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Piweh

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Everything posted by Piweh

  1. Gotta go with the cliche here, Picard and Dr. Crusher.
  2. Cheldon Ch'Doro: Orphan, Criminal, Mystic. Photo-collage, with artistic modification. Inspired by medieval tripartite religious shrines. Category: Digital This is the story (both 118 canon, and post canon parts) of one man's ascent from abject poverty, to absurd luxury and back, From victim-hood, to villain-hood to enlightenment. Born in a failed Federation colony, abandoned by a family that couldn't afford to keep him. (Panel 1) Cheldon was raised by a cruel order of nuns, he learned to scrap for every scrap of food he could. Food he needed with his giagantism. Running away in his teens, he lived, and excelled in the life of a street kid. The huge Andorian eventually found his way into the underground fighting scene, winning his first bout, a knife fight to incapacitation. After saving his winnings over time to conform to the dress code, he went to the most upscale casino in town. The owner, called him up and familiar with his skills, offered him a job as a bodyguard. Living the high-life of a gangster,, things were going great until his boss was killed by an angry higher-up. After they killed the offender, someone torched the business out of revenge. The ensuing gang war (panel 3) ended up in a prison sentence. More than a decade into his sentence, a fortuitous riot allowed him to escape. Crash landing his stolen space shuttle on a strange desert planet, he was rescued and healed by a strange religious order. Joining them as enforcer of the leader's will, and chemist (due to his experience with the manufacture of illicit substances in his organized crime days), he stayed with the The Brotherhood of Thet until the ruse of their alleged god was revealed and foiled. With his newfound spiritual curiosity unabated, he's since wandered the quadrants including his ancestral home planet (panel 2) seeking spiritual knowledge from every tradition he comes across., and living the life of an ascetic (and wanted man)
  3. Welcome back Emma, we missed you. And you came back in top form!
  4. Love the big Teddy Bear energy from the big bearded @Karrod Niac here. ((Security Complex, Deck 3, USS Arrow)) The probe continued to stream in valuale intelligence data but the discovery of weapons emplacements had alarming implications. Fortunately, the team was quick to discover an opportunity that could be exploited. Serinus: A firestar 23 Mark 8. Good eye again, Ensign. This has got to be the weak spot that Engineering reported. Niac: We should be able to tweak the shuttle's shield harmonics enough to slip by on low power but that leaves us the question of where to have them put down. Ideally it's a spot that gives them some cover on the way in but doesn't leave the shuttle too far away in the event they need to make an expedient exit. Tarisai: I suppose that depends on how they're moving their quarry inside. Perhaps we could slip in with the next load. Serinus: Tactically, it makes sense. Brilliant sense. Strategically, unless we can get their delivery schedule, we might not be able to wait. Karrod harrumphed at the simple reality of it. Niac: Captain's not going to want to wait and neither do I. Longer the Arrow lingers here, the more chance we have of getting into a direct confrontation with the Sheliak. We have to find or make a hole in their sensor coverage, insert our team, then be ready to exfiltrate them and fall back to safer territory. Tarisai: Response Serinus: We do have a whole Marine team dedicated to search and rescue ops, perhaps Chief Jones can be of some assistance. Karrod nodded, annoyed with himself that it hadn't occurred to him. His lack of familiarity with all of the Arrow's assets was driven by his new posting but he wouldn't allow himself an easy excuse. They were sending people into harms way and he needed to give them every advantage. Niac: Excellent, contact the Chief and have him put a detachment together. Advise him that we'll be jumping off in the next few hours so he's not going to have a ton of time to prep. Ensign, begin transferring our probe data to holosuite one and have the computer being rendering the environment as accurately as we can get it. Tarisai: Reponses Their Chief of Security seemed completely conscious of the seriousness of the situation and inclined his head gravely before tapping at his commbadge. Serinus: =/\= Serinus to Chief Jones. =/\= V. Jones: =/\= Response =/\= A shadow of something passed across Lt. Cmdr. Serinus's face as Karrod watched the man speak on the comm. It was fleeting but it spoke to some memory that Karrod guessed was less than pleasant. He turned his attention back to the probe, trying to tease out anything more he could from the data. Serinus: =/\= Please report to my desk asap.=/\= V. Jones =/\= Response =/\= Karrod had fixed the image of the structures airlocks on the display and something about them gnawed at him. Memories from Horvu, the young Ensign who had been Niac's shortest host before meeting an untimely end in the opening days of the Dominion War, asserted themselves strongly. Karrod's eyes went wide. Niac: According to the slug ::Karrod poked at his midsection with a thumb:: those airlocks were standard pre-fabricated models provided to Federation colonists more than 40 years ago. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Niac: Well the good news is we'll have the specs in the computer. Our team should be able to pop the doors from the outside without the Sheliak knowing. It'll give them even more time to work their way into the facility before being noticed. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod stood back from the console and regarded the two of them seriously. Niac: Alright, I'm going to find your team a medic and then I'm going to brief the Captain. Get your team ready, Mr. Serinus. The two of you know what's at stake...so good hunting, bring our people home. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod turned to leave but paused at the threshold and turned his attention back towards the youngest officer in the room. His memories of Horvu, of the anxiety and fear that came with being an Ensign, encouraged him to offer Ensign Tarisai a few kind words. Niac: Your insights were valuable, Ensign Tarisai, and I can see why Mr. Serinus here thinks you've got potential. Good fortune to you. Serinus/Tarisai: Reponses Karrod nodded curtly and turned, heading into the hallway while digging a padd out of his uniform jacket. He was already tapping out notes by the time he'd walked into the turbolift. Tags/End Scene for Niac! ================================ Commander Karrod Niac First Officer USS Arrow - NCC-69829 Captain Randal Shayne, Commanding V239509GT0
  5. ((OOC: A fun, and spooky romp with all the charming Collins ackwardness that us Arrowheads have grown to know and love while exploring heavier themes such as childhood trauma, haunted family history, with a dash of cosmic horror to round it all out. Enjoy!)) ((Exterior. The Sea Caves. Stardate: 237810.31. Dusk.)) A puffing Quentin Collins III (freshly fifteen years old) struggled off his topcoat and deerstalker cap as he sunk slightly deeper into the sand. Staring into the gasping, all-black entrance to The Sea Caves. The sounds of the Halloween Jamboree still echoing down the cliffs and along the beach from The Town Square above. He had chased Mason Bridger and his cronies all the way from the party to the Caves. But now he felt his feet...anchored to the beach in quiet terror. Part of it was poisoned with embarrassment. He KNEW he shouldn't have brought his family's gift to him to the Jamboree. Even if it was the absolute perfect accessory to his Sherlock Holmes costume. A beautifully restored and locally bought magnifying glass. Source and restored from the same Town Square that held the Jamboree. Specifically Jennings Antiques. The Jennings, long held family friends of his father and mother, had been all too happy to make a gift of it, according to David and Sara (who had much help from Father and Mother). And he was all too happy to have it. It was a gorgeous piece, even to Quentin's largely untrained young eyes. Glinting nickel handle holding aloft a gorgeous matching glass piece holder. They had surprised him with it right after school. Having an intimate and warm mini-celebration with Mrs. Johnson and the Morgan's in attendance as well. Before releasing them all, Mrs. Johnson as their "minder" to the Jamboree in the town below. As soon as they got there, the trouble started for Quentin. Mason and his goon squad, continuing their jabs from school, set upon him near the apple bobbing station. Wondering aloud (and LOUDLY) if Quentin had ever read anything that was less than a 1000 years old. Which further devolved into a peanut gallery Quentin had largely grown numb to before now. But it was the extra sting of this happening directly after such a happy and loving occasion. It was as if Mason and his henchmen had sapped the life right from said moment and wouldn't be satisfied until they had ruined the entire day for him. And they were well on their way now. Following him and jeering his every step and movement. He tried desperately to find Sara and David. Wanting...or hoping at least, in the presence of the rest of his family they would stop. But they never did. And he never found his siblings. Ending up instead falling flat to his face right in front of some concession stands after awkwardly thumping his walking boots against one of the corners of the stands. The magnifying glass flew from his hand, landing carefully in the grass ahead. Where Mason had snapped it up, running his grubby fingers all over its lens and giving a ratty little laugh at Quentin's protestations. Then, as it were, the game way afoot. A not-so-merry chase. It had to look ridiculous. A gangly red-haired Sherlock Holmes lighting through the town chasing three cackling morons in gravball uniforms (too cool for costumes they were), but Quentin wouldn't, or couldn't stop. His boots clamped across the street and then the sidewalk and then down the docks down onto the beach. One had peeled off somewhere, but Mason and his "second" (a particularly thuggish child ogre by the name of Cody Nixon) continued down the beach. Screaming and jeering and throwing more venom Quentin's way as he kept pace after them. But the chase had stopped once they had dared the entrance to the Sea Caves. Mother had stringently warned him against the Caves and in a chilling and rare confluence of opinions, Dad had agreed with her. Warning all three of the Collins siblings away from the Caves. Quentin being the oldest had heard these warnings before and they had the very same timbre of sound as the warnings against The Old House and the Cemetery at night. The agreement of Dad however...gave it much higher stakes. Such high stakes that Quentin stood, breathing deep clouds of cold air into the surf climate around him, frozen still by them. He looked down the other side of the beach to The Sea Cottage. Politely occupied now by a former student of Mother's who had come to town to finish his Master's Thesis. Blair Something or Something Blair. He debated a moment asking for the academic's help. Or even maybe going back to the Jamboree and finding Sara and David. They would be disappointed in him...but then he wouldn't have to explore the Cave alone. He had started to fumble out his comm line (embarrassingly devoid of any contacts that weren't blood relation to him) when the screaming started from the dark of the Cave. Quentin's head snapped up and forward. To his credit, even then before Starfleet and before everything that made him into the man we now know, O gentle readers, he didn't hesitate. He clomped directly into the darkness with nary a thought for himself. How stupid and careless was/is Quentin Collins III. ((Interior. The Sea Caves.)) Quentin had no idea how far he had been walking. The smallish light from his commlink did little to illuminate his way, but after a few moments (or hours maybe, time was...odd down the Caves it seemed), his eyes adjusted and allowed him for an easier way. Trailing his free hand against the rock around him to steady himself, he carefully continued deeper. As he stepped, providing him a sort of ghoulish foghorn, were a series of increasingly loud noises. None had been the screaming of before (thank the universe), but the rest of them hadn't been any less unsettling. Huffing gasps, random snorts, and shuffling, wet sounding steps drew Quentin deeper and deeper into the well. Then...a light. Or at least a half-light. Blooming sweetly from the farthest wall he could see in the inky black. He stepped forward again, leaning more heavily on the hand atop the "corridor" of the stone. A hand from the dark. Grasping suddenly the hem of his trousers and hauling him down to the dusty floor! He struggled and tried to wriggle out of the grasp but couldn't. He almost screamed himself until he turned back to see his "captor". Then the white-hot anger of his flight down the beach returned. The moon-eyed and pale face of Mason Bridger peered out from an alcove below them. The magnifying glass was clutched to his chest as if it was a holy reliquary. Quentin tried to reach for it, having made it to his knees now, but Mason seemed to pin himself backward into the Cave wall. He was about to speak, but Mason, using the hand that had hauled him to the floor, to clamp over his mouth. Quentin was now terribly confused as well as angry. He pushed the hand away roughly and started to speak again but was cut off by a harsh and deadly sincere SHHHHHH from Mason. In his astonishment, Quentin did as he was bade. Peering daggers into his former antagonist who now looked...shelled entirely. The sneering bravado of his attitude topside replaced by...sheer terror. He creaked a finger across his shoulder and toward the eerie light of the chamber ahead. Bridger: T-they g-got Cody...w-we was only foolin'... Collins: What- Bridger: SHHHH As the echo settled, Quentin could hear something...else. The wet shuffling of before intermingled with...something else. The dry snap of soles on stone. Along with shallow, quickened breathing and the soft hiss and trickle of...a stream? Was the light coming off a river of ocean run off into the Caves? Quentin started to rise to look, but Mason's hand gawped and batted at his legs again. The strength of his surprise now completely gone. Quentin slapped it away harder than he really should have and then dared a few more steps forward. Bracing himself once more on the lip of the stone, he peered across the way into another dimension. Three tallish...figures surrounded Cody, all three with their right hands clamped heavily over his head. Cody's eyes were open, but lolled back severely. Making them look more like spoiled eggs than his usual hungover seeming orbitals. The bubble of the rushing seam of water behind them was underscored by Cody's still increasing breathing. His chest rose and fell rapidly and unnaturally. Quentin couldn't get the best look at the figures but they were lithe and tall. Stooped slightly with the ceiling of the cave and...shining slightly against the light of the water. They seemed slick and without clothes. The hands at their sides were webbed and pointed at the digits, giving either the impressing of long nails or... oO Claws. They are claws. Oo The features of their faces were obscured by the darkness, but the seemed featureless and rounded. Focused entirely on Cody as their breathing pattern matched, now the same rapid and inhuman gasping across the whole party. Cody tried to shout or at least opened his mouth to make a sound, but none emerged. Suddenly his breathing stopped! His eyes fluttered and drowsed. The figured released him and replaced their hands on his chest. A groaning, yawning, sickening sound replaced Cody's breathing. Flaps of skin started to undulate and separate from his neck. Almost like... oO Gills? Oo One of the figures let forth a triumphant hiss, raising it's claws high into the air in reverent joy. The others responded in kind while Cody seemed to regain a sort of consciousness...immediately struggling to breathe. One of the creatures grasped his shoulders suddenly and started to haul him into the drink! The splash of his confused form and Quentin's shout echoed almost in unison. Collins: NO! In terrifying unison, the figures and their flashing, deep green eyes snapped toward Quentin. They advanced carefully, now hunched even lower and bathing in the shadow around the Cave like the sea itself. Quentin took two dumb steps backward, pivoted, and started to sprint. Stopping only for a hot second to take a handful of Mason's jersey neck, power him to his feet, and run with him in tow. Quentin never dared look back, but the wet shuffling now arced upward into wet snapping steps. Beating a hellish rhythm behind them with their snorts and hisses. Quentin had no idea where they were going or if this was even the way out, but the now sobbing Mason and the figures behind them didn't stop to try and make sure. He darted and twisted and looped back through the Cave, his panic and sweat now really the only fuel he had. Finally, light! A new burst of hopeful speed lighted Quentin's steps. He shoved Mason in front of him, spilling him out onto the beach, shoulder first as Quentin jumped after him into the now risen moonlight. The figures didn't...or couldn't follow, but left their mark all the same. In one final swipe toward Quentin's boot, leaving four thin scratch marks perfectly across the bottom sole. The only hard evidence of the night's flight. Quentin scrambled back to his feet and faced the Sea Cave entrance panting. Nothing but the descending hiss came out, but Quentin stood vigil all the same. Weaponless, but rock-steady against whatever might try and come out. Despite Mason Bridger being the least worthy of his protection. After a few tense moments and lessening of his pulse, nothing emerged and Quentin decided (more hoped) they were safe...for now. He turned toward the gibbering Mason, who had curled into a quivering ball on the beach. Bridger: w-w-w-we was o-only foolin....we w-w-was only foolin.... Collins: Yeah, and what did that get you? He hated the tartness of his voice, but he didn't want to turn away from the feeling. None of this...WHATEVER this was would have happened had they just left him alone. He knelt and roughly turned Mason over, rolling him onto his back like an old turtle. His hands were still clutched to his chest, but the magnifying glass was nowhere to be seen. Quentin frowned, but was called quickly back to the yawning darkness of the Sea Cave. A deep snort and prolonged hiss emerged from it. He couldn't tell for certain...but it looked as if two deep green eyes peered from the darkness toward him. Through him. More huffing sounds punctuated the sounds of the pounding surf toward their backs. As if something was...smelling the air around them. After another beat a glint of silver pierced the darkness and arced carefully onto the sand. Burying itself at Quentin's feet. His magnifying glass. Words traveled behind it from the darkness. "collllinnnsssssssss." "friennnnnnddddd" Quentin Collins didn't had the courage to reply. Cody Nixon's body was never found. Even after a two-week long, exhaustive search of the Sea Caves (by daylight, of course). But in the months after Quentin's fifteenth birthday, night workers of the docks and the occasional (somewhat overserved) after-hours patron of The Blue Whale would swear they would see someone matching his description. Standing waist deep in the inlet nearest to the town. Staring into the lights and sounds of the weird city in a ruined gravball jersey and with sharp, shining green eyes that were not his own. Only to then disappear with a quiet slosh of the sea once someone had looked away and tried back to confirm what they saw. "An offering to Leviathan" they would say darkly. "Another fer' The Deep Ones" the older salts would intone in feverish whispers. The end of whatever life had awaited him on the surface. Leaving us who remained a shaky, but holding peace and confidence in integrity of nature...and of the human mind. -- THE END...? HAPPY HALLOWEEN! -- Quentin Jamison Collins III Fifteen Years Old Eldest Son of the Collins Dynasty //as simmed by// Lieutenant Commander Quentin Collins III Chief Science Officer -- U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829 ID: E239512QC0 -- F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums)
  6. Neigh, no more horsing around! This Gallop poll says we're still in the race. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and centaur yourselves.
  7. Really enjoyed the "Do you even lift bro?" energy regarding book publishing.
  8. I'm notoriously (in my own mind, at the very least) bad with those, but if we kept it to a simple one or two parter, I could perhaps take you up on that.
  9. Congratulations to the other winners! I've been coveting the Yar Pin for some time now. I'd like to thank my Arrowhead crewmates for being amazing writers and people who inspire me, as well as former crewmates from the Columbia, Eagle, and Juneau, and a few others I've met along the way. This community is one of my happy places.
  10. We on the Arrow have been waiting on this for a long time. I'm so happy for them!
  11. I can't wait for the Arrow to have it's time travel episode. These were both so intriguing!
  12. Lieutenant Commander Artinus Serinus from the Arrow arrived on the red carpet sporting a printed tux from Beauxtique in New Paris. According to Demetri Fulov, the designer, this red on black floral pattern is the perfect balance of feminine and masculine and is inspired by the warrior cultures of Fuedal Japan, and the Klingon Empire. It is a noted departure from wearing traditional Magna Roman formal, or a dress uniform like he has in the past.
  13. “One moment, you’re in love. The next moment, you’re in hell.” The young, blonde man spoke dourly. He had at one time even been considered a pretty boy, not a “pretty boy”, just a genuinely beautiful young man. Unfortunately, time and tragedy had aged him prematurely. The shadow of loss hung about him like a weighty, immovable cloak of iron. It hung around in his bagged and hollowed eyes, his distant voice, his disciplinary record, and his general demeanor; slumped and scruffy. The man that he once had been, was long gone, along with a rank, and having his name on the Petty Officer list. Branson had finally escaped the shadow of the USS Eagle when her crew transferred to the state of the art Juneau. And Ensign Artinus Serinus, one of his former bosses, had left them when he transferred to the Arrow. None of them had stopped the madness that happened that day. They tried to fix it after, even though they were as powerless as he was to advert, slow, or even lessen his downward spiral. Ensign Serinus had even ordered him to attend weekly counseling sessions for grief, but wouldn’t let him near the man responsible. He had wanted hours with the perpetrator of his abject misery, but only needed a minute or two. The Emergency Counseling Hologram had given him the idea, inadvertently. The spark of madness and/or genius that led him to the devastating holodeck addiction that had developed by reliving the happy moments over and over again. On the holodeck, she was still there with him, or as close as was possible. He knew deep in the core of his intellect that is was a facsimile, but he had made certain that his senses were tricked every time. The tone, timbre, and tempo of her musical voice were as perfect as the gold flecked emeralds in her eyes, the shine of her long brown hair, the little idiosyncrasies of Crewman Second Class Adrianna Vala’s personality, or her caring and intelligent manner. Even her half-Vulcan ears had matched the real one’s with stunning accuracy. That was the past. Presently Crewman Second Class Branson Ofrey lay on the couch. It was leather, and a shade of burgundy that might appeal especially to the tragic victims of a different addiction. The new Counselor of the USS Chekov, one Lieutenant Commander Dtar ch’Monos, sat across from him in a matching armchair, gripping his well trimmed white goatee. The holo emitter over the space window displayed a lovely spring day on the Crewman’s homeworld of Velestus. A nice touch. “Let’s start at the beginning” the Counselor told him in a voice that was as cold as the officer’s frozen home world, and as clinical as the Vulcan Science Academy. The Andorian had no doubt read his file, but seeing as he was new here, he wanted to hear it all for himself, and that meant that Branson had to reopen his old wounds all over again. Must he martyr himself for his own healing every time he changed assignments, or a new counselor took over his treatment? “We met in the mess hall, aboard the Eagle. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, let alone, met. And that has yet to change.” Branson took a moment, but then pushed himself fprward, with all the determination of a seasoned Starfleet Security person. “I asked if I could sit with her, and she let me. We talked for the most magical fifteen minutes of my life. Her voice was like music, her eyes were green pools flecked with gold. She was friendly, attentive, and just a really sweet person. I felt like I had met an angel.” Every angel returned to heaven eventually. “We met every day for lunch afterwards and had deep and meaningful conversations. Two enlisted people. A Security guy and a Cargo Specialist. When I asked her if we could become a couple, she was as delighted as I was after she told me ‘Yes.’ After that, we spent every off duty hour together. Waking, and sleeping. We danced the tango on a holodeck program set in the streets of Rio de Janeiro, we pushed each other at the gym, and made madly passionate love. It’s like our souls had become entwined.” Commander ch’Monos looked at him dourly. “Go on, Crewman.” “It was the best 10 weeks of my life” He hesitated “Then that day came.” The Counselor rang in again. “The day you lost her.” The crewman bit his lips, inhaled, and then released his lips. “Yeah. . . It was supposed to be an easy supply run to a new colony. But then some of our people caught an intruder. Somehow, before he was caught, he released a nest of Alterian Spider Birds on board, and we had to go clean it up. We were clearing deck 7, and we stormed into a room. It was a room like any other, but that room has been frozen in my mind forever. Webs were everywhere. Ral spotted it first, and directed Serinus to it.” The Counselor looked at him. “It?” The crewman’s voice became shakier with every syllable as he got to the heart of the mattter. “A spider sack, like they use for prey. A person sized spider sack. They couldn’t find lifesigns. They tried it a few times, then we were ordered to cut it down and open it.” He closed his eyes tight and grasped his forehead. “It. . . was her, doc. I did the only thing that I could do, I puked my guts out.” Even the professional, experienced, and clinical Counselor took pause. After several moments of crushing silence, he began to write on his PADD. His patient sighed impatiently, and the doctor finally prodded him along. “Tell me about the funeral.” Branson opened his eyes and looked up at the other man with angst and self pity. “It was closed casket.” For rather obvious reasons “I begged until they let me see her. . . But I just couldn’t do it.” He had seen enough the first time. “So I just reached out and grasped her bicep. The feel of that uniform shirt will haunt me for as long as I live.” And then the dam broke and flooded the couch with tears.
  14. My character already has an adorable and tiny targ, whom everyone loves.
  15. Welcome to the fleet. You're going to have so much fun!
  16. Yeah, really would like to see them all, as well.
  17. "Omne solum forti patria est, ut piscibus aequor,ut volucri vacuo quicquid in orbe patet." (Every land is a homeland for the courageous man, as water is a homeland for the fish, as everything that lies open in the airy circle of the sky is a homeland for the bird.) -Ovid, the Fasti
  18. (OOC: A very poient and moving sim. I swear that I'm not crying.) ((Interior. U.S.S. Arrow, Deck 5 Aft. The Living History Annex.)) Quentin Collins stepped back and surveyed his work. Stopping only slightly to run his gloved right hand over the top of the lustering plaque of precious metal he had just carefully, but securely placed beside the door of the "Living History Annex". A slight cropping of fine dust had collected on top of the plaque thanks to his fasting it into the bulkhead. But his light silken gloves had kept it from the real mess in Quentin's eyes. His own fingerprints. The plaque itself was obscenely expensive. So much so that Quentin didn't think he would ever really tell anyone just HOW expensive it was. But it was something he felt he had to do, having met a kind and quiet foundry foreman during one of his last explorations of Casperia Prime's marketplace. The ringing of the foreman's hammer on calcite had drawn him to the shop in the first place. A tinny, but ringing sound. Made even more interesting by the lithe and controlled way The Foreman had treated the materials. That same care and kindness, it seemed, had extended to the rest of his wares and underlings. Three in toto, who were all treating different metals at their workstations, huddled around a roaring kiln. The Foreman, a long-haired and clean shaven Tellarite, had clocked Quentin instantly as a tourist, but softened once he had heard the man's request. Softening further and turning shockingly empathetic eyes to his specifications. "This will be expensive.", The Foreman had warned. But no further warnings, only curious eyes came once Quentin had produced his "down payment". Four full gold-pressed latinum bars. Laid in a fan across one of the underling's workstations. With the promise of a few more upon completion of the work. (The grand total of which Quentin would likely take to the grave as spending money, even his own, still tasted like licking copper to Quentin). The Foreman and his workers had posited that the work would take, at best, a day. A day in a half, more likely. Quentin had nodded at that understandably. By the looks of things, they did fine, meticulous work. Beautiful details glinting off both the armor and other metalworks displayed throughout the other end of the shop. Presumably the "Storefront", though Quentin saw no sign upon his entry. His only clues toward this being what he needed, the sounds of ringing tools and the balmy, but comforting heat of a furnace. Quentin left his contact information...and another 4 strips of latinum for the assembly. His distaste for spending momentarily curbed now that he had found something else worthy to spend on. The Foreman nodded with the promise that it would "be done right". Of that, Quentin Collins had no doubt. Not even six hours later, the job was complete. Presented to him with an earnest reverence in a loosely wrapped parcel. Along with the finely spartan "handling gloves" The Foreman had thrown in for good measure. Quentin felt his eyes grow heavy with internal perspiration once The Foreman had fully shown him the finished product. A smallish plate of tightly pressed iron. Earth iron too, by the smell and hue of it. How they ever had actual, no-frills iron all the way out here Quentin would never know, but the gesture and distant connection to old ship's of yore was not lost on Quentin. Nor were the exquisitely filigreed names and script atop of the plate. Shining through the deep dark of the iron in a dazzling yellow-gold. Somehow free and clear of ostentation. It was better than Quentin could have hoped for. A feeling that had only deepened once he had it hung properly now. Centered well just to the side of the turbolift door that emptied into the compartment. One Quentin Collins was now unequivocally connected to. He carefully shed his handling gloves and gave the plate one final look. Appreciating just how "at-home" it felt amid the rest of the compartment's emotionally charged and interpersonal bric-brac. Dedicated to Those We've Lost Their Aim Forever True Less than a dozen names filled the rest of the space. Cadet Amanda Crossley's first amongst them. Room for more, as there would be room in their hearts for what would come next. But the only thing Quentin Collins could think at the moment? oO Gold well spent...Oo -- END -- Lieutenant Commander Quentin Collins III Chief Science Officer -- U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829 ID: E239512QC0 -- F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR (SB118 Forums)
  19. Another fun sim from @Maz Rodan ((The "Midnight" Planet - Jungle)) The mysterious Zelph, all of them, watched with great curiosity as the metal huts which arrived on the planet not too long ago shone and shook the ground. The No Lights had come together and returned to their huts and greeted each other with great noise. The Zelph watched raptly, each mesmerised by the sounds and absence of light. They had almost gotten used to the strangers and their primitive ways. The way they used metallic contraptions and tools to go about their daily tasks. Now, the ground shook and the resulting wind made the luminous jungle sway. The lights danced around them as the metal huts took off toward the blackness of the sky. Light Time was slowly approaching. A few more cycles and the suns would rise. For the Zelph it was a time of sleep and rest. A welcome break from their life in the Night. For the next few weeks the jungle would recede, shying away from the suns and their heat. The No Lights might dwell in the Light Time, but it seemed they were leaving. The metal huts flashed with a multitude of light as they broke the canopy and floated on magic air towards the stars. The Zelph rejoiced when the lights twinkled. So, the No Lights had made light after all! The Zelph were happy for them, and celebrated by shining their own lights towards the sky to guide their way. Each Zelph emitted arrays and crescendos of light in joyous expression to the No Lights as they left the Midnight Planet. When the last steel hut left, and the lights faded in the sky, the Zelph continued to shine their lights in happy succession long, long into the remaining hours of the endless night. NT/END MSNPC The Zelph Alien Natives The "Midnight" Planet -- As simmed by: Lt. Commander Maz Rodan First Officer USS Arrow, NCC 69829 C237708DW0 --- Co-Wiki Operator Mission Archivist FNS Contributor --
  20. Always love the adorable animal sims.
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