logical to try to save him. Not because she cared…wait. Why did that matter? Giellun: Obviously. ::switching gears:: So…ah…your priest…fixed us, then? Sera: ::tilting her head slightly to the side:: Define, fixed, tr’Pardek. Giellun: My name is Giellun, S’Ers-a. ::leaning forward, putting his hands on the table so that his head was level with hers:: Say…it… Sera’s mouth went dry as he stared intently into her eyes. She felt flushed suddenly, at his proximity, and his command. Sera: …Giellun. He nodded and leaned back, more than a little satisfied to hear her say his name. With a small smile, he picked up his tea and saluted her, taking another draw. He had more questions but found that he was not in a rush to obtain the answers he sought. He was rather...enjoying this exchange. So instead, they sat, drinking the Aesollh in silence. Once the last sip had been swallowed, Giellun stood, and Sera scrambled to get up from her knees. Sera: I thought you had questions, tr…Giellun. Giellun: I do…but I find there is something else I would rather do in this moment. Sera tilted her head again, looking confused. He smirked at her naivety; he took a step forward, and she in turn took one back. Giellun: Are you afraid, Neiirrh? Sera: Why do you ask that…and what is a neiirrh? Giellun kept stepping forward until her back hit the wall and he reached his hands out, so they touched the coolness of the bulkhead behind her. His hands again framed her face, and the position gave him the opportunity to lean in closer to her. It was the same position they held in the courtyard…had they found themselves back in the same moment, only with the scenery changed? Giellun: Because you are acting like you are…and a neiirrh is…was a small, brilliantly colored bird of my homeworld. They are beautiful creatures…and dangerous, too. Sera: ::considering: So…a compliment? Giellun: ::his voice taking on a husky undertone:: Yes. How he said that simple word sent a frisson of something through her, even as she took the moment to study his face as it was bare inches from hers. It was a most acceptable visage. Symmetrical and strong, sharp cheekbones, and subtle ridges that formed a V of sorts on his forehead. His eyes were the color of dark chocolate, and they stared back at her in a manner that denoted something important, but she did not have a reference to infer what that might be. She could not stop herself. Sera took a deep breath, using her olfactory senses. She wasn’t certain what to expect…but this? He smelled of things that called to the hearth fire, of cedar and smoke, of incense and the tart citrus of sash-savas…it was not disagreeable. At all. Giellun noticed the Vulcan woman studying him again, and he kept his expression carefully neutral. It gave him the same opportunity, which was most…agreeable. Wait, what? By the Elements, she was tall, but it wasn’t unappealing in the slightest. He barely had to tilt his chin down to look in her eyes, and that was quite refreshing change if he was being honest with himself. Her indeterminant length dark hair was pulled back, but tendrils of it had come loose, and part of him wanted to reach back and release it all and run his hands through the silken locks. Her eyes, however, were something else. They were a light blue, an uncommon color amongst Rihannsu, and their hue reminded him of the sky of ch’Rihan. Fire burns, and air fans the flame, and she was beautiful. These were indisputable truths to him. Giellun: May I touch you? Sera: ::frowning ever so slightly:: We should not… Giellun: I did not ask if I should…I asked if I could, S’Ers-a…may I touch you? Sera shut her eyes, as if it would make what was happening disappear. She should say no. She should remind him what Nalaat told them both. She should tell him to leave. That encouraging this…whatever this was, was not logical. “I did not ask if I should…” His words echoed. Sera: ::opening her mouth to say no:: …Yes. oO Traitorous mouth Oo Giellun pushed away from the wall, standing upright, and looked down at her, almost disbelieving that she agreed. Tentatively he brought his hands up to the loose hair which framed her face and ran it between his fingers. It was soft. Feeling emboldened, he ran his fingers through hair along the sides of her head, gathering it and pulling it loose from its bindings. It fell in loose waves about her shoulders. Giellun: ::intently:: …emaehe Sera raised a brow in question. Giellun: The Elements have given you to me…as a gift…as a curse. I know not. But who am I to question their will. Sera: ::lifting her hands and placing them on his chest, in a half-hearted attempt to push him away:: A rather dramatic interpretation of events, Giellun. We must abide by what Nalaat said— Giellun: Why? The old man said many things, S’Ers-a, but he is not here. Just you…and me. Sera: ::mentally scrambling:: You are simply…feeling the residual imbalance, Giellun. We should return to our respective spheres of influence. This will settle out. Why did she feel as if she were lying to him? oO Because you are lying to him. You are lying to yourself. Oo Giellun: And what if I don’t want to? Part of her was thrilled to hear him say that. That part was quickly beaten down with a mental lirpa. No. Bad. No. Sera: Why would you not want to? You have been given a second chance in essence. You can return to your life, your duties. In time, all of this will seem like a dream. Of no import. Sera was confusing him. She was parroting what the priest Nalaat said to them both earlier, but he just knew she did not believe it. How did he know that? Giellun: Is that what you want? Sera opened her mouth to answer but found she could not honestly grant him a reply and used the moment to attempt to gain some distance from him. Giellun saw through her tactic and lightly grabbed her arm, pulling her back so she was standing before him. Giellun: Don’t pull away from me. ::pausing:: S’Ers-a, is it truly such an irrational thing to want to learn more about you? Grant me this. Sera said nothing, but Giellun felt her acquiesce. He smiled down at her, satisfied with this small victory. Sera: Very well. What do you wish to know? Giellun chuckled and smiled warmly at her. He had won this round. Giellun: Oh, that’s simple, Neiirrh…Everything. Sera: Everything? ::brows furrowing:: I am Vulcan, Giellun. We take things quite literally. I will have to formulate a strategy to satisfy the requirements of your inquiry. That could take some time… By Surak she was babbling… Giellun: ::smirking:: You Vulcans talk too much. There are other ways to learn about each other. He saw the subtle shift of expression and the flash in her eyes at his ‘insult’. There it was…she had fire in her yet. And before Sera could issue a reply, Giellun leaned forward and took the words right out of her mouth. <<End Scene>> ***************** Lieutenant JG Sera Engineering Officer SB 118 Ops J239812S14

((Starbase 118, Commercial Sector)) He was exhausted. After the assassins had been neutralized, Isaac had been re-tasked to help with the rescue and recovery efforts, which was an all hands on deck sort of mission. Everyone who was able pitched in and many were saved as a result. There were also many who didn’t make it, and the mobile morgues were taking inventory of the bodies as they came in. Eventually, the teams were relieved and new, fresh crews took their place. Exhaustion was a funny thing. After a while, no, matter how tired he was, Isaac got his second wind… in this case, it was probably his thirtieth-or-so wind by now. It took him a minute or so to figure out where to go, and once he was oriented, the walk to the turbolift was a bit foggy to him, and during the ride to the Marine decks he found himself reflecting on his arrival at his arrival on the station. Lt. Commander DeVeau had arranged quarters for him but he hadn’t had a chance to find them. In the fog of his tired brain, he didn’t even remember where they were. Thankfully, the computer was far smarter than he was in the moment, and when he asked the turbolift to take him to Isaac Green’s Quarters, the computer chirped, signaling it’s understanding and set off. The turbolift car slid to a stop and the door opened on Deck 873 North and Isaac stepped out onto the carpeted floor. There were apartments both directions from the entrance to the lift, and for a moment he stood in the hallway looking each direction as if there would be a sign with his name on it sticking out into the corridor. He laughed at himself for a moment, realizing what he must look like to anyone who happened to see him standing there with the lost look on his face, then remembered he had his PADD in the pouch on his belt. Extracting it, he scrolled to the memo sent to him by the X.O. which told him he was assigned to Apartment 36D, which happened to be two doors from where he stood. Seconds later, he stood before the door to the place he would be calling home for the foreseeable future. The small apartment was opulent compared to some of the places he had “lived” during his career. It was tiny, but that was all he really needed. It had a living area with a small kitchenette, a bedroom, and a private bathroom. None of his stuff was there, leaving the apartment feeling a bit sterile, but that didn’t stop him from using the place. The shower was his destination, then some sleep was the order of the day. Not waiting, he stripped off and climbed into the stall, allowing the sonic shower to “wash” away the grime from the past hours. He stood there through two complete cycles and still didn’t feel like it was enough. The fatigue had set in though, and without ceremony turned the system off and crossed the room into the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed and was asleep almost immediately. Isaac woke some six hours later, and when he looked at the chronometer on the bedside table he wished he could sleep more. His body wouldn’t have it though, and he rose and dressed in a tank-top and track pants. The replicator graciously generated a cup of black coffee at his command and he took the hot cup from the slot and sat on his small sofa. His thoughts went back to the last couple of days. The smoke had cleared, which only gave everyone a clearer view of the devastation the explosions had caused. A clear view of the actual damage done, not just to the buildings and infrastructure, but the impact such a tragedy has on society. Only a couple of days ago, the citizens of Starbase 118 lived in a world they considered safe. Most of these people, predominantly civilian, woke every morning expecting to have their blueberry muffin or yoghurt parfait and head off to work. Most of these people expected to return to their homes in the evening, go about the routine that had been every other evening, then retire for the night; only to do it again the next morning. A rinse and repeat way of life. Most of these people live in a psychological condition where they are only attentive to the world immediately around them. For some, that may be changed forever. For the First Responders that day, their preparation had likely been through drill and simulation, but how does one truly prepare themselves, or their crew for that matter, to be pulling the dead and dying from under still burning building debris? How does a team make themselves ready to run into the flames and smoke to save people they have never met, and likely would never have met if it weren’t for the tragedy unfolding around them? How does someone prepare themselves to make the decision; the conscious decision, to step in front of a bullet to shield another life, knowing that doing so will likely end theirs? How does someone prepare themselves to consciously take another’s life? For the First Responders of Starbase 118, that preparation comes through persistent training and incredible leadership. That leadership was apparent that day, and because of that leadership and preparation, countless lives were saved. What spanned over the course of a short time, set into motion events that will take months, if not years, to clean up. The Incident Commands will change, the priorities will shift, but the end of the event won’t come for a long, long time. To some of those directly affected by the horrors of that day, the event will never be over. Something, a sight or sound or smell, will trigger a memory of that day, which will recall a memory of the tragedies. To many, they will re-live the events in their minds as if they were happening over and over again. The counsellors were sure to be busy for the next few years, cleaning up that part of the devastation caused by the terrorist attacks. Taking a long sip of the steaming cup of black coffee, Isaac reflected on the day, taking it in and processing it. That was the only way he knew how to use the experiences to understand and learn for the next time, and he knew there would be a next time. He sat on his little sofa, coffee in one hand and PADD in the other. He tapped the information into the PADD as it came to him, documenting the events as he recalled them. He also made notes about the people he worked with that day and their common acts of heroism. There were many acts of common heroism throughout the course of the day. The ones Isaac made specific mention of in his report were the ones he had personally witnessed. Lt. Sera had rushed into danger, without thought of her personal safety, to stop the threat in that bell tower. Colonel Greaves, one hell of a Marine in Isaac’s opinion, stepped down range without a second thought. Lt. Sherlock, taking the role of Chief of an incredibly large security department during one incredibly large event, and putting herself in the line of fire to protect the base’s First Officer. A new Ensign… Isaac struggled to remember her name for a moment, then it came to him… Willow, she had followed Lt. Sherlock into the fray, without question, and did her job. All of these acts were responsible for saving untold numbers of lives. Isaac referred to their actions as “common heroism” because it was what they would do every day, regardless of the personal consequences, and they would never consider it unusual or uncommon acts of valor. It’s just what they do. Once the assassination threats had been neutralized, Isaac had offered his help with the rescue and recovery efforts. This was mindless work for him; he just took orders and followed direction of the section chiefs running the operations. The task was massive, but in the end there were a lot of people saved. Unfortunately, the searchers also recovered a lot of bodies and Isaac found himself re-tasked to help the morgue crews catalogue and tag the dead. Thankfully, his role had come to an end and he was released to secure. Setting the PADD on the coffee table, he sat back and put his feet up next to it. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he wondered if this was what being stationed on the Starbase was going to be like… if so, he already liked it. -END- 1Lt. Isaac Green Marine Officer 292 SFMC Starbase 118 Ops R238801IG0