Gogigobo Fairhug

Love this little moment between @Sal Taybrim, @Rustyy_Hael and @Solaris. I can picture it so clearly. 😂

The way to @Rustyy_Hael's heart is truly through his stomach. 😂

I'd say that's true enough @Korras. 😂

So relatable @Evan Ross. 😂

Some sim titles I have enjoyed recently, from @Corey Wethern and @Evan Ross. 😆👍🏻

Absolutely. The whole sim explained Rugen’s reasons for his actions and the way he understands the universe so well. The part about him not wanting the Dorfmen to lose their identity was particularly relatable, I think. It almost made him sympathetic! 😅

@Sal Taybrim’s portrayal of Rugen has been a joy to read and I think this sim sums up why. Rather than a typical one-dimensional, diabolical villain, Commodore Taybrim made the character not only believable, but even relatable, as a product of his environment and up-bringing. Anyone who wants to write believable villains with depth to them, I urge you to read this sim. I know I got a lot from it, myself. ((Byzallian Cave Network)) Rugen: A very naieve viewpoint. You think all worlds are as rich as your Bardeez. You think all people are as kind as yours Federations. The galaxy is a far more cruel place for this without your privledges. Rugen’s life had never been easy. Not a single day had been flush with food or full of guaranteed safety. He had parents who cared for him and his brother, who taught him to hunt, to cook, to dress for the weather, to build shelter and to survive in harsh times. He had family who banded together. He had a clan that were a family. And each and every one of them had suffered exposure, starvation, disease and loss. That was the way of things. The Dorfmen might have never come together as clans, worked to build anything if they were not pushed to do so. Fairhug: Come with us back to the peace talks. State your position. Make us understand through words, not violence. Willow: We will listen. We don’t have to agree, but we can compromise. Find a way where we can all be half-way happy. Compromise. He didn’t trust the word. Wethern: I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust us. We are a corporate uniform. All looking alike in good health wealthy to you. I wasn't always in Starfleet it's a new addition to me. I got tired of the suffering and joined with those who have the resources to help. Why not listen to us what do you have to lose? Rugen: We have our traditions to lose. What made us strong. What bound us together. I have seen the space nomands. No-people with no-family. No-souls. We have soul. We wish to keep it burning brightly. He was strong in his convictions, compelling. And yet there was a rigidity to his thinking, a cold, solid wall of belief that was not cracking. And worse, it was delivered in a calm, rational voice. He had thought about this. He was not working in anger. He was working from a place of considered rational thought. Fairhug: ::frowning:: Then let’s start with names. I am Lieutenant Commander Fairhug, First Officer of the Federation Starbase One-One-Eight. This is Lieutenant Haukea Willow and Doctor Corey Wethern. Who is it we are speaking to? Rugen: I am Exalpius Rugen, First of the Clan of Fire. He said it with pride and then watched the Bardeezan. He was known. It was not that he wanted to be known. Or tried to be known. But he had been the one to never back down, even as weaker clan leaders faltered. And for that he was proud. He had lived by his values. Willow: I am a security officer. I do take an unorthodox tactic framed by non-violent actions. I will not shoot unless I am provoked. Wethern: A pleasure I'm sure. I'm not here for surprises I just want to make sure our people are in health. I'll happily deal with any of your wounded as well. Fairhug: Rugen. You were responsible for some of the worst atrocities of the war. He fixed his gaze on the Bardeezan. Fairhug. Rugen: You say that as if war is not an atrocity. It is. That is what it is. And yet it is our life. Fairhug: Justify it however you want, you attacked civilian populations. Those people were not soldiers, they were unable to defend themselves. Is that Byzallian honour? The sound he made was not disrespectful, but one of non-comprehension. A non-verbal exclamation. Rugen: Civilian? ::The universal translator struggled with the word, as well as his next words:: There is no person outside of war. Every Dorfman is raised in war. I do not understand. There is no corresponding word. No one escaped war. No one had the choice to not be a solider on Byzatium. That was the difference between them. Bardeez had luxury. Byzatium had none. Willow: Those actions are in the past. We must now think to the future. Wethern: We all have our skeletons in the closet. I know I've exchanged phaser fire for medical supplies before. I've also done things I'm not proud of. The question is are you willing to leave that behind and actually lead your people in a meaningful fight rather than perpetuating the cycle of death. Fairhug: ::calmly:: Show yourself, Rugen. He moved, slowly, like a panther. He stayed in the shadows, guarded. You could see the form but not the features. Not the detail. Rugen: Here is where I stay. He was coiled, like a spring ready to snap, but not overtly hostile. In fact, he looked so perfectly at home in this harsh environment. These dry caves, this mottled darkness. The low hiss of steam somewhere beneath the surface and the occasional rustle of a predator in the depths of the cave. It would have looked tremendously out of place for him to be anything but tense. Rugen was a part of Byzatium. Byzatium was part of Rugen. They were inseparable, and here he was, a product of this plant, this culture, this life. Willow: ::Lowering her arm, the quick action having tweaked her back further:: Step into the light so that we may know your true form. Wethern: Rugen, believe or not the Commander here is trying to do this in your best interests. We can guarantee you a seat at the table for the talks but you have to be willing to talk. Fairhug: ::sighing:: And to listen. He blinked, shaking his head very slowly. He was, admittedly, surprised that this had not yet come to violence. And as much as he did not ever want to admit it, he wanted to be heard. He wanted his point of view, his people’s point of view, his experiences to matter. Not Toral, richest of them all, to speak for them. Not Toral who had grown soft and known luxury. No, he wanted to voice of his kind heard. The ones who scraped for every last bit of food, shared scraps with the children, boiled and ate every last part of every kill to ensure the tribe stayed strong. And at this point he didn’t even care if he died. He wanted someone to hear his clan. His people. There were others who would take up his torch with fervent pride should he fall. Rugen: To listen. When you already stated I was a … ::His mind clicked as his universal translator worked:: Atrocity. He said it like it was a title or a name. It was clear he did not see his acts in the same light Gogi did. He could not even fathom that there a population could have the luxury and privilege of keeping a portion of the population completely out of war. Would be own up to his acts? Surely. Did he think they were wrong? Depends. He believed – with fervent conviction – that he had followed all established rules of war. His opponents believed in different rules. His opponents had convenient rules to allow themselves an advantage. Such was war. And war was life. Willow: We cannot absolve you of your past atrocities. However, your current innocence can still be decided. How would you prefer to be remembered long after you are gone? As a murderer who could not learn the error of their ways, or someone that saw repentance? Hated by many in most cases but at least allowed some freedom in the ladder. He knew others would follow his example. Maybe some of them would have better, prettier words to tug at the heartstrings of these Federations. Not him. His words were short and blunt and to the point. Wethern: Come on Rugen, at least come to the table, release the captives. We can't write the whole incident off but you could be at the talks and receive a fair hearing. Fairhug: Say what you want about the Federation, but that much is always guaranteed. Fair. Sure, they would listen. And then they would always, no matter what, side with the Bardeez. Because the rules the Bardeez followed more closely matched the rules the Federations followed. Rugen did not follow those rules. Therefore Rugen was an Atrocity. And Atrocities must be eliminated. Rugen: So they will hear us. Try us fairly, find us guilty and then either re-educate us, force us into their culture or quietly eliminate us. I could do it; I know. I could prolong my own existence of… atrocity as you say. It will not change the fact that we lose our very identity. The Byzatium that was will die by Toral’s hand. And that was what he mourned. He had an identity in war. His clan had an identity in war. And what these Federations were talking about was a complete and utter destruction of self. He could not comprehend who he would be in the aftermath. So wasn’t it best to be dead? Willow: Do not spoil what is yet to come by clinging onto the past. Wethern: There is always a choice, remember that. We are remembered by pivitol moments in our life. Make sure this one is for the better. Fairhug: Make the right choice, Rugen. He was a wiry man, of middle height. Dark hair just starting to grey. Tanned skin. Angular features. A weathered, hardened man. But not an imposing man. Not physically at least. He had an aura about him that told of confidence, unwavering conviction and true love for his people. The warriors around him moved to protect him in instinct, not order. For whatever cruelties he had poured on others, he had apparently treated his own clan as family. The sad thing was, had he been raised on another world he would have easily looked like a scholar. Rugen: This is me. Fairhug: How do *we* know we can trust *you*? Willow: Trust is not earned lightly. We can never be sure it is truly there. Yet we can hope. Wethern: How about we all lower our weapons as a first show of faith. Wouldn't want anyone to accidentally get shot now would we. He considered this and then calculated. He knew exactly where his hunting knife was, and it was strapped for the fastest release. He believed that if the Federations discarded their beam weapons he could take all three in under a minute with just his knife. If he needed to. He held his disruptor pistol out, but did not yet release it. The speaker – he understood that was the healer – dropped his weapon first. Note to self – do not kill the healer if at all possible. Healers were valuable. Rugen: I am willing… He looked at them as if to say ‘you first.’ Willow: For a doctor my friend here makes an excellent point. We should all do better to follow his example. Fairhug: Good idea, Doctor Wethern. The Bardeez dropped his rifle. Rugen dropped his pistol. The Bardeez still had a hostered pistol. Rugen still had a knife strapped to his leg. And this is why Byzatium training was so important. Rugen estimated it would take the Bardeez three to four seconds to unholster his pistol from that position. He also estimated that he could pull his knife with its special bindings in less than a second, while running towards the Bardeez. So, should this turn ugly – bullrush the Bardeez, pull knife on the way, go for the jugular. That should hamper him before he got his pistol pulled. The entire plan worked through Rugen’s mind as he kept his expression neutral. Wethern: Why don't you tell us where the hostages are then maybe we can help you with something? Rugen: They are here. ::He said vaguely waving to the caves beyond.:: True and yet so vague. The Federations didn’t have much time to be upset about his answer. Rugen tensed again, coiling downwards ready to strike. His warriors huddled down under cover, fingers on the triggers. They all knew that sound. The scratching, scuttling doom. The sound that haunted the nightmares of every Dorfman child. Fairhug: What is that?! Willow: Hard to say. For all I know it could be a rodent of unusual size. ::Her humor disappeared into the darkness, lost in the seriousness of the situation:: Wethern: I would like to point out my earlier comments about caves and things tending to want to kill you. Whatever it is it does not sound happy.....and that is my professional opinion. Rugen said one word. One little word. Even without context that one word was chilling, as if he was describing the devil itself come to devour them. Rugen: Omunics. The walls of the cave seemed to come alive with figures rushing toward them. Immediately the Dorfmen warriors engaged. The speed of their response was mesmerizing. They entered into a well-practiced dance of battle with the most ever-present threat on Byzatium. Every warrior knew the deadly stakes and yet had honed their skills like an artist. If anything told of why Rugen was the way he was – it was this response. The ever-present knowledge that one could be attacked at any time, no matter who they were, that was the overwhelming nature of growing up as a Dorfman. The Federations were not even remotely ready. Fairhug: Weapons! Willow: Get back! Get Down! Wethern: You heard the lady. We can still end this peacefully. Rugen ogled at the medic, having already snatched up his weapon, ready to defend himself. Rugen: you think the Omunics will ever know peace? You will be torn to shreds, your flesh will fill their feasting table should you think such soft thoughts. Fairhug: My father was in the city of Ifar the day you and your men attacked it. Oh, so this was personal. Rugen: Now he rests in the Hall of the Not Forgotten. For Rugen it was not personal. He offered that as respect to the Bardeez. Fairhug: I will make sure you answer for it. It was not taken as respect. That was a failing of the Bardeez. A failing of the Federations. Everything was personal. On Byzatium, taking things personally was a liability. There was not personal reason for the Omunics to attack. They were hungry. They craved resources. They would use the flesh of a Dorfman to feel their young and grind the bones to fertilize their underground gardens. It was not personal, every Dorfman was another resource, another piece of meat. Rugen did not personally kill anyone in Ifar. He attacked by the Dorfmen rules of war a city of a warring faction. He assumed everyone in that city was a warrior and prepared for an attack. Apparently the Bardeez – he now learned – had completely different rules. Apparently this Fairhug assumed his father was to be left out of the war. And apparently this Fairhug had not placed his father in the Hall of the Not Forgotten to live on. Instead he gathered up his father into his heart and carried him everywhere. That would get a Dorfman warrior killed. Revenge was the path to dishonorable death. Rugen was intent on facing the bigger threat – the oncoming Omunics. But Fairhug had other ideas. The massive Bardeez tackled him, and unlike Namhug, this one was tall and strong and built like a warrior. Rugen was smaller and wiry and almost all muscle. There was no softness to his form, no luxury, no waste. He curled up and rolled with the impact until it came to a stop and both men were facing one another. The Bardeez Fairhug made a lunge for the throat, and Rugen caught him by the hair Rugen: You fight like a wild animal… Fairhug: ? He dodged the next blow and considered pulling his knife. Considered, but he was somewhat enjoying this savagery from the Bardeez. He didn’t know if the planet ever had it in them to be true warriors. They had always seemed like reluctant children dragging their feet to go to war because they felt they had to. Rugen: That is because your father’s soul rests inside you. Controls you. Maybe you should let him go. Oddly spot on advice for a person one was trying to strangle. Fairhug: ? Wethern: Right behind you! You got this Commander? Fairhug: ? In the background the two Federations were fighting and bantering. Talking about ale and rest. The Dorfmen warriors were silent, staving off the hoarde of Omunics. If there were not six Dorfmen warriors, the entire remaining group would be dead. But he supposed that the Federations would take the credit. Rugen: My people are saving your people. And yet you think our way of war is worthless. Fairhug: ? Rugen was a slippery opponent. No matter how hard Fairhug tried, he could not get a solid grip on the Dorfman. Decades of practice came to the forefront, and Rugen kept sneaking in quick jabs to the joint or muscle in the fight – things that would ache and hurt even if they didn’t break. He jabbed a knuckle punch into the inner muscle of Fairhug’s thigh, causing the quadriceps to spasm. Rugen: Do not make me kill you… He was done with playing punching bag for an angry youth. His hand went for the knife strapped to his leg. Fairhug: ? ~*~ tags/tbc ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Dorfman Chieftain Byzatium

This tickled me from @Corey Wethern. 😂

Classic cave scenarios from @Corey Wethern. 😂

@Sal Taybrim knows how to write a villain. 😈 ((Hall of the Not-Forgotten, Chief’s Chambers – Secured Location on Byzatium)) He always walked through the hall of the Not-Forgotten before heading into the stars and going to war. Here were collected the relics of the honored dead, those who had lost their lives in the never-ending war. And that is what life was for him. War. Never-ending war. It was what he was born into and it was what he would leave this sentient existence desperately clinging onto. There was no other choice – he could not comprehend a different way of life. This was life. Is life. And someday he hoped he would not be forgotten. Rugen picked up a green woven sash, worn by his beautiful Imelnia into battle. They had fought side by side. She had born his three children. She had collapsed in the most beautiful pool of blood that Byzatium had ever seen. Her belly split open by a charged plasma sword, blood running from her like hot red rivers. Dorfmen did not mourn. They did not grieve. It was unthinkable. So he celebrated her death with a ten day drunk. He kept a lock of her hair tied to his belt with a tiny red silk ribbon, one of the few luxuries he had given her. And now she was not-forgotten. He would carry her with him into battle in the stars. The same with his best friend Korth who’s throat was slit by Omunics, his young son Ruton who was reduced to atoms in an explosion and his father Ruseth who was cut down by a thousand blades while leading a charge against Bardeez. None of them would be forgotten. Tokens of them rested in this hall, some still stained with spilled blood, others slowly decaying. But not forgotten until they crumbled away into dust and new generations placed new tokens here. Rugen was determined to lead his people forward. To conquer, to fight. It was all he knew, and he prided himself on his culture. He carried his people forward in the way it always was, the way it always had been, the way it always would be. There were others talking about change. A fundamental change of the way of life. As if that was possible, hah! No, Rugen felt they were – at best – dangerous fools playing with the fate of the universe. And at worst they were manipulative predators trying to pacify and fatten up the Byzatium population for takeover and rule by Bardeez and the horrible empires that existed beyond. He would much rather fight an endless war than die as a slave. No one in the hall of the Not-Forgotten would have ever wanted to see anyone in the tribe bow to outsiders. He would do it for them. For the memory of what was and the continuations of what is. War was an inevitable reality of his existence and he would continue on its path until he, too collapsed in a honorable pile of blood. Slowly he set the tokens down and strode out of the hall of the Not-Forgotten, emboldened to do what he had to do next. War. It would be done. ~*~ ~tbc~ ~*~ MSNPC Rugen Byzatium Tribal Leader "Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must" ~Julian Beck E239010ST0

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@Corey Wethern Just another day in Starfleet! 🤣

Love this from @Korras’ PNPC! That’s the spirit! 💪🏻 Do we have a Starfleet officer in the making? 🧐😅

@Sal Taybrim like pressing the button on the elevator multiple times. We know it doesn’t make a difference, yet we still do it! 😂

Just love this sim from @Evan Ross. Something so realistic and relatable about it. (( Starbase 118 - The Dungeon - Mundok's Bar )) It was great to hear that Russell's family was doing well. Ross didn't find it easy to imagine his stoic Captain in retirement - but Cross would probably find a way to keep busy. Ross wouldn't mind to switch places actually - he adored how driven Russell was in approaching his career, but there was a reason he had never gotten higher than First Officer in one or two shipments. Also there was no family awaiting his pension - he was still on his own. Cross: Nothing wrong with that. You will figure it out in time right? Time is still very much on your side. Ross: ::chuckling:: You tell me. Everybody seemed to talk about his love life today - the topic had come up with Rustyy just an hour ago. Did he radiate acute loneliness or something? Ross took a sip from his ale, but Cross had no intention of changing the subject. Cross: What about Commander McLaren? Is she single? She seems right up your reality with the Intel prowess. Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two. That made him choke on his drink. For a moment Ross simply stared at Russell in disbelief - Ross: She's my boss, pal. Not to mention that he was still deadly afraid of her, and definitely not playing in her league. It took him another second to realise that Russell was only messing with him. When he heard him chuckle, Ross rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair. Cross: You do you my man. I’m just saying, there are plenty of options out there for you buddy. Ross: You had me there for a second. ::lightly punching Russell's shoulder:: Should have told me back in the day you see no problem in dating a superior. I would have taken you out for a drink earlier. Now it was him who was joking - and something in their banter felt so painfully familiar that Ross actually started missing their shared adventures for a moment. Most of their trips had been uneventful deliveries, a lot of waiting and checking boxes - but in between those routines, they had shared a sense of companionship which had left a hole somewhere deep inside him ever since he had left the Centurion behind. There had been a common ground. A sense of belonging. Us against the world, come fleet come engine failure. Cross: ? Ross: I just want you to know - serving under your command, it meant a lot to me. All this, it's... ::hesitating, gesturing vaguely:: It's still strange to me. Doesn't sit quite right. It felt like a dream sometimes - a little too shiny to actually believe it. His smile faded. Cross: ? Ross: I know, I know. It's what I wanted. And it's great. But if you ever get bored with retirement... ::he winked:: Give me a call, promise? Cross: ? They clinked glasses on that. Ross smiled and took a deep breath - the Centurion's arrival had put a lot of things into question this morning and he still wasn't sure if he had answers for them. If anything, Russell's call from the past had reminded him where he was from. A world much less shiny, grim for many parts - a world in which he had envied shiny Starfleet Utopia and despised it at the same time. He still had to find his path through this gleaming new reality - and he still had to figure out how to stop feeling like a stain. But those were problems for another day. When he ordered another drink for them, he knew Cross would erase any doubts for the next few hours. Tomorrow was a new day - and their friendship stood renewed another time. End of Scene for Ross Ensign Evan Ross Intelligence Officer StarBase 118 Ops O240009ER2

@Kettick - or maybe both! 😂

Very true @Xiron and not just maintenance workers! 😂

Loved this from @Rustyy_Hael. Very sweet and it made me chuckle. 😆

Love the introspective narrative in this sim from @Drex0379. ((Hospital Deck 120, Lightside Station)) Thanks to the intervention of the Talarian doctor, the unexpected detention of the three Starfleet officers lasted only a few minutes. A few minutes enough to make it clear, at least to Drex, that the station's crew must not have thought very highly of the Federation or Starfleet, or at least that they were doing fine on their own and did not welcome their visits. As their guide led the way to a more private office, Drex decided to let the lieutenants do the talking. And he was glad when the conversation shifted from himself to the hospital's capabilities and the teams working there. Samar: We’ve got just enough to cover the needs of the station’s usual population, although the hospital staff are often short-handed during busier times. You know how it is. Raimor: I’m sure that it takes a lot of work to get that many scientists pulling in the same direction. Drex followed the three doctors keeping in the rear, a couple of steps behind them. He focused on the Talarian woman, wondering, in curiosity, how she managed to become the Chief Geneticist on the Spike. Was something she fought for herself or was her father who moved away from the tradition giving the daughter the opportunity to improve her condition and success? Either case, Drex was sure she would not be able to return to her homeworld and adapt back to the limitations her culture imposed on females. Vahin: Please lead the way. I must say, your facilities here are quite impressive. Samar simply shrugged and continued to lead the group down the corridors. Raimor: Hopefully, we will have everything that we need. Lost in his thoughts about Talarians, Drex was putting little attention to the talking, but he gazed at Raimor a little bit in confusion. Were they going to use the station facilities to work on the anti-toxin? They moved through the administration wing. There were a lot of staff about as usual, but they all seemed far to busy with their own concerns to pay them any attention. Vahin: I wasn’t expecting to find a geneticist here. I assumed this was just a hospital for treating the station’s population. Is a lot of research carried out on Lightside Station? Samar: You’d be surprised. Raimor: What are you working on right now, if you don’t mind me asking? It looks like your staff is quite busy at the moment. The unusual reaction to our arrival causes me to wonder… Drex slowed his pace and took a look at the medical staff. The place was not so different from any other hospital he had visited. Not that he had visited many, fortunately, just a couple back at home when he was a little bit older than a kid, and the one at the Academy, when Dag’Har ended up in the ER with a broken arm after one of his dummy bets. The Talarian doctor sighed and came to a stop. To Drex, she sounded quite unpleasant when she talked. Samar: I’m sorry, but that’s not something you need to know. This is an independent station, and my clients value their privacy. I’m sure you understand. Raimor: Of course. I don’t mean any offense, Doctor, just wanted to know if there is anything that could interfere with our work. Vahin: Response Clients. She did not say patients. Client was a strange word to indicate someone who needs medical attention. Clients sound more of someone paying for specific research. And she was a geneticist. Drex looked around, half hoping to spot something that would indicate the type of research and experiments were taking place. But there were no guinea pigs or screens with visible data to allow him any guesses. The station and the Talarians were not aligned with the Federation, the rules and ethics of the Federation did not apply here, and Drex could not exclude that the toxin that had arrived on Denali, and which they now feared would affect the Spike, had not actually been created here. Samar: I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. Samar stepped through the cleansing field that guarded the threshold to the Chief Medical Officers private laboratory, before pausing to make sure all the officers had followed her. Samar: This is the Chief Medical Officers private lab. ::pointing at a large partitioned off area:: His office is just over there. Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I hope the Chief Medical Officer is waiting for us :: A slightly smile bond his lips :: oO I would like to avoid ending up in a cage again Oo Samar made a beeline for the office door. Samar: No. I’m afraid he passed away recently. Vahin/ Raimor: Response From the tone she used, it seemed to Drex that the CMO’s death was a sudden and unexpected event. Drex: Sorry to hear about it :: he murmured :: Arriving at the officer door she paused and bent down slightly to swipe her pass on the access panel. After a moment the door unlocked with a barely audible click before sliding open. Samar: ::stepping inside the office:: Food poisoning. He had an allergic reaction to something he purchased at the underground market. Drex: Forgive my curiosity, but what race was the doctor? Vahin/ Raimor: Response Samar lowered herself into the CMO’s chair and gestured that the Starfleet officers were also welcome to sit. Samar: You’d need to speak to station security about that, but I'd recommend you only eat things that have come from a replicator. Now, what is it you want to discuss? Drex waited for the others to sit before getting a chair for himself. He was there to listen and give advice if required. As far as he could see, the hospital was state of the art, but it hadn't been the cure for a man's allergy. And the staff did not want to talk about that. Drex: Maybe we should alert the Commodore about the dangers of the market, what do you think? :: He asked to both the medical officers :: Vahin/ Raimor: Response Drex: I’ll send a message. The Denobulan officer picked up his PADD and typed a short message about the food and the replicator. He sent it to Commander DeVeau, as she was his immediate superior officer. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex recalled the notes on his PADD. He knew them by heart, but the way the doctors presented the facts to Samar gave him a new perspective, and Samar's answers also gave him something new to think about. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response Drex: It's not something to underestimate. We have no certainties, but the most probable hypothesis is that the next attempt is here. Vahin/ Raimor/ Samar: Response TAG/TBC ============ Ensign Drex Science Officer Denali Station D240011D14

The ten points are yours @Alex Forsyth! 😅

Loving @Araxxu Vahin’s portrayal of Tridiatt Ken (A.K.A. Mr. Fox.) ((Interrogation Room, Federation Penal Ship Hobart)) For a moment Tridiatt Ken was lost in the past. He saw ships bursting in the skies above Caradassia. He saw the bolts from his phase-disrupter killing his enemies. He saw those he loved die beside him. Ton: Of course, we all served. I did what I had to. Fox: I remember those days well. Nothing could stand in our way. We almost had you. ::he sighs:: And then we lost it all. Ton: Lost is probably the key word there. Times change, and you can remain lost in the past - or help yourself. Fox: ::he looks down:: Perhaps I’m getting too old for this. ::he looks up and into Ton’s eyes:: From one old solider to another. Sweeten the deal, and perhaps I can help you out. Ton: Are you aware that some of the cells on this ship have windows? He sat up straighter as Ton spoke and realised he had let himself drift too far into the past. That damn Trill was right. Those days were over and mattered little to the issue at hand. For good or bad he was Mr. Fox now and he needed to ignore the past and make the present better. Fox: A view would be nice. What size are they? Ton: Approximately 50 centimeters by 50 centimeters. He looked down at the offered PADD and took in the schematics. It was always good to have a better idea of what the cage you lived in was like. He tried his best to memorize the schematics in the short time he was able to look at them. One never knew when that kind of information would come in handy. Fox: That is quite an upgrade…for a cage. And how does one go about getting a nicer cage? Ton: I convince the Warden you are not a threat to the order of his ship. Fox: And I suppose I prove this by giving you names? Ton: Response He shook his head and laughed. Mr Fox: Well it is not the first time I was a traitor. Though turning against the Dominion did have a certain chivalry that this act lacks. Yet, I’m sure my new associates would turn against me if they were in my place. oO Which they’re not, because they weren’t foolish enough to get captured.Oo And to be honest he cared very little about those he had hired to smuggle the toxin off of Denali. Dangling them in front of the Federation in order to improve his own situation didn’t bother him much. What did bother him was the target it might paint on his back if his associates knew it was him who had betrayed them. Mr Fox: ::sigh:: What do you need from me? Ton: Response Mr Fox: ::chuckles:: Is that all? You don’t want my first born as well? Ton: Response TAG, TBC <><><><><><><><><><><> Mr Fox as simmed by Lt Jg Araxxu Vahin Medical Denali Station D240006AV3

Elite sim-titling here from @Corey Wethern. 😂👌🏻

Meant to post this a few days ago. Another brilliant shore leave scene between @Vitor S. Silveira and @Sal Taybrim. ((StarBase 118, Promenade, Donut Worry )) Tito had ended up in, of all places, in a donut shop. To his surprise, considering how early in the early morning it was, Sal joined him. Tito told him about his recent visit to Sil and how it was affecting him. Tito leaned back. He tipped his head, as he avoided Sal's eyes. Besides the guilt and the fear, now he was also ashamed. Tito: I feel… Guilty. I mean, my life isn't perfect but… Even if we are a quadrant apart my relationship with Taisa is strong. I miss Arys, and Egil, but I am getting along much better with others… ::he smirked looking back at Sal:: At least that's what it feels like. I am on a department a little clear from the action and the field I always loved since I was a kid… He paused, opening his arms, shrugging. Tito: My life got back on track. Why did Sil's have to take that down turn? I couldn't… I didn't even tell him about Taisa. It felt wrong after what he's been through. Sal leaned forward. Taybrim: Your good fortune doesn’t mean Sil’s ill fortune. There is enough good fortune in the universe for everyone, especially the both of you. And I would emphasize that you are part of Sil’s good fortune, despite his bad times. You were there for him and came through for him. As for why? I ask that of the universe myself. And I don’t have an answer on why the universe is cruel. Only that it’s not your fault. Or my fault. Or Sil’s fault. It just exists and we have to endure it. Tito nodded. Sal proved himself again. Not only was he a caring friend and CO, he was also wise and pondered. He smiled, leaning forward, taking his half eaten donut in his fingers. Tito: However, in all this I came to realise something. I have a very scientific approach to donuts now. Taybrim: Oh? Do tell. Tito: Donuts are simple. Just cake around a hole. Sal smiled. Taybrim: I think that’s a philosophical approach rather than a scientific one. Tito frowned even if he was still smiling. Tito: Really? In Human Classical culture Philosophy was considered the Science of Sciences. But do you think my observation can be extrapolated in such a matter? Taybrim: The philosophy of donuts? Hm. I suppose we could find some truth in that. Tito: That is one of the goals of philosophy, but go on. Sal raised his doughnut, as if he was observing it. Tito was curious to see what would be his reply. He took a bit from his own donut as he listened to Sal. Taybrim: Alright, here’s mine. I think the smooth frosted donuts are fine, but the imperfect ones, the rough ones are all the more delicious for their texture. Tito finished chewing and nodded. Tito: Now that to me is a scientific observation. Although, like my observation, it can have a deeper meaning. Taybrim: Aright, what’s yours? Tito raised an eyebrow and tipped his head. Tito: Mine? I don’t think I can make a correct dissertation. Sal leaned forward with a soft smile. Taybrim: I don’t think there’s any right or wrong answers in philosophy. Just an attempt to reach some sort of realization that helps you move forward with your day. Tito: I might have to make a revelation first. Taybrim: Response Tito leaned back, making himself more comfortable. Curiously speaking with Sal was making him move forward from his early feelings. Nothing like metaphorically picking donuts, in the earliest hours of the day, with the Sun barely on the horizon, to smooth the emotions that troubled him. Tito: I don’t even like donuts. But to give it a try, I think the most important part of the donut is the most overlooked. Taybrim: Response Tito pointed to Sal’s donut, since his was almost all gone. Tito: The hole. There resides the key to the true nature. Because if it isn’t there the donut is just another pastry. It’s what gives its identity and what gives it… Lets say, meaning. Taybrim: Response Tito opened his arms. This wasn’t certainly his field, nor a theme he ever particularly wondered about. But Sal was easy to talk to, and as they kept on the conversation became more interesting. Tito: I hope you don’t think it's an ambiguous answer, but to me that hole means nothing. ::Tito smiled as he took a longer pause before finishing.:: And everything. It permits us to think, and consider, over what is and is not. In a practical, scientific observation, it’s like matter and antimatter. Taybrim: Response TAG/TBC Lt. Vitor R.S.Tito Science Officer Starbase 118 O238907VS0

This is so true from @Evan Ross. I’ve picked up a few over the years, myself. 😂

Fully intended. 😉😆