Sal Taybrim

In the Pale Moonlight is always the answer for me.

Congratulations, you guys did a fantastic job! Welcome to the fleet!

Majot Tatash: http://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/index.php/Tatash

He needs one of those 'kiss the chef' aprons... >.>

The on rails shooter based on the movies? It was terrrrible... >.<

I'm excited to see what Mirra dishes out when she catches him... >.>

I totally snerked Diet Coke out my nose at this:

Gee, Sal, you're suddenly looking quite... Vogue...

Yes.

Congrats and welcome (or welcome back) to the fleet! Great to have you guys with us!!

Sounds like a good story... o.O

((Flynn’s Beach House - Little Risa)) ::Mirra Ezo laid on the ground, with her hair spread out in a fan around her head like a fiery halo. The last few days had been difficult, to say the least, and her empathic senses felt battered and bruised. With her eyes closed, she focused on her breathing in an attempt to recharge. While normally she would wander through the lush green of Central Park in the New York district, she currently found herself lounging on a beach towel, her bare toes digging into the warm sand as the artificial tide ebbed and flowed just below her.. She had come to track down a specific Risian...who for the last few days had made an art of avoiding her. Mirra had respected his need for space...to a point. Now it was just clear avoidance. It was time for action. She knew Flynn had just moved into a beach house in little Risa, and with a little bit of investigation, and a small amount of flirtation with the quartermaster, she found out his new address. So, while waiting for him to come home, she found herself enjoying the local scenery:: ::The jubilance of finally living on a beach again mixed with the busy excitement of planning a party was just enough to keep Antero’s mind off of recent events. He had to admit that after a couple days of avoiding his friends (whom he knew would try to give him a ‘healthy’ talk about accepting reality), he was missing their company more than a little, and ready to cut loose. Seeing that telltale red hair on a nearby beach towel, a small smile creased onto the corner of his mouth and he walked toward his friend, still carrying the large crate of Rum he had been carrying to the mini bar on the deck. He set it down behind her head and used it as a seat, peering straight down at her with a smile.:: Flynn: You know this is a nude beach, right? Ezo: ::eyes opening with a glare:: Not anymore, I took down your sign. ::flicking him in the knee:: YOU have been avoiding me. Flynn: ::Adopting a look of mock confusion.:: Who me? That doesn’t sound right. Anyway, better get back to work, nice seeing you! ::Jumping up, Mirra stood before him, forcibly pushing down on his shoulders, causing him to flop back down on his makeshift seat.:: Ezo: Uh-uh beach boy, you aren’t getting away from me that easily. ::face softening in concern:: I’ve been really worried. You’ve stood me and Theo up twice now. Time to spill. Flynn: I am sorry about that…::Smiling weakly:: I guess I’m not getting away so easy this time. ::Confident he would avoid a renewed attempt at escape, Mirra scooted next to him on the crate, laying her head on his shoulder. With a gentle shove, she looked up at him with a small smile.:: Ezo: It’s ok...you’re forgiven. ::sighing softly:: What’s going on with you? Flynn: ::Pointing his thumb back toward the mini bar.:: Do you want a drink? We should get you a drink. How long have you been lying in the heat? Ezo: ::snapping:: FLYNN! ::Antero had been doing his best to shove aside his feelings since he had heard the news. The accumulation of events made the best solution copious amounts of dangerously potent mixed drinks. It didn’t take long to realize that was no way to come to terms with anything. He knew he had close friends he could lean on, and figured it might be time to let someone in.:: Flynn: ::Sighing heavily:: You know... ::She did, in fact know. As she suspected, the reported disappearance of the Gorkon had brought up some rather unpleasant memories for her friend. Closing her eyes, nodded against his shoulder. Words weren’t necessary, he knew she understood.:: Flynn: I guess I just needed a couple days...oO and a couple drinks Oo. It’s not even just thinking about my brother, but those people we found down in the dungeon. ::He paused in a moment of reflection.:: I can still see them when I close my eyes. They state they were in…::he shook his head.:: Ezo: ::shuddering slightly:: I can only imagine. Well, I can vividly imagine, as I treated them in Sickbay directly after. ::pausing:: But your actions saved them Flynn. What you, Ensign Taelon and Commander Falcon discovered saved the lives of several men and women who otherwise...well..they have a much brighter future now thanks to you. Flynn: ::Somberly:: We shouldn’t have had to. ::He admitted a small smile and looked to her.:: But thanks, it does feel good to have been able to help. Most of the credit goes to Falcon and Taelon though. They are both really something. Ezo: ::smiling:: Oh I don’t doubt that, but I am sure they would say something similar about you. ::After a few moments of enjoying the peaceful scenery, both friends close, but one distant in his own thoughts, Mirra cleared her throat softly, in an attempt to help him find his way back home.:: Ezo: ::speaking softly:: When I was little, my mother once told me and my brother that when we’re born, we only have a piece of our souls. And while we only had a piece, we had a small collection of other pieces. And throughout our lives, the people we meet, well sometimes they might have a piece of us, and we might have a piece of them. It's what draws us together, and by knowing them, we become whole. ::smiling weakly, her voice getting thick:: And...when we lose them, we...lose a bit of ourselves as well. That loss...well it isn't something you ever truly get over. You...just learn to live with it as best you can…. ::Touched, Antero let his gaze drift slowly to his friend. He could see in her eyes and by the strain in her voice that this was advice she had received at a time when she must have truly needed it. Feeling a tear edging to the corner of his eye, he wiped it away quickly.:: Flynn: That’s really beautiful…::He looked out at gently rolling water.:: I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. ::Slowly sitting up, Mirra unclasped the locket she was very rarely without, gently opening the well-worn latch, she held out the opened locket to him, smiling sadly. Inside was a picture of two little girls, locked in an embrace while laughing. One with red hair, the other a dark brown.:: Ezo: Her name was Melora. She was my best friend, ::taking a breath:: she died when I was ten. I know she’s gone, but I hold her close to my heart every day. I know it’s not the same as your brother...but… ::With that the Risian slowly began to realize how selfish he had been the past few days. Absorbed with his own pain, and being blind to what his friends, and his fellow crew might be going through after their mutual trials. It had always been his nature to comfort, and to be a source of support whenever it was needed. It was time to get back to that.:: Flynn: ::Interrupting:: No, of course it is. ::He took her hand and gave her a weak smile.:: Thank you for telling me about her, I know it must have been hard. I...I’m sorry I have been so self absorbed... ::Mirra stood, clasping her necklace, and absently re-centering it around her neck. She moved to the back of him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging close, with her head resuming its position on his shoulder.:: Ezo: You haven’t been. You needed some time, and you took it...just...maybe a little too long. ::sighing:: Don’t keep him buried and locked away Flynn. That’s the only way he’s ever truly gone. ::Antero nodded solemnly, looping patterns into the sand with his finger for several long seconds before responding.:: Flynn: Yeah, I guess it’s something I have to work on… ::Nodding, Mirra leaned up and kissed the top of his head. It was then that the “chair” caught her eye.:: Ezo: Uuh...Flynn? What exactly are you sitting on…? Flynn: Hmm? ::Glancing absent mindedly down.:: Oh, it's just a crate of rum for the party. Ezo: ::eyes widening:: A crate of rum?? I thought this was a “casual party”...? Flynn: What? ::Absently.:: This is the last one, the other three are already set out. Ezo: ::sputtering:: Three?? You have three additional crates?? Flynn: ::With a shrug:: Of rum.. ::Watching her attempt to absorb the information, he was struck with the realization that he had not told Mirra the good news.:: Flynn: ::Brightening:: I didn’t tell you the good news! Gadget girl is here for a visit! ::Still stuck in the momentary shock of the sheer amount of pre-prepared alcohol, it took a few beats for Flynn’s words to cut through the haze.:: Ezo: ::brightening:: Your sister Zaina is here?? Flynn: Yeah! Can you believe it? She wanted to surprise me. ::Gesturing toward the house:: She is asleep inside right now. She practically begged to work the bar for the party, but is she around when it's time to stock it? Ezo: ::laughing softly:: I’ll help, let her sleep. I am sure she needs it ::stopping suddenly, eyes narrowing:: You better not have put toast in her pocket… Flynn: ::He looked her in the eye with a playful smirk.:: Hey, at Casa De La Flynn, we don't judge! ::He paused with a grimace.:: I’m never going to live that down, am I? Ezo: ::grinning and linking her arm through his:: Nope. Never. Lieutenant Mirra Ezo, MD Chief Medical Officer Starbase 118 Ops C239205ME0 & Lieutenant Antero Flynn CAG Officer Starbase 118 Ops C239205AF0

BWAHAHAHAHAHA! @Jalana - oh my, it looks like you'll be the guest of honor at a rollicking party...

I'd let them do it; but make them pass a counseling exam first. If a counselor clears them as 'of right mind' then... ok... go for it. Because preventing them will only make they try to do it harder and illegally.

((SB118 - Marine Flight Deck)) ::Silence. Despite the several hundred Marines and other staff here to pay their respects, not a single one of them uttered a sound as the UFOP flag draped torpedo slowly made it's way down the runway, quietly tractored by invisible beams of energy. A hundred arms raised in salute, turning towards the podium with a precise click of heels and the combined crash of a hundred boots before dropping it in a few seconds. What had surprised Tatash more than anything was the support and friendships Hughes had, as soon as news had spread a Vedek Larn from Bajor had insisted that he perform this service, a friend in a high place indeed although when pressed to answer 'Why?' all the Gorn had received was a smile and the comment of 'past aid and charity'. If anything though it summed Hughes up perfectly. He was a mystery. His military record consisted of a handful of dates but no descriptions of operations, campaign ribbons and medals with only a sparse amount of information to back up why they were awarded. That's what had made him so good at his work, the anonymity of special operations. The elderly, dark skinned Bajoran carefully climbed the podium in front of Tatash, flanked by Raisillius and Dal in full dress uniform their stillness matching his own. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tem's squadron quietly adrift in a loose V formation just beyond the barely noticeable force field beyond the large and open hanger doors, awaiting their charge.:: Larn: "Loss, is never something that we can call easy, it is a pain and a grief shared by all cultures, by all people in our shared and fragile existence. Today, we mourn the loss of a colleague to many, a friend to some and a brother to few. Each and every one of us standing in this room understands the risks that comes with preserving peace in our time, each of us understands that their time will come in one form or another. The Prophets offer us guidance on our journey but never the destination. The Prophets teach us that it is the roads that we take, the people who we impact and our action...or inaction that will ultimately judge us as having lived a good life, or an evil one, it is our actions and our method that dictate how we are seen by the our peers. Raymond Hughes, in my eyes, was a good man. Never unjustified, never vilified. When my world suffered at the hands of the Cardassians, I remember meeting him for the first time. We gave him shelter when the Cardassian patrols came looking for the 'Spy' that they could never quite trace, hiding him among the clergy despite the risk to ourselves. In return, he gave us the information he had discovered despite a strict order to not get involved, putting himself at risk not only from our shared enemy but also his own career. This selfless action, allowed us to practice our faith without fear as we knew where to go to avoid attention and persecution, he allowed us to seek out the Prophets guidance even when all other light was extinguished. Now, as he guided us to the Prophets, we guide his Pagh back to them in turn, to be united in the Celestial Temple." ::Tatash watched with curiosity as the priest carefully lit two large lamps with a tapered flame, ornate golden constructs gently refracting and flickering.:: Larn: "Ordinarily, at this point we would sing Hughes to rest with a funary chant, although, at two hours long we might make that a voluntary process later." ::A few subdued chuckles came up from the gathering, Larn himself smiling serenely before gesturing back towards Tatash:: Larn: "Major Tatash, your words here carry as much weight as mine, please..." ::That same smile fixed on him as the old clergyman stepped down, gesturing up to the wooden plinth while being aided down by Dal in a few careful steps. His mouth suddenly dry, Tatash stood up and climbed up to overlook the masses, trying to spot a few familiar faces to steady his nerves before clearing his throat with a rumbling cough:: Tatash: "These last few weeks have been trying for all of us. From the all out madness on Tilanna, the plague of weaponised Tribbles and now this. Captain Hughes's passing has been an exclamation point to an awful period, and all of us can honestly say we have suffered losses unprecedented. Nine of your brothers and sisters lost their lives on Tilanna, each one of their names has been etched into my memory as I poured over each and every one, could we have avoided them? Could I have done something different as your Commander to protect them? Could I have prevented this? The answer is simply, I could not. Be it universal cruelty, chance or the will of ::he gestured to Larn:: higher powers, we all have to face the truth that is our mortality. We cannot prepare for all eventualities, there will always be hard times and dangerous times. But there have to be, if we are to protect and serve the billions of people that depend on us for their peace, protection and freedom. Some of you may look on me and see nothing more then a Gorn. A race known for their hardyness, their unwavering ferocity and strength. But what most outside our borders do not see is how dedicated we are to family. Duty and honor are sought and protected not to benefit the single individual, but to benefit the collective whole of a family or a house. Each and every one of you, is my family. Everything I do is done to benefit us as a collective, even if we have to give up so much in the line of duty. I lead from the front line, not because I seek glory, but because if any of you have to risk your life then I will share that burden with you. Do I wish it had been me that had taken the shot that downed Hughes? A hundred times, a thousand times over. He was a man that thought the same as I do. He risked himself on a daily basis to protect our assets, to gather information that meant we never -had- to fight. He saved more lives through careful action then we ever could through reckless assaults. His quiet words could even any temper, while his fury was capable of toppling governments. He was an Officer and a Leader that each of us, myself included, should aspire to be. To those that knew him as a mentor, you had a chance to serve under one of the finest commando's I have ever seen, to those that knew him as a friend, he never once betrayed trust. To me, he was an adviser whose experience and wisdom... will be sorely missed. Regiment, right-face!" ::Tatash turned sharply towards the Captains final vessel, the bugler, playing his mournful dirge as the coffin slid slowly down the runway, overwritten only briefly by the rippling sound of gunfire echoing around the cavernous bay as a row of Charlie Companies soldiers let out three volleys in salute. He led the salute, waiting until the Raptors had firmly grasped Hughes in their tow before slowly moving away towards the nearest star in close formation. They would ensure to give the momentum to get there, to burn up and join the matter they were all made from. All civilian traffic was instructed to stay clear, a few shuttles and freighters seemingly stopped to watch in quiet observation. Tatash dropped his salute, mirrored by the others before turning back to face them:: Tatash: "Regiment, dismissed!" ::Finally the silence, the oppressive and gloomy sorrow was broken up as people started to converse and head off to where they needed to be. Most stood around in small groups, continuing their conversations on what had happened. The Regiment would not be productive today, but these circumstances were exceptional, a single day of laxity was needed and readily forgiven:: Tatash: "Thank you, Vedek" ::Tatash shook the frail hand of the man who offered a nod in return:: Larn: "The Prophets wisdom can be sought by anyone, regardless of race or heritage. Seek them, Major, in your most trying times. They will answer as they have done for countless others." ::Tatash let that handshake drop before smiling thinly. Faith was something that Tatash never had understood or found himself, it was almost disappointing in a way.:: -- Major. Tatash Marine Lead SB118 Operations C239108T10

Just wait until she has to come to sickbay for her medical exam >.>

Congrats and welcome to the fleet!

(( Harkin’s Den - Backrooms - Starbase 118 )) ::The group followed their marine escort. It didn’t take long before they had arrived at the area in question. It wasn't exactly what any of them had expected.:: Flynn: It just looks like an empty room.. ::Taelon unslung his tricorder as the others looked around, walking along the small room’s walls. It did look like just any other room. Clever, really. The owner had likely had people in here with no idea they were so close to something secret… Darkly, he wondered how many other secrets the station had hidden behind seemingly innocent walls. He might not sleep tonight til he’d tested the edges of his quarters, just to be sure.:: Falcon: ? Rozera: It seems they used it for private parties. The hidden door is behind that wall. ::She pointed.:: Be careful. We haven’t found its trigger yet, and it’s blocking scans. ::Antero walked to the wall mentioned and rubbed his hand over the surface, an action he instantly regretted as he felt the abrasive grime over his fingertips.:: Flynn: What are our options? Is there some kind of key to getting in? Or do we just blow it? ::Taelon looked at the tricorder, but it wasn’t helpful in answering Flynn’s question. It’d picked up the anomalies that he suspected were a tell, but that was all it said. He’d set it up to filter out any electronic feedback in an effort to have the lifeform scans be as clear as possible, and changing that would take time. The lifeform scans said what they’d been saying the whole time, though: Flynn stood right where the trail cut off. He looked over as echoing foot falls came towards them. It turned out to be two marines, one holding a large thermal cutter. The Andorian gave a half-shrug.:: Rozera: We’ll cut our way in. It’s fastest and hopefully won’t damage whatever evidence is on the other side. Flynn: ::He nodded:: I say do it. No time to spare. Falcon: ? ::Rozera and the other two marines shooed the three officers back towards the hall - a good move, as the heat generated by the thermal cutter was considerable even at that distance. It was efficient, though, melting through the wall without generating sparks or even much noise. The hot slag was a shame, but the metal floor didn’t seem likely to catch fire. Taelon hoped, anyway.:: ::Antero stepped back as the fake wall was carefully and efficiently taken care of. Taking a few steps closer with the job finished, a clear passage now revealed itself. Stepping in behind the marine, he coughed on a foul mouthful of dust. He looked to Taelon.:: Flynn: What do we have? ::Taelon managed to bite back his immediate urge to state the obvious, though it was a close call. He approached the void behind Flynn, peering into the darkness. The hallway beyond was dim, in bad need of repair, and dusty...though footprints on the floor told of recent use.:: Taelon: Looks like some manner of...storage? ::He looked at the doors suspiciously. They were oddly reinforced, weren’t they...?:: The readings we followed are from here... ::Flynn approached one of the doors hastily, and peered through its square pane of glass, still gripping his phaser. Taelon had started to follow him when Flynn’s eyes went wide.:: Flynn: We need a medics over here! ::He reared back and kicked the door open as the marines ran forward.:: Rozera: Lieutenant - ::The protest faded from Taelon’s notice as the smell hit him - it blew out of the dark room like a wall, rank with the odors of blood, sweat, waste and fear. The Ensign gagged as his eyes started watering, and he stumbled as the marines shoved past him. What lay in the darkness was worse, though. People were in the room, crowded together, barely moving. One or two lay so still he knew they were dead. A few tried to move away as Flynn approached, protests weak. All their eyes glimmered with one feeling - fear. Some seemed to tinge to hope as the light filtered in, but others seemed beyond even that. As reality hit him, the physical shock faded. They didn’t have medics here, and he didn’t have the equipment to help...but that wasn’t entirely at the front of his mind as he ran into the room, kneeling by one of the fallen. The woman rolled her head to look at him, her features sunken and bruised. She moved her cracked lips, but no sound came out. He put a hand on her shoulder as he hurried to adjust the tricorder. Taelon: It’s alright - ::He smiled, even as the grime and filth on the floor soaked through the knees of his uniform. The smell and darkness crowded in around him, but seemed secondary to the problem at hand.:: You’re safe now. ::He looked to Flynn and Falcon as they worked, and the marines beyond them. His fingers squeezed her shoulder gently.:: Taelon: I promise. ::There was one lone figure in the far corner - Taelon only saw it as his eyes adjusted. The captive sat curled up against the wall, knees to their chest, arms wrapped around them. They were so still Taelon thought at first they might have died like that, but as his eyes continued to adjust he saw the gleam of yellow eyes moving. Unlike the fear in the other captives, this one looked nearly primal. The hands were clawed, their bare feet the same. The alien whose life signs he’d followed in here, no doubt. The look it gave the group wasn't like the others, either; this expression was deep, burrowing, primal fear, the sort that made cornered animals attack. Taelon swallowed, and looked away. The group continued to work as he carefully looked over the captives nearest him. Some were alive, but unconscious. Others clearly didn't understand him when he spoke.:: Rozera: =/\= We need medics and an evac team scrambled down here, now. =/\= ::She had her hand to her helmet, fingers moving as she switched through comm channels.:: =/\= And decom teams. It’s a mess back here. =/\= ::She lowered her hand, looking to Falcon and Flynn.:: Rozera: They’re on their way. Falcon/Flynn: ? Rozera: We’ll get the other rooms open. Don’t worry. ::She’d lost the put-upon vibes to her tone - now she seemed resigned. The sight was a sobering one.:: Commander, with all due respect, I suspect Command would rather hear this report from one of your team. Falcon/Flynn: ? Rozera: No one's used to finding this sort of [...] in their own backyard. Sirs. Falcon/Flynn: ? Sergeant Major Rozera A'daar Starfleet Marine, Bravo Squad Starbase 118 Marine Cont. & Ensign Taelon Science Officer Starbase 118 OPs O239303T10

And on the less funny, but far more cinematic end:

I'm behind in my quoting! This tickled me pink:

((SB118 - The Raven)) ::Tatash watched as Dal headed out with the engineers, the little reclaimed science machines rolling ahead of them like sniffer dogs. It would be a slow process, The Below was more then just a few empty corridors, it was something altogether more awful judging by the first few telemetry feeds coming through the small screens on the logistics station set up in The Raven. Slavers, the worst kind of scum operating right under the nose of Starfleet and the thousands of civilians spending their lives blissfully ignorant above their heads. But now they had Oma-Saan firmly under control and his little friend as well, the ring well and truly starting to collapse:: Whittaker: Any news from Dal? ::Tatash peered up to look at his friend and gestured with a finger to the console:: Tatash: Slow, but steady. It might take a while but it's going well. Whittaker: :: nodding :: Alright. :: beat :: I'm just going to make a call. ::Tatash nodded and continued to watch the process through the monitors, although his mind wandered. While the here and now took precedence, he'd caught side of that floating bed returning draped with a blanket with a figure underneath it. Each Marine had their 'in case of' plan, and Hughes had joked before that he'd like something simple. His parents undoubtedly would be informed by Sal of the terrible situation, but he'd made it clear that his body (like most of them) would be buried 'at sea' according to some ancient terran traditions. That meant a touching send off from the hanger bay, a flag hanging over a re-purposed torpedo before being launched towards the nearest star to begin one final journey. A somber, but fitting departure. Still, that wasn't enough. At least not to Tatash.:: Tatash: =/\= Tatash to Captain Tem. Tem: ? Tatash: =/\= Can you meet me in the Raven? Tem: ? ::He waited a few minutes before the young Captain appeared with the rest of the equipment in the beam in site. She wasn't her usual smiling self, but in fairness none of them could be expected to be.:: Tem: ? Tatash: I wanted to speak to you face to face. Raisillius isn't really the sort for this, and I confess I am still at heart an alien to a lot of Starfleets customs with regards to... ::He paused, not knowing the right word to say. But Tem nodded, while the Marines were as always tough as nails, having someone with more of a heart in the upper ranks was a requirement to stop them from succumbing to a complete lack of sympathy:: Tem: ? Tatash: Yes. The service will be held as soon as medical gives us clearance to recover him. A usual send off, but, I would ask as a personal favour if you and the pilots that knew him would fly honor guard for his...vessel. Tem: ? Tatash: Hughes always spoke highly of you, when he actually did speak. He recommended you for promotion himself, I just agreed. "She can fly rings around Raisillius as well as she can the station." I believe was a choice quote. Tem: ? ::Tatash shook his head a little, he was so used to suppressing his own emotions that he didn't realise how deep grief ran in other races, although his tone changed when he saw her struggling to keep her composure. :: Tatash: Save your sorrow for the service Jandara, don't waste your tears here. ::he offered a soft smile, gesturing to the puddles still forming:: they would just get washed away. Tem: ? Tatash: I'll leave it in your hands. Feel free to help monitor this situation, I need to go and start... ::he frowned:: writing a eulogy. Tem: ? ::Tatash nodded once more before heading off quietly, the drama of combat and action starting to wear off as he slumped against the wall of the turbolift leaving the Dungeon behind. He couldn't cry, Gorn didn't have the need for it. They were an arid race and to have their bodies leaking at every opportunity would be a death sentence, but still he felt that hit. There was no anger, no rage to redirect his emotion or a mission to occupy himself with. Now there was him, his thoughts and the dull, terrible ache that radiated through his chest.:: Tatash: Hold lift. ::The machine stopped, waiting permission to continue it's incline from it's lone passenger, who was now sat with his head resting in his hands, wracked with tearless sobbing.:: -- Major. Tatash Marine Lead SB118 Operations C239108T10

Congrats and welcome to the fleet!!

Betazoids make parties fun! >.>

I think, Sir, you have just volunteered... >.>

I admit my first characters ever were "me, but with superpowers!" or "me, but in medieval times!" or "Me, plus everything I liked in Star Trek!" I think that's pretty natural for starting players - the character is a mirror of ourselves and this can be a good thing. We can write about things we admire and learn to incorporate those things into our own lives. We can experiment with things we desire without having to do them in the real world. The pitfall is, of course, not getting too attached to the character because as in real life, the game doesn't always go exactly as planned. For me, one of the big ah-hah! moments was when I took my "me-but-a-Cardassian-Starfleet-officer" character to a different game they told me it was a crap concept. And 17 year old me was crushed. So I had to write a new character and build it realistically. Well, shortly afterwards we started roleplaying tabletop in college, and I was encouraged to write better character backstories and give reasons for the characters to have certain traits or powers. So we started making different characters. And after a while we started making better characters. Then I fell down the rabbit-hole of being an ST for White Wolf games. And creating literally hundreds of NPCs; many of which had backstories and personalities all of their own for the players to discover and interact with. So, now I keep all my former characters in a folder of Word files. I have ::cough:: 47 Star Trek characters that I have played as PCs; at least two dozen of which were played seriously for at least 3 months (some of them were just to test out a new game which ended up not being to my liking back in the days when there were a zillion games cropping up every week). I seriously hope I don't have 47 different personalities, so I'd say most of my characters are "not me" anymore. That said, I'd agree that you have to have some of you in every character, otherwise you won't enjoy writing them. Even if it's just a small thing - or maybe something you like in them. Some characters are nasty antagonists - but they're the sort of nasty antagonist that interests you. I take an authorial tone to simming; and I often comment on my characters decisions in the narrative. Especially my secondary, Wyn - who I play as a total jerk at times and try to remind readers in the narrative that the author may not agree with the bad decisions he makes; but is having fun leading him down a path that will cause drama. So I like simming people who aren't me; but who interest me. Every day I'm Jamie, the married lady with two cats, a crazy but fulfilling job; a knitter who's a black belt in tae kwon do and runs 5ks. That's cool - but that's who I "play" in the real world every day. I like my pretendy time to be a fun romp in someone else's head, like a shamelessly extroverted male Betazoid who struggles between wanting to meet ALL THE PEOPLE! and be everyone's new best friend and the crushing weight of command. Much more interested than the nightly real life discussion of "what's for dinner, honey?"