Sal Taybrim

Riiiight, Pepper... everyone totally is with you on that. -.-

10 / 10 - perfect form!

We prefer the term 'star palace' ;-)

It totally should be an official post.

((Starbase 118 – Twenty-seven hours after the Columbia’s return.)) ::Crewman Julien Paradi had been in uniform just over a year, having joined Starfleet as soon as he turned eighteen. He’d completed his training and been shipped out to Starbase 118 as a “Transport & Storage Operative”. It was a glorious sounding title for what was essentially a Starfleet order picker. He ran lift loaders and other equipment, shunted palletised freight and equipment from storage locations to transporter bays or aboard shuttles and larger cargo haulers. Some days he was in one of the transit offices, generating or reviewing manifests for anything and everything that went in or out of the storage areas. He found it pretty dull, so when he was asked near the end of his days rotation if he would take a couple of items up to an officers apartment in the next “block” from his own, he’d been halfway up the corridor before realising he’d left the items behind. Still, he was here now. Deck 830 North, Apartment 49C. He entered the common lobby, and proceeded to the apartment in question, chiming the door as he came to a halt. The tiny speaker set flush into the chime sounded. “Hello?”:: Paradi: Crewman Paradi, I have your items from the cargo bay sir. ::“Enter” came the voice, and a moment later the door hissed open. He stepped over the threshold and into an apartment that was identical in layout – but mirrored – to his own. To his left were a trio of doors that led to bedrooms and a dedicated washroom, he was stood in what was the open plan entry/lounge area, and to his right was the rest of the apartment that was the remainder of the lounge area and an open plan family/dining/kitchen layout. There were framed posters of musicians and bands adorning the walls, along with framed examples of what looked like….:: Paradi: oO Surely they can’t be vinyl records, can they? Oo ::There was a pair of two seat sofas and three comfy looking chairs in the lounge area, and there was a fair sized coffee table in the middle of them. There were a couple of old style printed music magazines on the table, sat beside a trio of empty beer bottles, and one half-full. There were several display stands and bookcases dotted about the room, with all manner of militaria and music memorabilia on show. He even spotted a storage rack with a decent collection of records in it. No record player though…. A padded stool was sat by one of the three windows – Paradi knew the ‘outer’ bedroom would have it’s own window too – beside a Cello on a stand and also a stand for sheet music. Behind the stool was what looked like a violin case as well. His gaze flicked back to the left, noting a short bookcase against the wall between the inner bedroom and washroom. Sat upon it in a glass case was a highly detailed and intricate model of an old Ambassador-class Starship, and beside the case was a framed photograph of a Science Officer and his blushing bride. His attention had been drawn that way by the hissing of the door to the outer bedroom. Out of which strode a shirtless man who looked to be about twenty-two. Paradi took in the slim but toned physique at a glance and felt a mild flush of excitement. One side of his face and neck was reddened and looked to be mildly irritated; the other side of his neck had a square dressing on it, low down. His torso was peppered with purple-green bruising and not a few nasty looking scratches and gouges. He had short hair and a short beard, and his eyes were different colours. He also didn’t have any trousers on. Instead, he was wearing a pair of heavy-duty black boots. And a kilt.:: Paradi: oO Kinda hot really… Oo Maxwell: Awright pal? Those ma things? ::He nodded at the bag strap on Paradi’s shoulder, but also meaning the case of Turners Lager couched under the other arm. Paradi nodded, relieved. He put the duffel bag and beer case down, smiled and made to leave. His eyes flicking briefly over to the stool by the window. Maxwell turned, following the gaze, his own eyes falling on the Cello:: Maxwell: Aye, she’s a beauty ain’t she? D’you play by chance? ::Paradi’s heart skipped a beat. He did indeed play the Cello! He nodded enthusiastically:: Maxwell: Aye, great. Tell ye what lad. Why don’t ye come doon at some point? We can sit oot on the veranda and play a while. By the “veranda”, Paradi took him to mean the communal area outside the apartments. He nodded again, excused himself, and left. Maxwell: oO Who’d have thought? Another Cello player! Oo ::He glanced up at his wall-mounted clock, noting the time before grabbing a t-shirt from over the back of a chair and pulling it on. There were still boxes of his collectibles and clothes dotted about, and stray piles of clothes strewn about everywhere. Brushing a pile of socks of a chair, he sat down in front of his viewer, declaring the recipient of the call. About a minute later, the screen came to life and an olive-skinned woman with dark hair and sparkling green eyes appeared before him. An enormous smile broke across her face and a hand went to her mouth. Maxwell: Hello mam ::He couldn’t help but grin, and he realised how much he was missing her. She tutted. Abrielle Maxwell: Italiano! ::she scolded, but there was a playful edge to it:: ::He shook his head, laughing.:: Maxwell: Ciao Mamma. ::She smiled. She always wanted to talk to him – to all of the kids – in Italian, a fact that mildly irritated his father. They talked this was and that for a while, at one point the screen splitting as his father had joined in. Maxwell’s mother calling out to him, and Maxwell had heard his father in the background calling back that he couldn’t understand a bloody word she was saying. The rest of the family knew full well that William could speak Italian almost as well as his wife. To any outside observers, it would have sounded like the brewing of an argument, but it was just a playful little routine his parents had gotten into during their thirty years of marriage. He’d spoken briefly with his brother Henry and got a relatively polite ‘hello’ from his sister as she had passed Amelia into her “Granmamma’s” lap. He’d never once stopped smiling as he sat there listening to her chatter away about everything and nothing that was world-spinningly important to a four year old.:: Maxwell: Okay, Milly. You go with your auntie Rosetta. Be good, night night. Daddy loves you! ::She’d waved at him, then held her arms out to be picked up. Maxwell’s mother smiled, giving her a kiss goodnight and watching as she was taken from the room. Then her expression changed to one of sadness:: William Maxwell: Awright, son. I’ll leave you be to chat wi’ your mother. I’m proud of you son. Speak soon, aye? ::And with that, the split screen went back to a full screen of his mother’s face. He knew that look. Something had happened. It was a month or so since his Grandad had passed away, so it couldn’t be that. He lapsed back into English as he spoke:: Maxwell: Sup, Ma? What’s happened? ::His beloved Mamma began to weep:: Ensign Arturo Maxwell. Tactical Officer. Starbase 118 Operations. O239311AM0.

Oh, please DO tempt him...

That just seems... naughty. Great description!

::Cups hand over ear, listens.:: Yup, I can hear him!

A protest or a cry for help... you decide...

Sage advice from Rue:

Brain... yep... brain. That's exactly what we were all thinking.

::snerk::

Good advice.

"Thank you, Sir, may I have another?"

Don't worry... the bonesaw is safe with me!

Or sweat and Axe scented like whiskey and grease. The evolution of Axe as it were...

Charming, isn't he?

And how delicious it is...

(( The Pulse Light Racing Platform - Main Stage )) ::The platform had come alive with the hustle and bustle of a busy city square. The sounds of engines, crowds, and celebration echoing through the various makeshift buildings and vessels. At the center of it all, the primary administrative tower stood sentry over the large empty stage and its army of speakers that had stood silently so far. A large crowd had already gathered at its edges with the anticipation of what was soon to come. Their wish was granted. It started out as just a slow thumping beat, but the crowd went wild. Those farther out stopped in their tracks and turned toward the sound as the beat became louder and escalated in volume. In a sudden shift, the bass began to slam though the group of jumping, dancing, partying fans. The floor of the platform itself began to vibrate with the weight of the music as a platform began to rise from center stage. On it, MC Crescendo stood with his arms raised, a golden microphone in his hand. His crew of makeup artists and designer fashionistas had graced his form with a whirlwind of artful elegance that was certain to hold up to the expectation his reputation demanded. His custom silk tunic cut just low enough to showcase his perfectly manicured chest hair, his masculine display offset perfectly by the deep purple scarf draped loosely over his shoulders. The energy from the stage soon erupted over the entire platform, demanding the attention of everyone in attendance. Giant view screens were splayed in every direction for the convenience of all, each blasting the fast paced kind of beat that made you want to move, and certainly the kind that made you have to shout to talk. Soon the face of the popular MC Crescendo was visible to all, jumping to the front of the stage to the roar of the party animals before him as fireworks began to erupt in every direction. The party of the year had begun.:: Crescendo: Welcome party people to the 2394 Pulse Light Grand Prix! ::The crowd responded with a roar of cheering. The Denobulan took it all in with his arms raised as he paced the stage, absorbing the thrill and energy that he had grown so addicted to.:: Crescendo: Ladies! Gentlemen! Everything in between and beyond! Strap yourselves in for the biggest, hottest, wildest, sexiest race in the Universe! ::He pulled the mic closer, barely able to hear himself over the all too familiar noise level, absorbing the blinding heat of the lights illuminating every inch of the stage.:: I am MC Crescendo and I will be your host, narrator, announcer, DJ and not-so-secret crush for the duration of not only the race, but the biggest party you will never tell your grand-kids about! ::He looked to the large security guards at the edges of the stage. They were certainly deterrents, but Pulse Light justice was much more effective than any muscle. It was time to explain the rules.:: Crescendo: Until the fun begins all racers are grounded until they are called to the starting line. While were all here, lets try to get along shall we? No sabotage, no murder, and for the love of Bolian bikini parties, control your fluids! If you break the rules, we all know what happens! ::He held the mic out to the crowd before him for their echoing reply and shouted it out with them as a single spotlight focused on him, darkening the rest of the stage.:: Crescendo: Crowd Justiiiice!! ::He pulled the mic back:: That's right you savages, if you break the rules the man on high. ::He pointed up to the tower behind him.:: Will mark you for crowd justice. That means you had better be really fast or really tough, because your vessel, your possessions and yes even your lives are at the mercy of your peers. So if your going to break the rules, don't get caught! ::He had seen it at least once at every race since they had implemented it. It was always gruesome, but it was equally effective. The best part? It saved them a ton on security, and that made the man upstairs very happy. That was a win for everyone. With the main security force now able to focus on the stage and the tower exclusively, MC Crescendo and his crew felt nice and safe. The Denobulan looked to an assistant at the side of the stage for a nod of confirmation and satisfied, moved with the beat to the other side of the stage as forms scurried in the darkness behind him.:: Crescendo: Our racers have arrived and their vessels are primed for one hell of a show! We are gathering them in our media hub now and will be giving you all a first look at the faces behind the races. Were blasting on all frequencies so if your not on the ground, get to a terminal, because you don't want to miss this! In the meantime, get down with one of the foremost bands of their genre, the dirtiest punks in the galaxy, The Prime Resistance! :: The stage was re-illuminated in a flash just as the now present band slammed into their instruments. Crescendo made a swift and subtle exit as the young and energetic musicians screamed into their microphones, their drummer in a flurry of motion behind them. While it was not his preferred style of music, he could not deny that the group had spirit. With phase one complete, it was time for one of his favorite parts. Meeting the competitors.:: MC Crescendo Master of Ceremonies The Pulse Light Grand Prix C239205AF0 as simmed by... Lt. Cmdr. Antero Flynn Chief Helm Officer Starbase 118 Ops C239205AF0

yes, on both accounts.

These two are trouble... ;-)

Saucy Gazkra is saucy...

Smooth man, that Logan