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Artinus Serinus

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  1. (OOC: @Alvarez is going on a LOA for a few months, but I wanted to show my appreciation for writing this JP with me. It was lots of fun. I hope you all enjoy it.) ((Gymnasium, Deck 2, USS Arrow)) Serinus: Let's step right over there. ::Nodding towards an empty mat:: Maria let a small smile form. If nothing else, this encounter would certainly be an interesting one. She couldn’t help but feel like Serinus was a bit of an impregnable monolith in terms of personality. Perhaps meeting him on his own terms, she’d get some kind of insight. Alvarez: Sure thing. Looking forward to seeing what you’ve got. The pair of them walked over to the empty mat. Artinus squared up and gazed across at Ensign Maria Alvarez, waiting for her to do the same. Then the dance as it were, began, as he started to circle. Maria carefully re-bound her hands, cautious to keep her hands protected, and made fully certain her hair was secure. But she didn’t let the idle adjustment go to waste. She kept a careful eye on Artinus, her mock opponent, mindful of gait, posture, and poise as if evaluating a stranger on the dance floor - her true comfort zone. Finally, she settled into a comfortable posture: lowered center of gravity, high hands, but not committed to any one style. Not until she had a sense of what she was dealing with. With the chief of security playing the role of the instructor, she threw the first cautious jab. She was probing his defenses, but he was likewise probing her offense. He stayed out of her range with some effort, before counter-attacking with some probing jabs of his own. He was more interested in getting a feel of her movement patterns at this point than landing one. Maria was hardly slow, but she struggled to find a way to gain any purchase in Serinus’ well-practiced defense. She figured that was just as well, since the point was to find a way to improve. She made a tiny adjustment in her stance, and tried a new combination of strikes. As he dodged and blocked the latest blows, he stepped in even closer, past her striking range, preparing to engage in the grapple, his specialty. Maria felt the change in spacing between them even before she saw it, and found instinct helping her melt out of the way with surprising delicacy. She flashed a white smile. Alvarez: Almost had me there. She certainly had the footwork down, but he had seen how she had held her own quite well, for a while at least, against Ghant. Serinus: You do fight like a dancer. Alvarez: Aww, thanks! You fight like a damn computer… She cautiously let the range close again. This time she chose to mix in a sprinkling of longer-range strikes to see if the reach those moves gave her would help connect a blow. Serinus: You say that as if it were a bad thing. Alvarez: It’s annoying is what it is. But I suppose you’ve been doing this a lot longer than me. He had been. He had started wrestling at the tender age of four or five, his parents finding that the sport took the boy boy’s mind off of the newly gaping hole in his life. Serinus: As much as a fight has in common with a dance, it’s even more like 3D chess. Plan, anticipate, goad, direct, misdirect. Always be five steps ahead. It was good to think like a chess champion, or a computer, as it were. He pressed his advantage, feinted retreat, then hooked her ribs when she took the bait, quickly resetting to a defensive stance. Maria found herself on the defensive again, this time raw intuition not operating quite fast enough against Serinus’ honed skills. She opened the gap and nursed a painful bruise for only a fleeting second. She’d had far worse. Alvarez: Damn! :: She wiped her hand. :: Just how much practice do you have at this anyway? She made another adjustment to her stance, and made a mental note to pay more attention to Serinus’ left shoulder. She could have caught that one if she’d been looking for it. She started in again, looking for the rhythm to the combat they were locked in. Serinus: As far as striking, I picked most of that up at the Academy. But I’ve been wrestling since I was a very young boy. My real advantage here is situational awareness, and the tendency to plan. And, if it were most anyone else, conditioning. If another soul on the Arrow had a similar amount of stamina, endurance, balance, and flexibility to either of them, their name certainly was not coming to his mind at the moment. Artinus circled around slowly, and deliberately, dipping in and out, and changing course when needed until it happened. Serinus: ::flatly:: You see, I’ve herded you onto the corner of the mat. ::break:: Let’s reset. Maria’s eyes shot to her surroundings and scowled. She knew better than to be herded like that, but she’d gotten caught up thinking about Serinus’ response. Her problem wasn’t lack of planning, but more often not following through on that plan as intended. She wasn’t totally convinced her situation was untenable, but there was little reason to argue when she knew she could do better. Alvarez: Well I guess I take it as a compliment it took long enough to get stuck back here. :: She smirked. :: The Security Chief strode back to the middle of the mat and reset once more. Once Maria had done the same he counted down. Serinus: In 3, 2, 1. Go. Maria settled back into a neutral stance and began again. She did her best not to let Artinus’ veiled pride in his superior skills irritate her, but it did serve as something of motivation to improve. Alvarez: Right - don’t go easy on me now… She opened up with a slight modification in pattern, keeping her positioning options more open this time. It was somewhat uncharacteristically conservative for her, but she had the sneaking sense she was about to learn a new trick or two. He threw another hook, very purposefully telegraphed. He knew most of the common blocks and evasions, and was interested to see which one she would utilize. He had handcapped himself thus far by sticking with the back and forth exchange of strikes, but it was time to show off a bit. Whatever her response, he knew exactly how to transfer into a grapple. Maria found herself on the floor, sprawling in an attempt to keep any semblance of control on the situation. The entanglement was hardly a surprise, but she struggled to respond against Artinus’ practice and skill. To her credit, the downward spiral to defeat didn’t spin out of control as fast as she’d expected. Finally, she tapped out when the outcome was obvious. Serinus: You gave it a good go. Alvarez: Well, that was hardly unexpected. But the point of this wasn’t to win, the point was to learn. She shook her limbs out and readied herself again. She smiled despite the situation. Alvarez: Alright, alright. :: beat. :: Again. The Security Chief pulled away and offered a hand up, before going back to the center of the mat and resetting. Serinus: Ready when you are. Maria forced herself to relax and not let her attention wander or focus on any one thing too much. Sparring Serinus was almost like trying to meditate. She didn’t particularly enjoy meditation either, however useful it was. Alvarez: You know what the problem is with fighting like a computer is, right? Someone as famously, or infamously stubborn as Maria Alvarez must have an ego to back it up with, and perhaps a witty riposte would be just what he needed to throw her off of her game. Serinus: Not off of the top of my head, but I'm sure that you'll tell me. Maria let the flow of the fight continue, not seeking any particular advantage, hoping to see where Serinus would take her. She worked to keep her breath settled, in case she’d need it later. Alvarez: There’s always a boundary to the program. You just have to find it… Serinus: We'll see. It was never a good idea to underestimate one's opponent. Not on her end, and he certainly would not allow himself the same error. However, the sparring mat took away some of the complexity of actual combat, namely concerns of wildly variable terrain, along with the fact that one’s partner wasn't trying to kill them. Allowing him to focus on the limited movement and positional capabilities of the standard humanoid body type. Artinus stepped in quickly, and locked up. This time she slid into the grapple, allowing it to happen around her. At the critical moment, she wound together a technique inspired by the unlikely combination of jiu jitsu and mok’bara to reverse the advantage. In a flash, she nearly had him in a submission hold. It was an unconventional combo, a hard swatting block into a standing arm drag, threatening to pull him under. The much taller of the two winced for a second then squatted low, setting his weight against the downward momentum, bracing himself as his attacker took them both closer to the mat. With a low center of gravity, he turned into his attacker and used his free arm to rip her grip away. In a fluid, predatory sweep his arms flew outward, pinning her wrists as he positioned his torso, sitting on her abdomen to pin her hips. Once he distributed his weight properly, it was all about waiting, unless she were able to roll out. He, of course, was already planning for that contingency. Maria shot an incongruous doe-eyed look at him, then laughed. She knew perfectly well the situation she was in: in a real fight, it may have been retrievable, but the gambit was over without risking serious harm to herself or Serinus. Alvarez: You’d love it if I tried to roll out, wouldn’t you? He nodded and disengaged standing and backing away. He leaned down offering a hand up to the Ensign. She took it and rebounded back up to her feet. Alvarez: Almost got you at your own game there, too. :: She gave him a squinty grin. :: Maybe next time. Serinus: Very clever. Was that a Mok'Bara block? Alvarez: Indeed. Dance isn’t the same as it was hundreds of years ago. You have to study all kinds of movement, from all kinds of cultures. Makes for a much more dynamic and capable dancer. :: Beat. :: And person... Serinus: I've read more about Mok'Bara than practiced it. Some Terran commentator called it Klingon Tai Chi, Dat'r, son of Gur, a pretty important Klingon Martial Arts master in turn called Tai Chi Cowardly old man Mok'bara. ::He cracked the slightest grin at this joke.:: Maria laughed in reply - that sounded like a Klingon thing to say if ever there was one. Before the woman could reply, he heard his combadge ring out. Ops:=/\= Ops to Commander Serinus. =/\= Serinus: One second. Artinus quick-walked to his gym bag and rang the device. Serinus: =/\= Go ahead Ops. =/\= Ops: =/\= Yes sir, you have an incoming subspace call. =/\= Serinus: =/\= Thank you Ops, I'll take it in my quarters in five. =/\= He looked up from the bag and back toward Ensign Alvarez. Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and walked her way. Serinus: Thanks so much, it was the best sparring match I've had in a while. Really kept me on my toes. ::He gave another slight, wholly professional this time, smile.:: Alvarez: Of course. Happy to provide a challenge. We’ll have to do this again sometime - no way to get better without some bruises. With that, the Magna Roman started towards his quarters so that he could see to this call of his. More importantly, he left with enough time to ponder the contradictory enigma of one Maria Alvarez. Competent in many ways, but complacent in others. Seemingly wise one moment, foolhardy the next. Maria popped a [...]eyed grin as Serinus left, and she returned to practicing on her own. She pondered the stoic security chief. For the list of commonalities they shared on paper, they were maybe the most dissimilar people on the whole ship. She wondered if there was something underneath all that seriousness, or if it struck all the way to his core. NT/End - Lieutenant Commander Artinus Serinus Chief of Security USS Arrow, NCC-69829 Publicity Team/Social Media Team C239607AS0 - And: Ensign Maria Alvarez Ops Officer, USS Arrow A239710MA0 Wiki Operator
  2. Hi Alessio, am I guessing correctly that you might be playing a Magna Roman? If so, that's awesome. I play one myself. Either way, welcome to the fleet and enjoy your training cruise!
  3. ((Deep Space 3 - Main Infirmary; Operating Room 4)) Maz’s body shuddered underneath its surgical blanket. He was still unconscious, with Rodan peeking out from the symbiont pouch connected to cortical stimulators and other life-monitoring devices, plugged in like a potato at an elementary school students science project. Around them, alarms and medical machinery bleeped their urgent tones. R’Ariel: Lieutenant! The reality of the real and present world came like a bully at her, obnoxious and with unfair demands in her face. R’Ariel: This is not good! She felt like smacking herself upside of her own head, or maybe pulling her own tail. Of course it wasn’t good, what kind of a statement was that? Not very helpful. R’Ariel: oO When were such alarms a good thing?! Oo It was so easy to get caught up in all the emotion, as it were, waves of emotion were flooding her. She felt weak, and her little head hurt, like it was stuffed with a brain twice its size. The Starbase medical attendants were frantically responding with reactionary movements. There was no time to waste, and they needed to get ahead of the crisis, not chase it. Each of the attending medical staff had their own idea of what to do next, she could feel the chaos mount, she could hear their disunity. R’Ariel: We need to work together on this. She brought up some of the cardiac biobed functions on the screen, and in a blur of inputs, she put together a command syntax that began an automated cardiac stabilizing process within the biobed. If someone asked her how to do it, she wasn’t sure she would have a speedy answer, it was something she had picked up in her supplementary cardiac training that most Caitians were being trained in at the Academy, due to the many heart issues Caitians had. R’Ariel: You :: she pointed at one of the attendants that had fallen out of step with the others and into confusion.:: I need you to keep eyes on the vitals, especially the oxygen support. Getting the affirmative she needed, and seeing the pandemonium ease, she knew it still wasn’t enough. She shoved her standing platform up to the bed near the head, and jumped up, and practically onto her patient. She told him she wouldn’t leave, that she would be there for him, that THEY would make it through this! R’Ariel: ~What do we do?~ The elder Trill stepped out from the shadows and leant over the fragile body of Maz Rodan. A thin, yet strong hand absent-mindedly stroked the white goatee adorning his face. Jareth: ::Tutting to himself:: Oh, that doesn’t look good. The experience was surreal with the sudden arrival of Jareth, and she knew she would spend a lot of time later trying to figure this experience out, but now was not the time to waste on pointless conjecture. Her tail flicked wildly, her ears back in her most serious manner. R’Ariel: Can you help? His dark brown eyes twinkled with a smile as he crossed his arms across his chest. Jareth: I’d love to help, my dear! The problem is… ::He gestured around himself.:: I’m not really here. There I am. His hand indicated the Symbiont, struggling and twitching against the medical equipment it was attached to, retracting back and forth slowly in and out of the symbiont pouch on Maz’s abdomen. Jareth: I am Rodan. Delighted to meet you at last, R’Ariel. Thought you might need a fresh pair of eyes. She forced a smile to her face, it was genuine, just under a lot of pressure. R’Ariel: Very glad to meet you, we have much to do, though I’m not exactly sure how we are doing this? Jareth offered another kind chuckle. Jareth: The telepathic link is still active, my dear. I am fully aware of your skills. You’ve done remarkably well, but it’s time to do better. R’Ariel: I’m a Counselor first, a Doctor, last. Tell me what I need to do? Taking a more serious tone, Jareth rose to his full height. Jareth: You can do it. You know how. I know you know how. All it takes is a little self-belief. Maybe now was the time for her to be a Doctor first, and listen to another Counselor. She looked at the team working to carry out their duties and her previous instructions. Her tail flicked with a sudden realization. She pointed to the attendant whose thoughts were best in focus to her own. R’Ariel: Isolate the command syntax on the cardiac system, to independently monitor and adjust. ::she waited, watched, and nodded.:: Now add synchrony. She looked to Jareth, expectantly. Jareth: Good! He smiled approvingly, and looked over the patient with satisfaction. He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped around R’Ariel and checked something on a monitor. Jareth: Now, what’s the most fundamental thing to check for with a Joined Trill? R’Ariel: Isobramine! Jareth: Bingo! He snapped his fingers in triumph and stepped out of the way so the Caitian/Deltan could monitor the isoboramine levels. As strange as it was, it was entirely possible for Joined Trill to die of sadness. R’Ariel: This should do it. She made the adjustments on the bio-bed lifeline leads, and applied a stabilizing solution. R’Ariel: How are we doing? Jareth shook his head mournfully. Now that it was just Symbiont and R’Ariel in direct communication, it might be easier to explain. Jareth: I’m afraid the problem lies with me. Not Maz. He doesn’t deserve this phobia I’ve lumbered him with. ::He exhaled.:: The death of Zosha was tragic. She… ::He stopped and corrected himself.:: We… decided that the lives of those creatures were more important than our own. She lives on, of course, with me, but… I can’t help shake that guilt that I deprived her of the most meaningful years of her young life. R’Ariel: This was a long time ago, before a number of joinings right, right before... Jareth: I was then Joined to Rafi, who at the best of times was a bit of a rogue, then to Jareth who was a Starfleet doctor and saving lives nearly every day. I simply never had time to address the issue. But I believe we can now. What do you say? R’Ariel: I say we turn this tragedy into an honorable tribute, courage we build on, phobias we lose. ::: she paused to check the readings, see what adjustments she could make:: WE are going to be alright. On the operating table Maz still lay unconscious. The readings were stabilizing but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. The Symbiont had gone into a state of shock, and the symbiotic neurological link between them had twisted. It was up to them to unblock the link so Maz and Rodan could be one again. Jareth: We trust you. ::He observed her apply more power to the cortical stimulator.:: Tell me. Why don’t you use your medical skills more often? It’s obvious you’re more than a competent medical practitioner. She smiled, it was a very very valid question. R’Ariel: It’s complicated. How about we look through this lens.. She rubbed her left ear, her tail entering its contemplative sway. R’Ariel: The situation we just visited, one where a massive eco-system was at risk and one joined-life. You had to choose one to save over there. It was a difficult choice. Jareth: Indeed so. R’Ariel: Why did you make that choice? Jareth: You’re a woman of medicine and science and you ask me that? What other choice was there? ::He shook his head sadly.:: It was the only choice. Not the easiest one, to be sure, but time was running out and I had to act fast. R’Ariel: So what you are telling me is that you had a difficult choice, and you chose the one that was honorable, the one where you could do the most good, the one that gave Zosha a lasting tribute of honor, and just perhaps, because of that choice, all the subsequent life-saving that went on afterwards was a real part of her that helped continue this lasting legacy. Jareth: It is quite rare for Symbionts to experience such long lasting effects. Like I said, she does live on in some way. Still, it’s this one who suffers. She nodded her head. R'Ariel: I sense that we have made a lot of the right steps, acknowledged a lot that needs to be affirmed, but the pain is blocking things. Let me try something, Deltan. She looked up at the readings. The cortical simulators were responding well. She placed both hands-on the Trill and concentrated till she could feel both of them, and taking a deep breath in and out, emptying herself. Then she dropped all empathic barriers and a slow haggard deep breath in. She felt the years and years of repressed pain, like a river gush out emptying itself. She reeled from the experience, as she stole as much pain as she could bear, and until in its place she sensed renewed relief. R'Ariel: Well ::she said with a painful sigh as she wiped a bloody nose with her sleeve.:: I think the blockage has been cleared and the healing can now resume. He looked down at Maz on the operating table, whose brow was starting to ruffle as the medication started to take effect and the biological link started to re-stabilize. The procedure had been successful and Jareth turned to R’Ariel with an encouraging smile. R’Ariel: Much better. She looked wearily to Jareth. Jareth: Well done, my dear. She nodded to one of the attendants who had been anxiously waiting for permission to help.hold her up. Indeed he had done well by not rushing to support her earlier, it might have been telepathically and empatgically devastating, but right now, she could use someone to help keep her from falling from her platform. Jareth: Well, it seems my time here is coming to an end. It’s been nice to meet you, R’Ariel. It’s not every day I personally get to link with anyone. Do take care of yourself. R’Ariel: Before you go, you asked me earlier ::she took a long tired sigh, her tail and ears drooping from fatigue:: why I don't practice medicine more. Because, like you, I had to make a choice what part.of this fragile existence as a hybrid Delta-Caitian mix would I save, so I could help others. I chose to focus on learning to save the inside-mess. However, after today, perhaps, I can learn to do both. She looked down at Maz and gave a weary smile, the blood dropping more slowly now from her nose. R'Ariel: Thank you. Maz opened his eyes groggily and Jareth was gone. The link to the Symbiont had been severed, and Maz was alone with his thoughts again. R’Ariel was standing by his bed and looking rather pleased with herself. Rodan: What happened? R’Ariel: I'd say re-lived the pain, sucked out the poison, now the healing is commencing. The memory of the accident was fading, and he felt a little better now. He was worried of drowning again, of being back in the research vessel but now he felt a surreal sort of peace. The medical team rushed around him to replace Rodan back into the symbiont pouch and began detaching the cortical equipment while a nurse ran a medical tricorder all around his head. Rodan: I remember the research vessel - and the accident - exactly as it had happened. But I don’t feel quite so quilty now. It feels… different. R'Ariel: Just as it should be, just as it should, "Lieutenant". He laid his head back down on the table and smiled. He could easily fall asleep now. R’Ariel: Time to rest. She offered a weak smile, and allowed herself to be helped down off the platform. She felt somehow taller in the moment. END Lieutenant R'Ariel Chief Counselling Officer Doctor of Psychology USS Arrow, NCC 69829 J239706R1 & Lieutenant Maz Rodan Science Officer USS Arrow, NCC 69829 C237708DW0 Reply all Reply to author Forward
  4. (OOC: These were a real joy to read, deeply personal and well written) {{Dreamscape}} ((Underwater Survey Vessel - Najana City, Trill)) The setting was incredibly familiar to him. He’d remembered this event many times over the last year and he was confident there was something here which made his current phobia make sense. Aside from the event itself, it was going to be tough to relive. Maz was standing on the deck of the underwater research vessel which his Second Host - Zosha - was in charge of in 2334. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t in a Starfleet uniform anymore, instead it was a grubby orange overall emblazoned with the symbol of the Najana Oceanic Institute. He looked around the corridor looking for others. It was a small vessel, comparable in size to a Starfleet runabout. He was in the large aft crew compartment where the crew used to take their breaks. It was a grey, utilitarian space which didn’t inspire much to the imagination but it served its purpose. There was no one else present in the aft, but as he turned to explore further, the form of Counselor R’Ariel joined him. She seemed to appear out of nowhere in a flash. R’Ariel: It’s so amazing down here. The scene was nothing like she expected. Everything was so vivid, and real. She had expected detailed imagery. Her brief Deltan training and experiences with her little pet RA had taught her to what detail she could see in her mind alone. However, she could hear too, the digital sounds of the vessel’s computer was most notable. She could smell things too. R’Ariel: oO What is that smell? Oo She sniffed the re-circulated air. It was faint, but her Deltan-Caitain senses caught it, right away. Whatever it was, it was unusual or at least for her. Rodan: Welcome, Counselor. Glad you could make it. He offered a grin as she inspected their new shared surroundings. R’Ariel: oO I think it’s… fresh silicon. Oo Maybe it’s not that unusual afterall she figured - obviously a simple water-tight sealant most likely. She wasn’t sure if she would have the capability of speaking in these telepathic experiences, but with the smell context clarified, it was worth a try. It was important for him to know she wasn’t just here, she was here ‘with him’ - it was going to be alright. R’Ariel: Same here. I am here, and I will remain so. She offered an encouraging smile of reassurance. Rodan: So you’re telepathically linked to Rodan? R’Ariel: In greater detail than I expected. These memories are so vivid. Maz nodded and held his hand up to the metal bulkhead. It felt cold. It seemed real enough. He felt like he was really there. Rodan: This is 2334. We’re currently under the ocean at Najana City. She nodded, the majesty of the environment was not lost on her, but their objective was pressing. R’Ariel: Before we go any further. I want to reaffirm the ‘safety word’, which is “Lieutenant''. It was an unusual word, but it had many important implications. It captured the discipline that was instilled in every Starfleet officer, a kind of training we reverted to, very well conditioned. It assumed a responsibility and duty. It embodied authority. It shouldn’t come up in most casual conversations. Among many other things, importantly, it had nothing to do with this experience and it was a common truth they both shared. R’Ariel: I want you to say it, think it, feel it, whenever you need to. Rodan: I understand. He thought about that particular word and what it meant. It would be his life line if something went wrong. But something was about to go wrong. And soon. He turned and followed the narrow corridor to the fore of the ship, the command pod of the vessel where its limited crew would be working. He waved a hand and beckoned R’Ariel to follow him. R’Ariel: Of course :: sme smiled:: Right here. The vessel wasn’t that old in years but had already completed dozens of underwater surveys on Trill. Zosha had been lucky to acquire her for her studies at the Institute. The feel of the ship, the smells, all flooded him. Deep down he felt Rodan move slightly. Even in this dream state the Symbiont was reacting. When they reached the pod Maz pointed to the command chair with a knowing smile. Rodan: There I am. Zosha sat in the command seat wearing the same overused utility overall that the rest of the crew wore. Her long black hair was tied up to avoid getting in her eyes, and her dark skin reflected off the viewing port dead ahead. The ocean depths mirrored her dark eyes back to her as she gazed out in the abyss. R’Ariel stared for a moment. She had expected it to feel like she was in an amazing holodeck running a historical program, but the feelings, oh the feelings of the past, the present, the past-future, it was a lot to take in. She wasn’t sure what to say. Rodan: Zosha was my Second Host. I have to say this is quite an experience for me. When we’re Joined, we accumulate their memories and experiences. They become ours. But now… I’m actually outside watching them unfold. I remember it, but somehow being here is… weird. We don’t usually have one-to-one communication with our previous Hosts until the Zhian’tara ceremony. R’Ariel: A valuable opportunity. You have a wondrous legacy, even in this, to pull uncommon strength. She smiled, looked at the controls, the view was amazing. Rodan: She was researching the underwater mating habits of a pod of Oka’s. ::Beat.:: Earth-like whales. They don’t usually travel to Najana to breed but over the last few years the same pod had come here and she wanted to research why. Again, he indicated the ship. A small pod of nine mammals were indicated on the short range sensors, and the ship was in a steady, if cautious, intercept. Zosha Rodan: Easy as she goes. We don’t want to scare them. The helmsman nodded and slowed the pace, while the other members of the craft submitted their scans of the ocean topography and checked the status of the ship. On the view screen, the first of the mammals appeared in visual range. Small, but defined, it glided through the water like a bird on the wind. They even resembled Earth Orca whales, though their fins were longer, and more refined, and had a long thin tail on the end of each making their fins and tails look like beta fish rather than whales. Maz smiled and rested his forearm on the bulkhead to get a better view. He hadn’t seen one of these creatures since 2334. R’Ariel: Beautiful. She gazed in wonder, her tail twitching at the stimulation of the view. There was a kind of unison the Oka demonstrated as they meandered the ocean-depths. They had nothing like this on Cait, that she knew of. As they neared she marveled at their size, her eyes growing wide with wonder. She was used to feeling small, but typically her small slender frame was big compared to most fish - not this time. After losing herself in the moment, she collected herself and checked in on Rodan. R’Ariel: How are you feeling? Rodan: Nostalgia, I think. It’s quite different being here again, rather than remembering. She nodded, returning to the view, a curiosity arose in her. R’Ariel: Do we know anything about how they communicate? She found herself believing that there was a level of communication these creatures used that went well past the usual oceanic sounds of sonar, something more in her department, wondering if perhaps whatever was about to happen was actually avoidable if this level of communication had been available then. Rodan: They have a mild form of telepathy, and a bioluminescence system. See the matriarch at the back of the pod? She’s instructing the others to keep the pace. That lovely green… He’d almost forgotten the excitement of studying these creatures, despite the length of time since he’d done it. Around them the small crew kept their eyes on their instruments and called out instructions and data to each other as Zosha observed the Oka for visual study. They were on course for a series of subterranean caves; a hidden, private place where the creatures could give birth. Suddenly, Zosha sat upright in her seat and waved a hand at the helmsman in front of her. Zosha Rodan: Not so fast! Back us off… easy… easy… Maz watched the scene like any outsider, as if like a holoprogram he’d played too many times, he knew the story by heart. The vessel slowed considerably but the damage was already done. The matriarch of the pod had sensed them and considered them a threat. The luminescent colours it displayed changed from a soft green to a harsh orange, which lit the surrounding water fiercely. Maz held on to the bulkhead in anticipation, and snaked a hand around R’Ariel to steady her. The whale-like mammal struck the vessel with its enormous tail, shuddering it in the water. Zosha gave emergency instructions to her crew while Maz could only watch and narrate to R’Ariel. Rodan: We frightened it. It was only defending itself and its pod… The little Counselor nodded, feeling caught up in the intensity of the moment. She wanted to do something to help, but she was here for a different kind of help. The principle here was simple. Examine and relive the experience in person with greater understanding, with the support of years of experience, and rewrite the trauma, not with a happier ending, but with the strength and courage of greater experience and support. The unpleasant memory would persist, but the harm would be allowed to heal. R’Ariel: Right, and the events that follow are natural. The research vessel attempted to veer its course hard to port, but another crack of the Oka’s flank sent it careering off course. Behind them a bulkhead cracked and caused a strong spray of ocean water to spray into the vessel and begin to flood it. The engineer declared that the structural integrity had been compromised and all hands began emergency procedures. Engineer: Ma’am, we have to evacuate! Zosha: ::Nodding.:: Right. All hands, abandon ship. Get to the life pod in the back! The crew all left their posts and scrambled for the life pod. Zosha stood to evacuate but another blow from the Oka matriarch knocked her back into her seat. A warning siren sounded from the engineer's console and she scrambled across the small deck to check it. Rodan: The engine fuel container had ruptured. If it leaked into the cave it would poison the entire system, and the whales would die. R’Ariel: That is terrible. Maz felt his bones start to shake in his body as that familiar fear crept up on him. This was it. He was about to witness the death all over again. He could almost feel the salt water creeping up on him like it did, like it was about to again. He turned away from the scene and began breathing heavily. His hair was damp with sweat. Rodan: Why couldn’t she just abandon ship like the others? The pod is just through that hatch!? R’Ariel felt the fear rising, like the tide, the current great in strength, and the undertow threatening. Taking someone out of the memory, obstructing it, rescuing, that would only reinforce the emotional trauma, and risk worsening the phobia, but she could cheat. She had gotten better at what she liked to call empathic-back wash. She could control it better, less risk of the wrong pheromone effect. R’Ariel: It’s going to be okay. Panic overtook him now. This was how it ended. Zosha remained on the ship while the crew jettisoned the life pod. She managed to turn the vessel around and proceed out of the cave system as it filled with water. The fuel tank ruptured and the power of the vessel slowly died. The water in the vessel kept rising. R’Ariel: oO Let me help. Oo A little pheromone help, a little empathic-back wash. There was no fixing this tragedy, but taking emotional poison out would allow it to finally heal as it should, the phobia leaving as the healing grew. Rodan: The crew sent for help. By the time the emergency shuttle got here… The Caitian-Deltan was working hard to keep from drowning in the emotional torrent herself. It was important, very important that she add nothing negative to the experience. R’Ariel: In other words, Zosha was in full control of her life, making the correct and hard decisions, creating for herself and all that followed a legacy of strength and courage, as she chose a destiny worth remembering. The words were spoken for now, for the future, it was all that she could do, the scene was coming to an end, it had too, when he was ready. Rodan: I need to leave! ::He remembered the safety word.:: “Lieu…” Suddenly, the feeling of dread was too much. His stomach cramped and he felt Rodan tighten and constrict in its pouch. Something was wrong. He fell to his knees in the rising water and grasped the side of his head. TBC Lieutenant Maz Rodan Science Officer USS Arrow, NCC 69829 C237708DW0 & Lieutenant R'Ariel Chief Counselling Officer Doctor of Psychology USS Arrow, NCC 69829 J239706R1
  5. For context: Most of us are body swapped right now, just in time for some trade talks. @Chloe Waters was (un?)fortune to get stuck in the Captain's meatsuit, and she's showing around the diplomatic delegation, when Shayne's physical dependence in caffeine gets the best of her. The MSNPC played by Lase Ander is having none of it. Waters: Coffee, black. Renswi was taken aback, they were supposedly honoured guests but here was the Captain getting himself a drink without offering anybody else. This was an attempt to assert dominance and he wasn't going to let this slide. Renswi: Is it tradition for us all to watch you drink? Would you like Enzo to fan you while we wait?
  6. We often say rightfully, that new players are the lifeblood of this lovely community of ours. Following this metaphor further, I would venture that us longer term members are the muscle, bone, and sinew. The frame that moves us. The staff is the vital organs, the brains (not to detract from everyone else's intelligence and wisdom, of course) and heart that keeps us a truly vital organism. So congrats to those who were recognized today (A special one to my own CO, for his Kirk.) And further more an unapologetically hearty thank you to all the Staffers for what you do for us as individual members, and the collective whole of the group.
  7. Congrats to all. So glad to see many crew mates former and current (as well as others I have simmed with) get much deserved love and respect.
  8. Cheldon ch'Doro sat quietly reading at his desk. The standard issue office chair was sized for a regular sized Andorian, and buckled under his 350 pounds of bulky musculature. It barely came past the middle of his back when his 7'5" frame sat upright. He was busy studying a tome on Vulcan meditation, handily ported to a PADD for the convenience of the modern reader. He had become something of a spirtual seeker in the last several months. He had never been a spiritual person before Theta 122, when the Brotherhood of Thet had saved his life. He had spent much of his life in animalistic survival mode. Competing with others for scraps in the orphanage, on the streets, or in the fighting pits. The scars that decorated his blue body like a tapestry laid bare tales of violence for all to see. On the opposite side of the scale, a fortunate encounter had put him into excess and luxury body guarding a local crime lord. That too vanished, and the ensuing gang war, and prison sentence had brought him back to a more primal survival mode. His path to salvation had begun during a prison riot, which afforded him a chance at escape. A month later the cult had found him in the desert (no place for an Andorian, and much too reminiscent of his time on Telstrus 3) near the wreckage of his stolen cargo shuttle. They had saved his life. And he had thought, for a time, saved his soul. Their ascetic lifestyle actively embraced the destitution that marked his formative years, but traded the struggle against others for a real family. It likewise revealed to him how foolish and wasteful the hedonistic lifestyle he later had embraced was, and the futility of the revenge plot that had followed. The Brotherhood was gone now, it's gods proven false, but it had made an indelible mark on his soul. He would forever more be a seeker of truth. The behemoth Andorian had read more books in the last months than the rest of his life combined, each one about some spiritual tradition. He had studied dozens of them by this point. Cheldon had bought passage on this Andorian freighter to his ancestral home planet from Star Base 812. The Captain didn't seem too curious when he was handed the Latinum. ch'Doro had earned it over several months of bouncing bar. The job had been a natural fit for a man of build, skill set, and now much calmer personality. Some fortuitous gambling had added to his nest egg, and he would be comfortable for the foreseeable future, especially with the monk like lifestyle he had continued to embrace. His belly rumbled, and he ignored it, favoring his contemplation of this particular passage. When it protested more vehemently, he acquiesced, and slowly pulled his massive form into an upright standing position. Ducking low, he stepped through the door into the corridors. The mess hall was not that far away. From his own quarters he turned right and walked about 15 meters, before taking a right down a t-intersection. On the left, another 40 meters were the doors that opened into the mess hall. It seemed more crowded than usual, and after replicating a very simple plate of Andorian tubers and bread, he was forced to set at an already occupied table. Not only did his unusual size make him stand out, but the fact that he was a passenger. Everyone else at this table were wearing their navy blue work jumpsuits, while he was in black leather boots, blue jeans, and a white tank top. Worse yet, the Andorians at this particular table might even be an established quadruple, as there were two masculine, and two feminine ones, and they each acted very familiar with the rest. Cheldon spoke up "I hate to interrupt, but mind if I take a few of the empty seats?" There really was no other place to sit for someone his size. The four looked between themselves, and finally, one of the feminine ones spoke, the taller of the two. "I think we can make room." The masculine ones scooted closer together and let the stranger in. The shorter male, with his round face, decided that he wanted to befriend the mysterious giant stranger. "We've all heard about the tall passenger. But this is the first time any of us have ever seen you." Cheldon looked over, and down, craining his head. "You've probably heard that I only come out of my quarters to eat, and that I always sit alone, then," the giant retorted. The other male, several inches taller, with a pointier chin, chimed in "Our husband didn't mean to be rude, he's just a friendly, and curious type." Cheldon shaked his head "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, either. I'm Cheldon." The taller male replied again "My name is Vart, he's Raf, she is Dagy, and she is Sinena. It's nice to meet you, Cheldon. So you are going home?" The big blue monstrosity shrugged "I guess you could call it that. I've never been to Andoria." Simena, the shorter of the women spoke "You grew up on a colony?" Cheldon simply shrugged heavily "Who I was before us dead. I don't like to talk about him, sorry." It was true, the Brotherhood, false as it turned out to be, had fundamentally changed him. Seeing as he wasn't contributing much to the conversation, his new acquaintances went back to conversing amongst themselves. This was fine by Cheldon, and it gave him time to return to his meal. He paced himself, eating his humble plate in a manner that was befitting of an ascetic. He let them talk, hut his thoughts returned inward, until one particular phrase caught his ear. Telstrus 3. He looked up, suddenly, as if he been violently roused from a deep slumber. "Telstrus 3?" He asked, in a startled tone. His visit there had been unbearable. Dagy, responded "Yeah. A family friend of my parents is moving there." Cheldon frowned deeply, his huge face full of disapproval. It had been 14 years ago. In the middle of the violent gang war that had ultimately landed him in prison. The cousin of the man who had tried to kill his employer ran a drug ring there. The targeted assassination at his remote outpost went smoothly, and they began their trek back to the shuttle. They had stashed their landing shuttle in the desert, a desert, and a cave that he would be reminded of later, when he joined The Brotherhood. They were a mere mile out, and Cheldon, with his artic loving physiology, was already miserable. Sweat flooded his body, and ran down his face, stinging his eyes like an angry hornet. A breeze kicked up from over some far off dunes, and it seemed to bring respite, but it did not in fact bring respite. The wind continued growing in intensity, and they had walked directly into a sandstorm. Fine particles of eroded rocks flew against every exposed millimeter of skin, sand blasting each of them. To make all of this worse, it was blowing in from the direction of their destination, trying to push them backwards. The sand was so thick that they could no longer see, and Cheldon chided himself for not packing sunglasses. He heard a voice shouting, it was Ving, a former Romulan soldier that had joined his former employer half a decade before he had. "Role call!" "Here," Cheldon called out when he heard his name. They pushed on, taking role on the fives. Each of them being constantly set upon by blasts of sand trying to strip their skin. Cheldon couldn't see, but as it grew even louder, and the atmospheric pressure changed noticeably, he was sure that a dirt devil was passing near them. This had to be the most miserable experience he had had since he almost died in the fire, and began thinking about the Hell the Nuns had preached at him in the orphanage. He almost didn't hear the role call. When the wind did die down, the cave was no where in sight, and it took them hours of back tracking to locate it. Fortunately, no one seemed to have found them to make them answer for the killing. Cheldon looked askance at the woman named Dagy. "It's no place for an Andorian." She quirked a brow at the stranger. "Is that so?" He nodded "It's enough to make an Andorian hate a cool breeze in the desert."
  9. @Regan Wilde continuing the pet point of view trend that we've started on the Arrow, in a surprising and artful fashion. Now on with the show! ((USS Arrow - Deck 4; Regan’s Quarters)) Trevor - the pink fluffy therapy tribble - sat on Regan’s lap. He cooed and fussed as Regan began stroking him absentmindedly as he read the paper copy of The Three Musketeers he’d borrowed from Commander Collins. Trevor: oO At last I am in a position of power. My brethren of the glorious Tribble Empire, soon our plan will come to fruition. For centuries we have strategically placed ourselves around this puny galaxy for one purpose… domination! The Tribble species is the only one worthy of this power. The rest fight and squabble amongst themselves like vermin! They will be wiped out! Annihilated! The survivors will be made to serve our glorious regime. Soon the Tribble will rise! These stupid humanoid bipeds do not even know how to communicate with us higher beings. Such foolishness. They will be made to suffer for their ignorance in using us as common pets! I am one of 174,605,397,254 Royal Imperial Siblings. I was destined to rule! I am not a humanoids plaything. Soon, you filthy humanoid. Soon I will make you suffer! Oo Regan sighed after finishing a chapter and petting Trevor enthusiastically. Wilde: Ok, Trevor. Time for your bath. Then I think we’ll give you a makeover. Would you like that, little baby? ::He fussed over it like a mother over a baby.:: Yes you would. You want a new hairdo? Ooh, a mohawk!? Or a perm? Trevor: oO Silence foolish humanoid! I am your lord and master! You will obey me! No, put me down, filthy biped! I will bathe in your blood! I will sit upon a throne of your bones! oO The little pink tribble cooed happily and Regan smiled a big smile. Wilde: That’s right, honey. Daddy’s gonna give you a shampoo and makeover and you’ll be the most gorgeous tribble in the quadrant! Trevor: oO NOOOOOOOOO! Oo TBC 'Trevor' Therapy Tribble/Evil Galactic Overlord USS Arrow as simmed by: -- Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde Security USS Arrow C237708DW0
  10. @Randal Shayne No cuddles. Only rage! Also, A little background for everyone not on the Arrow, we're doing roommates, due to ongoing repairs.
  11. I chose Lower Decks, because it would be amusing for me, and hilariously frustrating for my character!
  12. OOC: Here's a real tear jerker by @Chloe Waters A study on the effects of battle from the perspective of a confused and frightened pet/service animal. Enjoy. IC: ((Chloe's Quarters, Deck 3 -- U.S.S Arrow)) Snore. Snore. Snore. Mandy lay there, curled up on Chloe's resting surface. Her head lay on that soft rectangular thing Chloe seemed to rest her own head on, enjoying the scent of her owner being so close. Chloe wasn't here, so this was the closest she could get to her human. Her paws were curled against her body while the canine slept, perfectly content to keep this space warm for her master until she returned. Then things began to happen. There was a violent shaking which pulled Mandy from her slumber. She began to shake in fear almost immediately. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and whenever it did, she could smell things. Terrible things. Burning things. As if her food had been prepared for far, far too long. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was that infernal, never ending blaring noise. Loud, frequent, and tonally dull, it always accompanied the shaking around her. Mandy rolled onto her stomach and turned herself around. Her master always insisted on covering herself in fabrics, and Mandy never understood the reason why. At least,,, until now. Except she didn't use them for quite the same purpose Chloe seemed to. Pressing her head forward, the canine managed to get the movable fabrics on Chloe's resting surface over her ears. She shimmied forward until the fabrics covered her completely, some of the noises around her being blocked. The canine whimpered. Pressing her head forward, the canine managed to get the movable fabrics on Chloe's resting surface over her ears. She shimmied forward until the fabrics covered her completely, some of the noises around her being blocked. The canine whimpered. Mandy: Why are you never here at these times, master? Why does the room shake so? Make it stop... make it stop. Please... Despite her pleas, the shaking didn't stop. The shrill, painful tone didn't stop. Mandy continued whimpering and trembling, begging the universe to put an end to this infernal nightmare. Despite her pleas, the shaking didn't stop. The shrill, painful tone didn't stop. Mandy continued whimpering and trembling, begging the universe to put an end to this infernal nightmare. After some time, there was no shaking. The piercing tone continued its rude intrusions into Mandy's thoughts, but there was no more shaking. In time, Mandy was able to still her canine form. She felt herself beginning to drift off once more, sounds beginning to slip further and further away from her. As Mandy met sleep once more she had one, final wish. Mandy: oO Come back to me, master. I miss my human... Oo NT Mandy Golden Retriever owned by Chloe Waters Simmed by ************************************************************************************* Lieutenant JG Chloe Waters Helmswoman USS Arrow, NCC-69829 ****************************** Podcast team member ****************************** Writer ID: E239601CW0 *************************************************************************************
  13. Great to revisit both Jona and the good old Sagittarius Reach. Thanks for posting this!
  14. ((Atlas Base - Main Gathering Hall)) The crew were gathering around the food table, but things soon were awry when a drunken crewman ended up embarrassing himself. Regan was not particularly amused and was going to escort him to the brig to cool off. No one else seemed to interject, until Commander Traenor approached sympathetically. Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc? Traenor: I'd rather take care of him myself, if you don't mind, Mr Wilde. He doesn't need to spend any more time in the brig. With assistance, I can escort him back to the ship. The older voice startled him back to the moment. An older voice, but one not stern with authority, rather a wiser, less assuming tone. Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters... Traenor: Excellent. If you'll help me support him? ::pleading glance again to Wilde before turning to the Arrow's newest medical officer:: I'll administer an anti-intoxicant hypospray once he's back aboard, Doctor. If there's anything else amiss, I'll let you know immediately. Is that okay? Sival: Response Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him? Sival: Response Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him? Sival: Response Traenor: Alright, Doc. ::to all the rest of the assembled crew:: Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll ensure this poor man is taken care of. ::to Wilde, who had the prone man's other arm over his shoulders opposite Traenor:: Are you ready, Mr Wilde? Wilde: Aye sir. Regan managed to hook the man's free arm around his neck and prop him upright. He wasn't heavy, but it was awkward to move him through the gathering of crew whilst trying to be as discreet as possible. All Regan had to do was focus on his footsteps and coordinate them with Commander Traenors. The smell of alcohol coming from the man blasted his senses, making him take longer breaths of air to try and dilute the aroma. Oh God how did he end up in this situation. He'd told himself tonight was going to be easy. Of course there'd be drinks. It was a party, but carrying out an inebriated man like this, who only six years ago could have been Regan himself was too much. He felt his eyes sting. Traenor: Mr Wilde... Regan. Thank you for your discretion in this matter, not to mention your assistance. Regan nodded. A courteous nod, one grateful that Commander Traenor had used his name. He hated 'Mr. Wilde'. Wilde: Oh. You're welcome, sir. I wasn't going to charge him with anything back on board, Commander. I... know how important it is to keep him safe. I thought the brig was the best place. Forcefields, you see. ::Beat.:: Oh he's going to hate himself in the morning that's for sure. Poor chap. Traenor: ::incredulously:: You don't recognize him? ::more softly:: Of course not, I barely recognize him lately. He's taken everything very hard, understandably so, and let himself go. This is Crewman Thomson. Wilde: What!? But... how? Traenor: Response ((USS Arrow - Sickbay)) They signalled the ship for a beam out directly to Sickbay, and soon they were deposited in the sterile confines of the Arrows medical bay. They placed him directly onto a biobed and Regan hurriedly took a few steps back instinctively, as if Thomson had a contagious disease. He didn't, of course. Even if he did Regan would be immune by now, but still the thought, or the association left him feeling contaminated and ashamed. Maxwell and another member of the medical team oversaw him, but Regan just stood there, fixated on the man. This was him. This was Regan all those years ago. Smashed out of his face not knowing where he was, or what planet he was on or what his own name was. He didn't care anyway. He didn't care about anything. Caring only hurt him and he drank to stop the hurt. Out of curiosity he picked up a hypospray of the anti-intoxicant used to effectively dissolve the alcohol in the man's blood stream. Anti-intox. The cure? The magic potion? Could he take it and not suffer the effects of the drink. No. He'd confided in Counselor R'Ariel his fear of the drug. What if it didn't work. He threw it with distaste back onto the medical tray by the biobed. The nurse administered a sleeping agent too, to let the poor man rest. They'd beam him to his quarters later. Traenor: Response Wilde: Slipped. Sorry. Traenor: Response Wilde: How did this happen? ::His voice was emotionless.:: Who let it get this far? The answer was obvious really. Thomson himself had let it go on. Regan knew the ways of lying to people. To hide it until it reached boiling point. Traenor: Response Wilde: Check his shoes. Traenor: Response Wilde: I know what I'm talking about! Check his shoes. He's alone. Alone on a ship of forty people, his friends and his colleagues have abandoned him. He needs safety. He needs protection. Regan stepped forward forcefully and pulled the crewmans boots off. A shrill metallic clang hit the floor and Regan closed his eyes. It had gotten that bad. He carefully picked up the makeshift blade in his hands and securely put it on the tray beside the hypospray. Alone and scared, not knowing what would happen next makes you edgy. You see enemies everywhere. Danger. A knife is discreet, can be hidden. Traenor: Response Wilde: This man was me, Commander. Only this is just starting. How long has it been since Gonzalez died? A few weeks? I was in a worse state than this for nearly three years! Lost, alone and desperate, I lived on the rotten streets doing just about anything to keep myself numb! I didn't care. I'd steal it if I had to. You learn to adapt. So many beatings from the street gangs makes you a little wise. Slowly, deliberately, Regan knelt down and took a deep breath. Bad habits are hard to break. He'd been clean for 6 years. Sent to all the best hospitals and seen the best counselors in the Federation thanks to his mummy and daddy. But he was still alone, still struggling like on the streets all those years ago. He took the blade out of his own boot, and felt the cold steel in his hands. His was not a makeshift weapon, forged from a scrap bit of wall panelling he'd forced off. It was gilded, Reman steel. It was in typical Regan style - the best. Dangerous. Effective. He held it in his hand as he showed it to Commander Traenor before placing it beside Thomsons on the tray. Proof that he'd live that horror, and in a way was still living it. He always carried a weapon in his boot, in case he ever fell off the wagon and ended up back on those terrifying streets, or these lonely decks of the Arrow. Regan looked to Maxwell, and did what he hadn't done in many years. What he swore he'd never let anyone else ever see of him in public. He cried. Traenor: Response TAG Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde Security USS Arrow C237708DW0
  15. ((Main Hall - Atlas Base)) There was a small gaggle of officers in the corner near the food tables, and there was a prone person they were surrounding. Some extrasensory feeling washed over Maxwell Traenor, leading him to an overwhelming sense of concern. As he strode up to the group and saw the prone individual, his heart fell. He could smell the waves of alcohol vapors and bile emanating off the man, and felt both understanding and responsibility. It was a blessing of the fates that the others around likely hadn't recognized the individual yet. Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc? Traenor: I'd rather take care of him myself, if you don't mind, Mr Wilde. He doesn't need to spend any more time in the brig. With assistance, I can escort him back to the ship. It was obvious that the sudden presence and interjection of a senior officer had startled Regan, and possibly the others present as well. Maxwell only had eyes for the inebriated crewman, with a quick pleading glance to Regan as well. Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters... Traenor: Excellent. If you'll help me support him? ::pleading glance again to Wilde before turning to the Arrow's newest medical officer:: I'll administer an anti-intoxicant hypospray once he's back aboard, Doctor. If there's anything else amiss, I'll let you know immediately. Is that okay? Sival: response A wave of relief and appreciation swept over Maxwell, though if Sival was a true blood Vulcan, he would likely look on such an emotional response with disdain. He wouldn't spare his smile for the doctor for his assent, though. Traenor: I'll make sure that he checks in with you tomorrow regardless of his condition tonight. Is there anything else that you'd like me to do with him? All Starfleet officers had basic triage training, so Maxwell knew to make sure that the man was left in a recovery position for the night. Besides, once the anti-intoxicant was administered, the man's regrets would likely be more emotional than physical. Still, Maxwell would always defer to the judgement of a medical professional. Sival: response Traenor: Alright, Doc. ::to all the rest of the assembled crew:: Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll ensure this poor man is taken care of. ::to Wilde, who had the prone man's other arm over his shoulders opposite Traenor:: Are you ready, Mr Wilde? Wilde/Any: response Trying to avoid as much of the crowd as possible, both for the comfort of the guests as well as for the dignity of the ill man, Traenor and Wilde maneuvered their intoxicated charge out of the hall and towards the designated beamout point. Traenor: Mr Wilde... Regan. Thank you for your discretion in this matter, not to mention your assistance. Wilde: response Traenor: ::incredulously:: You don't recognize him? ::more softly:: Of course not, I barely recognize him lately. He's taken everything very hard, understandably so, and let himself go. This is Crewman Thomson. Crewman Thomson, who had killed his good friend and colleague Crewman Gonzalez while under the control of an alien entity. The man was unkempt, sunken eyes, lost weight - the whole nine yards. Maxwell had a responsibility for Thomson insofar that he was part of the Science department, but he had been at a loss as to how to help the man. He couldn't be the man's friend, that wasn't his role. He could order counseling, indeed had done so, but couldn't force the man to attend sessions at phaserpoint. He could relieve the man of duty, but he was certain that would do more harm than good. He had heard rumors that abuse of alcohol was a new crutch for Thomson, but so bad and so publicly was a shock to him. He felt helpless to assist Thomson most days. But this? This he could do. He could lead the man back to his quarters, clean him up, and make sure that he was safe, at least for one night. Wilde: response TAGS/TBC -- Commander Maxwell Traenor Chief Science Officer, USS Arrow
  16. ((Atlas Base - Main Gathering Hall)) Having finished embarrassing himself at karaoke, Regan actually felt really good. He didn't realise how much steam he needed to let off, and anyway what's the harm in having a little fun. The crew were mixing well, and Regan noticed R'Ariel dancing a little during his song. He got down from his stage, well - table, and returned to the little group of junior officers. Sival/Nakada/R'Ariel/Caden/Waters: Response Wilde: Ha! Well, we Wilde's don't do anything by half... Responses Wilde: Although the Captain was right about one thing. R'Ariel is out of uniform. ::He pointed a finger at her and bobbed his head in time with the softer, less rock'n'roll music playing.:: She wore her dancing shoes instead of her dress boots! R'Ariel: Response He chuckled. The little group dispersed a little, Ensign Caden was talking with her new head of science, Lt. Serinus stood ever watchful by the door, though he did seem to be sporting a glass of wine, even if it did seem smaller in his large hands. Regan planned to make his exeunt, and he turned to make his polite protestations again, when a crewman passed him to get to the table where Keneth had placed his food. The crewman was a little merry, given away by his light swaying and awkward steps. Regan remembered those days, and he stepped aside gracefully to let the man pass. The tipsy crewman picked up a forkful of the food and guzzled it down in his drunken hunger, before his eyes bulged out. This did not look good. Turning, the crewman looked around frantically. Something - either the drink or the food - did not sit well and Regan could guess they didn't make a good mix. Something had smelled off with that platter all night. The intoxicated crewman did what he had to do and vomited all over the floor by the table. Regan sighed and shook his head. Wilde: Ensign Sival, if you have a moment. Sival: Response Wilde: It seems a medical situation has arisen. Sival/R'Ariel/Anyone: Response Wilde: I don't know if it's just intoxication, or if he's the latest victim of the Alpha Isles Poisoner. ::He motioned with his thumb over to Lt. Nakada.:: Sival/Nakada: Response While Sival stepped aside, Regan patted Keneth on the shoulder. Wilde: Lieutenant, I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you for wilful bodily harm. Nakada: Response Wilde: ::Chuckling:: Relax, Jack the Ripper. I'm kidding. But seriously ::He motioned to the food.:: There are Targ Breeding Kennels on the planet Qo'noS that don't smell as bad as that. Sort it out, ok? Nakada/Sival/Anyone: Response Wilde: I'll take him up to the ship. He can either sleep it off in the brig, or I'll leave him in your care if you wish, Doc? He looked sorrowfully at the inebriated crewman. He wasn't that drunk to everyone else's eyes, but to Regan he may have been stark raving plastered and incapable of taking care of himself. Regan wanted to make sure he had a safe place to sleep tonight, for his protection. Who knows what could happen if he passed out in the open... A dark chill ran down his back. Sival/Nakada/Anyone: Response Someone was talking to him. He had almost let his memory take him back to dark days and darker places. He snapped out of it. Wilde: What? No, I know. I just meant he needs a safe place to be... but yes, I guess the ship is safe enough. ::His thoughts wandering.:: Of course. He can rest in his quarters... Responses TAG Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde Security USS Arrow C237708DW0
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