Sal Taybrim

That brings back memories! Superbly written @Vitor S. Silveira!

When Ops turns to Oops >.>

'Did we set a bomb? Oopsies...'

It's all about the spots, 'bout the spots, 'bout the spots, no tribbles...

I really love it when players get to explore a different side of their character, or use a persona to show character. Sheila does a superb job in playing a rogue to show who her character really is! ❤️ ((Miranda VII Station - Promenade)) With that Alora made her way to the entrance of the hallway, to where it branched out into the greater thoroughfare of the station, while at the same time making sure to stay sequestered in the shadows along the way. Sheila followed, her head bent almost naturally, as she worked to make sure she was properly putting one crutch and one foot in front of the other. While she walked she pondered several questions. Mostly she was wondering what their game plan was going to be. It was going to be hard to know what to say or how to even act if she didn’t have at least the smallest sense of what they were planning. Even with that said it was going to be hard, too, to predict everything before going in. Each individual was unique in their words, actions and reaction. Sheila only hoped that she would be able to find an in and casually mention how the residents were being treated. That sort of topic might just get this woman to start talking. Though there was the potential for that particular topic to backfire horiably. She may be unwilling to talk or get angry and violent instead. Either way they would have to find out to be sure. In a different sense, Sheila wasn’t at all nervous. This wasn’t her first time on this particular station. No, once she had been here for several moments at least, Sheila actually felt quite comfortable, confident even. Though that could have just been due to the conditioning of her childhood coming out to play. She was comfortable with such a harsh, controlling environment, it was predictable in a sense, as at one point in time it had been an environment that felt safe, like home. On the other hand, the young Elaysian woman had to shake herself from that particular set of programming. Now she was in a safe environment, for the most part, and wouldn’t be purposefully put in harm's way with ill intent. Notwithstanding, Sheila did feel that she could use that childhood sense of control and conditioning to her advantage. And if it gave her a sense of confidence, which she had not previously felt before on the Rahuba, then she might as well hone that to get the information they needed. Take on a bit of her uncle and bada-bing they would be golden. Bailey: Do we know what we are even going to ask this woman? I mean we can’t just walk up to her and tell her who we are. We got some sort of cover story we can use? Yael: We’re new on the station? Looking for opportunity, or jobs? But… disgruntled with current management. DeVeau: Yes, pretty much. Looking for employment. Our last employers disappeared. That seemed rather reasonable and would work well with her angle, to go in and mention how residents were being treated. The only modification needed would be to likely mention how the employed population was being treated instead. Weave it into their cover story. And as a doctor Sheila could unquestionably discuss workplace mistreatment with ease. It might just get the woman talking. Bailey: I mean, we have to be careful with what sort of information we share. It goes back to what I was saying earlier. Our words can be used to gain their trust and one wrong word or phrase can leave us vulnerable. DeVeau: I agree. Which is why we’ll need to be diplomatic. Oh boy, Sheila was going to be able to ham up her performance with proficiency, now that she knew a bit more of their angle. And If Sheila had taken the intent correctly, Alora’s wink meant she thought the same. At least the superior officer had confidence in their skills. Bailey: I guess the best place to start would be by asking what sort of information you believe this woman can give us? Yael: We can at least learn how the non-Human population is being treated. If she’s receptive or disgruntled, we can risk exposing our non-Human origins… it could create an instant understanding between us, considering the current climate. She’ll assume we’re also targeted and laying low. DeVeau: Most likely. Learning about how the non-human population was being treated worked skillfully with her intended direction. Sheila could easily invent details of a fake past and weave it into her intended topic of conversation. If she was crafty enough then she would be able to get the woman to start talking about what she wanted. Get her to spout the information they were looking for. Sheila would only need to choose her words carefully and to insert herself at the necessary time, in order to properly avoid any sort of nasty altercation. DeVeau: But we’re not just looking for information. We’re looking to see if we can gauge whether or not anyone is willing to fight and wrestle control away from Terra Prime. If anyone was willing, such willingness would come out in their body language. As the old saying went, “don’t underestimate the importance of body language!” Sheila certainly felt that she was a semi-pro at reading and analysing body language; A skill that was necessary to her profession as a doctor. In fact it made her quite giddy, internally, to get to employ such a skill out in the wild. Yael: Is that it…? At last Sheila decided to look up at their surroundings. Evidently, they had come to a row of businesses. A little ways down, clear as day, was one with a faded sign reading “Pour Decisions.” Their destination. With conviction Sheila was starting to believe that she was having a day of “what would Sheila not do.” She was not one to normally enter a bar of her own free will. Nor was she one to pretend to be someone she was not. But it seemed there was a first time for everything. DeVeau: Looks like it. Bailey: Seems like it’s now or never. No turning back. With confidence and control coursing through her veins, Sheila, Alora and Ashley close behind, walked towards the entrance of the bar, stopping just before going in. The place was woebegone; like a saloon out of the ancient west. Her uncle, sure as shootin’, would have been enamored with the place. Likely spending all day drinking at the establishment if he could. But that was not the point. She wasn’t here to drag him out. They were here to go in a delegate and to not start a bar fight if at all possible. Before she could make headway on going in Ashley beat both her and Alora to it. Regrettably at that exact moment someone exited, shattering the swinging doors. In turn the same set of doors oscillated back and forth swinging into Ashley crushing his arm and sending him toppling backwards onto the grimy floor. DeVeau: Ash! Bailey: You alright? Sheila figured, what with Alora going over to assist Ashley up off the floor, that she was good to hang back. Though the moment she figured she ought to go over and assist, to make sure there were no broken bones, asstonishment overtook her. A large beefy man had come flying out of the bar, landing on the floor in an undignified smashed heep. And emanating from inside was a slew of what she could only guess were curse words in an unspecified forien language; one that she couldn’t recognize. Though that was of little consequence at present. Coming out after the smashed man was a woman, medium height and advantageously built. This woman was dressed in a plain brown, nondescript garment. Her only distinguishing features were the clearly Cardasian and Bajoran ridges adorning her face and neck. Sheila watched her closely, as if trying to analyze her every minute movements, as she gazed first at the smashed man and then at Ashley. Though after a moment the woman turned away, leaving Ashely to go after her and Alora to look at Sheila in what she could only guess was bemusement. Sheila could only go in after Alora and see what was going on. Once inside Sheila could see the woman holding a seat near the end of the bar. Ashley didn’t even stop, merely walked over and took the open seat next to her. Alora on the other hand motioned to the other end of the bar, alternatively wanting to watch from a distance before interfering. When Sheila and Alora took their seats at the other end the Elaysian watched as the superior officer and counselor met eyes, Alora nodding. Sheila however chose to remain silent, for the time being, in order to learn from the provided body language. It was going to tell them something that was going to be hard to get with words alone. Yael: After an introduction like that, I think you owe me a drink. Woefully, Sheila was at an angle where tiny features were hard to make out. Nonetheless she caught the way the woman’s eyes, presumably Janil’s, waltzed over to look sidelong at Yael. They rolled away out of her frame of vision. Even so, she saw the attitude behind the gesture. Janil likely didn’t care at all for the well-being of the two participants involved in the altercation out front. If she did, then she wanted to play hard to get by acting as if she was being passive aggressive about it all. At least Sheila assumed as much. Janil then picked up the glass sitting in front of her, half empty of some unique, bright green substance. Yael: ::glancing at her brightly colored drink:: One of… whatever the Hell that is. What was a stunner to Sheila though was the way that Yael went and ordered the same thing as Janil. That certainly did not seem like a truly Ashley thing to do. Though it worked for the purposes of the mission. Even so the bartender, a tall, thin human, fulfilled the request with ease, mixing together several liquids in order to reach the desired green color. Undoubtedly not something she herself would have ordered to drink. She was more of a whiskey or cocktail girl, when she was in the rare mood to drink. Guess each to their own which was proven when the bartender made his way over to her and Alora and the older woman ordered bloodwine. Bailey: Glass of whiskey please, on the rocks. When the bartender placed the drink in front of her, more ice than whiskey, Sheila picked it up, swirling it around, playing with it’s contents, as she turned back to watch Ashley and Janil, casually leaning her back against the bar. Yael: Do people here still give out their names? Isn’t that against Syndicate regulations? Culpable deniability and all. It definitely appeared that Ashley wasn’t getting the message that Janil was hugely disinterested. Despite that Yael continued talking, going so far as to laugh, hopefully to give off a lighthearted atmosphere. Janil on the other hand still continued to remain silent. This was going well. At least no one had pulled any more stunts. They still had an opportunity to successfully talk to the woman. And Sheila was positively dripping with exhilaration at being able to talk to the woman herself; put on her bad girl attitude and get down on her level. Yael: It’s Clark. Clark Kent. Sheila however quickly formed her face into a stoic expression as not to give her brewing exhilaration away. Showing any form of emotion could play straight in Janil’s hand and that was not what they wanted. She wasn’t even phased by the cover name Yael had used. It did the job well. Generic or non-unique names tended to do well for that purpose. Even then she resumed watching Ashley interact with the woman; the way she finished off her drink and then with a nod, as if at a silent auction, indicated that she wanted another drink. The bartender obliged. Yael: My friends and I are looking for work. Came a long way on Miranda's reputation... just to be disappointed, I guess. Has it always been this *dismal* here? Janil: Have you always been this annoying? Sheila had a sneaking suspicion that the woman would eventually crack under the pressure of having to constantly listen to Ashley talk. Most people did tend to speak up sooner or later when it came to that sort of constraint chatter. It was likewise no surprise to Sheila that the woman and a fleck of snark in her voice. A bad girl attitude if there ever was one. She certainly liked that, could get behind that, use that to their advantage. What did catch Sheila off guard slightly was when Janil turned her gaze towards her and Alora. Janil: If you think you can take me three to one, you’re sorely mistaken. Alora’s lips thinned in a tight line, while Sheila cocked a half smile. The situation could go south at any moment, though she certainly hoped it didn’t, she was rather starting to enjoy herself. Janil: What are you going to do? ::She was clearly talkin to Bailey.:: Hit me with a crutch? Sheila got up off her bar stool at that, leaving her drink behind, and walked closer, radiating confidence and a touch of uncouthness. Bailey: ::With a touch of sweet snark in her own voice:: I certainly hope it doesn't come to that, sweetheart. If it does though, I might just have to. I left my attack dog at home. Yael: Response Janil snorted as if appreciating her humor, chasing the laughter down with the rest of her second glass of green stuff before bashing the glass upon the bar top. Janil: Oh yeah? So you’re just here to play nice. Now that Sheila had gotten closer to Ashley and Janil, she could no longer see Alora’s reactions to the conversation at hand. Nonetheless she figured the other woman was either anxious or nervous about the direction it was going. Bailey: If we all play nice then no one has to get hurt lovely. Yael: Response Janil: Spit it out or get out of my face. Bailey: I say. And you’d think one or two drinks would loosen you up a bit. We only want to talk as I’m sure my friend Clark has made clear. But if you insist you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the job market on Miranda? DeVeau/Yael: Response Janil: Response Bailey: Oh I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Sara Sharpe. ::Sheila then held out a hand for Janil to shake:: DeVeau/Yael: Response Janil: Response Bailey: I’m sure Clark mentioned how we are looking for jobs. Though I’m certainly looking for better working conditions. You see I got injured while operating machinery on the last one. Employer didn’t take too kindly to that. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the employer, employee relation on the station would you? Perhaps how they treat those that are undesirable? Sheila was banking on the possibility that Janil would come around to liking her. Mostly for her attitude alone, for being on par with her own. Or in the way that she was not taking no for an answer. Or the signal she sent by leaning her crutches up against the bar between Janil and herself. Or even in the way she casually leaned her back against the bar; though secretly it was a way to support herself and prevent the highly realistic possibility of falling over. Overall she was radiating as much bad girl energy as possible in order to try and meet Janil on the same wavelength and create a connection. DeVeau/Yael: Response Janil: Response Lieutenant Sheila Bailey Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops M239512BG0 "I don't want to feel like I have to change myself or my image." - Florence Pugh

I just adore really good character development / character mindset posts and this one is masterful at digging into the psyche of the character! ((Bridge – USS Rahuba)) Yael: … I think Utopia Colony was a test run for genocide. The revulsion in his tone and expression was likely less restrained than it could have been. But… it was vital they understood his train of thought. By the expressions crossing their faces… or in the case of Commander Dal, the angle change to his antennae… they understood the gravity of the statement. Dal: A dark and horrific possibility. DeVeau: With that type of outlook, I'd say it’s stronger than just possibility. Yael: Believe me. I hope I’m wrong. The bridge absorbed the idea for a moment before Alora continued. DeVeau: Ash, Sheila, let’s get those subdermal transporter nodes. We also need to change. I doubt we’ll be welcomed by anyone if we are walking around in our uniforms. ::She turned to Sheila.:: I’m going to ask you to get rid of all the pink. It’ll attract too much attention. Ash caught Sheila’s stare ata Alora, but there was understanding beneath the dislike for the order. It was understandable. Sheila *did* stand out in a room, with her colored hair and style. And she would stand out enough without them, still with her walking aids. His amethyst eyes flicked to Alora and he knew what was coming. DeVeau: Might not be a bad idea for you too, Ash. Those are easy, quick changes at least. Meet me in shuttle bay one. Bailey: Yes, Sir. If it’s easy to do once I can just re-dye it again when we’re done. Yael: ::nodding in acceptance:: Aye, ma’am. DeVeau: By your leave. The team made to leave the bridge, with Commander Dal’s blessing on their heels. Dal: May the stars be at your back, Commander. Be safe. We will cover your approach. ((Miranda VII Station - Promenade)) The trio beamed down, looking quite appropriate for their task and to adhere to their orders. Alora was adorned in a white shirt, tanned colors, boots. Sheila looked a little sharper in her adapted wardrobe, but was very much in tune with the station. Both of them had the benefit of having been to Miranda before… this was where Yael lacked, in terms of experience. He’d stressed shortly over his appearance prior to beaming down, and had used the replicator in haste on the shuttle prior to arriving. He’d not had time to dye his hair… it was purple, but not *bright* purple. Would a hood do? There would be plenty of hooded figures on a station with Miranda’s reputation, right? So he chose that as a sensible and quick adaptation to his unique hair. In a very muted red and purposefully distressed fashion, he chose a knee length sleeveless hooded shirt with studded ties at the front, lashing it round his midsection snuggly before opening low on his chest and flaring slightly past his hips. The hood had a pointed crook at the forehead, draping down nearly to his eyes but allowing him vision while obscuring the ridges round his eyes and his forehead. What about the chin and jaw? They were still very Not Human and pretty obvious with the hood. Could he get away with a mask without drawing attention? What about his *eyes?* No way they passed for Human… jewel toned amethyst was definitely not a Human trait. Typically he loved his unique features. He didn’t say it out loud for not wanting to sound vain, but he *liked* standing out just a little. It made socializing so much easier if people were drawn to him, feeling he was approachable. It also didn’t hurt his professional pursuits either. But today he cursed his ridges. He’d never once worn contacts… could he replicate a pair? Didn’t you need a doctor to fit them properly? Sheila was busy after already fitting them with sub-dermal transporter nodes! Could he even figure them out in the short time they had available to prep? Glasses. Definitely glasses. And a face mask. It was too much. He couldn’t do a hood, tinted glasses, AND a mask. *Internal Panic Mode #1 Activated* Thirty seconds later he made the mental choice. Go with understated mystery, and just… rock it, he guessed. So to compliment the distressed hooded trench-style shirt, he replicated both a simple black face mask and a sleek but understated red-black tinted pair of glasses. They weren’t totally opaque, but they obscured the color of his eyes perfectly. The glasses also created a psychological barrier between him and anyone who might try to identify him. Next, a slim black long sleeve shirt beneath the sleeveless hooded shirt. Trim but sport style black pants with no detailing. A simple pair of matt black boots, with obligatory scuffing. A pair of worn leather fingerless gloves, to cover his braces. He had his ensemble. … This was awful. This was never going to work. He was overdoing it. Or was he not doing it *enough* to pull it off? Did he LOOK like he was trying to hide something? He *felt* like he looked like he was trying to hide something. Would this get them all caught immediately? Was he dooming his crew from the offset?! *Internal Panic Mode #2 Activated* STOP. Stop it. PIck something and rock it. Nobody on a criminal infested station is going to question wanting to keep ones identity obscured. He just had to exude a “criminal” aura and *confidence,* and it would be fine. He could be a criminal. He’d counseled enough of them, knew the psychology of criminality, had associated with plenty in his past. He could draw on that. Be the criminal. FEEL the criminal. …… Or maybe, as he saw the lack of confidence on his own face as he drew the glasses on and pulled the hood over his hair… he would just have to fake it till he made it. Drawing the simple black mask up helped obscure his failure of adequacy. This was fine. Nothing about him stood out in a fancy or Fleet way. His clothing choices were worn, easy fit, and made him look lean but tough in a slinky way. Feel the slinky toughness. BE THE SLINKY TOUGHNESS. …… He groaned loudly as he resigned himself to at least not getting them all killed. The clothes mattered less than the attitude. And if there was anything he excelled at, it was being a social chameleon. Walk like you owned your space, don’t make eye contact, and when he would speak it should be short and direct, no fluff, no courtesy. He was still trying to wrap his mind around his character when the light of the transporter deposited them in a quiet corner in an alley on Miranda station. As they turned, Sheila and Ash flanking Alora as they let her take the clear lead, the abundance of *Humans* definitely stood out to the Denobulan hybrid. This place would normally be crawling with all types, but though they knew the population was mostly Human, it was still *odd.* They stuck to the shadows smartly until Alora spoke to them in a quiet area, passing them an information padd with a map and a list of names and aliases. DeVeau: Those are some people that are known to frequent Miranda VII. It’s not much of a lead, but it’s better than nothing. Bailey: Perhaps, since they have been known to frequent the station, they will be able to tell us more about what has been going on around here. Point out some higher ups that might be worth talking to. Yael: ::trying to memorize as much of the data on the fly as possible:: Do we have a first target in mind? Or will any of them do to start? DeVeau: People like this have connections. These people frequent Miranda VII, and have been listed as having been seen here within the last twenty four hours. Bailey: If they have connections we can use that to our advantage, hopefully. Besides Terra Prime, what other organizations are around here? TBC... Lieutenant JG Ashley Yael Counselor Starbase 118 Ops C238211TZ0

Plot twist! Also excellent deception!

I frikken love Cookie

The award for excellence in introducing a nasty antagonist goes to... I love how murder seems by mundane at the end of it. And he's... a genocidal maniac to boot.

We basically tell a psychopath to kiss off… Yeah, me too…

I'm glad y'all like our new briefing room so much

Expeditious Retreat! Expeditious Retreat!

truth.

((Max's Quarters, USS Narendra - Starbase 118.)) Max was sprawled out on his bunk – mercifully back to his proper height – with a old paperback novel lay on his chest. Unusually for him he was snoring loudly. All the lights were off, with only the glow of passing stars at warp speed flickering gently across the room. From the bedside cabinet his photograph of Milly on the beach with Ishani aimed a pair of bright smiles at his snoring form. He snorted and rolled over as a message alert trilled from the wall-mounted viewer. A few moments later, it trilled again. Maxwell: Hmph... b'grr uff... He buried his face into his pillow, huffing sleepily to himself as he settled again. The trilling continued, until Max groaned and rolled over again. Straight off the bunk and onto the floor. Picking himself up he rubbed at his eyes and blearily looked over at the viewer, eyeing the priority icon attached to the message. Maxwell: Computer, open message. There was no sender listed, and the message appeared to be text only. Exiting the small bedroom into the equally-sized lounge/dining area, Max made for the replicator and a mug of tea. As he manually tapped in his request, he rubbed at his eyes again. Scooping up the steaming mug he went and sat and his little corner desk before pulling up the message again. The Clamour of Battle, And the Beating of Shields. The Ringing of Blades, My Thoughts are Cast to the Hall of Kahless. Of Battle against the Empires Foe, Blood is Spilled, and Insides Cut Free. Treacherous Hearts Torn Asunder, Honour Restored by Loyal Warriors. Vipers Nest Cast Down in Ruin, And an Empire Reborn, A House Reborn. Glory Earned by Hearts Aflame, Flames Tempered by Distant Space. Max sipped at his mug of tea as he continued to read the following seven verses. He placed the mug down lightly with a look confusion upon his face as he reached the end of the message and the picture it contained. A picture of a tall and proud warrioress. He ran his eyes over the picture for a moment. Fists planted upon her hips, she stood before a huge stained glass window displaying the sigil of House Kravzo'ch. Her uniform was pristine and cut a fine figure of a great and noble Matriarch. Heavy boots with polished metal shin plates, fitted leather trousers of a deep red and a subtly-armoured and also not so subtly corseted and sleeved top half. Shoulders wrapped in segmented sections of polished plate armour and forearms protected by thick leather vambraces that were laser-burned with intricate designs. A deep green cloak hung down her back, as did the wavy mass of her long dark hair. At one hip she wore a long blade, and at the other a heavy pistol and brutal-looking dagger. Her crimson sash was tied about her waist instead of it's traditional shoulder-to-hip arrangement. A KDF brooch, and one of her House alongside several prestigious Imperial decorations completed the striking image and Max couldn't help but be impressed. But why send it to him of all people? ~tbc~ ~*~ Lieutenant-Commander Arturo Maxwell. Chief Tactical Officer / Second Officer. Starbase 118 Operations. O239311AM0

Sounds good to me!

Not advisable? At their size, a fall from such a height would mean that they would have Taelon and pancakes with a side of Max berries. No thank you. so you’re saying that’s not the breakfast of champions, then?

Glitter. Goblin. that’s now official

Twenty lashes with a wet noodle…

As the Covid-19 pandemic swept throughout the year 2020, it profoundly affected the lives of millions across the globe. Many of our own members suffered from the virus itself, while others experienced the grief of losing friends and loved ones. Persevering through this, our members remained enthusiastic about the fellowship we've built here, and found new ways to connect and share our stories through this challenging time. The Captains Council considered, for this Awards Ceremony season, the ways we could recognize the complications and challenges of the past year. We landed on a new type of Community Honor called Commemorative Coins, the first of which will be specifically focused on 2020 and 2021's events and the way in which we came through them. Commemorative coins, also known as "challenge coins," are a tradition in many government and military agencies with a history stretching back to the days of the Ancient Romans. These small medallions are bestowed by leaders to signify a job well done, or memorialize participation in an event. As such, everyone who simmed with us during the pandemic will receive the Per Aspera, Ad Astra Commemorative Coin, a digital item that can be displayed on your wiki profile: The coin displays our new logo, to signify the launch of our new brand and recognize that this was an experience that affected our entire community. And, you'll find on the left of the coin the image of a spiral – representing rebirth, and resilience, while also alluding to the mRNA sequence (which looks similar to a DNA spiral) of the vaccines which are helping to bring us out of this tragedy. On the right-hand side, you'll find the image of a lily, representing the return to innocence after death and the recognition of grief that touched many of us during this difficult time. And the name, "per aspera, ad astra" translates from Latin to English as, "through difficulties to the stars," a fitting reminder for us all. Over the coming months, we'll be transitioning some of our former legacy badges into Commemorative Coins, and we'll provide more information about that as it becomes available. Sincerest thanks to everyone who participated with us in the last year. We know how hard it's been for many, and we appreciate all of the good memories we created together. You can find out more about Commemorative Coins on the wiki, including instructions on how to add this one to your profile.

I feel the scene only gets better with the reply... ((So’Mior’s Quarters, USS Constitution)) As First Officer he, together with other senior officers, had a certain responsibility for the wellbeing of the crew. As a Counsellor he had a marked responsibility for the mental health of the crew. And as a Vulcan, he had a preference for at least offering to assist one whom, he judged, was facing some of the trials that he himself had faced when he joined Starfleet, along with a few that were uniquely So’Mior’s. Regrettably he’d had other duties to discharge before he could make a personal call, but having confirmed with the computer that the Ensign was in his quarters, Saveron was finally able to key the door buzzer. So’Mior: Enter…? Saveron: Sochya, Ensign So’Mior. May I join you? He favoured the younger man with the ta’al, the traditional Vulcan gesture of greeting, grey eyes taking in the neat, spare quarters, the calming, meditative set up, and the dishevelled young man crouched over a broken cup. So’Mior: Commander, greetings. Please, come in. Sit? Bowing slightly in polite acknowledgement, Saveron stepped inside and let the doors hiss closed behind him, settling cross-legged onto the carpet, Vulcan style, in response to the invitation, making no show of noticing the way in with So’Mior struggled to gather all the pieces of the shattered cup. As a male Vulcan, Saveron didn’t have much of a sense of smell, but he could smell the tang of the calmative Mika from the wet patch on the carpet. All the subtle signs pointed to a mind ill-at-ease. To the older Vulcan it confirmed the reasons for his visit, and his preference that he might be able to offer some form of assistance. Saveron: Did I interrupt your meditations? ::He asked, as solicitous as a Vulcan could be.:: So’Mior: I was startled. ::He stated it as honestly as possible. Not ‘you startled me’ – there was no reason to find anger nor fault in a doorchime. No, the fault – and the fault lines – were drawn within him.:: It will mend. He placed the pieces in the recycler and watched them fade into raw materials. Saveron watched So’Mior watching the reclamation, before cutting straight to the reason for his visit. Saveron: I am acutely aware of the trauma which you experienced during the last mission. ::He’d touched the young man’s mind, felt it for himself.:: I came to enquire as to your wellbeing, in your current state. Slowly So’Mior turned towards the first officer, and his expression was lost and searching, oddly vulnerable on features one expected to be expressionless. It emphasised his youth. Saveron would not interfere where he was not welcome, but he recognised the paternal, protective instinct in his own natural response. So’Mior: I… I don’t know. Those words were an admission, even a plea for help, if it could be offered in a way that might be acceptable. Saveron: Then you are not well? ::He asked gently.:: Finally So’Mior moved himself from his lean by the recycler to a chair, which he sank down into with a steady exhausted bonelessness. The observation of the younger man’s use of human furniture was filed away as Saveron focused on the verbal and non-verbal signals he was giving. So’Mior: I can’t… I can’t process it. I can’t find calm. I try and I feel like I’m drowning. His voice became hoarse, evidence of emotional control cracking, together with his expression. Saveron was appreciative of his choice to visit. Saveron: That would be deeply troubling. ::He acknowledged, validating what So’Mior was feeling.:: As a Counsellor, and a Vulcan, oO and a father Oo I would assist as I may, if you would not object. Despite their disparate levels with their differing choice of furniture, Saveron stayed where he was, sitting on the floor. It was a very non-threatening position, and one associated with the calm of meditation. So’Mior: ? Saveron: I have read your file, and am aware of your mixed heritage. As I do not doubt you are aware that my psychology qualification is through Starfleet. Not Vulcan. Which made a huge difference. Trained in the psychology of multiple species, and multi-species individuals. Which was important. Because So’Mior was, he’d learned, part Human. And he was very young. Too young by Vulcan standards, but that only meant that he needed support. He was here, now, and that was what mattered. So’Mior: ? The older Vulcan gave that slow, thoughtful nod again. There were multiple issues here. In some ways Saveron felt that Shael had only had such an effect on So’Mior because the young man already had some significant insecurities, rooted deep beneath his mental discipline. And that wasn’t the strictest either, else he’d have been able to ward her off. But it didn’t have to be. One of the faults of their kind was being unsympathetic to those who chose paths other than what was upheld as preferable by certain groups. Saveron had little patience for such views. Saveron: It is not simple. ::He agreed.:: Else you would have resolved it. But I believe that resolution is not impossible. He said this with the surety of one who had viewed the damage first-hand. So’Mior: ? TAG Commander Saveron First Officer USS Constitution-B R238802S10

Thank you all for your hard work!

Well done everyone! Your awards are richly deserved!

Congratulations everyone! You have all done fabulous work over a very difficult year! You should all be very proud!