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Kirsty L. Carpenter

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Posts posted by Kirsty L. Carpenter

  1. There have been a ton of great sims coming out of the opening dedication of our new crew lounge. But this one by @Randal Shayne here recently really, really got me. Our Cap is a tough cookie, for sure, but every time we get these looks into his warm and gooey center, it's just the absolute best. 

     

    ((Deck 6, Starboard Bow, USS Arrow))

    Dewitt: Thank you, Commander, for seeing this through. And for allowing me to be part of it. ::raising his glass: To many nights we will spend here, remembering all the good and the bad times and figuring out what the next kitchen appliance will be that we make better.

     

    Shayne lifted his spare hand and balled into a fist as more applause fill the air. Not just building something, the captain realized. Continuing the build something. Making something better. A legacy. That’s what they were creating. A legacy. Leave it to the scientist to look at the present, and an engineer to look at the future. 

     

    Serinus: And now, we will hear a man who will speak to us in three roles, as our final design contributor, someone who helped us acquire quite a few resources from the Excalibur and Deep Space 224, and as our current First Officer. Please give it up for the Triil, the beard, the Legend. Commander Karrod Niac!

     

    The captain smiled to himself. Who better to look at the past than someone with lifetimes of experience? It was momentarily remarkable, he realized, to look at what they were doing from an exterior perspective. Depending on how this evening ended, and what happened with it, and what came after, the symbiote within his crotchety XO might remember this night for longer than any of them. Making history, even in a small way, was humbling. To watch it being created before your eyes was… compelling. 

     

    Niac: Thank you, Mr. Serinus.  And my sincere thanks to both Mr. Dewitt and Mr. Collins for speaking so passionately and openly about how they feel about this crew.  It's a testament to the depths of the bonds that form between us that we can come together with such zeal for a moment like this.  Now, I've learned a secret about giving speeches years ago that always served me well and I'll share it with all of you tonight.  

     

    Shayne couldn’t believe he was doing it, but as he brought his hand to his mouth to cup it, he yelled out. 


    Shayne: Be careful, commander- that’s a mighty powerful secret you’re sharing! 

     

    As Niac’s face became warmer than even the captain had ever seen, Shayne couldn’t resist the smile that crept up his unprepared cheeks as well. 

     

    Niac: The secret to a good speech...is brevity.  ::As the polite laughter faded Karrod raised his glass with a flourish::  Raise a glass...to Starfleet...to one another...and to the Arrow!  

     

    The bar filled again with the huzzahs of a ship well crewed, and Karrod exited the stage respectfully. Now it was time for the captain. Shayne looked around momentarily before remembering with a bowel-cleansing jolt that said honor belonged to him. 

     

    Shayne: oO And I haven’t even been drinking. Oo 

     

    Serinus: And now, the man who’s seen all of us through our jaunts across the Alpha Isles. To many of you he needs no introduction, let’s hear it for the CO of the good ship Arrow, Captain Shayne! ::Once again, Artinus lead the applause::

     

    Shayne grimiced once more and made his way to the stage. For once, it felt less like a formal engagement, and rather more like a comedy club. He wasn’t sure if that was better or much worse. 

     

    It was also at this time that he realized he’d not prepared remarks. Normally he was studious when it came to preparing, but writing words generally eluded him. Well, it hadn’t been a problem before… except that one time, or that other time, or… 

     

    Shayne: Someone once said that the captain of a starship has your problems, my problems, his problems and the problems of 430 others. Yeah, that might be the case, but where I see problems, I also realize the unique position I’m in. You see, I get to observe each of you; your strengths, your courage, your conviction, your resolve, your ingenuity. I get to watch the tapestry that is this crew, in all its beautific and occasionally insane grace. For that, I am grateful. 

     

    He accepted a small goblet of wine from one of the waitstaff who had observed the potential for awkwardness, and he lifted it. 

     

    Shayne: To each of you, and to us all. 

     

    Niac:  Three cheers for the Captain!  Hip Hip!  

     

    Shayne downed the wine and held his hand over his chest as the final hips and hoorahs were offered. The vigor surprised him momentarily; he’d forgotten just what kind of volume was possible when nearly eighty people were shoved into a small closet. He dismounted the stage swiftly and tried to return to MacKenna’s side, but the chief of security had different plans. 

     

    Serinus: ::turning to Shayne:: Please remain here, sir. ::turning to the crowd:: I’d like to call the rest of our speakers back up please. But please join me in one last round of applause for our Captain.

     

    Shayne glowered at the Magna Roman, but allowed it. MacKenna’s encouraging eyes kept him from saying anything uncouth. 

     

    But as he stood there, taking it in once more, he realized that someday, if he was very fortunate, he would look back on this, and smile. 

     

    Tags/END

     

    Captain Randal Shayne
    Commanding Officer

    USS Arrow
    NCC 69829
    G239202RS0

    • Like 3
    • Thanks 1
  2. One of the awesome things about our format here is how it allows us to explore an evolving dynamic between our PCs and NPCs. And one of my absolute favorite dynamics has always been the burgeoning relationship between @Randal Shayne and @Kali Nicholotti's Ash MacKenna. This piece here is just one example of a whole slew of truly striking and sweet developments that I've been rapturously following between the missions.

    Please enjoy!

    ///////////////

    ((Off the Grid, Raft-One))

     

    Shayne: I don’t know- shall we? 

     

    He was actually asking. This was somewhere he was most definitely not in control, and his thin thread of self-trust rested entirely upon her slim shoulders. 

     

    They continued forward, the sounds growing louder. The light was closer now, though not much more distinct. Shayne still had to squint in the low light still, but more as a result of what he saw as opposed to what he couldn’t. 

     

    The primary source of the light was above the scene; a chandelier with lit and melting candles. Burnished bronze that looked both dispensed with and intricately added to the area, bent and warped reflections. Rich wood furniture- tables and chairs and short stair cases to an upper level- were accompanied by a bar. The scent of foods, both familiar and not, lingered in the air, and the place was reasonably filled with people- Federation species and others mingling, talking, drinking, playing kal-toh and poker and kotra. Wait… kotra… that was a Cardassian game! And sure enough, one of the players, now looking at Shayne and Ash curiously, was very distinctly Cardassian. What was this place? 

     

    As for Ash, she simply moved in and about as if she’d been there many times before. Of course she hadn’t been but once or twice, but there were more than one of these so-called refuges around the galaxy. She had simply been a little surprised to have found one there, at Raft-one. 

     

    Though perhaps she should have been, given the history of their administrator. Offering an unfocused nod in the direction of the questions left unspoken, Ash led Shayne to an out of the way table.

     

    MacKenna: Don’t mind them.

     

    After all, it was in the very nature of a spy to be wary and questioning, even in places where protections allowed for most of their guard to be down.

     

    Shayne: You know these people?

     

    He followed MacKenna’s lead as best he could, but couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his features. 

     

    MacKenna: Not as much. I know what they are, not necessarily who.

     

    The table, made of hard, solid, and real wood, polished to a shine that helped to reflect the low lighting in a private sort of way, was almost welcoming as they took their seats. Looking up, she let her eyes settle in his for the first time since they’d entered. Now she could relax as much as being out among people would allow her to. 

     

    Shayne: I’m… I don’t understand. This place can’t be on the primary directory. I would have noticed it. 

     

    A rather dapper looking fellow appeared, dressed to the hilt with a small towel across one arm and provided them each with an actual menu. With a slight bow, he rattled off a few of the specials and then retreated. On the thick paper, embossed with shimmering black and gold inks, were listings of exquisite entrees that might have even made Quentin blush. From one of the rarest fish on Risa, prepared traditionally and served on a bed of oskoid, to aged beef from the one cow slaughtered that year from the first herd transported to Mars, what could be acquired there, was not like anything that could be acquired elsewhere.

     

    MacKenna: It’s a haven. We don’t really talk about it, we just enjoy the momentary ability to breathe. 

     

    She paused a moment, looking over the menu.

     

    MacKenna: Anything look interesting to you?

    Shayne answered honestly, but his eyes were darting around the room. 

     

    Shayne: Yes. Everything.

     

    The redhead couldn't help but grin across the table at the man she loved. Setting the menu down, she stood back up and reached over for his hand to lead him out from the table. In any other setting, at any other time, she wouldn’t dream of this, but in such a haven, where the shadows allowed some obscurity, there was a sense of empowerment. 

     

    MacKenna: Dance with me.

     

    Not far, on the outskirts of the room, shadows teased of dark places that made all within the room feel at home. Ash found such an edge that happened to be also a part of the not-empty, but not packed dance floor and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

     

    Shayne nearly blanched. 

     

    Shayne: Here?! With them?!

    He kept his voice to a low hiss. He wouldn’t say no to even this immediately- Ash deserved better- but his dismay was absolute. This wasn’t like her. 

     

    Everywhere, and nowhere, the sounds of live music - just the type you’d expect in such an establishment - drifted around them like a lazy river. The curious looks of others had long since faded, and the shadows kept them from any sort of spotlight. Leaning her head against his shoulder, Ash knew that regardless of what else came, this was the night they needed.

     

    He wanted to panic. If not panic, then startle, or detach from the moment in a display of misplaced tactical acumen. But the head on his shoulder, the hair that laid on his tux, belonged to the woman he had learned to love the long way around. He felt her heart against his; it always beat a little quicker than his own, and yet here… here it was slow. Calm. Soft. She was safe here. Not as a fact. As a truth. She was safe here. And if that was the case, so was he. His questions ran rampant, his need for answers was unabated, but in this enclave between worlds, in this twilight zone of what might be, he decided to simply hold her tight, and dance, long into the night. The answers would wait. 

     

    He had a dance to attend. 

     

    END

     

    Commander Ash MacKenna

    Chief Intelligence Officer

    USS Arrow

    R238605KN0

     

    and

     

    Captain Randal Shayne

    Commanding Officer

    USS Arrow

    NCC 69829
    G239202RS0 

      

    • Like 2
  3. The Before. Stardate: 239507.19. 

    Quentin Collins didn’t even need to see the postman coming up the drive to know what he carried.

     

    It was as if he…sensed it. Was drawing it closer with his excitement. In return, the parcel seemed to pulse. With a clean bluish light, even through the canvas rolling cart and thin morning fog of the harbor below. 

     

    Quentin watched the bored looking, but sure footed postman trudging up the drive and he willing him silently on from the foyer window where he had kept his diligent watch over the last few days (and scattering of nights). He kept plodding and plodding up the drive. Quentin started to bounce slightly on the balls of his feet. How could a single human being move THIS slowly?

     

    If only they could have transported the parcel directly to the entryway chamber, like every other sane person did. But oh, no, oh, sunny, not in Professor Bouchard-Collins’ house. A house that must always stay clear and tidy and free of wild energies and photonic spectrums that would harm The Professor’s precious “auras” and “ sensory channels”. It was painfully stupid to Quentin when he had first heard it and it was double the amount now. 

     

    But none of that did little to settle the buzz in Quentin’s heart and brains as he all but screamed the postman onward from his bedroom window. He distracted himself by sneaking another look at the PADD, itself also clandestinely ferreted into Quentin’s hands by a timely summons to the town Post Office in Collinsport below. A summons he obfuscated as a trip to the local library to his Mother. It was his Starfleet Academy acceptance letter and Call to Orders. Even as Quentin held it in his trembling hands, he couldn’t believe it was finally real. 

     

    And now the second piece of that acceptance into something greater than himself approached. A higher, truer existence than the doldrive and arcane life he would have stayed here. Quentin whipped his head back to the window. The postman was almost out of sight now. That meant he was almost at the door. Quentin moved so quickly he didn’t even remember crossing the length of his bedroom, didn’t remember throwing open his door with a resounding, sonically shot thump. His footfalls outran their own noise. It was HERE. RIGHT in front of him. All he had to do was get to it. 

     

    He passed a face rounding the hall. Another bounding down the Foyer steps, three at a time. Those were problems and questions for another time. After, much after. He was too focused now. And going too fast. The marble of the Foyer started to glide the heels of Quentin’s loafers. His direction was set, but his speed was now completely out of his hands. And feet, apparently. Only interruption could halt him now. Which he found. In the form of his right hip pranging deeply across the side of the walnut finished oval table that had been freshened and placed in the middle of the chamber. By some unspoken whim of Mother. 

     

    Even the pain didn’t dull his excitement. He grasped both of the cast-iron handles of the ancient and too-large double-doors. And flung them open to the waning sunlight. Just as the bewildered postman was about to knock. Moving like a badly timed wind-up toy, he started to reach for his own large-font PADD, muttering something about needing a signature for the package. Which Quentin provided almost gleefully, divesting the postman from his charge with uncanny haste. 

     

    Turning and closing both doors, seemingly with one motion, Quentin turned back into the Foyer. Transfixed on the medium-sized box he now couldn’t take his eyes from. He all but floated back to the table, setting the box reverently down on the walnut. He ran his hand carefully across the gilded embossment of the textured Blue box. The United Federation of Planets, Starfleet Academy. He started to unclasp the box, but stopped himself momentarily…As if he questioned his own worth now. He had taken his entry exam. He had passed his physical and psychological questionnaire. They had accepted him. They wouldn’t have sent this if they hadn’t.

     

    But still part of him wondered if he had what it took to open this box. To put on what it contained. To carry those colors. Like the man said, there was only really one way to find out. And that started with opening the bloody box. He ran his thumbs up under the careful seal of the package, carefully separating the flaps of the box. Carefully folded in a square, was his Cadet uniform. Patterned dark maroon with Blue inlays about the collar and shoulders. A gleaming, freshly shined Cadet pip and matching rank-appropriate Starfleet badge set neatly beside. 

     

    Quentin didn’t hesitate this time. He folded his hand softly into the fabric of the uniform. Running his opposite thumb over the smooth brass of the badge and single pip. Now it was VERY real. More real than ever before. Literally, the entire cosmos now stood at his fingertips. His mind and heart reeled with the possibility. 

     

    One of those faces from before appeared at the top of the stairs. Father. He caught his eye from across the hall and rose the badge up into the light of the dawning night. They shared a silent, but powerful smile across the quiet. Father knew how much it meant to Quentin. But the other face, now coming into focus. Mother. Didn’t. Or wouldn’t, more likely. Her cold, and solidly focused eyes took in the scene. Her derision broke the silence. Sending it as shards across the sparkling table and flooring.

     

    “Colors of his new colonial masters, I see…,” Her voice shot daggers through Quentin’s calm. What followed was not their first argument. Nor was it their last. But it was one that would hang like a grim guidepost of their relationship forever. Quentin’s newly arrived window to everything that wasn’t his Mother bearing silent witness to it all. Staying clutched in Quentin’s hand through it all, acting a ghoulish prop for his exultations until they halted some time later.

     

    The Now. Stardate: 239901.19. 

    Quentin Collins pushed the heavy, heady memories away and focused on the bright ones. The light that was clear and strong then pulsed just as strongly now. As he wore a brand new uniform and ran a reverently loving thumb down the lapels of his Cadet uniform. Hanging securely in the closet of his Arrow quarters. Quentin couldn’t actually recall the exact last moment he last wore it, but the feeling it produced within him would never fade from his memory.

    The feeling that it was all ahead of him now. That discovery and connection were now limitless. And how the answers he so craved about reality’s biggest questions were just to the right of the farthest star and straight on till morning. That feeling and expectation, that excitement…it simply multiplied. Grew. Cascaded warmly across his life and experiences. It was important to him to remember that from time to time. To remind himself. To ground himself with totems important only to him.

    That first uniform…it had started a whole new phase of his life. It was only right that he should honor it from time to time. In his own way.

    Behind him, a chime called him back to his work. Back to the galaxy he had made home, literal worlds away from his actual home. Something he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for that uniform. 

    “Not bad for a little swatch of Blue cloth, huh?”, he thought happily.

    • Thanks 1
  4. All of these are really tremendous answers but I was REALLY struck during my rewatch of Enterprise at just how emotive they Andorian prosthetics and makeup allowed the actors to be. 
     

    that I always think is the real test of a Trek species makeup job. The ability to reflect the performance underneath. The Cardassian appliqués too do this wonderfully (eventually after a few patchy introductions in TNG lol). 
     

    here recently I’ve also loved the Saurians on DISCO. They look just weird enough to be striking but not enough to distract in the scenes. 

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